martes, 28 de mayo de 2013

Uno de Larkin

Deceptions

'Of course I was drugged, and so heavily I did not regain
 consciousness until the next morning. I was horrified to
 discover that I had been ruined, and for some days I was inconsolable,
 and cried like a child to be killed or sent back to my aunt.'
 -Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor


 Even so distant, I can taste the grief,
 Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp.
 The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief
 Worry of wheels along the street outside
 Where bridal London bows the other way,
 And light, unanswerable and tall and wide,
 Forbids the scar to heal, and drives
 Shame out of hiding. All the unhurried day,
 Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.

Slums, years, have buried you. I would not dare
 Console you if I could. What can be said,
 Except that suffering is exact, but where
 Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic?
 For you would hardly care
 That you were less deceived, out on that bed,
 Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair
 To burst into fulfillment's desolate attic.

La soledad era esto

 

Llegan a dar risa las formas en que uno debe aprender la lección. Siempre he creído que las vueltas del mundo jamás dejan impunes las crueldades que uno ha hecho. Las pago ahora. Lluevo.