Translated from the Catalan by Andrew Kaufman and Sonia Alland
Catalan
On the wet spring sand
I hold the balance
of an architectural order.
Subtle, pious,
resigned under the weight of dogmas,
I fight against
singular thoughts
on the cold rainy roads
of metaphysics.
My broken voice the mirror
of my sorrows, Sundays
and tomorrow will always be the same,
always the same, as the light of April
goes out and I look
to uphold the ancient vaults.
Damunt la sorra molla
suporto l’equilibri
d’un ordre arquitectonic.
Subtil, pietosissim
resignat sota dogmes
combato contra
pensaments singulars
per metafisics
camins de fred i pluja.
Le veu trencada, cristall
del meu dolor, diumenges
am dema sempre igual,
sempre igual, mentre s’apaga
la llum d’abril i miro
de mantenir les voltes.
There Will Be No More Births
There will be no more births
of eternal marble waves,
nor flights of angels
rising from imagined empires
Suddenly, sad times are here—
remembered voices
lead me through Sinera’s empty houses
to the sentry of dawn, the cypress,
that has seen the fire
of sea and cloud.
No naixera cap marbre
d’eternitzades ones
ni s’alcaran vols d’angels
d’imaginats imperis.
Car es vingut de sobte
de temps dolent, i em porten
veus de records, per buides
estances de Sinera,
fins al guaita de l’albe,
xiprer que sap l’incendi
de mar i d’aguest nuvel.
