Angoixa de l’alta nit
Josep Carner
Josep Carner
High-night anguish,
when the world smells like a paddock,
when the
grove grows to a giant
above the sleeping garden-walks.
The pleasureless moon
spins like a useless coin.
This is the cold,
silent hour,
made of death and forgetting.
Through every sleeping head passes
a weightless, fugitive world
which
doesn’t cry out.
High-night anguish:
to have one spirit only
locked in one only
life.
Carner, Josep. Poesia. Barcelona: Quaderns Crema, 1992.
Traduït per Pearse Hutchinson
