Poem
Harkaitz Cano
FLEXIBLE TIME
Time goes more slowly in a foreign city;therefore escapes, therefore inadequate airline companies, therefore jetlag
– or that sudden captivating unpleasant odor –
therefore the tendency to read maps upside down.
Time goes more slowly in strange houses;
therefore hotels, therefore visits, a fascination with waiting rooms;
therefore the insatiable desire
to tell ambulances from fire trucks in the swift wail of a siren.
Time goes more slowly in unknown bodies;
therefore the search for lovers that spring from new delays;
therefore wounds, because time goes more slowly over wounds.
Because pain is the false promise of a false eternity.
All explorations,
undertaken with military caps or wrapped in bearskin,
on horseback, in the mountains, in the open air or by sea,
heroic or daily strolls
– Scott, Shackleton, Captain Duvoisin –
are they but pathetic attempts to stop the clock,
to bet against time?
Because time always goes slower as snow is removed
or as the machete clears brambles in the jungle.
But on familiar roads the hours fly by.
This is the price you pay: time goes slowest when you are lost.
Slower on a cliff than on the flatlands.
Slower in the forest than on a safe path.
The rambler always looks to the forest, to the mist there.
He would like to lose time in the forest
but not lose himself in time or
not be lost by time, perhaps.
It has been said:
no one has yet conquered flexible time.
Mere links in the chain of time are we,
bearing children in the forest and telling
children’s stories
lost there.
Because time always passes more slowly
on unfamiliar paths.
From: Malgu da gaua / Flexible is the night
Publisher: Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián, 2014
Publisher: Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián, 2014
KNEEDBARE TIJD
De tijd gaat trager in vreemde steden;daarom ontsnappingen, daarom falende luchtvaartmaatschappijen, daarom jetlag
- of die plots betoverende onaangename geur -
daarom de neiging om kaarten ondersteboven te lezen.
De tijd gaat trager in onbekende huizen;
daarom hotels, daarom visites, een fascinatie met wachtkamers;
daarom het onvervulbaar verlangen om brandweerwagens van ambulances te onderscheiden in het snelle geloei van een sirene.
De tijd gaat trager in vreemde lichamen;
daarom de zoektocht naar minnaars die opnieuw tot wachten nopen;
daarom wonden, omdat de tijd trager over wonden gaat.
Want pijn is de valse belofte van een valse eeuwigheid.
Alle expedities,
ondernomen met een kepi op het hoofd of gehuld in berenhuid,
te paard, in de bergen, in de lucht en op zee,
heroïsch of dagelijkse wandelingen
- Scott, Shackleton, Captain Duvoisin -
zijn dit slechts onnozele pogingen om de klok te stoppen,
met de tijd te wedden?
Omdat de tijd altijd trager gaat wanneer sneeuw wordt geruimd
of wanneer de machete bramen weghakt in het woud.
Maar op bekende wegen vliegen de uren voorbij.
Dat is de te betalen prijs: de tijd gaat het traagst wanneer je verloren bent.
Trager op een klif dan op de vlakte.
Trager in het bos dan op een veilig pad.
De zwerver kijkt altijd naar het bos, naar de mist.
Hij zou tijd willen verliezen in het bos
maar zich niet in de tijd willen verliezen
noch door de tijd misschien verloren worden.
Het werd gezegd:
niemand heeft ooit de kneedbare tijd onderworpen.
Slechts schakels in de ketting van de tijd zijn we,
kinderen barend in het bos en
daar verloren
kinderverhalen vertellend.
Omdat de tijd altijd trager gaat
op onbekende wegen.
© Vertaling: 2015, Luk Van Mensel
MALGUA DENBORA
Motelago doa denbora atzerriko hirietan;horregatik ihesak, horregatik aire konpainia eskasak, horregatik jet laga
–edo ezustean liluratu zaituen usain ezatsegin hori–;
horregatik planoei buruzbehera begiratzeko joera.
Motelago doa denbora ezezagunen etxeetan;
horregatik hotelak, horregatik bisitak, itxaron-gelekiko gogo hori;
horregatik kaleko sirena hotsen abiadan anbulantziak su-hiltzaileetatik
bereizteko grina asegaitza.
Motelago doalako denbora gorputz arrotzetan;
horregatik zain egon beharra ekarriko duten maitaleen xerka;
horregatik zauriak, motelago doalako denbora zaurien gainean.
Mina eternitate faltsu baten promesa faltsua delako.
Esplorazio guztiak,
kepiak buruan edo hartza-larrua soinean egindakoak,
zaldiz, mendiz, airez edo itsasoz egindako espedizio guztiak,
heroikoak eta eguneroko ostera txikiak
–Scott, Shackleton, Duvoisin kapitaina–,
erlojua geratzeko,
denborari trabes egiteko ahalegin xaloak ote ziren?
Motelago baitoa denbora beti elurra apartatu edo
aihotzarekin oihanean sasia garbitzen zabiltzanean.
Bide ezagunetan, aldiz, azkarrago pasatzen dira orduak.
Hori da ordaina: galduta zaudenean doala motelen denbora.
Amildegian motelago lautadan baino.
Basoan motelago xenda seguruan baino.
Xendan dagoenak, basora begiratzen du beti, bertan laino.
Basoan nahi luke galdu denbora,
bera denboran ez galtzeko eta
denborak ez alferrik galtzeko bera, akaso.
Esanda doa:
inork ez du egundo denbora malgu hori errenditu.
Katedun erlojuetan katebegi huts gu,
basoan umeak egin eta basoan galtzen diren umeen
ipuinak egiten
jarraitzen dugu.
Motelago igarotzen delako denbora beti
bide ezezagunetatik goazenean.
From: Malgu da gaua / Flexible is the night
Publisher: Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián
Publisher: Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián
Poems
Poems of Harkaitz Cano
Close
FLEXIBLE TIME
Time goes more slowly in a foreign city;therefore escapes, therefore inadequate airline companies, therefore jetlag
– or that sudden captivating unpleasant odor –
therefore the tendency to read maps upside down.
Time goes more slowly in strange houses;
therefore hotels, therefore visits, a fascination with waiting rooms;
therefore the insatiable desire
to tell ambulances from fire trucks in the swift wail of a siren.
Time goes more slowly in unknown bodies;
therefore the search for lovers that spring from new delays;
therefore wounds, because time goes more slowly over wounds.
Because pain is the false promise of a false eternity.
All explorations,
undertaken with military caps or wrapped in bearskin,
on horseback, in the mountains, in the open air or by sea,
heroic or daily strolls
– Scott, Shackleton, Captain Duvoisin –
are they but pathetic attempts to stop the clock,
to bet against time?
Because time always goes slower as snow is removed
or as the machete clears brambles in the jungle.
But on familiar roads the hours fly by.
This is the price you pay: time goes slowest when you are lost.
Slower on a cliff than on the flatlands.
Slower in the forest than on a safe path.
The rambler always looks to the forest, to the mist there.
He would like to lose time in the forest
but not lose himself in time or
not be lost by time, perhaps.
It has been said:
no one has yet conquered flexible time.
Mere links in the chain of time are we,
bearing children in the forest and telling
children’s stories
lost there.
Because time always passes more slowly
on unfamiliar paths.
From: Malgu da gaua / Flexible is the night
Publisher: 2014, Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián
Publisher: 2014, Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián
FLEXIBLE TIME
Time goes more slowly in a foreign city;therefore escapes, therefore inadequate airline companies, therefore jetlag
– or that sudden captivating unpleasant odor –
therefore the tendency to read maps upside down.
Time goes more slowly in strange houses;
therefore hotels, therefore visits, a fascination with waiting rooms;
therefore the insatiable desire
to tell ambulances from fire trucks in the swift wail of a siren.
Time goes more slowly in unknown bodies;
therefore the search for lovers that spring from new delays;
therefore wounds, because time goes more slowly over wounds.
Because pain is the false promise of a false eternity.
All explorations,
undertaken with military caps or wrapped in bearskin,
on horseback, in the mountains, in the open air or by sea,
heroic or daily strolls
– Scott, Shackleton, Captain Duvoisin –
are they but pathetic attempts to stop the clock,
to bet against time?
Because time always goes slower as snow is removed
or as the machete clears brambles in the jungle.
But on familiar roads the hours fly by.
This is the price you pay: time goes slowest when you are lost.
Slower on a cliff than on the flatlands.
Slower in the forest than on a safe path.
The rambler always looks to the forest, to the mist there.
He would like to lose time in the forest
but not lose himself in time or
not be lost by time, perhaps.
It has been said:
no one has yet conquered flexible time.
Mere links in the chain of time are we,
bearing children in the forest and telling
children’s stories
lost there.
Because time always passes more slowly
on unfamiliar paths.
From: Malgu da gaua / Flexible is the night
Publisher: 2014, Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián
Publisher: 2014, Etxepare Institutua, San Sebastián
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