Dejó los zapatos, unos gastados mocasines,
en el puente. Era un par de cuero de cabra
que podría haberse quitado
en cualquier parte: en la universidad,
junto al escritorio, debajo de una mesa del café Tate,
a los pies de la cama de un amante.
Todas las noches pensaba, mañana.
Por la mañana, se acordaba
de su traje en la tintorería, de su ensayo
sobre Marlowe, de los estudiantes que esperaban
ante la puerta de su despacho. El 7 de enero
las razones se agotaron.
Se lavó y recortó la barba,
se puso una camisa nueva.
Poco a poco caminó
hacia el puente.
Chella Courington (Alabama, 1956), en gravity and light
Versión de Jonio González
El poema está dedicado al poeta John Berryman, nacido en McAlister, Oklahoma, en 1914, quien se arrojó del puente de la Avenida Washington en Minneapolis, Minnesota, en 1972 (N. del Ad..)
Otra Iglesia Es Imposible - Chella Courington -Monday Poetry - Isacoustic - WordMothers - Poetas Siglo XXI
Foto: Chella Courington/Facebook
When Berryman Died
He left his shoes, scuffed loafers,
on the bridge. A cordovan pair
he could have shed
anywhere: at the university,
beside his desk, under Tate’s coffee table,
at the foot of a lover’s bed.
Every night he thought, tomorrow.
Mornings, he remembered
his suit at the cleaners, his essay
on Marlowe, students waiting
outside his office. January 7
reasons ran dry.
He bathed and trimmed his beard,
put on a new shirt.
In eight degrees he walked
to the bridge.
When Berryman Died
He left his shoes, scuffed loafers,
on the bridge. A cordovan pair
he could have shed
anywhere: at the university,
beside his desk, under Tate’s coffee table,
at the foot of a lover’s bed.
Every night he thought, tomorrow.
Mornings, he remembered
his suit at the cleaners, his essay
on Marlowe, students waiting
outside his office. January 7
reasons ran dry.
He bathed and trimmed his beard,
put on a new shirt.
In eight degrees he walked
to the bridge.
act. 2021
