II. Una partida de ajedrez
Como un trono cincelado, la silla que ocupaba
resplandecía en el mármol, donde el espejo
forjado con adornos de parras en flor
entre los cuales espiaba un áureo Cupido
(otro escondía los ojos detrás de un ala)
duplicaba las llamas de un candelabro de siete brazos
reflejando la luz sobre la mesa mientras
el fulgor de sus joyas, vertiéndose en profusión
volaba a su encuentro desde las cajitas de satén;
en frascos de marfil y vidrio de colores,
husmeaban sus extraños perfumes sintéticos,
agitados en cremas, en polvo o líquidos, confundían
y ahogaban los sentidos; temblando en el aire
fresco que llegaba desde la ventana, ascendían
y se dilataban en las largas llamas de las velas,
aventando su incienso entre las molduras
y los motivos en el encofrado del techo.
Enormes leños de mar, atizados de cobre, ardían
en verde y naranja, encuadrados por la piedra radiante
en cuya luz melancólica flotaba la silueta de un delfín.
Sobre la antigua repisa del hogar lucía,
como una ventana abierta a la maleza
la metamorfosis de Filomela, ferozmente poseída
por aquel rey de los bárbaros; todavía allí el ave
surca todo el desierto con su voz intacta,
todavía ella sigue gritando y el mundo clama
chak chak en tus sucios oídos.
Y en otros cabos blanqueados por el tiempo
se narraba en lo alto de las paredes; formas oblicuas
que miraban fijo enmudecían el cuarto clausurado.
Pasos arrastrándose por la escalera.
A la luz del fuego, bajo el cepillo, su pelo
se desplegó en puntas incandescentes que ardían
en palabras, y luego entró en una quietud salvaje.
«Estoy mal de los nervios esta noche. Sí, mal. Quedate conmigo.
Hablame. ¿Por qué siempre estás callado? Hablá.
¿En qué estás pensando? ¿En qué pensás? ¿En qué?
Nunca sé en lo que estás pensando. Nunca».
Pienso que estamos en el callejón de las ratas
donde los muertos extraviaron sus huesos.
«¿Qué fue ese ruido?»
El viento bajo la puerta.
«¿Y ese otro ruido ahora? ¿Qué está haciendo el viento?»
Nada, otra vez nada.
«¿No
sabés nada? ¿No ves nada? No recordás
nada?»
Recuerdo
aquellas perlas que una vez fueron sus ojos.
«¿Estás vivo, sí o no? ¿No hay nada en tu cabeza?»
Pero
Oh Oh Oh Oh ese Rag shakesperiano…
es tan refinado
tan inteligente
«¿Qué voy a hacer ahora? ¿Qué voy a hacer?
Voy a despabilarme y salir a la calle
con el pelo suelto, así como estoy. ¿Y mañana qué vamos a hacer?
¿Y qué vamos a hacer nunca?»
El agua caliente a las diez.
Y si llueve, un coche encapotado para las cuatro.
Y nos vamos a jugar una partida de ajedrez,
apretando ojos sin párpados y esperando un golpe en la puerta.
Cuando al marido de Lil le dieron la licencia –dije
sin medir las palabras, yo misma se lo dije
APÚRENSE POR FAVOR ESTAMOS CERRANDO
ahora que viene Albert podrías arreglarte un poquito.
Él querrá saber qué hiciste con la plata que te dio
para ponerte los dientes. Porque te la dio, yo fui testigo.
Sacatelos todos, Lil, y hacete una linda dentadura,
porque él dijo, te lo juro, no aguanto verte así.
Ni yo tampoco, le dije, pensá en el pobre Albert,
estuvo cuatro años en el ejército, necesita pasarlo bien
y si vos no le das un poco de diversión, le dije, otras lo harán.
Y ella dijo, ¿no más que eso? Algo así, le dije.
Entonces ya sabré a quién agradecerle, dijo, y me miró feo.
APÚRENSE POR FAVOR ESTAMOS CERRANDO
Si te parece mal, hacé lo que quieras, le dije.
Y si no, otras pueden comer del mismo plato.
Pero si Albert te deja no digas que no te avisaron.
Deberías tener vergüenza, le dije, de estar tan fuera de moda.
(Y con sólo treinta y un años).
No lo puedo arreglar, dijo ella, poniendo una cara larga,
son esas pastillas que tomé, dijo, para sacármelo.
(Ya tiene cinco y casi se muere con el pequeño George).
El farmacéutico me dijo que todo iría bien, pero nunca volví a ser la
[misma.
Estás totalmente loca, le dije.
Bueno, si Albert no te deja en paz, no es asunto mío, le dije,
¿para qué te casaste si no querías tener chicos?
POR FAVOR APÚRENSE ESTAMOS CERRANDO
Bueno, ese domingo Albert estaba en casa, y tenían
[jamón caliente
y me invitaron a cenar para que captara la belleza del jamón ca…
APÚRENSE POR FAVOR ESTAMOS CERRANDO
APÚRENSE POR FAVOR ESTAMOS CERRANDO
Chau Bill. Chau Lou. Chau May. Chau.
Ta ta. Chau. Chau. Buenas noches, damas, buenas noches
dulces damas, buenas noches, buenas noches.
[1922]
T. S. Eliot (St. Louis, 1888-Londres, 1965), La tierra baldía, versión de Walter Cassara, Huesos de Jibia, Buenos Aires, 2013
II. A Game of Chess
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair,
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing.
“Do
You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
Nothing?”
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said,
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said,
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
---
Ilustración: River Rats, 1906, George Bellows
T. S. Eliot (St. Louis, 1888-Londres, 1965), La tierra baldía, versión de Walter Cassara, Huesos de Jibia, Buenos Aires, 2013
II. A Game of Chess
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair,
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing.
“Do
You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
Nothing?”
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said,
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said,
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
---
Ilustración: River Rats, 1906, George Bellows
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