Leer un libro de poesía
de atrás hacia adelante
es una cura contra ciertas clases de tristeza.
Una persona sólo tiene que elegir.
El "qué" no importa; únicamente el "eso":
Este café. Ese vestido.
"Este es el momento al que quería llegar."
"Hoy lavaré las ventanas."
La felicidad es más difícil.
Pensad en la descripción que hacen los maestros
de la existencia consciente, en lo simple que parece:
"Tengo hambre, como; tengo sueño, duermo."
¿Estoy realmente eligiendo, o no lo hago en absoluto?
En cualquier caso, todo parece conspirar contra ello.
Jane Hirshfield (Nueva York, Estados Unidos, 1953), Given Sugar, Given Salt, HarperCollins, Nueva York, 2002
Versión de Jonio González
Steven Barclay Agency - Poetry Foundation - Leaping Clear - Michigan Quarterly Review - OPB - Marin Independent Journal - The Poetry Archive - The Washington Post - Emma Gunst
Foto: Jane Hirshfield/Facebook
HAPPINESS IS HARDER
To read a book of poetry
from back to front,
there is a cure for certain kinds of sadness.
A person has only to choose.
What doesn’t matter; just that—
This coffee. That dress.
“Here is the time I would like to arrive.”
“Today, I will wash the windows.”
Happiness is harder.
Consider the masters’ description
of awakened existence, how seemingly simple:
Hungry, I eat; sleepy, I sleep.
Is this choosing completely, or not at all?
In either case, everything seems to conspire against it.
HAPPINESS IS HARDER
To read a book of poetry
from back to front,
there is a cure for certain kinds of sadness.
A person has only to choose.
What doesn’t matter; just that—
This coffee. That dress.
“Here is the time I would like to arrive.”
“Today, I will wash the windows.”
Happiness is harder.
Consider the masters’ description
of awakened existence, how seemingly simple:
Hungry, I eat; sleepy, I sleep.
Is this choosing completely, or not at all?
In either case, everything seems to conspire against it.
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