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| Hugo Fredrik Salmson |
ma questi non sono come i prigionieri che conosciamo,
oltraggiati o bramosi o astutamente rassegnati
o solo incuranti di tutto.
Questi dissentono cosi poco, quasi s'accontentano
dell'ottuso svago del cane, correre e leccare;
le sbarre dell'amore sono cosi forti, le loro congiure
deboli come i voti degli ubriachi.
La loro stranezza è ben difficile da osservare:
i condannati vedono solo i falsi angeli d'una visione;
c'è poco sforzo dietro i loro sorrisi,
la bestia della vocazione è impaurita.
Ma osservali, opposti alla nostra misura e puntuali
per una quasi neutra, un'appena impacciata perfezione;
il sesso è li, la stringa rotta è rotta,
il sogno del maestro non è vero.
La tirannia pero' è cosi facile. La parola impropria
scribacchiata su una fontana, è tutta li la loro ribellione?
E la pioggia di lacrime versate in un angolo, sono questi
i semi della vita nuova?
(Persone e posti)
*****************
Schoolchildren
Here are all the captivities; the cells are as real,
But these are unlike the prisoners we know
Who are outraged or pining or wittily resigned
Or just wish all away.
For they dissent so little, so nearly content
With the dumb play of the dog, the licking and rushing;
The bars of love are so strong, their conspiracies
Weak like the vows of drunkards.
Indeed, the strangeness is difficult to watch:
The condemned see only the fallacious angels of a vision;
So little effort lies behind their smiling,
The beast of vocation is afraid.
But watch them, 0, set against our size and timing
The almost neuter, the slightly awkward perfection;
for the sex is there, the broken bootlace is broken,
The professor’s dream is not true.
Yet the tyranny is so easy. The improper word
Scribbled upon the fountain, is that all the rebellion?
A storm of tears shed in the corner, are these
The seeds of the new life?
*****************
Schoolchildren
Here are all the captivities; the cells are as real,
But these are unlike the prisoners we know
Who are outraged or pining or wittily resigned
Or just wish all away.
For they dissent so little, so nearly content
With the dumb play of the dog, the licking and rushing;
The bars of love are so strong, their conspiracies
Weak like the vows of drunkards.
Indeed, the strangeness is difficult to watch:
The condemned see only the fallacious angels of a vision;
So little effort lies behind their smiling,
The beast of vocation is afraid.
But watch them, 0, set against our size and timing
The almost neuter, the slightly awkward perfection;
for the sex is there, the broken bootlace is broken,
The professor’s dream is not true.
Yet the tyranny is so easy. The improper word
Scribbled upon the fountain, is that all the rebellion?
A storm of tears shed in the corner, are these
The seeds of the new life?
(People and Places)
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