Versión: Isaías Garde
Ariel se alegraba de haber escrito sus poemas.
Trataban de un tiempo evocado
O de cosas que había visto y le gustaban.
Otras hechuras del sol
Eran residuo y caos,
Un matorral maduro que se retorcía.
Su yo y el sol eran uno
Y sus poemas, hechuras de su yo,
Eran, no menos, hechuras del sol.
No era importante que sobrevivieran.
Lo que contaba era que asumieran
Alguna cualidad o condición,
Algo de la abundancia, aunque apenas percibida
En la pobreza de sus palabras,
Del planeta del que formaban parte.
The planet on the table
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.
Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.
His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.
It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,
Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which they were part.
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