XXXI

 

Amatasuna, askorena bada ere, neretzat

Ez orrelakoa. Umezurtz, ez nekien—

Ez negon prest bizitasun ori oartzeko,

Birjin alako saindua, era berean latza,

Edozein aberearen zoriona bezelakoa.

Nere katu beltzarena bezin gogorra.

Udaberri bakoitzean bere ume-aldia ekartzen zidana,

Eta esan, begi berde argi aiekin:

“Begira, nolako miraria egin deten”.

 

Baimena eman zioten, John etxeratu, bai alaitasuna,

Neretzako esker-erakutsia, nere semea

Ez bai zan bakarrik aurtxoa, baizik nausigaia —

Devon’ko goldeen nausigaia ta izenez

Ingeleterra bezin zaarra. Oraintxe bai, nere ustez

Andre ingelesen berdintsua, ia oietakoa.

Egin ziguten guztiekin — egin zuten guztiekin.

 

 

 

XXXI

Maternity is common, but not so / It seemed to me. Motherless, I did not know— / I was all unprepared to feel this glow, / Holy as a Madonna’s, and as crude / As any animal’s beatitude— / Crude as my own black cat’s, who used to bring / Her newest litter to me every spring, / And say, with green eyes shining in the sun: / ‘Behold this miracle that I have done.’ / And John came home on leave, and all was joy / And thankfulness to me, because my boy / Was not a baby only, but the heir— / Heir to the Devon acres and a name / As old as England. Somehow I became / Almost an English woman, almost at one / With all they ever did—all they had done.