Nire bazkal ordua da, beraz

paseo bat ematen dut iskanbila koloreko

taxien artetik. Lehenik, espaloian behera

non langileek haien soin distiratsuak

elikatzen dituzten sandwich

eta Coca-Colekin, kasko horiak

jantzita. Erortzen diren adreiluez

babesten dituzte, suposatzen dut. Gero

gonak takoien gainean itzulinguruka

eta burdin-sareen gainean puztuz aritzen diren

etorbiderantz. Eguzkiak berotzen du, baina

taxiek haizea eragiten dute.

Eskumuturreko ordularien eskaintzak

begiratzen ditut. Katuak

jostatzen dira zerrautsetan.

Times Squaren zehar, non seinaleek

kea isurtzen duten nire buru gainetik, eta gorago

ur jauzia emeki isurtzen den. Beltz bat

ate baten aurrean dago zutik zotz

batekin, gogogabe mugitzen.

Korista ilehori batek takoiz jotzen du: hark

irri egin eta kokotsa igurzten du. Bat-batean

dena bihurtzen da klaxon hots: 12:40ak dira

ostegun batez.

Neoiak egun-argiz plazer handi

bat dira, Edwin Denbyk idatziko

lukeen bezala, eguneko bonbillak diren bezala.

Gaztadun hanburguesa bat jateko gelditu naiz Juliet’s

Corner-en. Giulietta Massina, Federico Felliniren

emaztea, è bell’ actricce .

Eta txokolate maltatua. Azeri-larruz jantzitako

emakume batek halako egun batez bere kanixea sartzen du

taxi baten.

Puerto Ricoar batzuk daude

etorbidean gaur, zeinak

eder eta epel bilakatzen baitute. Lehenengo

Bunny zendu zen, gero John Latouche,

gero Jackson Pollock. Baina egon ote zen

lurra haiek bezain bizitzaz betea?

Eta batek bazkaldu du eta ibiltzen da

biluziz jositako aldizkarien eta

BULLFIGHT horma-irudien

eta Manhattan Storage Warehousen artetik,

laster botako dutena behera. Lehen

uste nuen Armony Showa zutela

bertan.

Edalontzi bat papaia zuku

eta bueltan lanera. Nire bihotza nire

poltsikoan dut, Pierre Reverdyren Poemak da.

 

 

A Step Away from Them

It’s my lunch hour, so I go / for a walk among the hum-colored

cabs. First, down the sidewalk / where laborers feed their dirty / glistening torsos sandwiches / and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets / on. They protect them from falling / bricks, I guess. / Then onto the / avenue where skirts are flipping / above heels and blow up over / grates. The sun is hot, but the / cabs stir up the air. I look / at bargains in wristwatches. / There are cats playing in sawdust. / Onto Times Square, where the sign / blows smoke over my head, / and higher / the waterfall pours lightly. A / Negro stands in a doorway with a / toothpick, languorously agitating. / A blonde chorus girl clicks: he / smiles and rubs his chin. Everything / suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of / a Thursday. / Neon in daylight is a / great pleasure, as Edwin Denby would / write, as are light bulbs in daylight. / I stop for a cheeseburger at JULIET’S / CORNER. Giulietta Masina, wife of / Federico Fellini, è bell’ attrice. / And chocolate malted. A lady in / foxes on such a day puts her poodle / in a cab. / There are several Puerto / Ricans on the avenue today, which / makes it beautiful and warm. First / Bunny died, then John Latouche, / then Jackson Pollock. But is the / earth as full as life was full, / of them? / And one has eaten and one walks, / past the magazines with nudes / and the posters for BULLFIGHT and / the Manhattan Storage Warehouse, / which they’ll soon tear down. I / used to think they had the Armory / Show there.