El bloc de l'IOC
Aquest bloc vol ser una eina de comunicació de tota la comunitat de l'Institut Obert de Catalunya
correu:bloc@ioc.cat
correu:bloc@ioc.cat
03 gener 2012
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EL PASSATGER
No tinc res a veure amb el vell déu,
l’aliè a la terra, el pare
creat per la por dels homes
que vaig rebre com tèrbola herència,
ni amb els nous déus, de lleu bellesa,
vinguts d’altres indrets
amb els seus perfums, amb els seus himnes prodigiosos
per conspirar contra aquell solitari definitiu.
No tinc res a veure amb cap d’aquests grans déus
ni amb els seus aduladors, els creients,
i encara menys amb els qui sense creure
els ofereixen, cauts, les falses oracions.
Un petit déu, no obstant, m’acompanya,
l’únic que he sentit al meu voltant:
el déu efímer, lliure de sacrifici i de doctrina,
que sap fer llum de l’ombra.
Un déu modest, burleta, imprevisible,
sorgit del precipici per traspassar
el pont que cos, capvespre i albada
ens fan construir sobre l’avenc.
Un déu fugaç, és cert, però suficient
ja que és el solitari Passatger que viatja
entre les dues ribes de mi mateix.
Rafael Argullol
Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
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