PAUL DURCAN [9218]

Paul Durcan

Durcan nació en Dublín en 1944. Realizó estudios de historia y arqueología. Colaboró con músicos populares; entre ellos, Van Morrison. Recorrió Estados Unidos, Yugoslavia y Rusia leyendo poesía en público. Publicó, entre otros libros, Teresa’s Bar (1976), Sam’s Cross (1978), Jesus, Break His Fall (1980), Ark of the North (1982), The Selected Paul Durcan (1982 y 1985), Jumping the Train Tracks with Angela (1983), The Berlin Wall Coffee (1985), Going Home to Russia (1987), Jesus and Angela (1988), Daddy, Daddy (1990), Crazy About Women (1991), A Snail in my Prime: New and Selected Poems (1993) y Christmas Day (1996).

POESÍA:

Endsville, with Brian Lynch (New Writers' Press, 1967)

O Westport in the Light of Asia Minor (Anna Livia Press, 1975)

Sam's Cross (Profile Press, 1978)

Teresa's Bar (The Gallery Press, 1976; revised edition, The Gallery Press, 1986)

Jesus, Break his Fall (The Raven Arts Press, 1980)

Ark of the North (Raven Arts Press, 1982)

The Selected Paul Durcan (edited by Edna Longley, The Blackstaff Press, 1982)

Jumping the Train Tracks with Angela (Raven Arts Press/Carcanet New Press, 1983)

The Berlin Wall Café (The Blackstaff Press, 1985)

Going Home to Russia (The Blackstaff Press, 1987)

Daddy, Daddy (The Blackstaff Press, 1990)

Crazy About Women (The National Gallery of Ireland, 1991)

A Snail in My Prime. New and Selected Poems, (The Harvill Press /The Blackstaff Press, 1993)

Give Me Your Hand (MacMillan, 1994)

Christmas Day (The Harvill Press, 1997)

Greetings to Our Friends in Brazil(The Harvill Press, 1999)

Cries of an Irish Caveman (The Harvill Press, 2001)

The Art of Life (The Harvill Press, 2004)

The Laughter of Mothers (The Harvill Press, 2007)

Life Is a Dream: 40 Years Reading Poems 1967-2007 (Random House UK 2009)

Haciendo el amor afuera de Aras an Uachtaráin*

Cuando era un niño, mi chica y yo

subíamos en bicicleta al Phoenix Park;

afuera de los portones solíamos tendernos en el pasto

haciendo el amor afuera de Aras an Uachtaráin.

A menudo me pregunté que habría pensado De Valera**

adentro en su torre de marfil

si hubiera sabido que estábamos en su verde, verde pasto

haciendo el amor afuera de Aras an Uachtaráin.

Porque lo extraño era —oh, qué extraño era—

que ambos reverenciábamos a los patriotas irlandeses

y soñábamos en nuestros sueños con una verde, verde bandera

haciendo el amor afuera de Aras an Uachtaráin.

Pero aunque nos hubiéramos llamado Diarmaid y Gráinne***

dudábamos de que De Valera aprobara

al hijo de un poeta y a la hija de un juez

haciendo el amor afuera de Aras an Uachtaráin.

Ahora lo veo en el brumoso color del día

acechándonos ciegamente;

y poniéndonos en la mira de un antiguo rifle, dice: «No sigan

haciendo el amor afuera de Aras an Uachtaráin».

Notas:

* Aras an Uachtaráin es el nombre gaélico de la residencia del presidente de Irlanda.

** Eamon de Valera: político irlandés que llegó a la presidencia de su país y en repetidas oportunidades se desempeñó como Primer Ministro.

*** Diarmaid y Gráinne son personajes del poema épicoTóraícht Diarmaid Agus Gráinne, en el cual el primero escapa a Escocia con Gráinne, prometida de Finn.

Traducción de Jorge Fondebrider

Going Home to Mayo, Winter, 1949 

Leaving behind us the alien, foreign city of Dublin

My father drove us through the night in an old Ford Anglia,

His five-year-old son in the seat beside him,

The rexine seat of red leatherette,

And a yellow moon peered in through the windscreen.

‘Daddy, Daddy,’ I cried, ‘Pass out the moon,’

But no matter how hard he drove he could not pass out the moon.

Each town we passed through was another milestone

And their names were magic passwords into eternity:

Kilcock, Kinnegad, Strokestown, Elphin,

Tarmonbarry, Tulsk, Ballaghedereen, Ballyvarry;

Now we were in Mayo and the next stop was Turlough,

The village of Turlough in the heartland of Mayo,

And my father’s mother’s house, all oil-lamps and women,

And my bedroom over the public bar below,

And in the morning cattle-cries and cock-crows:

Life’s seemingly seamless garment gorgeously rent

By their screeches and bellowings. And in the evenings

I walked with my father in the high grass down by the river

Talking with him – an unheard-of thing in the city.

But home was not home and the moon could be no more outflanked

Than the daylight nightmare of Dublin city:

Back down along the canal we chugged into the city

And each lock-gate tolled our mutual doom;

And railings and palings and asphalt and traffic lights,

And blocks after blocks of so-called ‘new’ tenements –

Thousands of crosses of loneliness planted

In the narrowing grave of the life of the father;

In the wide, wide cemetery of the boy’s childhood.