He escuchado lo que las mujeres histéricas dicen
Que están hartas de la paleta y del arco del violín,
De los poetas que siempre cantando alegres están,
Ya que todo el mundo conoce o debiera conocer
Que si nada drástico se lleva a cabo rápidamente
Aeroplanos y Zeppelines aparecerán
Lanzando, como el kaiser antes ya hizo,una lluvia bombas
Hasta que la ciudad quede completamente arrasada
Todo el mundo representa su papel en la tragedia,
Allí se pavonea Hamlet,allá no lejos Lear
Esa es la bella Ofelia, aquella otra la hermosa Cordelia;
Pero ellos además , esta debe ser la última escena,
El gran telón del escenario esta a punto de caer,
Si merecen sus tan destacados papeles en la obra,
No deben interrumpir su discurso para llorar.
Saben muy bien que tanto Hamlet como Lear son alegres;
Alegría transfigurando todos lo que tememos.
Todo lo que los hombres han buscado,hallado y perdido;
Se apagan las luces; El cielo en llamas en la cabeza:
La tragedia llevada a su máxima expresión ,al límite.
Aunque Hamlet pierda el hilo, divague y Lear se enfurezca
Y concluyan a la vez todas las escenas finales
En cientos de miles de escenarios, grandes y pequeños
La tragedia no aumentará ni una pulgada ,ni una onza.
Llegaron por su propio pie o en extraña nave embarcados
A lomos de camello, de caballo,de asno o de mula,
Antiguas civilizaciones pasadas a cuchillo.
Después todos ellos , su sabiduría se perdieron:
Ninguno de los delicados trabajos de Calímaco
Que trabajaba el blanco mármol como si fuera bronce,
Y hacía leves bellos cortinajes que se levantan
Cuando los vientos del mar barren las esquina,perdura;
Sus largas farolas altas, delgadas como los troncos
De esbeltas, gráciles palmeras duraron sólo un día ;
Todas las cosas caen y pronto de nuevo rehechas
Y todos aquellos que las reconstruyen son alegres.
Dos hombres chinos , detrás de ellos medio oculto un tercero,
Están delicadamente tallados en lapislázuli,
Sobre ellos vuela un ave estilizada de largas patas,
En la tradición china símbolo de longevidad;
El tercero sin lugar a dudas un criado, un sirviente,
Transporta lo que parece un instrumento musical.
Cualquier pequeña decoloración de la dura piedra,
Cualquier mínima melladura o alguna accidental grieta
Se asemejan,imitan, a un curso de agua o una avalancha,
O altas, pendientes laderas ,donde todavía nieva.
Aunque sin duda los ciruelos o ramas de cerezo
Dulcifican, a medio camino, la pequeña casa
Hacia la que los chinos paso a paso suben.Y yo
Disfruto imaginándome a los chinos allí sentados ;
Allí,mirando fijamente la montaña, el azul
Del cielo y la trágica escena desplegada a sus pies.
Alguno pide melancólicas tristes melodías,
Consumados ágiles dedos comienzan a tocar.
Sus ojos entre tantas y tantas arrugas, sus ojos,
Sus viejos y centelleantes ojos están alegres.
I have heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow,
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out,
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie beaten flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or on shipboard,
Camel-back, horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in Lapis Lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instrument.
Every discolouration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out,
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie beaten flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or on shipboard,
Camel-back, horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in Lapis Lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instrument.
Every discolouration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
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