The inanimate object
Charles Simic (Yugoslavia, 1938 - )
In my long late night talks with the jailers, I raised again the question of the object: Does it remain indifferent whether it is perceived or not? (I had in mind the one concealed and found posthumously while the newly vacated cell was fumigated and swept.)
“Like a carved-wood demon of some nightmarish species,” said one. “In cipher writ,” said another. We were drinking a homemade brew that made our heads spin. “When a neck button falls on the floor and hardly makes a sound,” said the third with a smile, but I said nothing.
“If only one could leave behind a little something to make others stop and think,” I thought to myself.
In the meantime, there was my piece of broken bottle to worry about. It was green and had a deadly cutting edge. I no longer remembered its hiding place, unless I had only dreamed of it, or this was another cell, another prison in an infinite series of prisons and long night talks with my jailers.
El objeto inanimado
En mis largas conversaciones nocturnas con los carceleros, retomé la cuestión del objeto: ¿Permanece indiferente si es percibido o no? (Tenia en mente aquél escondido y encontrado póstumamente mientras la celda recientemente desocupada era fumigada y barrida.)
“Como un demonio, grabado en madera, de alguna especie salida de una pesadilla,” gijo uno. “En código,” dijo otro. Estábamos tomando en trago casero que nos hacía dar vueltas la cabeza. “Cuando un botón del cuello cae al piso y apenas hace ruido,” dijo el tercero con una sonrisa, pero yo no dije nada.
“Si tan sólo uno pudiera dejar alguito que haga a otros pensar,” pensé para mis adentros.
Mientras tanto, estaba mi pedazo de botella rota para preocuparme. Era verde y tenía un filo letal. Ya no recordaba su escondite, a no ser que sólo la hubiera soñando, o ésta era otra celda, otra prisión en una serie infinita de prisiones y largas conversaciones nocturnas con mis carceleros.
Versión de Eberth Munárriz Etiquetas: Charles Simic |
