Vots trencats

Lady Augusta Gregory

En una escena de la meva estimadíssima pel.lícula “Dubliners”, de John Huston, el personatge de Mr.Grace recita un poema per distreure els convidats a un sopar de la nit del dia de Reis mentre esperen que tot estigui preparat a la taula. El poema, diu Mr.Grace (en la versió en català de la pel.lícula), es titula “Vots trencats”, i sempre l´he trobat fantàstic:

VOTS TRENCATS
Era tard ahir a la nit, i el gos parlava de tu.
El becadell parlava de tu des de l´aiguamoll.
Ets tu l´ocell solitari que vaga pels boscos
i potser aniràs sense parella fins que em trobis a mi.

M´ho vas prometre, i em vas mentir,
que et trobaria amb mi enllà, on el ramat s´ajunta;
Et vaig fer un xiulet i tres-cents crits
i només vaig trobar un anyell que mamava.

Em vas prometre una cosa que ni tan sols tu la tens:
un vaixell d´or sota un arbre de plata,
dotze ciutats amb un mercat cadascuna
i un jardí ample i volant a la vora del mar.

Em vas prometre una cosa que és impossible:
que em posaries els guants de la pell del peix,
que em posaries sabates de la pell dels ocells
i un vestit de la seda més fina d´Irlanda.

La meva mare em va dir que no havia de parlar amb tu
ni avui, ni demà, ni diumenge.
Va ser un mal moment el que va escollir per dir-m´ho:
va tancar la porta quan el mas ja era robat.

Tu m´has pres l´est, a mi.
Tu m´has pres l´oest, a mi.
M´has pres el que hi ha davant meu
i el que hi ha al meu darrera.

M´has pres la lluna,
tu m´has pres el sol, a mi
i la meva por és gran:
tu m´has pres Déu també.


Curiosament, aquest poema és una de les poquíssimes llicències que es va permetre John Huston a l´hora de portar en imatges el conte “Els morts”, de James Joyce. En el conte, efectivament, “Vots trencats” no apareix per enlloc. Vaig fer una exhaustiva recerca de quinze minuts al Google per averiguar d´on sortien aquests versos. Es tracta de la traducció a l´anglès d´un antic poema anònim irlandès, feta per Lady Augusta Gregory (Galway, Irlanda, 1852-1932), que és la formidable senyora victoriana de la foto de dalt de tot. En irlandès el poema no es diu “Vots trencats”, sino “Donal Og”, o sigui, en anglès, “Young Danny”. Aquesta és la versió de Lady Gregory:

YOUNG DANNY (DONAL OG)
It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate until you find me.

You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb.

You promised me a thing that was hard for you,
a ship of gold under a silver mast;
twelve towns with a market in all of them,
and a fine white court by the side of the sea.

You promised me a thing that is not possible,
that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish;
that you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird;
and a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland.

When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness,
I sit down and I go through my trouble;
when I see the world and do not see my boy,
he that has an amber shade in his hair.

It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you;
the Sunday that is last before Easter Sunday.
And myself on my knees reading the Passion;
and my two eyes giving love to you for ever.

My mother said to me not to be talking with you today,
or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;
it was a bad time she took for telling me that;
it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.

My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe,
or as the black coal that is on the smith's forge;
or as the sole of a shoe left in white halls;
it was you that put that darkness over my life.

You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me;
you have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!