psvb5329

MARY HOGGAN	MARY HOGGAN
Carlos Barbarito	trans. Jonah Gabry
Se disipó el humo último de aquel mundo. Pero por algún prodigio - que no entiendo - queda un olor a madera vieja, a cortina roída por el tiempo. Respiro ese aire, después de tantos vientos contra los muros de casas que ya no existen. "A limpid dream" diría, si pudiese abrir su boca sellada hace mucho. Y yo, que sigo sentado, como entonces, ante el mismo y descolado libro para aprendices, le digo - aunque ya no pueda oírme -, con la misma torpe pronunciación de siempre: Know what we are, remembering what we were.	The last smoke of that world dissipated. But for some miracle - that I don’t understand - the smell of old wood remains, of curtains corroded by time. I breathe that air, after so many winds against walls of houses that no longer exist. "A limpid dream" she would say, if she could open her long since sealed mouth. And I, who remain seated, like then, before the same ragged book for apprentices, I say to her - even if she can no longer hear me -, with the same sloppy pronunciation as always: Know what we are, remembering what we were.