from The Book of Sinera

Salvador Espriu

XXXV 
 
The voyage stops here. Descending from the boat,
I knew with closed eyes what was ahead of me,
risen as always among goats and shrubs
of lavender, of fennel, of spurge
barely moved by those slender hands
of quiet gold aroused on the summit, Bad Times.
Strict limits of an old land:
the procession of cypress trees that follow the sun’s chariot
as it leaves stumbling in the long and dry rivers,
making, as it goes behind the small crest,
the light and the distance of the horizon’s sunset.
I’ve given my life for the difficult gain
of a few bare words.
I’ve seen my life as a wall
in the silence of afternoon and its passing.

translated from the Catalan by Sonia Alland and Richard Jeffrey Newman