The Catalan Poem

It's been a long time since I really read a poem. High school sort of put me off them, forcing me to read and analyse. I don't like doing things I'm forced to do.

A couple of weeks ago I decided I would look up some Catalan poetry, because I find the Occitano-Romance languages and their history so interesting. I came across a book of poems by Salvador Espriu called Lord of the Shadow. I read through many of them and have really enjoyed them, I love the Catalan and I love the poems. Though his work is rather tragic I find I can relate to it and lose myself reading through them. I decided I would read one in the literature festival that the Dept of European Languages and Cultures is holding at uni, and I wanted to share it. It's called Pel Meu Mirall, Si Vols, Passen Rares Semblances (Or in English Across My Mirror, If You Like, Strange Images Pass)


Davant el meu últim mirall, en veure’m

sencer, malalt, potser acabat,

potser damnat, tan pàl·lid,

vaig dir molt lentament clares paraules

beles, fràgils, altes, les més nobles

que trobava en la foscor del meu record.

Des de sempre, però, allí hi havia

grasses, molles, llefiscoses bèsties,

que dels racons venien fins als llavis,

a rosegar-me els mots mentre naixien:

no sents encara la remor profunda

de pergamí, d’ossos trencats, de vidre?

I al mirall, entretant, es reflectia

a poc a poc una perversa imatge,

el signe de la qual podràs entendre,

si fas també, com jo, l’estranya prova

d’esguardar el teu bon fons, quasevol hora,

tot intentant de nou una impossible,

inútil creació per la paraula.


Here is an English translation by Kenneth Lyons:


In front of my last mirror, seeing myself

Full-length, pale, possibly done for,

Possibly damned, so pale,

I said, very slowly, crystal-clear words,

Beautiful, fragile, soaring words, the noblest

That I could find in the darkness of memory.

But there had always been present there

Fat, soft, slimy beasts

That came out of the corners to my lips

And gnawed my words away as they were born:

Can you not still hear the deep crackling

Or parchment and of broken bones, of glass?

And meanwhile, in the mirror was reflected,

Little by little, a perverse image,

The sign of which, you will surely understand

If you try, like me, the strange experiment

Of gazing into your depths, at any time,

While again attempting an impossible,

Useless creation through the word