Translated from the Catalan by Andrew Kaufman and Sonia Alland

Catalan

On the wet spring sand

I hold the balance

of an architectural order.

Subtle, pious,

resigned under the weight of dogmas,

I fight against

singular thoughts

on the cold rainy roads

of metaphysics.

My broken voice the mirror

of my sorrows, Sundays

and tomorrow will always be the same,

always the same, as the light of April

goes out and I look

to uphold the ancient vaults.

Damunt la sorra molla

suporto l’equilibri

d’un ordre arquitectonic.

Subtil, pietosissim

resignat sota dogmes

combato contra

pensaments singulars

per metafisics

camins de fred i pluja.

Le veu trencada, cristall

del meu dolor, diumenges

am dema sempre igual,

sempre igual, mentre s’apaga

la llum d’abril i miro

de mantenir les voltes.

There Will Be No More Births

There will be no more births

of eternal marble waves,

nor flights of angels

rising from imagined empires

Suddenly, sad times are here—

remembered voices

lead me through Sinera’s empty houses

to the sentry of dawn, the cypress,

that has seen the fire

of sea and cloud.

No naixera cap marbre

d’eternitzades ones

ni s’alcaran vols d’angels

d’imaginats imperis.

Car es vingut de sobte

de temps dolent, i em porten

veus de records, per buides

estances de Sinera,

fins al guaita de l’albe,

xiprer que sap l’incendi

de mar i d’aguest nuvel.