Erin Moure
POEMS
 

Homenaxe á cebola (II)


A cebola tamén é a maneira
na que o solo comparte a terra
co lume.

Polas follas de cebola pasan cantos
dende a terra até o lume.
O lume, xa sabes, é a néboa.
E os cantos—
ruídos dos pés cando pisan o solo.

Pero soamente (admito) se os pés estan calzos
con botas de traballo, de goma.
Nunca cos pés calzos con botas de soldado.

Se os pés estan calzos nesas botas, de soldado,
pechan as follas.
E o canto vai para terra, onde deita
para sempre.
E a néboa cámbiase en tiros
para desaparecer.
E as cen fazulas de cebola aloumiñan as tebras do chan.

Homage to the Onion (II)


The onion is also the way
soil shares the earth
with fire.

Through the leaves of the onion, songs pass
from earth up to the fire.
Fire, as you know, is fog.
And the songs ––
the noise of feet when they step upon soil.

But only (I admit) if the feet are clad
in work boots, gum boots.
Never with feet clad in boots worn by soldiers.

If the feet are clad in such boots, of soldiers,
the leaves clam up.
And the song goes into the earth, where it lies
forever.
And the fog turns itself into gunshots
so as to disappear.
And the hundred cheeks of the onion press the cup of the ground.

   
   
   

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