El cuarto al que entré fue un sueño de este cuarto.
Seguro todos esos pies sobre el sillón eran míos.
El retrato oval
de un perro era yo de pequeño.
Algo resplandece, algo queda en silencio.
Teníamos macarrones que comer cada día
menos el domingo, cuando se convencía a una codorniz
chica de llenar nuestro plato. ¿Por qué te digo estas cosas?
Ni siquiera estás aquí.
Versión al español: Brianda Pineda Melgarejo
This Room
BY JOHN ASHBERY
The room I entered was a dream of this room.
Surely all those feet on the sofa were mine.
The oval portrait
of a dog was me at an early age.
Something shimmers, something is hushed up.
We had macaroni for lunch every day
except Sunday, when a small quail was induced
to be served to us. Why do I tell you these things?
You are not even here.
John Ashbery, “This Room” from Notes from the Air: Selected Later Poems. Copyright © 2007 by John Ashbery. Reprinted with the permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc. on behalf of the author.
Source: Notes from the Air: Selected Later Poems (The Ecco Press, 2007)
