Wisława Szymborska i les cebes

La visió de la ceba, perfecta, sempre sensata, sempre original i mai copiada, de la gran Nobel, que és mestra en posar paraules noves a pensaments i situacions velles, com si tot s'acabés d'estrenar ara mateix.


The Onion

the onion, now that's something else

its innards don't exist

nothing but pure onionhood

fills this devout onionist

oniony on the inside

onionesque it appears

it follows its own daimonion

without our human tears



our skin is just a coverup

for the land where none dare to go

an internal inferno

the anathema of anatomy

in an onion there's only onion

from its top to it's toe

onionymous monomania

unanimous omninudity



at peace, at peace

internally at rest

inside it, there's a smaller one

of undiminished worth

the second holds a third one

the third contains a fourth

a centripetal fugue

polypony compressed



nature's rotundest tummy

its greatest success story

the onion drapes itself in it's

own aureoles of glory

we hold veins, nerves, and fat

secretions' secret sections

not for us such idiotic

onionoid perfections


(Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh )
 
"Hom ens ha negat
la idiotesa de la perfecció."
Quanta raó...