Al·loteta, robadora,
a qui vos compararé?
A la flor de la perera
o a les roses del roser?
A la flor de la perera
jo us comparo per blancor
i a les roses del roser
jo us comparo per l'olor.
Anam allà on anam.
Venim d'allà on venim.
Entram allà on entram.
Sortim d'allà on sortim.
Me n'anava a no sé on
i em vaig trobar no sé qui,
que em digué no sé què
i jo no sé què li vaig dir.
Mal qui fa, mal qui no fa.
Mal qui diu, mal qui no diu.
Mal qui plora i mal qui riu
i, per això, en tot mal hi ha.
Vols que et digui la raó,
del mode com has de viure?
No has de plorar ni riure
ni estar content ni felló.
Muletes, correu, correu,
fareu sa palla menuda,
que, si la feis grossa i tronxuda,
en s'hivern la hi trobareu.
La poesia és traspassar els llindars
i consentir habitar entre fosques.
La poesia és un lloc on convivim
amb els estels i les arrels
reconeixent la igualtat dels nostres destins.
La poesia és la pedra que tiram
contra els miralls perquè se'ns esmiqui la forma.
La poesia és una dent contra el ferro,
una fulla contra el vent,
una flor de cirerer contra la història.
La poesia és un llit
on pasturen dos cossos que es devoren
els vestits, l'herba i la fruita.
La poesia és un camp de clavells
atacat per un exèrcit de tisores.
La poesia és un hortolà
sembrant un desig,
dormint al costat d'una col,
regalant ala dona un coixí de bledes.
Si no fos pes carretó
que va darrera, darrera,
no hi hauria cap somera
que batés un cavalló
Little thief,
to whom shall I compare you?
To the blossom of the pear tree
or to the roses of the rose garden?
To the blossom of the pear tree
I compare you by your whiteness
and to the roses of the rose garden
I compare you by your scent.
We go where we go.
We come from where we come.
We enter where we enter.
We leave where we leave.
I was going to I don't know where
and I met I don't know who,
who told me I don't know what
and I don't know what I said to him.
Evil is he who does, evil is he who does not.
Evil is he who speaks, evil is he who does not speak.
Evil is he who cries and evil is he who laughs
and, therefore, in all evil there is.
for the way you should live?
Little mules, run, run,
you will make a small straw,
which, if you make it thick and thick,
in winter you will find it.
Poetry is crossing the thresholds
and consenting to live in the dark.
Poetry is a place where we coexist
with the stars and the roots
recognizing the equality of our destinies.
Poetry is the stone we throw
at the mirrors so that our form is shattered.
Poetry is a tooth against iron,
a leaf against the wind,
a cherry blossom against history.
Poetry is a bed
where two bodies graze that devour
their clothes, grass and fruit.
Poetry is a field of carnations
attacked by an army of scissors.
Poetry is a gardener
sowing a wish,
sleeping next to a cabbage,
giving the woman a pillow of chard.
If it weren't for the heavy cart
that goes behind, behind,
there wouldn't be a donkey
to beat a horse
La poesia és un lloc on convivim
amb els estels i les arrels
reconeixent la igualtat dels nostres destins.
Poetry is a place where we coexist
with the stars and the roots
recognizing the equality of our destinies.
Música Nostra
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