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Eduard Escoffet
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hi ha la dona // 1:33 // escrit/written 1998, enregistrat/recorded 2006
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nadala tsingtao// 2:07 // 2006 // una peça per a / a work for la más bella // beijing-barcelona
http://propost.org/escoffet/
hi ha la dona que t´escolta i hi ha l´altra.
hi ha la dona que, amb la nit, esmussa la lluna i te la trobes, i hi ha l´altra.
hi ha la dona que veus
i l ´altra. i la que voldries veure... i l´altra.
hi ha la dona, et sembla recordar, que et va fer perdre
el món de vista i hi ha l´altra. tamb é
hi ha la dona que te la fa oblidar i l´altra, que tamb é.
hi ha la dona i el vent, a lloure, que só n parla
i són paraules i un somni que camina. i fuig. i l ´altra.
hi ha la dona que voldries conè ixer i l´altra.
hi ha l´altra i la dona que no recordes.
hi ha la dona i l´altra que voldries
oblidar. hi ha la dona sense ulls, que són
les bótes de vi de la fosca d´un veler que
ha acabat amb el mar i t´ha dit que de sirenes
no n ´ha vist. l´altra tampoc. i hi ha la dona
que cridar à que no ha tocat el foc,
que duia els ulls tapats i hi ha l ´altra,
a qui has tapat els ulls, i tamb é estàs tu
amb els ulls arrencats de socarrel entre el mirall
i la llum del sol. hi ha la dona que remuga
i hi ha l´altra. hi ha la dona que estén la roba
o bé disposa la fragilitat del món i hi ha l´altra.
hi ha la dona, feta carn, que és en la llum i és en la fosca
i hi ha l´altra, en la fosca i en la llum.
hi ha la dona i el sexe. tamb é, el sexe. i l´altra.
mcmxcviii
un text és el cos. un llibre -és a dir: la realitat que veiem- és un altre cos.
i et dic que els morts maten els vius. i que el moviment subtil de la paraula, potser el salvatge, potser el del parloteig, és també un cadàver. diran els fills, els savis folls i els caps d´adminstració -tot sempre per estrenar- i damunt dels parpres contemplaràs sempre l´empremta del gest. el teu gest m´ha confós: veuràs al retaule la pintura amb imatges amb el teu cor per escombrar i del teu cos, qui sap, no s ´en partrà mai. mentrestant, tot em resulta difícil d´entendre i m´ofega de pensar-hi. sobre la gespa humida, ajaçat, a la terra trepitjada. inert, est ès, desert.
English translations by Graham Thomson
there is the woman that listens to you and there is the other.
there is the woman that, with the night, dulls the moon and you find her, and there is the other.
there is the woman that you see
and the other. and the one you would like to see... and the other.
there is the woman, you seem to remember, that made you lose
sight of the world and there is the other. then too
there is the woman that makes you forget her and the other, she does too.
there is the woman and the wind, at leisure, that are speech
and are words and a dream that walks. and flies. and the other.
there is the woman that you would like to know and the other.
there is the other and the woman you do not remember.
there is the woman and the other that you would like
to forget. there is the woman without eyes, that are
the barrels of wine in the dark of a sailboat that
has done with the sea and has told you that mermaids
she has not seen. the other neither. and there is the woman
that will cry that she has not touched the fire,
that has her eyes covered and there is the other,
whose eyes you have covered, and you too have
your eyes pulled from their sockets between the mirror
and the light of the sun. there is the woman that mutters
and there is the other. there is the woman that hangs out the washing
or arranges the fragility of the world and there is the other.
there is the woman, made flesh, that is in the light and is in the dark
and there is the other, in the dark and in the light.
there is the woman and the sex. the sex, too. and the other.
a text is the body. a book -that is to say: the reality that we see- is another body
and i tell you that the dead kill the living. and that the subtle movement of the word, perhaps wild, perhaps that of chatting, is also a cadaver. they will tell the children, the crazy sages and the heads of department -everything always brand new- and over your eyelids you will always contemplate the imprint of the gesture. your gesture has confused me: you will see on the altarpiece the painting with images with your heart to be swept and, who knows, it will never leave your body. meanwhile i find everything difficult to understand and it chokes me to think of it. on the wet grass, lying, on the trodden earth. inert, stretched out, deserted.
Bio
Eduard Escoffet was born in Barcelona, where he lives and works. His work encompasses various forms of poetry: sound, visual and textual poetry, and performance. An active representative of the young generation of Catalan poets, his influences range from medieval and avant-garde literature to textualism and sound art. He states that he makes vindication of orality, avoiding publication: he works with voice, computer, projections. He works as a sound poet, has organized important sound and action poetry events in Spain, and has performed in Italy, France , Germany and the United States . Collaborated with musicians like Walter Thompson, Josep-Maria Balanya and Germana Civera. The English translation of his poem "hi ha la dona" published here was made by Graham Thomson.
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