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No hay amantes en el parque esta noche. Oh, no.
Han echado a los gatos pero a ellos no les gusta y lo dicen.
Puedes oír los cables del teléfono llorar igual que poetas
en un viento que acaricia con un escalofrío cada terminación nerviosa.
Las farolas cuelgan todo el tiempo sobre nosotros como grandes pensadores.
Oh, su soledad me horroriza y me vuelvo hacia tu breve yo,
tras ver la incandescencia de aquéllas, el triste paisaje de la indagación,
y en él nuestra fría desnudez. Es una mala noche, cariño, una mala noche.
Alan Dugan
TUESDAY
There are no lovers in the park tonight. o no.
Cats have been put out but they don't like it and say so.
You can hear the telephone wires weeping like poets
in a wind that fingers each nerve end with a separate shiver.
The street lights hang permanently above us like great thinkers.
O their loneliness appalls me and I turn to your brief self,
having seen their incandescense, the dreary landscape of inquiry
and it our cold nakedness. It's a bad night, honey, a bad night.
by The Poetry Foundation. Traducción de Jonio González
There are no lovers in the park tonight. o no.
Cats have been put out but they don't like it and say so.
You can hear the telephone wires weeping like poets
in a wind that fingers each nerve end with a separate shiver.
The street lights hang permanently above us like great thinkers.
O their loneliness appalls me and I turn to your brief self,
having seen their incandescense, the dreary landscape of inquiry
and it our cold nakedness. It's a bad night, honey, a bad night.
