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Raymond Carver

Raymond Carver
2009-09-23 10:16:00
OcasiõesCada poema que escrevi foi, para mim, uma ocasião de primeira grandeza. Tanto assim que, creio, consigo recordar as circunstâncias emocionais que estavam em jogo quando escrevi o poema, o que me rodeava fisicamente e, até, que tempo fazia. Sob uma certa pressão, penso que poderia quase nomear o dia da semana. Em grande parte dos casos, sou capaz de lembrar-me, pelo menos, de que poemas foram escritos durante a semana ou ao fim-de-semana. Na sua maioria, certamente, posso recordar o momento particular do dia em que os escrevi - de manhã, ao meio-dia, à tarde ou, muito de vez em quando, noite dentro. Este tipo de evocação não se verifica com a ficção que escrevo, especialmente com as histórias que escrevi no início da minha carreira. Quando olho para trás, para o meu primeiro livro de contos, por exemplo, tenho que dar uma olhadela às datas de edição até para ter a certeza do ano em que as histórias foram publicadas, e a partir daí posso conjecturar - acrescentar ou tirar um a...
[Raymond Carver] - Simple verdad
2007-11-11 20:32:00
(”Si me necesitas, llámame”. Raymond Carver) Art by deejayhart (buscando un pdf encontré este texto que refleja y expresa de mucho mejor manera que lo que a continuación yo intento) “Si me necesitas, llámame” (Call if you Need Me) es una serie de 5 cuentos cotidianos, de gente que vive situaciones que ni siquiera alcanzan a ...
Raymond Carver
2007-01-02 04:16:01
Raymond Carver (1939-1988)PoemasRaymond Carver -The cobweb-Raymond Carver -The scratch-Raymond Carver -Late fragment-Raymond Carver -Your dog dies-Raymond Carver -Fear-
Raymond Carver -My crow-
2006-03-21 06:35:00
My crow Raymond Carver (1939-1988)A crow flew into the tree outside my window.It was not Ted Hughes's crow, or Galway's crow.Or Frost's, Pasternak's, or Lorca's crow.Or one of Homer's crows, stuffed with gore,after the battle. This was just a crow.That never fit in anywhere in its life,or did anything worth mentioning.It sat there on the branch for a few minutes.Then picked up and flew beautifully out of my life.Mi cuervoUn cuervo se posó en el árbol que hay frente a mi ventana.No era el cuervo de Ted Hughes, ni el cuervo de Galway.Ni el de Frost, ni el de Pasternak, ni el cuervo de Lorca.Tampoco era uno de los cuervos de Homero, impregnadosde sangre coagulada tras la batalla. Era sólo un cuervo.Que jamás encajó en parte algunani hizo nada digno de mención.Se quedó ahí en esa rama durante unos minutos.Luego alzó el vuelo maravillosamentey salió de mi vida.Versión de Jaime Priede
Raymond Carver -The cobweb-
2006-03-20 15:11:00
The cobwebRaymond Carver (1939-1988)A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deckof the house. From there I could see and hear the water,and everything that's happened to me all these years.It was hot and still. The tide was out.No birds sang. As I leaned against the railinga cobweb touched my forehead.It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turnedand went inside. There was no wind. The seawas dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breathtouches it. A fine thread. Intricate.Before long, before anyone realizes,I'll be gone from here.La telarañaHace unos minutos salí a la galería.Desde ahí podía ver y oír el agua,y todo lo que me ha venido sucediendodurante estos años.Hacía mucho calor y todo estaba muy tranquilo.La marea se había retirado.Los pájaros ya no cantaban.Apoyé la espalda en una columna del alero, yal realizar este movimientomi frente rozó una telarañaque se enredó en mi pelo.Di media vuelta,entré nuevamente en ...
Raymond Carver -The scratch-
2006-03-20 15:07:00
The scratchRaymond Carver (1939-1988)I woke up with a spot of bloodover my eye. A scratchhalfway across my forehead.But I'm sleeping alone these days.Why on earth would a man raise his handagainst himself, even in sleep?It's this and similar questionsI'm trying to answer this morning.As I study my face in the window.El rasguñoMe desperté con una mancha de sangre resecapegoteada sobre uno de mis párpados. Un arañazo,profundo, cruza transversalmente las arrugas de mi frente.Sin embargo, últimamente, he estado durmiendo solo.Y me pregunto por qué un hombre, incluso en un mal sueño,alzaría la propia mano para lastimarse la cara.Esta mañana pretendo responder esta preguntay otras similares, mientras observo en silenciomi cara se refleja en los cristales de la ventana.
Raymond Carver -Late fragment-
2006-03-20 15:04:00
Late FragmentRaymond Carver (1939-1988)And did you get whatyou wanted from this life, even so?I did.And what did you want?To call myself beloved, to feel myselfbeloved on the earth.Ultimo fragmento¿Y conseguiste lo quequerías de esta vida?Lo conseguí.¿Y qué querías?Considerarme amado, sentirmeamado en la tierra.
Raymond Carver -Your dog dies-
2006-03-20 14:53:00
Your dog diesRaymond Carver (1939-1988)it gets run over by a van.you find it at the side of the roadand bury it.you feel bad about it.you feel bad personally,but you feel bad for your daughterbecause it was her pet,and she loved it so.she used to croon to itand let it sleep in her bed.you write a poem about it.you call it a poem for your daughter,about the dog getting run over by a vanand how you looked after it,took it out into the woodsand buried it deep, deep,and that poem turns out so goodyou're almost glad the little dogwas run over, or else you'd neverhave written that good poem.then you sit down to writea poem about writing a poemabout the death of that dog,but while you're writing youhear a woman screamyour name, your first name,both syllables,and your heart stops.after a minute, you continue writing.she screams again.you wonder how long this can go on.Tu perro se murióuna furgoneta le pasó por encima.Lo encontraste a un lado del caminoy lo enterraste.te sientes mal por e...
Raymond Carver -Fear-
2006-03-20 14:41:00
Fear Raymond Carver (1939-1988)Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.Fear of falling asleep at night.Fear of not falling asleep.Fear of the past rising up.Fear of the present taking flight.Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.Fear of electrical storms.Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!Fear of dogs I've been told won't bite.Fear of anxiety!Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.Fear of running out of money.Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.Fear of psychological profiles.Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.Fear of my children's handwriting on envelopes.Fear they'll die before I do, and I'll feel guilty.Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.Fear of confusion.Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.Fear of waking up to find you gone.Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.Fear of d...
Raymond Carver -What the Doctor said-
2006-03-20 14:35:00
What the Doctor saidRaymond Carver (1939-1988)He said it doesn't look goodhe said it looks bad in fact real badhe said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung beforeI quit counting themI said I'm glad I wouldn't want to knowabout any more being there than thathe said are you a religious man do you kneel downin forest groves and let yourself ask for helpwhen you come to a waterfallmist blowing against your face and armsdo you stop and ask for understanding at those momentsI said not yet but I intend to start todayhe said I'm real sorry he saidI wish I had some other kind of news to give youI said Amen and he said something elseI didn't catch and not knowing what else to doand not wanting him to have to repeat itand me to have to fully digest itI just looked at himfor a minute and he looked back it was thenI jumped up and shook hands with this man who'd just given mesomething no one else on earth had ever given meI may have even thanked him habit being so strongLo que dijo el m...
Raymond Carver -Where they'd lived-
2006-03-20 14:30:00
Where they'd livedRaymond Carver (1939-1988)Everywhere he went that day he walkedin his own past. Kicked through pilesof memories. Looked through windowsthat no longer belonged to him.Work and poverty and short change.In those days they'd lived by their wills,determined to be invincible.Nothing could stop them. Notfor the longest while. In the motel roomthat night, in the early morning hours,he opened a curtain. Saw cloudsbanked against the moon. He leanedcloser to the glass. Cold air passedthrough and put its hand over his heart.I loved you, he thought.Loved you well.Before loving you no longer.Donde hayan vivido Fuera donde fuera, aquel día andaba por su propio pasado. Dando puntapiés a jirones de recuerdos. Mirando las ventanas que no hace mucho le habían pertenecido. Trabajo, miseria y pocos cambios. En aquella época vivían para sus deseos, decididos a ser invencibles. Nada les detendría. Al menos durante muchísimo tiempo. En la habitación del motel aquella noche, de madruga...
Raymond Carver -You don't know what love is (an evening with Charles Bukows
2006-03-20 14:25:00
You don't know what love is (an evening with Charles Bukowski)Raymond Carver (1939-1988)You don't know what love is Bukowski saidI'm 51 years old look at meI'm in love with this young broadI got it bad but she's hung up tooso it's all right man that's the way it should beI get in their blood and they can't get me outThey all came back to me exceptthe one I plantedI cried over that onebut I cried easy in those daysDon't let me get onto the hard stuff manI get mean thenI could sit here and drink beerwith you hippies all nightI could drink ten quarts of this beerand nothing it's like waterBut let me get onto the hard stuffand I'll start throwing people out windowsI'll throw anybody out the windowI've done itBut you don't know what love isYou don't know because you've neverbeen in love it's that simpleI got this young broad see she's beautifulShe calls me BukowskiBukowski she says in this little voiceand I say WhatBut you don't know what love isI'm telling you what l...
Raymond Carver -At least-
2006-03-20 14:20:00
At leastRaymond Carver (1939-1988)I want to get up early one morning, before sunrise. Before the birds, even. I want to throw cold water on my faceand be at my work tablewhen the sky lightens and smokebegins to rise from the chimneysof the other houses. I want to see the waves breakon this rocky beach, not just hear thembreak as I did all night in my sleep. I want to see again the shipsthat pass through the strait from everyseafaring country in the world - old, dirty freighters just barely moving along, and the swift new cargo vesselspainted every color under the sunthat cut the water as they pass. I want to keep an eye out for them. And for the little boat the pliesthe water between the shipsand the pilot station near the lighthouse. I want to see them taking a man off the shipand put another up on board. I want to spend the day watching this happenand reach my own conclusions. I hate to seem greedy - I have so muchto be thankful for already. But I want to get up early one morning,...
Raymond Carver -Sweet light-
2006-03-20 14:15:00
Sweet lightRaymond Carver (1939-1988)After the winter, grieving and dull, I flourished here all spring. Sweet light began to fill my chest. I pulled up a chair. Sat for hours in front of the sea. Listened to the buoy and learned to tell the difference between a bell and the sound of a bell. I wanted everything behind me. I even wanted to become inhuman. And I did that. I know I did. (She'll back me up on this.) I remember the morning I closed the lid on memory and turned the handle. Locking it away forever. Nobody knows what happened to me out here, sea. Only you and I know. At night, clouds form in front of the moon. By morning they're gone. And that sweet light I spoke of? That's gone too. Dulce luz Tras el invierno, torpe y afligido,florecí con la primavera. Una dulce luz me colmó el pecho. Sacabauna silla. Me sentaba durante horas frente al mar. Escuchaba las balizas y aprendía expresar la diferencia entre una campana y el sonido de una campana. Queríatodo lo que estaba ...
Raymond Carver -The current-
2006-03-20 14:10:00
The currentRaymond Carver (1939-1988)These fish have no eyes these silver fish that come to me in dreams, scattering their roe and milt in the pockets of my brain.But there's one that comes-- heavy, scarred, silent like the rest, that simply holds against the current,closing its dark mouth against the current, closing and opening as it holds to the current.La corrienteEstos peces no tienen ojosEstos peces plateados que vienen a mi en sueños,y esparcen sus huevos y fluidospor los rincones de mi mente. Pero hay uno que viene...duro, asustado, silencioso como el resto,uno que tan sólo se mantiene a contracorriente, Y cierra su oscura boca en contrade la corriente, la abre y la cierramientras se ajusta a la corriente.
Raymond Carver -The best time of the day-
2006-03-20 14:05:00
The best time of the dayRaymond Carver (1939-1988)Cool summer nights.Windows open.Lamps burning.Fruit in the bowl.And your head on my shoulder.These the happiest moments in the day.Next to the early morning hours,of course. And the timejust before lunch.And the afternoon, andearly evening hours.But I do lovethese summer nights.Even more, I think,than those other times.The work finished for the day.And no one who can reach us now.Or ever. El mejor momento del díaCálidas tardes de verano.Ventanas abiertas.Lámparas encendidas.Fruta en la mesa.Y tu cabeza sobre mi hombro.Este momento es el más feliz del día. Por supuesto que cercanoa las tempranas horas de la madrugada.Y a la hora justo antes del almuerzo.Y a la tarde, e incluso a las horas de la tarde.Pero en verdad amoestas noches de verano.Pienso que incluso másque otros momento.El trabajo ha terminado por hoy.No hay nadie que pueda alcanzarnos ahora.Ni nunca.
Raymond Carver -Happiness-
2006-03-20 14:00:00
HappinessRaymond Carver (1939-1988)So early it's still almost dark out.I'm near the window with coffee,and the usual early morning stuffthat passes for thought.When I see the boy and his friendwalking up the roadto deliver the newspaper.They wear caps and sweaters,and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.They are so happythey aren't saying anything, these boys.I think if they could, they would takeeach other's arm.It's early in the morning,and they are doing this thing together.They come on, slowly.The sky is taking on light,though the moon still hangs pale over the water.Such beauty that for a minutedeath and ambition, even love,doesn't enter into this.Happiness. It comes onunexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,any early morning talk about it. FelicidadTan temprano y todavía está oscuro afuera.Estoy cerca de la ventana con un café,y todo el ajetreo matutino acostumbradoque pasa por la mente. Cuando observo al chico y a su amigocaminando por la callepara entregar el periódico....
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