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Me estou propondo nova tradução da Diane, deste poema
que publico aqui em versão original.

OLD JASON IN SAN JOSE

(Key, Key, What Bird Sings that Song ?)

He´s there, living among the computer chips
and large Vietnamese population. His name appears
on expensive speaker systems, though I doubt if it is his
family
which owns that company. I don´t know any more
how one survives blue dogs barking at the moon. I imagine
Stone Key, where they have such delicious crabs,
and think of driving the chain of keys, connected by snaking
bridges which gave me hallucinations, the bars snapping
at my eyes, trying to draw me into the water. But I am
drawn also to places where women and men are
distorted; how could I not have learned about images
in the photo-darkroom of California adolescence?
I thought I was searching for truth,
but when I found it I was so horrified
that I locked myself into this room in the Midwest
with plenty of windows, no curtains, and no key. No need
ever to go out again
into the world.
I disguise myself,
complaining of age, use my
old lady mask to give credence
to my life in this room. I am screened
away from the embarrassments, the
rejections and denied failures of sexual
encounter.
That’s one side of the
story. The other is the terrible truth
that women are neutered with age,
blue dogs barking at the moon,
- Medea’s rage when Jason takes a younger woman -
and men continue their adventures;
he lives in San José with his wife
and children, probably grandchildren, and still has
everything. Constellations turn,
two lions born only hours apart, one
destiny male, one female. Is that the key? the difference
between two lives begun
in the California orange groves,
where the dusty leaves rustle against
bright gold fruit. He owned it; I ate it.
Could that difference be the subject
of so many tales?


-Diane Wakoski, do livro Jason the Sailor.