Libros

Hoy fui a pasear por mi segundo circuito de librerías.
El botín:
a) Un amor sin nombre, de Agatha Christie (bajo su seudónimo Mary Westmacott). Sólo tengo las novelas policiales de ella, así que pensé que tenía que conocer su otra cara. ($8)
b) El hombre que fue jueves, de G.K. Chesterton. Un clásico policial, hace tiempo que quería comprarlo. ($10)
c) The edible woman, de Margaret Atwood. Me encanta cómo escribe esta mujer, así que siempre que encuentro algún libro en inglés de ella lo compro. Sólo por el poema que sigue ya estaba entre mis autores preferidos. ($13)


You heard the man you love

You heard the man you love
talking to himself in the next room.
He didn’t know you were listening.
You put your ear against the wall
but you couldn’t catch the words,
only a kind of rumbling.
Was he angry? Was he swearing?
Or it was some kind of commentary
like a long obscure footnote on a page of poetry?
Or was he trying to find something he’d lost,
such as the car keys?
Then suddenly he began to sing.
You were startled
because this was a new thing,
but you didn’t open the door, you didn’t go in,
and he kept on singing, in his deep voice, off-key,
a purple-green monotone, dense and heathery.
He wasn’t singing for you, or about you.
He had some other source of joy,
nothing to do with you at all-
he was an unknown man, singing in his own room, alone.
Why did you feel so hurt then, and so curious,
and so happy
and also set free?


(traducción: http://elhuesodelapalabra.blogspot.com/2011/05/dos-poemas-de-margaret-atwood.html)

PD: Debería haber comprado El aliento del cielo de Carson McCullers. Era una buena edición, el libro estaba nuevo y el precio era razonable. Me maldigo a mí misma.