Autoretrat en un emprovador
Sola,
en un emprovador de roba
del centre de la ciutat
m’entretinc, provant-me un vestit
per guardar-hi un secret?
“Ai mirall,
mirallet...!”
No ser.
No res.
Res de productiu,
tot una revolució.
Dins el melic
una berruga
de petita
m’agradava ensenyar-la.
Frank Sinatra,
el meu copilot
em diu a cau d’orella:
curva tancada a la dreta, ras!
Com aquella musa
quieta
quina pallassada la meva.
I a fora hi ha gent que espera,
mentres jo aquí dins, no en sé sortir,
no en vull sortir.
Torna-la a tocar Frank!
La meva imatge incontrolable,
que es transformi en ocell.
Ai la fantasia,
quin regal de la solitud!
Roser Blanch
Self portrait in a fitting room
Alone,
in a fitting room in a clothes store
In the city centre,
I look at myself in a new dress
in which to keep a secret
Mirror, mirror,
On the wall...!
Nothing.
Not to be.
Nothing productive,
quite a revolution!
In my navel there’s
A wart,
When I was a child
I liked to show it.
Frank Sinatram
My co-driver
Whispers in my ear:
Sharp turn to the right, flush
And like a still muse
quite, what a clown of mine!
There's people waiting outside.
And I’m in here, I don’t know how to get out.
Play it again, Frank!
May my uncontrollable image
Transform into a bird.
Oh, fantasy,
What a present from solitude!
Roser Blanch