A la taverna del mar - Lluís Llach

A la taverna del mar hi seu un vell

amb el cap blanquinós, deixat anar;

té el diari al davant perquè ningú no li fa companyia.

Sap el menyspreu que els ulls tenen pel seu cos,

sap que el temps ha passat sense cap goig,

que ja no pot donar l’antiga frescor d’aquella bellesa que tenia.

És vell, prou que ho sap;

és vell, prou que ho nota.

És vell, prou que ho sent cada instant que plora.

És vell, i té temps, massa temps per a veure-ho.

Era, era quan era ahir encara.

I se’n recorda del seny, el mentider,

com el seny que li va fer aquest infern

quan a cada desig li deia «demà tindràs temps encara».

I fa memòria del plaer que va frenar,

cada albada de goig que es va negar,

cada estona perduda que ara li fa escarni del cos llaurat pels anys.

A la taverna del mar, hi seu un vell

que, de tant recordar, tant somniar,

s’ha quedat adormit damunt la taula.

An old man is sitting in the sea tavern

with whitish head, let go;

he has the newspaper in front of him because no one keeps him company.

He knows the contempt his eyes have for his body,

he knows that time has passed without any joy,

which can no longer give the old freshness of that beauty it had.

He is old, he knows enough;

it's old enough to notice.

He’s old enough to feel it every moment he cries.

He’s old, and he has time, too long to see it.

It was, it was still yesterday.

And he remembers the common sense, the liar,

like the wisdom that this hell made him

when he said to every wish, "tomorrow you will still have time."

And he remembers the pleasure that slowed him down,

every dawn of joy he refused,

every lost time that now makes him mock the body plowed by the years.

An old man sits in the sea tavern

that, from so much remembering, so much dreaming,

has fallen asleep on the table.