Mort d'un heroi romàntic - Manel

Un cosí de ma mare tenia un bufet pròsper a la ciutat,

Fa molt anys van enviar-m'hi com a jove passant d’advocat.

Vaig trobar una cambra senzilla: una taula, un llit, un mirall

I arribava que era nit tancada,

Que en alguna taverna del centre s’havia fet tard.

Al replà la senyora Manresa passava les hores cosint,

Però aquell dia semblava alterada va apropar-se nerviosa i va dir:

«Disculpi, no sap com odio venir a demanar-li favors.

L’inquilí del 3r aquest migdia estava com boig i ara pico i no respon…»

A la llum d’un immens canelobre vaig obrir-me pas en la foscor

Avançant entre ombres de mobles repassava les habitacions.

Vaig sentir uns gossos que somicaven, vaig seguir la pista dels plors

I, senyors, com sabran vaig trobar-me

Un gran heroi romàntic mort al menjador.

I tenia una nota ridícula arrugada entre les mans

Plena de dits que jugaven amb trenes,

de postes de sol i donzelles a lloms de cavalls.

Poc després l’inspector s’apuntava el contacte d’un familiar,

Un germà que vivia a la costa amb qui celebraven els sants.

Van tancar-li els dos ulls amb tendresa, van tapar-lo amb un llençol blanc.

En silenci tothom glopejava el te verd que havia escalfat la mestra del quart.

Un mossèn va pregar un pare nostre amb un fil de veu mort de son,

Al costat vam reunir-nos els homes per mirar de treure el cos.

I estirant d’uns turmells sense vida vaig sortir d’aquell menjador.

La senyora Manresa patia «per l’amor de Déu, vigili’n amb els cops!»

Al carrer la carrossa esperava, el cotxer es distreia observant

Un soldats de permís que cantaven sota la llum dels fanals.

Vam contar fins a tres per fer força per pujar el cadàver a dalt.

Un vent fred va gelar l’aire, un fuet petant amb mandra va fer arrancar els

cavalls.

I seguia amb la nota ridícula arrugada entre les mans,

Plena de crits en el buit, de desigs violents,

de tempestes que enterren vaixells dins el mar.

Plena de dones rient d’ulls sanguinolents

De bellesa que no deixa espai per pensar.

Plena de muses ferides per sempre

Per claus rovellats en cançons de poetes vulgars.

Plena de salts infinits on t’esperen immòbils,

Per si vols passar-hi, uns gimnastes de glaç.

Plena de besties bavoses a punt d’enfrontar-se

En combat desigual amb els presos cristians.

Plena de nens espantats que miren

Si arriben els pares sota la pluja constant.

Plena de joves erectes que arramben

Pubilles guarnides pel ball del diumenge de rams.

Plena de braços que s’alcen i paren un taxi

Sortint de sopars amb amics que se’n van.

Plena de «Creu-me ho intento, però a estones

Sospito, morena, que això no s’aturarà mai.»

One of my mother's cousins ​​had a thriving buffet in town.

I was sent there as a young lawyer a long time ago.

I found a simple room: a table, a bed, a mirror

And sometimes it was closed night,

That it was late in some downtown tavern.

On the landing Mrs. Manresa spent hours sewing,

But that day she seemed upset, she approached nervously and said:

"I'm sorry, you don't know how I hate to come and ask you for favors.

The tenant of the 3rd this afternoon was like crazy and now he bites and doesn't answer… »

In the light of a huge chandelier, I made my way through the darkness

Advancing through the shadows of furniture, he went through the rooms.

I heard some dogs dreaming, I followed the trail of cries

And, gentlemen, as you know, I found myself

A great romantic hero dead in the dining room.

And he had a ridiculous note crumpled in his hands

Full of fingers playing with braids,

of sunsets and maidens on horseback.

Shortly afterwards, the inspector noted the contact of a relative,

A brother who lived on the coast with whom the saints celebrated.

They closed both eyes tenderly, covered him with a white sheet.

Everyone was silently sipping the green tea that had been warmed by the teacher in the room.

A priest prayed to our father in a sleepy voice,

Next to us we gathered the men to try to get the body out.

And pulling out my lifeless ankles, I stepped out of the dining room.

Mrs. Manresa suffered "for God's sake, watch out for the blows!"

On the street the float was waiting, the coachman was distracted watching

A soldiers on leave singing in the light of the streetlights.

We counted up to three to make strength to climb the corpse up.

A cold wind froze the air, and a lazy whip blew them away

horses.

And he was still with the ridiculous note crumpled in his hands,

Full of cries in the void, of violent desires,

of storms burying ships in the sea.

Lots of women laughing with bloodshot eyes

Of beauty that leaves no room for thought.

Full of wounded muses forever

For rusty keys in songs of vulgar poets.

Full of endless jumps where motionless people are waiting for you,

In case you want to go there, some ice gymnasts.

Full of drooling beasts about to face each other

In unequal combat with Christian prisoners.

Lots of scared kids watching

If parents arrive in constant rain.

Full of erect young people climbing up

Puppets adorned with the Sunday dance of bouquets.

Full of arms raising and stopping a taxi

Going out to dinner with friends who are leaving.

Full of “Believe me I try, but at times

I suspect, brunette, that this will never stop. "