Azbe

Abstract

Andreu Vidal Andreu Vidal (1959-98) was born inPalma on Mallorca. Although trained as a draftsman, he published his firstbooks of poems at the age ofeighteen.Hiseightcollectionsinclude Llibre de lesvirtuts (1980;The bookofvirtues), Elsdie tranquils (1988;The calmdays), and L'animal que no existeix (1993; The animal that does not exist), the sources of the present translations. He also collaborated on a Catalan translation of Paul Celan's poetry (2000). Necropsy I restnow here, under thegreatwillow, motionless like the word I am, damned tohate thevast order of things, theexact and precise becoming. Seven are the men who defend Thebes. Seven are the men who besiege Thebes. On theother side of the mirror the lime isgangrene. You offer me the seven divisions of the sword, thus the scalpel gleaming beneath thebrightness of the moon. The Madman A tree grows inside his heart, slowly pierces his dead skin, tearing,ripping through, his branches rise like serpentsbeyond the tomb,breathing, sucking the luminous viscera of noon, tillnight turns up, constant, eternal, and his inflamednerves strangle theuniverse. Azbe Hush, Azbe, and listen to this vast silence, wounded by appalling scents and colors. Now is the time when trees are mistaken and birds, dismayed, nip at the three faces ofnight. No one prays in the house of dreams. No one fallsdown the stairs toheaven. And theprecise machinery of time,dazzling prodigy ofparts and gears, is spinning backward, white-hot, screeching: Milk again swells withered breasts; slowly fleshundoes itsdissolution and groves plant theirroots toward the sky; light streams past the moon, back to the sun, and a stone idol floats over the sea. You and I, sweet, tragic Azbe, are still unborn. Translations from the Catalan By LawrenceVenuti September-October 2009 i51 ...