Objetor de conciencia
Moriré,
pero
eso
es todo lo que haré por la Muerte.
La
oigo sacar a su caballo del establo;
oigo
el ruido en el piso del granero.
Ella
está apurada; tiene negocios en Cuba,
negocios
en los Balcanes, muchos llamados que hacer esta mañana.
Pero
no retendré la brida
mientras
ella ajusta la cincha.
Y
puede montarla por sí misma:
No
la ayudaré a montar.
Aunque
golpee mis hombros con su látigo,
no
le diré hacia dónde corre el zorro.
Con
su pezuña en el pecho, no le diré dónde
se
esconde el niño negro en el pantano.
Moriré,
pero eso es todo lo que haré por la Muerte;
No
estoy en su nómina.
No
le diré el paradero de mis amigos
ni
tampoco de mis enemigos.
Aunque
promete mucho,
no
le marcaré la ruta a la puerta de ningún hombre.
¿Seré
un espía en la tierra de los vivos,
para
entregar a los hombres a la Muerte?
Hermano,
la contraseña y los planes de nuestra ciudad
están
a salvo conmigo; nunca Serás vencido a través de mí.
Edna St. Vincent Millay,
Rockland, 1892- Austerlitz, 1950
De Wine From These Grapes, Harper & Brothers Publishers, 1934
Versión ©Silvia Camerotto
Conscientious
Objector
I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.
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