Cuando sea una mujer mayor, vestiré de morado

February 10, 2011 by


by Jenny Joseph

Cuando sea una mujer mayor, vestiré de morado,
con un sombrero rojo que ni vaya a juego ni me quede bien
y gastaré mi pensión en brandy y guantes de verano
y sandalias de raso, y diré que no me llega para mantequilla.

Me sentaré en la acera cuando esté cansada
y engulliré muestras en las tiendas y apretaré los botones de alarma.
Y pasaré mi bastón por las barandillas
y compensaré la sobriedad de mi juventud.

Saldré a la calle en zapatillas cuando llueva
y recogeré flores de los jardines de otros.
Y aprenderé a escupir.

Puedes llevar camisetas horribles y ponerte gorda,
y comer tres libras de salchichas de golpe.
O sólo pan y pepinillos durante toda la semana.
Y almacenar bolígrafos y lápices y posavasos y cosas en cajas.

Pero ahora tenemos que tener ropa que nos mantenga secas,
y pagar la renta y no maldecir en la calle.
Y ser un buen ejemplo para los niños.
Debemos tener amigos a cenar y leer los periódicos.

Pero ¿tal vez debería practicar ahora un poco?
Así la gente que me conoce no se extrañará ni se sorprenderá
cuando de repente sea mayor y comience a vestir de morado.

Filed Under: Guerrero de la Luz

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

February 10, 2011 by


___________________________
ESPANOL AQUI > Cuando sea una mujer mayor, vestiré de morado
___________________________

by Jenny Joseph

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Filed Under: Stories

Quando envelhecer vou usar púrpura

February 10, 2011 by


poema de Jenny Joseph

Quando envelhecer vou usar púrpura com
chapéu vermelho, que não combina
nem fica bem em mim.

Vou gastar a pensão em uísque e luvas de verão
e sandálias de cetim – e dizer que não temos
dinheiro para a manteiga.

Vou sentar na calçada quando me cansar e devorar
as ofertas do supermercado, tocar as campainhas
e passar a bengala nas grades das praças
e compensar toda a sobriedade da
minha juventude.

Vou andar na chuva de chinelos, apanhar flores
no jardim dos outros e aprender a cuspir.

Vou usar camisas berrantes e engordar,
comer um quilo de salsichas de uma vez
ou só pão com picles a semana inteira
e juntar canetas e lápis e bolachas de cerveja e coisas em caixinhas.

Mas agora temos que usar roupas que nos deixem secos, pagar aluguel,
não dizer palavrão na rua e ser bom exemplo
para as crianças.

Temos de ler o jornal
e convidar amigos para jantar.

Mas quem sabe eu devia começar já?
Assim os outros não vão ficar chocados demais
quando de repente eu ficar velha
e começar a usar vestido púrpura.

Filed Under: Guerreiro da Luz

The daisy and selfishness

February 10, 2011 by


Illustration by Ken Crane

Warriors of Light must be together. The short story below illustrated this:

“I am a daisy in a field of daisies,” thought the flower. “Amidst others, it is impossible to notice my beauty.”

An angel heard what she was thinking and commented:

- But you are so pretty!

- I want to be the only one!

In order not to hear any complaints, the angel carried her off to a city square.

Some days later, the mayor went there with a gardener to make some changes to the square.

- There is nothing of interest here. Dig up the earth and plant geraniums.

- Hold on a minute! – cried out the daisy. – You’ll kill me if you do that!

- If there were some others like you, we could make some nice decoration – answered the mayor. – But there are no daisies to be found around here, and you on your own do not make a garden.

Then he tore the flower from the ground.

Filed Under: Stories