English
A little wren
Karen Cronick
A little wren would sometimes come
To the feeder on my deck.
She had one hanging, useless leg
And hopped about the plate
On just the other one.
Clinging to a cayenne branch
She would sing and stretch her wings.
She let the breeze blow through her plumes
And let the sun slide down her sides:
An avalanche of joyful pride.
In London parks the swans swim cold
Through the ice slabs on the ponds,
Consoled by bits of bread that
People throw. These birds are free,
They chose this frozen land this year.
It’s not their strength that keeps them there.
I think, like supple, bendy stems
They weave a thready beauty
Through the air. What know we
What kind of lens they use to see?
High wakefulness is given us,
A grasp of gorgeousness.
The sun, like wonder, fills our eyes
And stays there. We survive our days
Draped, amazed, by gold-spun skies.
Español
Un pequeño reyezuelo
Karen Cronick
Karen Cronick
A little wren would sometimes come
To the feeder on my deck.
She had one hanging, useless leg
And hopped about the plate
On just the other one.
Clinging to a cayenne branch
She would sing and stretch her wings.
She let the breeze blow through her plumes
And let the sun slide down her sides:
An avalanche of joyful pride.
In London parks the swans swim cold
Through the ice slabs on the ponds,
Consoled by bits of bread that
People throw. These birds are free,
They chose this frozen land this year.
It’s not their strength that keeps them there.
I think, like supple, bendy stems
They weave a thready beauty
Through the air. What know we
What kind of lens they use to see?
High wakefulness is given us,
A grasp of gorgeousness.
The sun, like wonder, fills our eyes
And stays there. We survive our days
Draped, amazed, by gold-spun skies.
Español
Un pequeño reyezuelo
Karen Cronick
A veces al alimentador en mi porche
Venía un pequeño reyezuelo.
Tenía una pierna colgando e inútil
Y saltaba sobre el plato
Solo en el otro.
Aferrándose a una rama de cayena,
Él cantaba y estiraba sus alas.
Dejó que la brisa soplara por de sus plumas
Y dejaba que el sol se deslizara por sus flancos:
Una avalancha de orgullo alegre.
En los parques de Londres los cisnes nadan fríos
En los estanques entre los clisés de hielo,
Consolados por pedacitos de pan que
La gente tira. Estas aves son libres,
Han elegido quedarse en esta tierra helada.
No es su fuerza lo que los mantiene allí.
Creo que tejan bellezas hiladas
Como tallos flexibles y cimbreños
A través del aire. ¿Qué sabemos nosotros
Sobre el tipo de cristal usan para ver?
Nos es dado alto temple,
Una intuición de la belleza.
El sol, como asombro, llena nuestros ojos
Y se queda allí. Permanecemos
Arropados, asombrados, por cielos dorados.
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