Sharon Olds: His Stillness

The doctor said to my father, "You asked me
to tell you when nothing more could be done.
That's what I'm telling you now." My father
sat quite still, as he always did,
especially not moving his eyes. I had thought
he would rave if he understood he would die,
wave his arms and cry out. He sat up,
thin, and clean, in his clean gown,
like a holy man. The doctor said,
"There are things we can do which might give you time,
but we cannot cure you." My father said,
"Thank you." And he sat, motionless, alone,
with the dignity of a foreign leader.
I sat beside him. This was my father.
He had known he was mortal. I had feared they would have to
tie him down. I had not remembered
he had always held still and kept quiet to bear things,
the liquor a way to keep still. I had not
known him. My father had dignity. At the
end of his life his life began
to wake in me.


Su quietud

El doctor dijo: "Usted me pidió que le dijera
cuando no se pudiera hacer nada más.
Se lo digo ahora."
Mi padre estaba sentado,
casi inmóvil, como siempre, sin mover los ojos.
Yo supuse que se enfurecería al saber que moriría,
que agitaría los brazos, que gritaría.
Pero se quedó sentado,
limpio con su pijama limpio,
delgado, como un santo.
El doctor dijo: "Podemos hacer algunas cosas
para darle tiempo, pero no lo podemos curar".
Mi padre le dio las gracias.
Y se quedó sentado, quieto, solo,
digno como un rey extranjero.
Me senté a su lado. Ese era mi padre:
siempre supo que era mortal. En cambio, yo temí
que tuvieran que amarrarlo. Había olvidado
que siempre se quedaba así, aguantando,
en silencio, el alcohol un modo de callar.
No lo había conocido: mi padre tenía dignidad.
Al final de su vida, su vida
empezó a despertar en mí.

Traducción de Mory Ponsowy