Gas, 1940

Catalan Poetry: Part 3 Ernest Farres Born in 1967 in Igualada, Ernest Farres isthe author of three books of poetry: Clavar-ne una al mall i I'altra a I'endusa (1996;Hitormiss), Mosquits (1998; Mosquitoes), and Edward Hopper (2006), which Graywolf Press will publish in English inOctober. He works as an editor on the weekly cultural supplement of the newspaper La Vanguardia. Gas, 1940 Dust rises as the car pulls toa stop at the fillingstation and theattendant who works thepumps doesn't even turn his eyes. Far removed from any commotion, the spot is a clearing in theheart of a forestsubdued by an uninviting shadiness. The fading sunwraps itin a cloak ofmuted light,and like a fast track thehighway disappears around a bend between the leafy trees thatflank it. Thickets and grass and earth exhale pungent scents that penetrate the lungs. The crickets' cadenced grating echoes in the luminescent evening air. The formsour sight encompasses will dissolve before long like sugar or vegetable colors. Once here, with everythinghalted in midcourse, a gradation of solitudes liftsitsface: the solitude that wafts with the slackwind stirringleaves and branches and thekind thatcosts dearly to reach, the solitude ofwilderness and thekind experienced only by thosewho grip the steeringwheel to escape from urban loneliness gliding over narrow highways to stopwhere the forestismost impenetrable. Morning Sun, 1952 One fineday you fixyour eyes on someone and think: this person has a past. She has,without doubt, justas she has a future, but you can't discern thepast or future that make her up. The future is a germ in its latentstate and forthisreason can't be seen. The past tookplace long ago and forthis reason isdiluted, hidden by distortingwhirlpools. A young woman is at home sittingup inbed, looking out the window. The sun, strong as it is, sets ablaze the exterior furnishing thebedroom with natural light, levantine light, which takespossession of every corner like lava. At times, as if extracted from underground, fragmentsof theprevious world well up into her mind and strive to return, unshakable proof of a formerlife, not completely scarred over, sheathed in a coat ofmail to enable the germination of a lifepossessed by a new intellect. She knows she follows some order and does what she has todo. Without steps backward and forward, without setbacks and comebacks, we'd be invisible like anger or memories. To me it'sneither here nor there but yes, I do find you have to follow some order and not daydream one iota. Translationsfrom the Catalan By LawrenceVenuti September-October 2009 i55

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