Cala De Aiguafreda Aguifreda Bay

Cala De Aiguafreda

Al fondo del acantilado se amontonan,
macizas y grumosas,
las rocas que han ido cayendo,
barridas sin llegar hasta el mar
que muge y humea y rompe más abajo.
Dentro de miles de años,
me dices desde lo alto del camino de ronda,
eso será todo arena.
Miramos el nicho del mar
y como si el punto de foco se ampliara
o de repente se trastocara todo,
empequeñecimos infinitesimales
y vimos casi por dentro las enormes rocas.
A pie de playa contemplábamos
el movimiento granular de la arena,
los fragmentos de patas y caparazones de crustáceos
y nos guarecimos en cualquiera de esos guijarros.
Al disminuir tocamos en la rugosidad del guijarro,
un muro del que la arenisca se desprende,
nuestro propio contorno.
Fallas y grietas del mineral acumulado, eso somos.
En el cielo empezaron a vislumbrarse
las pajas de las sombras y las vetas del gris.
Al respirar volvieron a aparecer los pinos,
el corte de la costa, el camino.
 

Aguifreda Bay

At the bottom of the cliff they pile up -
solid and lumpen,
the rocks that have been falling,
slipping down without reaching the sea,
the sea that bellows and smokes, breaking below.
In thousands of years,
you tell me from our vantage point above,
all this will be sand.
As we looked at the inlet
suddenly our perspective widened
and everything reversed -
we became infinitely tiny,
as though we were dwelling inside those gigantic boulders.
At the foot of the cliff we considered
the granular movements of sand,
the flotsam and jetsam,
and we took shelter in any one of those pebbles.
Shrinking, we felt the rough grain of the rocks,
a wall from which the sandstone is loosened,
the outline of ourselves.
Fractures and faultlines of the accretions of minerals -
this is what we are.
The detritus of shadows, the seams of grey,
begin to glimpse themselves in the sky.
Drawing breath once more brought back the pines,
the coastline, a path.
 

Aguifreda Cove

They pile up at the foot of the cliff,
solid and clotted,
the rocks which have been falling,
sliding down without reaching the sea
that bellows, smokes and breaks down below.
In thousand of years time,
you tell me from the top of this viewpoint path,
this will all be sand.
We watched this niche of sea
and as if our point of focus got bigger
or suddenly everything reversed,
we became infinitely smaller,
and almost dwelled inside those huge rocks.
Walking the beach we contemplated
the granular movement of sand,
the debris and the shells
and we sheltered in any one of those pebbles.
As we shrank we ran our fingers over the pebble's grain,
a wall from which the sandstone loosens,
our own boundary.
Fractures and fissures of accumulated mineral, this is what 
      we are.
The debris of the shadows and seams of grey
began to glimpse themselves in the sky.
Breathing again brought back the pines,
the line of the coast, the path.
 

Original Poem by

Pedro Serrano

Translated by

Gwen MacKeith with Sarah Maguire Language

Spanish

Country

Mexico