Paroles et traduction Blaumut - Quart de Lluna Minvant

Quart de Lluna Minvant

Encara sento bategar aquell silenci a la mà
De l'horitzó a l'inrevés, d'un calaix al teu cap
Diu que el record, quan ja no hi és
Fa aquella olor de casa buida que ens fa de perfum
Que, simplement, passa de llarg el tren dels dilluns
Camina el pols com si no fos el mecanisme constant
D'algun rellotge aturat al quart de lluna minvant
La cara oculta de la sort és com una moneda
Que cau de cap per amunt
Quan juguen l'ànima i el cos, i van tres a un

Carrers on volen llençols
On la bellesa penja estesa dels balcons
A les ciutats on no hem comptat mai els terrats
On hem viscut, on hem trobat
Paraules que es fan un nus
A les persianes enrotllades del discurs
D'un emissari que no sap on cau el nord
D'aquell país on soc el sord

Encara guardo el vell estel que ens fa mirar sempre a dalt
Un fil elèctric creua el cel i fem un càlcul mental
De divisions, constel·lacions i un bon grapat d'altres
Receptes per veure-hi més lluny
L'últim que ho tanqui tot amb clau i apagui el llum

Carrers on volen llençols
On la bellesa penja estesa dels balcons
A les ciutats on no he comptat mai els terrats
On hem viscut, on hem trobat
Paraules que es fan un nus
A les persianes enrotllades del discurs
D'un emissari que no sap on cau el nord
D'aquell país on tots som sords

Quarter of Waning Moon

I still feel the silence beat in my hand
From the horizon in reverse, from a drawer to your head
It says that the memory, when it's no longer there
It makes that smell of an empty house that makes us perfume
That, quite simply, passes by the Monday train
The pulse walks as if it were not the constant mechanism
Of a clock stopped at a quarter of a waning moon
The hidden face of fortune is like a coin
That falls head upwards
When the soul and the body play, and it's three to one

Streets where sheets fly
Where beauty hangs stretched out on balconies
In cities where we have never counted the roofs
Where we have lived, where we have found
Words that become a knot
In the rolled-up blinds of the discourse
Of an emissary who does not know where north falls
From that country where I am the deaf one

I still keep the old star that makes us always look up
An electric wire crosses the sky and we make a mental calculation
Of divisions, constellations and a good handful of other
Recipes to see further
The last one to close everything with a key and turn off the light

Streets where sheets fly
Where beauty hangs stretched out on balconies
In cities where I have never counted the roofs
Where we have lived, where we have found
Words that become a knot
In the rolled-up blinds of the discourse
Of an emissary who does not know where north falls
From that country where we are all deaf