A sua imagem percorreu o mundo e tornou-se um fenómeno literário. O poema foi muito bem lido e a sua mensagem de esperança e confiança no futuro era o que se esperava no momento.
Os problemas começaram a surgir pouco depois, quando na Europa se tentou traduzir o seu poema. A primeira tradutora foi a escritora Marieke Lucas Rijneveld, holandesa e vencedora do International Booker Prize de 2020 pelo seu livro The Discomfort of Evening traduzido do holandês por Michele Hutchison (este prémio é atribuido por um livro traduzido em inglês no Reino Unido ou Irlanda e o prémio é dividido entre o autor e o tradutor). A escritora/tradutora holandesa recusou a tradução e o motivo foi um artigo da ativista negra Janice Deul, no qual alega que a tradutora deveria ser jovem, mulher e negra. A Marieke é jovem (tem 29 anos), é mulher, mas não é negra...
Na Catalunha aconteceu um caso semelhante. O escritor catalão Victor Obiols foi afastado da tradução do poema de Amanda Gorman, por não ter o “perfil” adequado. Além de não ser negro, já tem 60 anos e é homem. Victor Obiolis foi diretor do Festival Internacional de Poesia de Barcelona, entre 2004 e 2009 e traduziu Oscar Wilde e William Shakespeare. Neste caso foi a editora americana Viking Books a informar a editora catalã que o perfil do escritor/tradutor catalão não se ajustava.
É muito triste toda esta situação. Não há quem diga que recusar que uma branca ou branco traduzam a obra de um negro ou negra ou vice versa é também uma forma de racismo? E porque é que a jovem poeta ainda não se pronunciou sobre este assunto? Parece-me que o próprio Dia Mundial da Poesia fica mais pobre. A poesia não tem cor... committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man.
The Hill We Climb
"When day comes, we ask ourselves where can we find light in this never ending shade? The loss we carry, a sea we must wade. We braved the belly of the beast.
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace and the norms and notions of what just is, isn't always justice. And yet the dawn is hours before we knew it, somehow we do it, somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn't broken but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time, where a skinny black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.
And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn't mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose, to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man. And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know to put our future first. We must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another We seek harm to none and harmony for all. Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true, that even as we grieved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried. That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious, not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won't lighten the blade but in all the bridges we've made, that is the promise to glade, the hill we climb if only we dare, it's because being American is more than a pride we inherit. It's the past we stepped into and how we repair it.
We've seen a force that would shatter our nation rather than share it, would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded. But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated. In this truth, in this faith, we trust. For while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption. We feared -- at its deception. We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour, but within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So, while once we asked, “how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?”, now we assert, “how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?” We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be, a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free. We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation.
Because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation. Our blunders become their burdens. But one thing is certain. If we merge mercy with might and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change, our children's birth right.
So let us leave behind a country better than one we were left with, every breath from my bronze pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. We will rise through the gold-limbed hills in the west, we will rise from the windswept northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution. We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked South. We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover, in every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it for there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it."
Amanda Gorman
A escritora já devia ter dito qualquer coisa sobre o assunto, se é uma mulher de Cultura! Se é mais uma a aproveitar a onda atual...é normal que não se pronuncie. Até pode ser que conheça alguém da sua côr que esteja interessado em traduzir o poema. Estamos a viver tempos perigosos!
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