We present this work in honor of the 45th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Of this, that if this was not love No other love could be. This rose was a witness From when you gave yourself to me! On that day, I don’t know when it was (Well I do, but won’t say), This rose was a witness.
Such lilting sweetness Poured from your lips This rose was a witness Of your smiles of love! For me it was nothing less Than all I’d ever dreamt of, This rose was a witness.
I drowned in your eyes So deep like the night! This rose was a witness; My arms holding you tight, Finding in your arm’s nest Myself, then a warmer place… This rose was a witness.
I kissed your fresh lips Where happiness frolics! This rose was a witness Of your loving pain As I joyfully made love With you for the first time!
This rose was a witness.
This rose was a witness Of this, that if this was not love No other love could be. This rose was a witness From when you gave yourself to me!
On that day, I don’t know when it was (Well I do, but won’t say), This rose was a witness.
Country girl, don’t stay away from the market, you with the blond hair —cauliflower in mustard— and those eyes, those eyes where wickedness makes its nest!…
Who wouldn’t run to watch you crossing the square! Even the village priest, that frank and simple soul, when you appear shakes off his lazy languor!…
You are an eclogue! ..and you sing, without singing, the seeds, the furrows, the mills, the bubbling streams where leaves float their yellow sadness…
What do you care if that crass, that potbellied banker, and that spinster there —old and very ugly— do not buy from you (slaves to their useless wealth!)
your pinks and lilies lovely flower of your village… To the devil with them! To the garlic and tomato with them! Let them eat rice and turtle-meat!
For you, country girl with your hat and skirt, you, debonaire and sweet, riding by on your donkey, give the wings and trills of a goldfinch to a crow!
The wings and trills!… And you take away the rose of your face!… And you take away your malicious glance, and your sweet smile which has said to me the thing that to a glutton suggests the half-open pomegranate!…
We present this work in honor of the 125th anniversary of the poet’s death.
One night one night all full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings; one night in which fantastic fireflies burnt in the humid nuptial shadows, slowly by my side, pressed altogether close, silent and pale, as if a presentiment of infinite bitternesses agitated you unto the most hidden fibers of your being, along the flowering path which crosses the plain you walked; and the full moon in the infinite and profound blue heavens scattered its white light; and your shadow, fine and languid, and my shadow projected by the rays of the moon, upon the sorrowful sands of the path, joined together; and they became one, and they became one, and they became only one long shadow, and they became only one long shadow, and they became only one long shadow…
Tonight alone; my soul full of the infinite bitternesses and agonies of your death, separated from you by time, by the tomb and by distance, by the infinite blackness where our voice cannot reach, silent and alone along the path I walked… And the barking of dogs at the moon could be heard, at the pale moon, and the chirping of the frogs… I felt cold. It was the coldness that in your alcove your cheeks and your temples and your adoréd hands possessed within the snowy whiteness of the mortuary sheets. It was the coldness of the sepulcher, it was the ice of death, it was the coldness of oblivion. And my shadow, projected by the rays of the moon, walked alone, walked alone, walked alone along the solitary plain; and your shadow, svelte and agile, fine and languid, as in that warm night of springtime death, as in that night full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings, approached and walked with mine, approached and walked with mine, approached and walked with mine… Oh, the shadows intertwined! Oh, the corporeal shadows united with the shadows of the souls! Oh, the seeking shadows in those nights of sorrows and of tears!
Sad men frighten birds away. Down to their pensive foreheads descend the clouds and dissolve into an opaque drizzle. Flowers languish in the gardens of the sad men. Their precipices tempt death. Whereas the women that are within a woman are all born at the same time in front of the sad eyes of the sad men. The woman vessel again opens her belly and offers the sad man her redeeming milk. The woman child kisses with fervor his paternal, desolate widower’s hands. And she who walks silently in the house shines his black hours and patches up all the holes in his breast. There is another that lends to the sad man her two hands as if they were wings. But sad men are deaf to their music. There is no lonelier woman then, more sadly lonely, than she who wants to love a sad man.
I have children and a husband… I have more;
I have a loving and affectionate mother,
Brothers who love me and whom I love,
And instead of the false glitter of wealth
I have a modest and tranquil home
In another time my fervent heart
Dreamed restlessly, and I lived on the dream,
Fantastic chimeras night and day,
Delusions crowded in… I dreamed anyway
But then the horizon cleared,
The dark cloud turned to dawn,
Calm returned to my heart, and now
The present ensures my future
Alone at another time, like an errant bird
That crosses desert sands,
And after long mortal years of anxiety,
Arrived at the oasis it had faithfully sought;
Feeling myself finally free of fatigue,
And if I cast a look to the past,
It is only to bring it from burdensome effusion
To rest it on my present love.