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And life takes place

inside us, with the eternal light

of an ecstatic day

which is going on somewhere else.

It is a beautiful thing,

something true and not yet real, beautiful!

Vino, primero, pura

Vino, primero, pura,

vestida de inocencia.

Y la amé como un niño.

Luego se fue vistiendo

de no sé qué ropajes.

Y la fui odiando, sin saberlo.

Llegó a ser una reina,

fastuosa de tesoros…

¡Qué iracundia de yel y sin sentido!

…Mas se fue desnudando.

Y yo le sonreía.

Se quedó con la túnica

de su inocencia antigua.

Creí de nuevo en ella.

Y se quitó la túnica,

y apareció desnuda toda…

¡Oh pasión de mi vida, poesía

desnuda, mía para siempre!

At First She Came to Me Pure

At first she came to me pure,

dressed only in her innocence;

and I loved her as we love a child.

Then she began putting on

clothes she picked up somewhere;

and I hated her, without knowing it.

She gradually became a queen,

the jewelry was blinding...

What bitterness and rage!

...She started going back toward nakedness.

And I smiled.

Soon she was back to the single shift

of her old innocence.

I believed in her a second time.

Then she took off the cloth

and was entirely naked...

Naked poetry, always mine,

that I have loved my whole life!


Moguer. Mother and brothers.

The house, clean and warm.

What sunlight there is, what rest

in the whitening cemetery!

In a moment, love grows remote.

The sea does not exist; the field

of vineyards, reddish and level,

is the world, like a bright shining on nothing,

and flimsy, like a bright light shining on nothing.

Here I have been cheated enough!

Here, the only healthy thing to do is die.

This is the way out, that I wanted so badly,

that escapes into the sunset.

Moguer. If only I could rise up, sanctified!

Moguer. Brothers.

Yo no soy yo

Soy este

que va a mi lado sin yo verlo;

que, a veces, voy a ver,

y que, a veces, olvido.

El que calla, sereno, cuando hablo,

el que perdona, dulce, cuando odio,

el que pasea por donde no estoy,

el que quedará en pié cuando yo muera.

I Am Not I

I am this one

walking beside me whom I do not see,

whom at times I manage to visit,

and whom at other times I forget;

who remains calm and silent while I talk,

and forgives, gently, when I hate,

who walks where I am not,

who will remain standing when I die.

Translated by Robert Bly

El viaje definitive

Y yo me iré. Y se quedarán los pájaros cantando; 
y se quedará mi huerto con su verde árbol, 
y con su pozo blanco. 

Todas las tardes el cielo será azul y plácido; 
y tocarán, como esta tarde están tocando, 
las campanas del campanario. 

Se morirán aquellos que me amaron; 
y el pueblo se hará nuevo cada año; 
y en el rincon de aquel mi huerto florido y encalado,
mi espiritu errará, nostalgico. 

Y yo me iré; y estaré solo, sin hogar, sin árbol 
verde, sin pozo blanco, 
sin cielo azul y plácido... 
Y se quedarán los pájaros cantando. 

The Final Journey

And I will go away. And the birds will stay, singing;

and my garden will stay with its green tree,

and white water well.

And every afternoon the sky will be blue and peaceful;

and the pealing of bells will be like this afternoon’s,

peal of the bell of the high campanile.

They will die, all those who loved me;

and every year the town will be revived, again;

And in my circle of green white-limed flowering garden,

my spirit will dwell nostalgic from tree to well.

And I will go away; and I will be lonely, without my home

without my tree with its green foliage, without my white water well

without the blue peaceful sky ...

And the birds will stay singing

Translation Uys Krige

De definitieve reis

…En ik zal gaan. En de vogels zullen blijven zingen
en mijn moestuin zal blijven met zijn groene boom
en zijn witte waterput

Alle avonden zal de hemel blauw zijn en vredig
en zullen de klokken van de klokkentoren luiden
zoals ze vanavond luiden

Ze zullen sterven, zij die me liefhadden
en elk jaar weer zal het dorp veranderen en in die hoek van mijn bloeiende moestuin met zijn witgekalkte muren zal mijn ziel rondzwerven, nostalgisch

en ik zal gaan en ik zal alleen zijn ontheemd, zonder groene boom zonder witte waterput
zonder blauwe en vredige hemel…
En de vogels zullen blijven zingen

Vertaling : Marcus ?

I shall not return

I shall not return. And night, mildly warm, serene and silent, will lull the world, under beams of its solitary moon.

My body will not be there, and through the wide-open window, a refreshing breeze will come inquiring for my soul.

I don't know if any await the end of my double absence, or who will kiss my memory amidst caresses and weeping.

But, there will be stars and flowers, there will be sighs and hopes, and love in the avenues in the shadows of the trees.

And that piano will be playing as in this untroubled night, and no one there to listen, pensive, by my window frame.

Who Knows What is Going On

Who knows what is going on on the other side of each hour?

How many times the sunrise was

there, behind a mountain!

How many times the brilliant cloud piling up far off

was already a golden body full of thunder!

This rose was poison.

That sword gave life.

I was thinking of a flowery meadow

at the end of a road,

and found myself in the slough.

I was thinking of the greatness of what was human,

and found myself in the divine.

English translation: Robert BLY