Redondo

El crepúsculo de la eternidad
chupa la luz de tu ventana
con la actitud de una hembra
de farol.

Como se puede sobrevivir
este amor circular,
un pinchito caballero
atrapado en rincones.

Amaranth

I have seen the sunrise over the Old Mountain
and the sunset on the unrequited horizon of the soul.
But it's not enough.
I still have a song to sing
a verse to write
a boat to row, a melody to cry.
words come and words go
like Mayfair fragrances on
the porcupine wind.
The tremor that muddled
our bodies with eloquence
remains, trembling within,
beyond oceans, and universes
and ideas and death.

Puedo Escribir (I can write)

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: 'la noche está estrellada,

y tiritan, azules, los astros a lo lejos.'

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Yo la quise, y a veces, ella también me quiso.

En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.

La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.

Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.

Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.

La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.

Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.

Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.

Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.

Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oido.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.

Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.

Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,

mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,

y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

-- Pablo Neruda

I Can Write

I can write the most sad verses tonight.

Write, for example: 'The night is starry,

and they tremble, blue, the stars, from afar.'

The night wind whirls and sings.

I can write the most sad verses tonight.

I loved her, and at times even she loved me.

During nights like this one I had her in my arms.

I kissed her so many a time under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes even I loved her.

How would one not have loved her great still eyes.

I can write the most sad verses tonight.

Thinking that I don't have her. Feeling that I have lost her.

Hearing the immense night, even more immense without her.

And the verse falls on the soul like dew on grass.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

That is all. Far away someone sings. Far away.

My soul cannot make do with having lost her.

As if to draw her close my gaze looks for her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night that makes the same trees go white.

We, from that time, are not the same ones anymore.

I love her no more, it's true, but how much I loved her.

My voice used to look for the wind to fiddle her ear.

Another's. She will be another's. Just like before my kisses.

Her voice, her whitish body, her infinite eyes.

I love her no more, it's true, but maybe I love her.

so short is the love , and so long the forgetting.

Because during nights like this one I had her in my arms,

my soul cannot make do with having lost her.

Even though this be the last pain she causes me,

and these the last verses that I write to her.

-- Pablo Neruda.

Redoubt

Once in the insipid land of the inkhorn
there was an enclave of freedom
that ruled the heart of the universe.
Now it is the fiefdom of the wonted dread,
gerrymandered to conformity
governed by the contrite law.

Still, the highway is within that province
and everything else that surrounds it.
It is harder to discern now but
this is no alien territory,
and the hoary florets that are awaiting
a long overdue pluck are
weeping the scent of the Woodstock within.

Remember...

when a silver line separates your flying nose from the light,
when the saturnine mildew
that once flowed out from your melancholy tongue
to my hapless, gorging, supercilious soul,
accrues within like powdered butterflies.
when the thatch and the caribbean blue
fail to withstand or wash away
the languid opacity of your frostbitten brownian gaze.

Remember the season of mangos and scotch.
when we burrowed through a tiny mouse
and discovered a lush mountain.
And an unbounded promise felt down to the trembling knees.
But most importantly, remember, even in the coldest blizzard
the summer is never dead, the song is still being sung,
and the woods and lawns are still shamelessly lascivious,
only on the other side of the imaginary circle you've named the equator.

The Gift - Hafiz.

Why
Just ask the donkey in me
To speak to the donkey in you,

When I have so many other beautiful animals
And brilliant colored birds inside
That are all longing to say something wonderful
And exciting to your heart?

Let's open all the locked doors upon our eyes
That keep us from knowing the Intelligence
That begets love
And a more lively and satisfying conversation
With the Friend.

Let's turn loose our golden falcons
So that they can meet in the sky
Where our spirits belong --
Necking like two
Hot kids.

Let's hold hands and get drunk near the sun
And sing sweet songs to God
Until He joins us with a few notes
>From His own sublime lute and drum.

If you have a better idea
Of how to pass a lonely night
After your glands may have performed
All their little magic
Then speak up sweethearts, speak up,
For Hafiz and all the world will listen.

Why just bring your donkey to me
Asking for stale hay
And a boring conference with the idiot
In regards to this precious matter --
Such a precious matter as love,

When I have so many other divine animals
And brilliant colored birds inside
That are all longing
To so sweetly
Greet
You!

-- Hafiz.

Trammels of Analysis.

Floating, drifting
on the blue bourbon stubbornness.
Your wiseacre finiteness,
thudding from one clear sky to another,
hacking at every silver cloud
in an attempt to clear the
imaginary smog.

When will you close
those shrewd eyes
and see
the flesh of your dream.
The supernova of your being
glowing right within.
And the lacerated bits of gossamer
left behind from those tender clouds
by your guarded plow?

Jalaluddin Rumi

Don't turn from the delight
that is so close at hand!
Don't find some lame excuse
to leave our gathering.
You were a lonely grape
and now you are sweet wine.
There is no use in trying to be come a grape again.

---

Hold to the reins of love and don't be afraid.
Hold to the real behind the false and don't be afraid.

You must know
that the beloved you seek is none other than you.
Hold to this truth and don't be afraid.

---

Don't be like a sparrow
jumping from branch to branch
While you look for love here and there
The fire I lit inside you
will only grow cold.

---

O Saqi, free us from the façade of this world.
Bring wine--Barrels full!
Our eyes see too straight--
straight past the truth.

---

The mountain of your imagination
amounts to no more than a few crumbs of bread.
All your coming and going
was no more than an excuse.
For a lifetime
you listened to the story of my heart,
But to you it was just a fairy tale.
---

Me gustas cuando callas.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.
.
Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.
.
Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.
.
Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.
.
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

- Pablo Neruda

I like you when you go quiet, because it's as if you were absent,
And you hear me from far away and my voice doesn't touch you.
It seems as if you eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
And you resemble the word melancholy.


I like you when you go quiet, and you seem distant.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing a lullaby.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me go mute in your silence.

And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, quiet and constellated.
Your silence is that of a star, as far-off and plain.

I like you when you go quiet, for it's as though you were absent,
distant and aching, as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And i am happy, happy that it's not true.

- Pablo Neruda

Death of question mark.

I looked at her,
a sinuous tensile figure
trying to sustain the
one footed subjugation
of a gaping hole.

And she looked back,
those beckoning
intrigue blues,
tempting me to dive
and drown myself.

When I plucked her malleable spine
and lifted her high to my lips
wanting to melt into those blues,
she had already died
and there was standing
in front of me,
perfectly balanced
on the solid whole,
an exclamation personified !