LLAGAS DE AMORWOUNDS OF LOVE
Federico García Lorcatrans. Sebastian Doggart
Esta luz, este fuego que devora.
Este paisaje gris que me rodea.
Este dolor por una sola idea.
Esta angustia de cielo, mundo y hora.

Este llanto de sangre que decora
lira sin pulso ya, lúbrica tea.
Este peso del mar que me golpea.
Este alacrán que por mi pecho mora.

Son guirnalda de amor, cama de herido,
donde sin sueño, sueño tu presencia
entre las ruinas de mi pecho hundido.

Y aunque busco la cumbre de prudencia,
me da tu corazón valle tendido
con cicuta y pasión de amarga ciencia.
This light that consumes, this fire that devours,
This land of grey surrounding me with fear,
This sorrow fathered by a lone idea,
This anguish of sky, world, and dwindling hours,

This blood lament which graces, gives art
To a pulseless lyre, a lusty firebrand,
This heavy ocean pounding me to sand,
This scorpion lurking deep within my heart

Are all love's wreath, a wounded man's bed,
Where without sleep's dreams, I dream your presence
Amidst the ruins of my shattered head.

And though I yearn for the peaks of prudence
Your heart conjures for me a valley spread
With hemlock and passion of harsh science.

Click here 4 for another translation of this poem.

Copyright © Herederos de Federico García Lorca.
Trans. copyright © Sebastian Doggart and Herederos de Federico García Lorca - publ. University of Durham.

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