LLAGAS DE AMORWOUNDS OF LOVE
Federico García Lorcatrans. Gwynne Edwards
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, this devouring fire.
This landscape around me, grey forever.
This pain on account of a single idea.
This anguish of sky, of the world, the hour.

This weeping of blood adorning
A lyre now stilled, torch of longing.
This weight of the sea's endless pounding.
This scorpion which makes my heart its dwelling.

They are love's wreaths, a sick man's bed,
Where I, sleepless, dream of your presence
Amongst the ruins of a heart half dead.

And though I seek the heights of prudence,
You offer me only the valley ahead,
And hemlock and longing for bitter experience.

Click here 6 for another translation of this poem.

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

For copyright info. click Links


...buy this book
next
index