LLAGAS DE AMORLOVE'S THORNS
Federico García Lorcatrans. Caridad Svich
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 fire that devours me,
this landscape that surrounds me,
this sorrow for one idea, and one idea only,
this anguish of sky, world, and extinguishing hours,

this cry of blood that adorns
this dying lyre, this restless pyre,
this ocean weight that sends me down,
this scorpion that ravages my heart,
seeking a place to rest,

aching garland of love, bed of the wounded,
where, sleepless, I dream of your presence
among the ruins of a barren heart.

And though I look for the height of prudence,
your heart only offers
a valley tendered with hemlock
and the bitter passion of science.

Click here 10 for another translation of this poem.

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

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