LLAGAS DE AMOR WOUNDS OF LOVE
Federico García Lorca trans. Brian Cole

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,
This landscape ringing me in grey.
This obsession giving me such pain.
This anguish of heaven, mouth and hours.

This lament of blood that hangs around
a lifeless lyre, an oily flame.
This weight of sea that knocks me away.
This scorpion in my breast laid down.

They are love's garland, a wounded man's bed
where sleepless I dream that you are here
amid the ruins of my shattered breast.

And though most prudent care I look for,
give me your heart, that vale outspread
with hemlock and lust for bitter lore.

Click here 3 for another translation of this poem.

Copyright © Herederos de Federico García Lorca.
Trans. copyright © Brian Cole and Herederos de Federico García Lorca.

For copyright info. click Links


...
next
index
translator's next