A keresés eredménye

Song of the Dry Orange Tree

Cut down the shade, lumberjack
Spare me the torture
Of seeing myself without grapefruit
Why was I born between mirrors?
 
Cut down the shade, lumberjack
Spare me the torture
Of seeing myself without grapefruit
Why was I born between mirrors?
 
Day makes me think
And night imitates me
In all its stars
I want to live without seeing myself, lumberjack
I want to live
 
{Music}
 
And ants and fruit filaments
I’ll dream that they are my leaves
My leaves and my birds
Cut down the shade, lumberjack
Lumberjack
 

Deepness

The hundreds of lovers
that sleep forever
under the dry land.
Andalusia has
long, red roads.
Cordoba, has green olive trees
where to put hundreds of crosses,
to be remembered.
The hundreds of lovers
that sleep forever.
 

Bell

Versions: #1
In the tower,
yellow as sun,
over there, a bell tolls.
 
Through the wind,
yellow as sun,
there, the bell chimes release their sound.
 
In the tower,
yellow as sun,
there, the bell is silenced.
 
The wind, with the dust, creates
prows1, of silver and steel.
 

• 1. When I translated this several months ago, I had a hard time looking up this word, however according to spanishdict.com it means 'prows'

Clamor

In the yellow towers,
 
the bells toll.
Over the yellow winds
 
the chimes open.
 
On a road walks
the death, crowned,
with withered orange blossoms.
She sings and sings
a song
in her white vihuela
and she sings and sings and sings.
 
In the yellow towers
the bells die down.
 
The dusty wind
makes proras of silver.
 

Elegy of silence

Silence, where are you taking
your fogged glass
of laughter, of words
and sobbing from the tree?
How do you clean, silence,
the dew of the song
and the sound spots
that the distant seas
leave on the sapwood
serene of your mantle?
Who closes your wounds
when on the fields
some old waterwheel
sticks its slow dart
in your immense glass?
Where do you go if at sunset
you are hurt by the bells
and break your backwater
the flocks of couplets
and the great golden rumor
that falls on the mountains
blue sobbing?
 
The winter air
it makes your blue pieces,
and cut down your flowers
the quiet mourning
from some cold source.
Where you lay your hands,
the thorn of laughter
or the hot axe
of the passion you find.
If you go to the stars,
the solemn buzz
of the blue birds
breaks the great balance
of your hidden skull.
 
Fleeing from the sound
you are sound itself,
spectrum of harmony,
smoke of screaming and singing.
You come to tell us
in the dark nights
the word infinite
breathless and without lips.
 
Star drilling
and mature music,
where do you take, silence,
your extrahuman pain,
pain of being captive
in the melodic spider,
blind now forever
your sacred spring?
 
Today they drag your waves
clouds of thought
the sound ash
and the pain of yesteryear.
The echoes of the screams
who are gone forever.
The remote rumble
of the sea, mummified.
 
If Jehovah has fallen asleep
climb to the shining throne,
break him in his head
an extinguished light,
and ends up seriously
with the eternal music,
sound harmony
of light, and in the meantime,
return to your source,
where in the eternal night,
before God and time,
you were quiet.
 

To a Girl's Ear

I did not want to.
 
I did not want to tell you anything.
 
In your eyes, I looked to see
 
two strange little trees
 
of gold, laughter and breeze.
 
They were swaying.
 
I did not want to.
 

Sevillanas of the 18th century

Long live Seville! Long live Seville!
Long live Seville! The sevillanas carry on
in the Mantilla a signboard that says: Long live Seville!
Lon live Triana, long live the trianeros, those of Triana!
 
I bring it walking, I bring it walking,
I bring it walking: the macarena and everything
I bring it walking: the macarena and everything I bring it walking
I bring it walking: a face like yours I didn't find it
The macarena and everything I bring it walking
 
You look so good! You look so good!
You look so good! Wow, Seville river,
You look so good! Wow, Seville river, you look so good
You look so good! Full of ehite candles and green branches
Seville river, you look so good!
 

The unfaithful wife

Foolish me, that brought her to the river
thinking she was a maiden,
but she had a husband.
 
It was on Santiago's night 1
and almost out of a sense of duty.
The street lights went out
and the crickets lit up.
On the last corners
I touched her sleeping breasts,
and suddenly they opened up
like wreaths of hyacinths.
The starch of his slip
resounded in my ear
like a fine piece of silk
shredded by ten knives.
Without silvery light on their tops
the trees have grown,
and an horizon of dogs
barks far away from the river.
 
Past the blackberry shrubs,
the rushes and the hawthorns,
under his head of hair
I made a hole in the silt.
I took off my necktie,
and she took off her dress.
Me, the belt with the revolver,
her, her four bodices.
no tuberose or seashell
have so smooth a face,
nor the moon reflected on glass
shines with such a radiance.
Her thighs ran away from me
like surprised fishes,
half of them full of embers,
half of them full of cold.
That night I ran through
the best of paths
riding a mother-of-pearl mare
without bridles or stirrups.
Because I'm a gentleman, I won't repeat
the things that she told me.
The light of understanding
makes me prudent with my words.
Dirty with sand and kisses,
I took her away from the river.
The air was fighting against
the lilies' swords.
 
I behaved like what I am,
a gipsy through and through.
I gifted her a big sewing box
made of straw-like satin,
and I didn't want to fall in love
because, having a husband
she told me she was a maiden
as I carried her to the river.
 

• 1. The 25th of July, commemoration of Apostle Santiago

Ballad on a Day in July

The oxen carry
Sterling silver.
 
Where are you going, my girl,
Of sun and snow?
 
        I'm going to the daisies
 
       of the green meadow.
 
The meadow is far away
And he has fear.
 
To (the god) Airón and to the Shade
 
       My love does not fear.
 
Fear the sun, my child,
Of sun and snow.
 
He left my hair
 
       Forever.
 
Who are you, white girl?
Where do you come from?
 
I come from the loves
 
       And from the fountains.
 
The oxen carry
Sterling silver.
 
What are you wearing in your mouth
that lights you up?
 
The star of my lover
 
       Who lives and dies.
 
What are you wearing on your chest
So fine and light?
 
        The sword of my lover
 
       Who lives and dies.
 
What are you wearing in your eyes,
Black and solemn?
 
        My sad thought
 
       That always hurts.
 
Why are you wearing a cloak
of Black Death?
 
        Alas, I am the widow
 
       Sad and without assets!
 
       From the Earl of Laurel
 
       of the Laurels.
 
Who are you looking for here
If you want nobody?
 
I'm looking for the Count
of the Laurel's body
 
Are you looking for love,
Aleve wink?
You are looking for a love
I hope you find.
 
Stars of the sky
 
       They are my wants,
 
       Where will I find my lover
 
       Who lives and dies?
 
Is he dead in the water,
Snow girl,
Covered with nostalgia
And of carnations.
 
Oh! errant knight
 
       From the cypresses,
 
       My soul offers you
A moonlit night
 
       
Ah dreamy Isis,
Girl without honeys
The one in children's mouths
Your story pours.
 
I offer you my heart,
Dim heart,
Wounded by the eyes
of women.
 
        Galant knight,
 
       With God you stay.
I'm going to look for the count
 
       Of the Laurels ...
 
Goodbye my little maid,
Sleeping rose,
You go for love
And I to death.
 
The oxen carry
Sterling silver
 
My heart bleeds
like a fountain.
 

Dawn

My oppressed heart
Sits next to the dawn
The pain of its loves
And the dream of the distances
The light of the dawn brings
Seedbeds of nostalgias
And the sadness without eyes
Of the marrow of the soul.
The great tomb of the night
Its black veil rises
To conceal with the day
The immense starry summit.
 
What will I do about these fields
Picking nests and branches
Surrounded by dawn
And full of night in the soul!
What will I do if your eyes are
Dead to the clear light
And if my flesh will no longer feel
The heat of your gaze!
Why did I lose you forever
In that clear evening?
Today my chest is arid
Like a shut-off star.