A keresés eredménye

Thirst

Your kiss was on my lips
a refreshing sweetness.
Your loving mouth gave me
the sensation of living water and black blackberries1
 
Tired I lied down upon the lawns
with your arm lying, for support.
And I your kiss silenced me between my lips,
like a ripe fruit from the jungle
or a washed pebble from the stream.
 
I am thirsty, once again, my beloved.
Give me your fresh kiss like a
little stone from the river.
 

• 1. this is redundant because in Spanish the word for blackberry does not contain 'black'

Love

Love is fragrant like a bouquet of roses.
Through loving, all the sprintimes are possessed.
Eros brings in his quiver the odorous flowers
of all the umbras and all the meadows.
 
When he comes to my bed he brings the aroma of estuaries,
of savage corollas and juicy clovers.
Ardent outpourings of goldfinch nests,
hidden in the segments of the leafy ceibo tree!
 
All my young flesh impregnates itself with that essence!
Perfume of flowery and wild springtimes
stay in my brown skin of blazing transparency
 
perfumes of broom plants, of lilies and wisteria.
Love reaches my bed crossing long eras
And anoints my skin with fresh countryside essences.
 

Savage root

The vision of that cart of wheat
which crossed, grinding and heavy,
sowing the straight path with spikes
has remained nailed in my eyes.
 
Don't pretend now that you laugh!
You don't know in which deep memories
I am preoccupied!
 
From the depths of my soul rises
a flavor of Surinam cherry to my lips.
My dark epidermis still has
unknown fragrances of laid wheat ready for threshing.
 
Oh, I would like to take you with me
to sleep one night in the countryside
and in your arms remain until daylight
beneath the rustling rooftop of a tree!
 
I am the same savage girl
which years ago you brought to your side.
 

The Sweet Miracle

What is this? Wonder! My hands blossom.
Roses, roses, roses grow to my fingers.
My lover kissed my hands, and in them,
oh grace! roses budded like stars.
 
And I go through the footpath crying out the charm
and in glee I alternate a smile with weeping
and under the miracle of my enchantment
the wings of the wind are scented with roses.
 
And upon seeing me the passerby murmur:
'Don't you see that she's crazy? Take her back home.
She says that in her hands roses have been born
And she goes about waving them like butterflies!'
 
Ah, poor are the people that never comprehend
one of these miracles and only understand,
that flowers are only born in the rosebushes
and that there isn't more wheat than there are wheat-fields!
 
that lines and color and shape are required,
and that only admit reality by rule.
So that when someone says: 'I go with the sweetness',
they immediately search for the creature.
 
That they call me crazy, that they imprison me in a cell,
that with seven keys they shut my door,
that close to the door they set a whippet,
a crude jailer, a loyal jailer.
 
I will sing the same: 'My hands blossom.
Roses, roses, roses grow to my fingers.'
And all of my cell shall have the fragrance
Of an immense bouquet of roses from France!
 

The hour

Take me now for it is still early
and I hold new dahlias in my hand.
 
Take me now for this taciturn gentlewoman of mine
is shadow.
 
Now that I have the odorous flesh
and the clean eyes and the skin of a rose.
 
Now that my light plant shoes
the living sandal of spring.
 
Now that in my lips rings laughter
like a bell hurriedly shook.
 
Afterwards . . . ah, I know
that I won't have any more of this later!
 
So that then your desire shall be rendered useless,
like an offering set upon a mausoleum.
 
Take me now for it is still early
and my hand is rich with nards!
 
Today, and not later. Before night falls
and before the fresh corolla withers away.
 
Today, and not tomorrow. Oh lover! don't you see
that the creeper plant will grow cypress trees?
 

Reconquest

I don't know whence returned the longing
To sing again like in the time
in which I had between my fist and the sky
And with a blue pearl thought.
 
From an embattled cloud, the spark,
Sudden fish, split the warm night
And in me opened once again chrysalis
Of winged verse and its burnished star.
 
Already now it is the scintillating hymn
That shoots straight up to God the powerful offering
Of its burnished diamond spear.
 
Unity of light upon the rose.
And once again the hallucinatory conquest
Of the eternal victorious poetry.