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I don't want them to drape his face in cloth and accustom him to the death he bears. Go, Ignacio. Don't feel the beast's hot roar. The sea also dies. Translated by Brian Cole. The stone is a shoulder to carry time with trees of tears, and ribbons, and planets. I have seen grey rain flow towards the waves, lifting its tender riddled arms, not to be caught by the outstretched stone which loosens limbs, and doesn't soak up the blood.

For the stone gathers seeds and dark clouds, larks' skeletons, and wolves of shadow; but it gives no sound, neither crystals nor fire, only bull-rings, bull-rings, bull-rings without walls. Now the well-born Ignacio lies on the stone. It is finished; what is happening? Look at him: death has covered him with pale sulphurs, and placed on him a dark minotaur's head. It is finished. Air leaves his collapsed chest like a mad thing, and Love, sodden with tears of snow, warms itself above the herds of cattle.

A bad-smelling silence. We are with a laid-out body that is fading, with a noble form once rich in nightingales, and we see it filled with bottomless holes. Who is wrinkling the shroud?


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What he says is not true! No one may sing here, or weep in a corner, or prick his spurs, or frighten the snake: here I want only wide-open eyes to see that body; rest is impossible. Here I want to see men with strong voices, who tame horses and change the course of rivers: men whose skeletons rattle and who sing with a mouth full of sun and flints. Here I want to see them.

In front of this broken-reined body. I want them to teach me where there is a way out for this captain bound by death. I want them to teach me a lament like a river which has sweet mists and deep banks, to bear Ignacio's body, and let him disappear without hearing the bulls' double panting. Let him disappear in the round bull-ring of the moon which feigns when young a sad, unmoving beast; let him disappear by night without the singing of fish and in the frozen smoke's white thicket.

I do not want his face to be covered with handkerchieves, I want him to grow used to his death. Do not feel the hot roaring. Sleep, soar, rest! The sea dies too! Translated by Merryn Williams. Translated by Mark Leech.

Love Poem # 9: Drunk with Pines

Notify Blogger about objectionable content. What does this mean? Send As SMS. En cualquier caso, pasa con ellas lo que con las mujeres: de alguna manera son necesarias, aunque no todas son perfectas". About this blog. Every word counts, and each sparkles with so many facets. Translating prose is like sculpting: get the shape and the lines right, then polish the seams later. Cuerpo presente-. Yo he visto lluvias grises correr hacia las olas levantando sus tiernos brazos acribillados, para no ser cazadas por la piedra tendida que desata sus miembros sin empapar la sangre.

Porque la piedra coge simientes y nublados, esqueletos de alondras y lobos de penumbra; pero no da sonidos, ni cristales, ni fuego, sino plazas y plazas y otras plazas sin muros. Ya esta sobre la piedra Ignacio el bien nacido.

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La lluvia penetra por su boca. Un silencio con hedores reposa. Delante de la piedra. Delante de este cuerpo con las riendas quebradas. Vete, Ignacio: No sientas el caliente bramido. The laid out body Stone is a forehead where dreames grieve without curving waters and frozen cypresses.

Stone is a shoulder on which to bear Time with trees formed of tears and ribbons and planets. I have seen grey showers move towards the waves raising their tender riddle arms, to avoid being caught by lying stone which loosens their limbs without soaking their blood. For stone gathers seed and clouds, skeleton larks and wolves of penumbra: but yields not sounds nor crystals nor fire, only bull rings and bull rings and more bull rings without walls.

Now, Ignacio the well born lies on the stone. All is finished. What is happening! Contemplate his face: death has covered him with pale sulphur and has place on him the head of dark minotaur. The rain penetrates his mouth. The air, as if mad, leaves his sunken chest, and Love, soaked through with tears of snow, warms itself on the peak of the herd. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

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De otro. Como antes de mis besos.

Hilario Camacho - Cuerpo de Ola (Directo)

Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos. Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido. Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Write, for example, "The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

"body wave" in Spanish

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Do share with all of us in the comments! Janey is a fan of different languages and studied Spanish, German, Mandarin, and Japanese in college. She has now added French into the mix, though English will always be her first love. She loves reading anything including product labels. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

Quick Navigation I. No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one. I have said it before.