Gacela del niño muerto
Todas las tardes en Granada,
todas las tardes se muere un niño.
Todas las tardes el agua se sienta
a conversar con sus amigos.
Los muertos llevan alas de musgo.
El viento nublado y el viento limpio
son dos faisanes que vuelan por las torres
y el día es un muchacho herido.
No quedaba en el aire ni una brizna de alondra
cuando yo te encontré por las grutas del vino
No quedaba en la tierra ni una miga de nube
cuando te ahogabas por el río.
Un gigante de agua cayó sobre los montes
y el valle fue rodando con perros y con lirios.
Tu cuerpo, con la sombra violeta de mis manos,
era, muerto en la orilla, un arcángel de frío.
Gacela of the dead child
Each afternoon in Granada,
each afternoon, a child dies.
Each afternoon the water sits down
and chats with its companions.
The dead wear mossy wings.
The cloudy wind and the clear wind
are two pheasants in flight through the towers,
and the day is a wounded boy.
Not a flicker of lark was left in the air
when I met you in the caverns of wine.
Not the crumb of a cloud was left in the ground
when you were drowned in the river.
A giant of water fell down over the hills,
and the valley was tumbling with lilies and dogs.
In my hands' violet shadow, your body,
dead on the bank, was an angel of coldness.Etiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
Gacela of the Dead Boy
Every afternoon in Granada,
every afternoon a child dies.
Every afternoon the water sits down
to converse with its friends.
The dead put on wings of moss.
The cloudy wind and the clear wind
are two pheasants that fly through towers
and the day is a wounded young boy.
You did not leave behind a speck of lark in the air
when I found you by the wine grottos.
Nor did you leave a crumb of cloud on the earth
when you drowned in the river.
A giant of water fell upon the mountains
and the valley was rolling with dogs and lilies.
Your body, with the violet shadow of my hands,
was an archangel of cold, dead upon the bank.
translation by Gilbert Wesley Purdy