Spanish Poems

WHAT GETS YOU

How fortunate the tree that is scarcely aware,
and more so the hard stone because it no longer feels,
since there is no greater pain than the pain of living,
nor deeper sorrow than conscious life.

Being, and knowing nothing, and being without a true course,
and the fear of having been, and a future terror...
And the certain dread of being dead tomorrow,
and suffering because of life, and because of shadow, and because of

what we don't know and scarcely suspect,
and the flesh that tempts with its fresh-picked bunches,
and the tomb that awaits with its funeral bouquets,

and not knowing where we are going,
nor from where we have come....!

FATALITY

To Rene Perez

Blessed be the tree which is almost sensitive
And the stone even more so since it does not feel at all,
For there is no greater pain than the pain of being alive,
and larger distress than conscientious life.

To be and know nothing, to be without certainty,
And the fear of having been and a future terror…
And the sure horror of being dead tomorrow,
And to suffer in life, and in the shadows and for

What we ignore and only suspect,
And the flesh tempting with its fresh vines,
And the grave awaiting with its funeral flowers,
And to not know where we are going to,
Nor where we came from!

Translated by Danilo López

Fated

Happy the tree that scarcely feels a thing!
And happier still the nothing-feeling stone!
No pain exceeds the pain that living brings;
and grief attends the conscious life alone.

To be, yet not to know. No path ahead.
The fear of having been, and future fright...
The dread of knowing soon we will be dead
but only after suffering through the night

what we can’t grasp, nor hardly can we guess;
the flesh that tempts us like a grape or plum,
the tomb that waits for us with wreathes; and yes,

not knowing where we’re heading, even less
knowing whence we come.

Translated by Robert Schechter

THE DEADLY

Fortunate is the tree that is barely sensitive,
and even more the hard stone, for it does not feel,
as there isn't greater pain than that of being alive,
nor greater sadness than conscious life.

To be, and know nothing, and to be without purpose,
and the dread of having been and of a future terror ...
And the certain horror of being dead tomorrow,
and the fear for one's life and for the darkness,

and for that which we ignore and barely suspect,
and the flesh that tempts with its fresh bounty,
and the tomb that awaits with its funereal bouquets,
and the not knowing where we're going,
nor where we came from!...

Translated by José Wan Díaz

FATALITY

The tree is happy because it is scarcely sentient;
the hard rock is happier still, it feels nothing:
there is no pain as great as being alive,
no burden heavier than that of conscious life.

To be, and to know nothing, and to lack a way,
and the dread of having been, and future terrors...
And the sure terror of being dead tomorrow,
and to suffer all through life and through the darkness,

and through what we do not know and hardly suspect...
And the flesh that temps us with bunches of cool grapes,
and the tomb that awaits us with its funeral sprays,
and not to know where we go,
nor whence we came!...

Translated by Lysander Kemp

The Fatal

Fortunate is the barely sentient tree
And more so the hard stone that is without feeling
For there is no pain greater than that of living
And no greater sorrow than a life of knowing

To be and to know nothing, and to be without bearing
And the fear of a past and future doom
And tomorrow's certain death to be dreading
And to suffer for life and death's gloom

And for that which we do not know and can hardly divine
And the flesh with its tempting fruitful vines
And the beckoning crypt with funeral boughs
With no knowledge to where we're bound
Nor from whence we arrived