Drink me in! Make me a drop of your blood, and I will rise to your cheek, I will be in it like the living drop in the leaf on the vine. Sigue por el sendero acostumbrado, llega a las alamedas de oro, sigue por las altas alamedas de oro hasta la sierra amoratada.
The Shadow Leave for the countryside at dusk, and leave me your footprints in the grass, for I am coming behind you. Go down the usual path, to the golden poplars, go through the golden groves to the dark purple mountains. Walk giving yourself over to things, touching the trunks of trees, so that when I pass they may return your caress to me.
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Look at yourself in the clear pools, and let the pools hold the image of your face for me for a moment, till I pass. Si viene la muerte Si te ves herido, no temas llamarme. No quiero que ninguno, ni Dios, te enjugue en las sienes el sudor ni te acomode la almohada bajo la cabeza. Estoy guardando mi cuerpo para resguardar de la lluvia y las nieves tu huesa, cuando ya duermas. No, call me wherever you are, even if it be a bed of shame.
I am saving my body to shield your grave from the rain and the snow when you sleep at last. Y la damos con un temblor incontenible, como el tuyo delante de un seno desnudo. Beauty A song is the wound of love that things opened in us. But our disquiet is continuous; we feel the thrust of all the beauty of the world, because the starry night was for us a love as sharp as a carnal love.
Song A woman is singing in the valley. The falling shadow erases her, but her song li s her over the countryside. Her heart is shattered, like her jug that broke this a ernoon on the stones in the streambed, but she keeps on singing. In a modulation, her voice moistens with blood.
In the countryside, the other voices are already silent, in their daily death, and just a moment ago the song of the last straggling bird fell silent. And her deathless heart, her heart alive with pain, burning with pain, gathers the silencing voices into her voice, keen now, but always sweet. Does she sing for a husband who watches her quietly in the dusk, or for a child who sweetens to her song? Or perhaps she sings for her own heart, more helpless than a child alone at nightfall.
The coming night becomes a mother because of the song that goes out to greet it; the stars are opening with human sweetness: the starry sky becomes human and understands the pain of the Earth. From the throat of the woman who keeps on singing, the day exhales and rises, ennobled, toward the stars!
Las otras se apresuraron, y se han ido con el amor y el placer. Tiene una lumbre que apacigua. I have le you the lamp of the Dream, and you will live by its gentle brightness. Your lamp has a soothing radiance. But, in truth, you will be the merciful one when with your gaze, living among them, you ease their hearts. No hay arte ateo. Decalogue of the Artist I.
There is no atheistic art. Beauty should not be a pretext for lewdness or vanity, but a spiritual exercise. You shall issue each creation with humility, for it was inferior to your dream, and inferior to that marvelous dream of God that is Nature. Duro, acre, sumo, el abrazo de la muerte. Why should You have made me fruitful, if I must be emptied and le like the crushed sugarcanes? Why should You spill the light across my forehead and my heart every morning, if You will not come to pick me, as one picks the dark grapes that sweeten in the sun, in the middle of autumn?
It is Your love, Your aweful love, oh, God! It leaves the bones broken and wasted, the face bleached with fear, the tongue weak! Out of love, out of an abundance of love, I described what I will never see. People came to question me about You.
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Seeing that they were more anxious than a thirsty man who asks about the river, I spoke to them about You, without ever having experienced the full joy of You, yet. You, my Lord, will forgive me that. It was their desire, as it was mine, to show You forth clearly and purely, like the petals of the white lily.
On the path across the desert, the anxiety of the Bedouins distinctly makes out mirages in the distance. The traveler does not arrive, but in their zeal, our eyes picture him each moment, there in the palest horizon. You understand: waiting makes people a little crazy, and silence creates sounds that circle around our febrile hearing. But that does not matter, my Lord: In one day of griefs, I could mature completely. Therefore I will sing my smallness in my song, so that You might turn Your countenance toward me if You miss me, my rapturous Harvester!
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But attending as I do to Your subtlest motions, I know such tenderness that it strengthens my trust in You! And I have smiled, dying of happiness, saying to myself: So, someday, He will gather me, like the trembling droplet, before I drop into the dust. Gather me, then, gather me soon!
I have stretched no roots into this human earth. With one simple movement of Your lips, You sip me up; with one imperceptible sign of approval, You gather me in. Amalos, porque no recuerdan a Dios, ni nos evocan la cara amada. Ten piedad de ellos que buscan terriblemente, con una tremenda ansia, la belleza que no trajeron. He tolerates them; He lets them cross the dewy moss. Inside whatever is ugly, matter is weeping; I have heard its cry.
Look at the pain, and love it. Love the spider and the beetle because of their pain, because, unlike the rose, they have no expression of happiness. Love them because they are a misguided longing for beauty, an unheard desire for perfection.
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They are like one of your days, wasted and miserable despite yourself. Love them because they do not recall God nor evoke for us that beloved face. The bulky spider in its light web dreams of an ideal world, and the beetle imagines the dew across its black back is an evanescent splendor. La venda Toda la belleza de la Tierra puede ser venda para tu herida. Toda la belleza es misericordia de Dios. El que te alarga la espina en una mano temblorosa, te ofrece en la otra un motivo para la sonrisa. No digas que es un juego cruel. The Bandage All the beauty of the Earth can be a bandage for your wound.
Experience them like this.
Experience the sky like this, like a bandage. The one who hurt you has gone, leaving you gauzy threads for the bandage all along the road. Each morning when you open your shutters, feel the white dawn rising over the mountains as a marvelous bandage, already prepared against the hardships of the day. A un sembrador Siembra sin mirar la tierra donde cae el grano. Di tu palabra, y sigue tranquilo, sin volver el rostro. Habla a tus hermanos en la penumbra de la tarde, para que se borre tu rostro, y vela tu voz hasta que se confunda con cualquier otra voz.
Hazte olvidar, hazte olvidar. Es un misterio al que asiste Dios y tu alma. Ha derramado sus criaturas y la belleza de las cosas por valles y colinas, calladamente, con menos rumor del que tiene la hierba al crecer.
El calla, calla siempre. To a Sower He sows without looking where the seeds fall on the earth.