Free Border of a Dream: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado (Spanish Edition) by Antonio Machado Page B
Authors: Antonio Machado
fire.
A nervous hand on the shivering string
released a long gold sigh
that turned into a fountain of stars.
Death, her blade on her shoulder,
her twisted and long skeletal step
exactly as I dreamed her as a child.
On the echo and throb of the guitar,
her coarse hand struck. She mimicked
the settling of a coffin in the earth,
and its thump was a solitary whining blow
sweeping away dust and shooting up ash.
20 “Deep song,” often used as the generic term for the many kinds of Andalusian flamenco song.
“La calle en sombra”
La calle en sombra. Ocultan los altos caserones
el sol que muere; hay ecos de luz en los balcones.
¿No ves, en el encanto del mirador florido,
el óvalo rosado de un rostro conocido?
La imagen, tras el vidrio de equívoco reflejo,
surge o se apaga como daguerrotipo viejo.
Suena en la calle sólo el ruido de tu paso;
se extinguen lentamente los ecos del ocaso.
¡Oh, angustia! Pesa y duele el corazón... ¿Es ella?
No puede ser... Camina... En el azul la estrella.
“The street in shadow”
The street in shadow. The tall houses hide
the dying sun. In the balconies are echoes of light.
Don’t you see in the spell of the flowery window
the pink oval of a familiar face?
The image behind the distorting glass
looms and fades like an old daguerreotype.
In the street only the patter of your step.
The echoes of the sunset slowly burn out.
Agony! Pain hangs in my heart. Is that she?
It cannot be. Walk on. In the blue a star.
“Siempre fugitiva”
Siempre fugitiva y siempre
cerca de mí, en negro manto
mal cubierto el desdeñoso
gesto de tu rostro pálido.
No sé adónde vas, ni dónde
tu virgen belleza tálamo
busca en la noche. No sé
qué sueños cierran tus párpados,
ni de quien haya entreabierto
tu lecho inhospitalario.
*
Detén el paso, belleza
esquiva, detén el paso.
Besar quisiera la amarga,
amarga flor de tus labios.
“You slip away”
You slip away but are always
close to me in that black cape
poorly concealing a scornful
grimace on your pallid face,
I don’t know where you go,
where your wedding-bed virgin beauty
hunts at night. I don’t know
what dreams your eyelids close.
For whom have you left half-open
your inhospitable bed?
*
Slippery beauty, stay here
a while. Stay here a while.
I want to kiss the bitter,
bitter blossom of your lips.
Horizonte
En una tarde clara y amplia como el hastío,
cuando su lanza blande el tórrido verano,
copiaban el fantasma de un grave sueño mío
mil sombras en teoría, enhiestas sobre el llano.
La gloria del ocaso era un purpúreo espejo,
era un cristal de llamas, que al infinito viejo
iba arrojando el grave soñar en la llanura...
Y yo sentí la espuela sonora de mi paso
repercutir lejana en el sangriento ocaso,
y más allá, la alegre canción de un alba pura.
Horizon
On an afternoon bright and wide as tedium,
when torrid summer brandishes its spear,
a theory of a thousand shadows erect on the plain
was copying the ghost of my grave dream.
The glory of the sunset was a purple mirror,
it was a flaming crystal hurling my nightmare
into its ancient infinity on the plain...
And I heard the echoing spur of my step
rattling far into the bloody sunset;
and beyond, a joyful chant of white dawn.
On the Road /
Del camino
“Daba el reloj las doce”
Daba el reloj las doce... y eran doce
golpes de azada en tierra...
...¡Mi hora!—grite—... El silencio
me respondió: —No temas;
tú no verás caer la última gota
que en la clepsidra tiembla.
Dormirás muchas horas todavía
sobre la orilla vieja
y encontrarás una mañana pura
amarrada tu barca a otra ribera.
“The clock was striking twelve”
The clock was striking twelve, and it was twelve
shovel blows into the earth.
“My hour’s come!” I screamed. The silence
answered me, “Don’t be afraid.
You won’t see the last drop fall
that is trembling in the water clock.
You
A nervous hand on the shivering string
released a long gold sigh
that turned into a fountain of stars.
Death, her blade on her shoulder,
her twisted and long skeletal step
exactly as I dreamed her as a child.
On the echo and throb of the guitar,
her coarse hand struck. She mimicked
the settling of a coffin in the earth,
and its thump was a solitary whining blow
sweeping away dust and shooting up ash.
20 “Deep song,” often used as the generic term for the many kinds of Andalusian flamenco song.
“La calle en sombra”
La calle en sombra. Ocultan los altos caserones
el sol que muere; hay ecos de luz en los balcones.
¿No ves, en el encanto del mirador florido,
el óvalo rosado de un rostro conocido?
La imagen, tras el vidrio de equívoco reflejo,
surge o se apaga como daguerrotipo viejo.
Suena en la calle sólo el ruido de tu paso;
se extinguen lentamente los ecos del ocaso.
¡Oh, angustia! Pesa y duele el corazón... ¿Es ella?
No puede ser... Camina... En el azul la estrella.
“The street in shadow”
The street in shadow. The tall houses hide
the dying sun. In the balconies are echoes of light.
Don’t you see in the spell of the flowery window
the pink oval of a familiar face?
The image behind the distorting glass
looms and fades like an old daguerreotype.
In the street only the patter of your step.
The echoes of the sunset slowly burn out.
Agony! Pain hangs in my heart. Is that she?
It cannot be. Walk on. In the blue a star.
“Siempre fugitiva”
Siempre fugitiva y siempre
cerca de mí, en negro manto
mal cubierto el desdeñoso
gesto de tu rostro pálido.
No sé adónde vas, ni dónde
tu virgen belleza tálamo
busca en la noche. No sé
qué sueños cierran tus párpados,
ni de quien haya entreabierto
tu lecho inhospitalario.
*
Detén el paso, belleza
esquiva, detén el paso.
Besar quisiera la amarga,
amarga flor de tus labios.
“You slip away”
You slip away but are always
close to me in that black cape
poorly concealing a scornful
grimace on your pallid face,
I don’t know where you go,
where your wedding-bed virgin beauty
hunts at night. I don’t know
what dreams your eyelids close.
For whom have you left half-open
your inhospitable bed?
*
Slippery beauty, stay here
a while. Stay here a while.
I want to kiss the bitter,
bitter blossom of your lips.
Horizonte
En una tarde clara y amplia como el hastío,
cuando su lanza blande el tórrido verano,
copiaban el fantasma de un grave sueño mío
mil sombras en teoría, enhiestas sobre el llano.
La gloria del ocaso era un purpúreo espejo,
era un cristal de llamas, que al infinito viejo
iba arrojando el grave soñar en la llanura...
Y yo sentí la espuela sonora de mi paso
repercutir lejana en el sangriento ocaso,
y más allá, la alegre canción de un alba pura.
Horizon
On an afternoon bright and wide as tedium,
when torrid summer brandishes its spear,
a theory of a thousand shadows erect on the plain
was copying the ghost of my grave dream.
The glory of the sunset was a purple mirror,
it was a flaming crystal hurling my nightmare
into its ancient infinity on the plain...
And I heard the echoing spur of my step
rattling far into the bloody sunset;
and beyond, a joyful chant of white dawn.
On the Road /
Del camino
“Daba el reloj las doce”
Daba el reloj las doce... y eran doce
golpes de azada en tierra...
...¡Mi hora!—grite—... El silencio
me respondió: —No temas;
tú no verás caer la última gota
que en la clepsidra tiembla.
Dormirás muchas horas todavía
sobre la orilla vieja
y encontrarás una mañana pura
amarrada tu barca a otra ribera.
“The clock was striking twelve”
The clock was striking twelve, and it was twelve
shovel blows into the earth.
“My hour’s come!” I screamed. The silence
answered me, “Don’t be afraid.
You won’t see the last drop fall
that is trembling in the water clock.
You
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