Tissues from the Alhambra, Poem LX, (Pañuelos de La Alhambra, Poema LX, traducido por Gordon Mason)

Tonight pours silence

into the apparent tranquillity of the events

that follow life’s course.

Water returns to its riverbed

and meets with the calm of home

after sleepless nights of sirens

and molten ash.

Pebbles from the moon

find rest in the meanders of the river

which carries water into the silken lake and reflection

where the gods built the temple of Ulysses

on return from sea.

The world’s metaphor has centres of sun and moon

and the invisible poet combs streaks of light

over the unsightly clay of thought,

forgets from where he has come

and seeks to know where he is going.

Breath sprouts from hot springs;

the lake sleeps in the song of the stars;

the bird folds its wings in its nest

and, on a branch of life,

man finds in the night

shelter for his being.

Tissues from the Alhambra, Poem II - Poema II, Pañuelos de La Alhambra, traducido al inglés por Gordon Mason

Tell me, centenarian bark,

if in another age my steps reached you

and if your stalks trembled

at the reflection of my eyes or the sound of my voice.

Tell me, with that age-old talk that makes you infinite

if I once sat down under your shadow

and you covered me

to keep me in that age.

Tell me if I'm in your memory

as you have always been

in the constant momentum that leads me to my home,

to that home which I once left undeservedly,

a home in a compulsive search

whose light flickers and where I know that I am,

finally,

about to arrive.

If you recognise me, move the freshness of your revitalised land

and prepare your roots to celebrate my return.

You are my truth.

In front of you,

the known path remains locked in the air of memory

and I've got you a present of lost steps

which have been deepened by the feet of my breath.

I leave behind a century of small havens

where others took my view.

Now that I have you in front of me,

my heart wonders if in you, like in me,

beats the memory.

Tissues from the Alhambra, Poem I - Poema I, Pañuelos de La Alhambra, traducido al inglés por Gordon Mason

How bright are the lights of my city.

Do they look beautiful to you?

From this hill castles become colours:

blues, greens, reds, yellows, whites.

Wrapping all illusions

in my eyes like I hope of you

sharing my vision,

handing out the lights under these stars.

Look, do you like them?

After that you see we descend into the streets

and breathe the night among the people

to give you the atmosphere that currently is mine.

Before descending, we pass by the Alhambra

for you to drink in the gardens and rest by the waters

and you can understand the magic of a walk in my eyes.

Then, to the library and rest

night-scented jasmine will enter from the terrace

and talking with you the night will shorten

until my eyes close

to yoke the world to my way ...

I know you cannot hear me

but perhaps right now you are feeling

a strange restlessness.