Cinco Poemas de Amor - English Translations
Below are my English translations for the five love poems I wrote in porteño castellano (español) while in Buenos Aires. Because poetry is equal parts music and language - or at least this poetry is - these poems are best experienced by the monoglot with both this page and the original Spanish open in two windows side-by-side.




Intro
I owe you 5 poems:
1. "The Fullness of Time"
2. "Antonio and Margarita" (a story)
3. "Your Interior (A Space)"
4. [Something about smiles]
5. "Pretty the sun in your face"
I want to write them all.
This is just a start.
1.
I want to write them all,
to fill stacks of books;
I want to create a
very
very
beautiful
masterpiece of love.
And maybe
I will.
Maybe
we will
together.
Maybe
there is a future
where we write
those pages,
that living poetry
that requires
four hands
to be written.
Those perfect
stories
of those perfect
characters
who aren't only
able to tell them,
but are born
to live them.
Those characters
who beat the heart
of all poetry.
Those
with hands
that caress
each other
to open
limitless
doors;
Those
with feet
that know
how to dance
through that
infinite heart.
That heart, the fount
of those characters.
That heart, the source
that gives life to those
whose destiny
is poetry. Those who
make poetry
their destiny.
Those who love
from
within
the infinite.
Do those characters
inhabit people?
Or do people
inhabit those characters ?
Maybe
we'll find the answer
or maybe
we'll make it.
Maybe
we'll do
it all
in the fullness
of infinity.
2.
Neruda says
of his love, it's
"So close that
your eyes close
with my dream."
Like this, I feel
our love.
When with
your teeth
I fill my smile;
When with
your eyes
I find
my shoes.
3.
You asked me,
-Now?
You heart is open?-
From my sleepy crook
I shook with
sudden, soft sobriety:
-My heart
is more open
than it has been in a
very
long
time.-
From the other side
of the distance,
barely bigger
than our
noses,
I saw,
you understand.
But I've thought more about this:
Yes,
my heart
has been wide-open,
as it feels today,
before.
(So wide that it
delivers a poem;
So wide that I
surrender myself in a poem...)
But, then,
it was a different heart:
It was an innocent heart:
younger, and
also smaller,
(and a worse poet, no doubt.)
Of course,
every heart
is born
open...
What happened?
Damages.
The damages of natural disasters.
When the doors were closed
it was because my heart was in
renovation:
E x p a n s i o n !
and all that
time I
was inside.
The doors were closed, but
I was happy,
happy and
satisfied
knowing well,
These renovations are wonderful!
(Thinking
I knew.) However,
Never could I have known
truly how wonderful they were
without fresh
light or air.
You are, my love
my fresh
light and air.
So,
it is a different heart
where I give you space
now:
Bigger than ever,
even more beautiful,
and now,
best of all,
open,
fresh and shining
anew.
4.
I've had treasure
and I've lost treasure.
I've even thrown treasure
away (before
knowing what it was.)
Now
I'm more
careful.
Now
I'm not only
the girl
in the fountain,
eyes half-closed,
hands teasing
her skirt, a girl
lost in a reflection.
Now
I'm not alone.
I'm also the cloaked cleric,
eyes fixed beyond
reflections;
open enough
to recognize treasure;
wise enough
to know to protect it
strong enough
to be able.
Like you are,
starry goat
and starry fish,
I'm both
delicate girl
and grounded guardian.
Yes, I am here
in the water of
love,
thirsty,
naked,
and yes,
a little lost.
Still
I will care for you,
I will keep you close ,
I will carry you behind my cloak,
I will carry you inside my heart.
And I will be strong
as beauty
naked as
statues of stone.
I will be with thanks
(for you,
for seeing you
as you are,
treasure)
thanks for being.
5.
I want to write them all:
All my debts,
All my gifts
All my fortunes,
All my treasures,
Everything.
Taking everything
into account, I ask myself
What can I give
to prove
my gratitude?
To refill the fountain?
To keep the balance
balanced?
I have
kisses,
smiles
words,
poetry,
prayers,
feelings,
thoughts,
music,
joy..!
"Is it enough?"
The silent
voice in everything
tells me,
"Not enough."
Softly the voice, master
of love, bearer
of love, the silent
voice
of everything,
tells me,
"Treasures are lessons
in value."
The voice says,
"The only thing
of value
that you have,
that I haven't given you,
is what you call
time."
"All right,"
I tell it.
"Whatever you ask,
I give."
I say it to the voice.
I say it to the page.
I say it to the source,
to the infinity
of my heart:
"Take as you wish.
It's only time."
I say it
yawning
wide open,
because
this
is
the
infinite.
♥