the rain - la lluvia

All night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.

What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often? Is it

that never the ease,
even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me

something other than this,
something not so insistent --
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness.

Love, if you love me

lie next to me.
Be for me, like rain,
the getting out

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness.

Toda la noche el sonido

ha vuelto nuevamente
y nuevamente cae
esta tranquila, persistente lluvia.

Qué soy para mi mismo,
que deba ser recordado
repetido
tan a menudo? Es

que nunca la paz,
aún la frialdad,
de la lluvia cayendo
tendrá para mí

algo más que esto,
algo tan insistente---
encerrado estaré en este
final desasosiego.

Amor, si me amas,
tiéndete junto a mí.
Sé para mí, como la lluvia,
la huida
del cansancio, la simplicidad, el mediano
ardor de intencional indiferencia.

Permanece en la humedad
con una felicidad honesta.

(traducido del inglés por la autora de este blog.)

love

Nothing is without place,

in mind, in physical apprehension --

or if "a dagger of the mind" is the purpose,

hold on to it for dear life, or else kill somebody.

Just when I thought I had it made, I lost it.

Just when I knew what to do, I was an old man.

You hear that bird sing in the tree, there,

you know still what a tree is?

Love is a place, not a person, love is

a weather of time, a convenience to absent sorrows.

But talk is the cheapest of all, means what it wants to,

waits up for no one, always goes home alone.

Love (from Places)

Just when I thought I had it made, I lost it.
Just when I knew what to do, I was an old man.

You hear that bird sing in the tree, there,
you know still what a tree is?

Love is a place, not a person, love is
a weather of time, a convenience to absent sorrows.

But talk is the cheapest of all, means what it wants to,
waits up for no one, always goes home alone.

la flor

Creo que cultivo tensiones
como flores
en un bosque al que
nadie va.

Cada herida es perfecta,
se cierra en un diminuto
imperceptible brote,
que causa dolor.

El dolor es como una flor, como esa,
como ésta,
como esa, como ésta.

The warning

For love -- I would
split open your head and put
a candle in
behind the eyes.

Love is dead in us
if we forget
the virtues of an amulet
and quick surprise.