Preciosa y el aire

Poem Preciosa and the Air of Lorca with audio, translated into English and image created by AI under the influence of the painter Salvador Dalí
Poem Preciosa and the Air of Lorca with audio, translated into English and image created by AI under the influence of the painter Salvador Dalí

Su luna de pergamino

Preciosa tocando viene

por un anfibio sendero

de cristales y laureles.

El silencio sin estrellas,

huyendo del sonsonete,

cae donde el mar bate y canta

su noche llena de peces.

En los picos de la sierra

los carabineros duermen

guardando las blancas torres

donde viven los ingleses.

Y los gitanos del agua

levantan por distraerse,

glorietas de caracolas

y ramas de pino verde.

*

Su luna de pergamino

Preciosa tocando viene.

Al verla se ha levantado

el viento que nunca duerme.

San Cristobalón desnudo,

lleno de lenguas celestes,

mira la niña tocando

una dulce gaita ausente.

Niña, deja que levante

tu vestido para verte.

Abre en mis dedos antiguos

la rosa azul de tu vientre.

*

Preciosa tira el pandero

y corre sin detenerse.

El viento-hombrón la persigue

con una espada caliente.

Frunce su rumor el mar.

Los olivos palidecen.

Cantan las flautas de umbría

y el liso gong de la nieve.

¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,

que te coge el viento verde!

¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!

¡Míralo por dónde viene!

Sátiro de estrellas bajas

con sus lenguas relucientes.

*

Preciosa, llena de miedo,

entra en la casa que tiene,

más arriba de los pinos,

el cónsul de los ingleses.

Asustados por los gritos

tres carabineros vienen,

sus negras capas ceñidas

y los gorros en las sienes.

El inglés da a la gitana

un vaso de tibia leche,

y una copa de ginebra

que Preciosa no se bebe.

Y mientras cuenta, llorando,

su aventura a aquella gente,

en las tejas de pizarra

el viento, furioso, muerde.

Translation to English: Beautiful and the air

His parchment moon

Precious touching comes

on an amphibian trail

of crystals and laurels.

The silence without stars,

fleeing from the singing,

fall where the sea beats and sings

his night full of fish.

In the peaks of the mountains

the police sleep

guarding the white towers

where the English live.

And the water gypsies

they get up to be distracted,

conch bowers

and green pine branches.

*

His parchment moon

Precious touching comes.

When she saw her she got up

the wind that never sleeps.

Saint Christopher naked,

full of heavenly tongues,

look at the girl playing

a sweet absent bagpipe.

Girl, let me lift

your dress to see you.

Open in my ancient fingers

the blue rose of your belly.

*

Precious throws the tambourine

and she runs without stopping.

The big wind chases her

with a hot sword.

The sea frowns.

The olive trees pale.

The flutes of umbria sing

and the smooth gong of snow.

Precious, run, Precious,

may the green wind catch you!

Precious, run, Precious!

Look where she’s coming from!

Lowstar Satyr

with her glistening tongues

*

Beautiful, full of fear,

she enters the house she has,

higher than the pines,

the consul of the English.

Frightened by the screams

three police officers come,

their tight black cloaks

and the caps on the temples.

English gives to the gypsy

a glass of warm milk,

and a glass of gin

Precious doesn’t drink.

And while she counts, crying,

her adventure from her to those people,

on slate roof tiles

the wind, furious, bites.


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