Romance del emplazado

Poem Romance del emplazado by Federico García Lorca with audio, translated into English and image created by AI under the influence of the painter Esteban Murillo
Poem Romance del emplazado by Federico García Lorca with audio, translated into English and image created by AI under the influence of the painter Esteban Murillo

¡Mi soledad sin descanso!

Ojos chicos de mi cuerpo

y grandes de mi caballo,

no se cierran por la noche

ni miran al otro lado,

donde se aleja tranquilo

un sueño de trece barcos.

Sino que, limpios y duros

escuderos desvelados,

mis ojos miran un norte

de metales y peñascos,

donde mi cuerpo sin venas

consulta naipes helados.

*

Los densos bueyes del agua

embisten a los muchachos

que se bañan en las lunas

de sus cuernos ondulados.

Y los martillos cantaban

sobre los yunques sonámbulos,

el insomnio del jinete

y el insomnio del caballo.

*

El veinticinco de junio

le dijeron a el Amargo:

Ya puedes cortar si gustas

las adelfas de tu patio.

Pinta una cruz en la puerta

y pon tu nombre debajo,

porque cicutas y ortigas

nacerán en tu costado,

y agujas de cal mojada

te morderán los zapatos.

*

Será de noche, en lo oscuro,

por los montes imantados,

donde los bueyes del agua

beben los juncos soñando.

Pide luces y campanas.

Aprende a cruzar las manos,

y gusta los aires fríos

de metales y peñascos.

Porque dentro de dos meses

yacerás amortajado.

*

Espadón de nebulosa

mueve en el aire Santiago.

Grave silencio, de espalda,

manaba el cielo combado.

*

El veinticinco de junio

abrió sus ojos Amargo,

y el veinticinco de agosto

se tendió para cerrarlos.

Hombres bajaban la calle

para ver al emplazado,

que fijaba sobre el muro

su soledad con descanso.

Y la sábana impecable,

de duro acento romano,

daba equilibrio a la muerte

con las rectas de sus paños.

Translation to English: Romance of the alocated

My loneliness without rest!

Small eyes of my body

and great of my horse,

they do not close at night

they don’t even look at the other side,

where he walks away peacefully

a dream of thirteen ships.

But, clean and hard

squires revealed,

my eyes look north

of metals and rocks,

where my body without veins

check frozen playing cards.

*

The dense oxen of water

they attack the boys

that bathe in the moons

of its wavy horns.

And the hammers sang

on the sleepwalking anvils,

the rider’s insomnia

and the horse’s insomnia.

*

The twenty-fifth of June

they said to the Bitter:

You can now cut if you like

the oleanders in your patio.

Paint a cross on the door

and put your name below,

because hemlocks and nettles

they will be born in your side,

and needles of wet lime

they will bite your shoes.

*

It will be at night, in the dark,

through the magnetized mountains,

where the water oxen

they drink the reeds dreaming.

Ask for lights and bells.

Learn to cross your hands,

and likes cold air

of metals and rocks.

Because in two months

you will lie shrouded.

*

Nebula Greatsword

Santiago moves in the air.

Serious silence, with his back turned,

the warped sky flowed.

*

The twenty-fifth of June

Bitter opened his eyes,

and the twenty-fifth of August

he stretched out to close them.

Men were walking down the street

to see the location,

that he fixed on the wall

his solitude from him with rest.

And the impeccable sheet,

with a harsh Roman accent,

gave balance to death

with the straight cloths of him.


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