This afternoon it rains as never before; and I don't feel like staying alive, heart.

The afternoon is pleasant. Why shouldn't it be?

It is wearing grace and pain ; it is dressed like a woman.

This afternoon in Lima it is raining. And I remember the cruel caverns of my ingrat.i.tude ; my block of ice laid on her poppy, stronger than her crying "Don't be this way!"

My violent black flowers ; and the barbarous and staggering blow with a stone ; and the glacial pause.

And the silence of her dignity will pour scalding oils on the end of the sentence.

Therefore, this afternoon, as never before, I walk with this owl, with this heart.

And other women go past ; and seeing me sullen, they sip a little of you in the abrupt furrow of my deep grief.

This afternoon it rains, rains endlessly. And I don't feel like staying alive, heart.

Translated by James Wright

MEDIALUZ.

He sonado una fuga. Y he sonado tus encajes dispersos en la alcoba.

A lo largo de un muelle, alguna madre ; y sus quince anos dando el seno a una hora.

He sonado una fuga. Un "para siempre"

suspirado en la escala de una proa ; he sonado una madre ; unas frescas mat.i.tas de verdura, y el ajuar constelado de una aurora.

A lo largo de un muelle Y a lo largo de un cuello que se ahoga!

TWILIGHT.

I have dreamed of flight. And I have dreamed of your laces strewn in the bedroom.

I have dreamed of some mother walking the length of a wharf and at fifteen nursing the hour.

I have dreamed of flight. A "forever"

sighed at a fo'c'sle ladder.

I have dreamed of a mother, of fresh sprigs of table-greens, and the stars st.i.tched in bridals of the dawn.

The length of a wharf the length of a drowning throat!

Translated by John Knoepfle

GAPE.

Hoy no ha venido nadie a preguntar ; ni me han pedido en esta tarde nada.

No he visto ni una flor de cementerio en tan alegre procesin de luces.

Perdname, Senor: que poco he muerto!

En esta tarde todos, todos pasan sin preguntarme ni pedirme nada.

Y no se que se olvidan y se queda mal en mis manos, como cosa ajena.

He salido a la puerta, y me da ganas de gritar a todos: Si echan de menos algo, aqu se queda!

Porque en todas las tardes de esta vida, yo no se con que puertas dan a un rostro, y algo ajeno se toma el alma ma.

Hoy no ha venido nadie ; y hoy he muerto que poco en esta tarde!

AGAPE.

Today no one has come to inquire, nor have they wanted anything from me this afternoon.

I have not seen a single cemetery flower in so happy a procession of lights.

Forgive me, Lord! I have died so little!

This afternoon everyone, everyone goes by without asking or begging me anything.

And I do not know what it is they forget, and it is heavy in my hands like something stolen.

I have come to the door, and I want to shout at everyone: -If you miss something, here it is!

Because in all the afternoons of this life, I do not know how many doors are slammed on a face, and my soul takes something that belongs to another.

Today n.o.body has come ; and today I have died so little in the afternoon!

Translated by John Knoepfle

ROSA BLANCA.

Me siento bien. Ahora brilla un estoico hielo en m.

Me da risa esta soga rub que rechina en mi cuerpo.

Soga sin fin, como una voluta descendente de mal soga sangunea y zurda formada de mil dagas en puntal.

Que vaya as, trenzando sus rollos de crespn; y que ate el gato tremulo del Miedo al nido helado, al ltimo fogn.

Yo ahora estoy sereno, con luz.

Y maya en mi Pacfico un nufrago atad.

WHITE ROSE.

I feel all right. Now a stoical frost shines in me.

It makes me laugh, this ruby-colored rope that creaks in my body.

Endless rope, like a spiral descending from evil rope, b.l.o.o.d.y and clumsy, shaped by a thousand waiting daggers.

Because it goes in this way, braiding its rolls of funeral crepe, and because it ties the quivering cat of Fear to the frozen nest, to the final fire.

Now surrounded by light I am calm.

And out on my Pacific a shipwrecked coffin mews.

Translated by James Wright

EL PAN NUESTRO.

(para Alejandro Gamboa) Se bebe el desayuno Hmeda tierra de cimenterio huele a sangre amada.

Ciudad de invierno La mordaz cruzada de una carreta que arrastrar parece un emocin de ayuno encadenada!

Se quisiera tocar todas las puertas, y preguntar por no se quien ; y luego ver a los pobres, y, llorando quedos, dar pedacitos de pan fresco a todos.

Y saquear a los ricos sus vinedos con las dos manos santas que a un golpe de luz volaron desclavadas de la Cruz!

Pestana matinal, no os levanteis!

El pan nuestro de cada da dnoslo, Senor !

Todos mis huesos son ajenos; yo tal vez los robe!

Yo vine a darme lo que acaso estuvo asignado para otro; y pienso que, si no hubiera nacido, otro pobre tomara este cafe!

Yo soy un mal ladrn A dnde ire!

Y en esta hora fra, en que la tierra trasciende a polvo humano y es tan triste, quisiera yo tocar todas las puertas, y suplicar a no se quien, perdn y hacerle pedacitos de pan fresco aqu, en el horno de mi corazn !