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 SLEEP WALKING BALLAD
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Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship on the sea,
and the horse on the mountain.
with a shadow at her waist
she dreams on her rail,
Green flesh, green hair,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
things are looking at her,
And she cannot look at them. |
Green how I want you green.
Giant stars of frost
come with the shadow-fish
that opens the road of the dawn.
The fig tree chafes the wind
with its sandpaper branches
and the mountain, a thieving cat,
bristles its sour agave.
But who will come? And from where? . . .
She waits at her rail,
green flesh, green hair,
Dreaming of the bitter sea. |
"My friend, I want to trade
my horse for your house,
my saddle for your mirror,
my knife for your blanket.
My friend, I come bleeding
from the Cabra Pass."
"If I could, my lad,
I would take your offer.
But I am not me anymore,
nor is my house my own."
"My friend, I want to die
decently, in my bed.
If steel, if that can be,
with sheets of fine linen.
Don't you see this wound I have
from my chest to my throat?"
"Three hundred brown roses
cover your white shirt.
Your blood oozes and reeks
all around your sash.
But I am not me anymore,
Nor is my house my own."
"Let me climb at least
to the top of the high railings.
Let me climb! Let me,
up to the green railings.
The railings of the moon
where the water roars.The two friends then climbed
towards the high railings.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of tears.
On the roof were trembling
tiny tin lanterns
.
A thousand crystal tambourines
wounded the dawn sky. |
Green how I want you green,
Green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed.
The long wind, left behind
in their mouths, a strange taste
of gall, mint, and basil.
"My friend! Where is she, tell me,
where is your bitter girl?"
"How many times she waited for you!
How many times she would wait,
fresh face, black hair,
on this green railing!" |
Over the face of the well
rocked the gypsy girl.
Green flesh, green hair,
with eyes of cold silver.
An icicle of the moon
holds her over the water.
The night drew in
like a small town square.
Drunk Civil Guards
banged loudly on the door.
Green how I want you green.
Green wind, green branches.
The ships on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain. |
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"No oyes ladrar a los perros" Juan Rulfo, "La pagoda de Babel" G.K. Chesterton, "El que inventó la pólvora" Carlos Fuentes, "El chico y los frailes" Cuento Popular, "El amor que asalta" Unamuno, "En soledad" López Velarde, "El hombre muerto" Leopoldo Lugones, "Los que ignoran que están muertos" Nervo, "La emparedada" Pardo Bazán, "Selección de Poemas" Amado Nervo. "La serpiente que se muerde la cola" Nervo, "Le Spleen de Paris" Baudelaire, "La dama del espejo" Virginia Woolf, "En este país" Larra, "Fábulas de Esopo", "Fábulas de Samaniego"
