The revelation of the blossoming of the Valley has arrived
of ancient precious mountains with spring.
Ringing, my body is dancing today, and in my mind
kind winds unfold. A wish for the far remote winds…
Fading I see the rainbow pedestal, a fiery sapphire,
stones like opals, cover the sunsets of the mountains.
Is this your last home? If so, it’s the best!
As if she was an only child, now she is beautiful.
It is only one way, the last; you have, I take your way.
Here in the valley, it sprouts and dust comes from kings,
kings: breathless wonder, immemorial beauty–;
between sunsets and solitudes, an eternal splendor!
Beauty never sleeps long, she is your sheltered friend!
Strange and dreamy are the stars you follow.
Strange and dreamy, are the stars over your Valley.
Is this your last home? If so, it’s the best!
As if she was an only child, now she is beautiful.
It is only one way, the last; you have, I take your way.
I saw the condor: in the valley, but a few nights past,
fast she flew, spilled in music, her winds of darkness;
dreaming things that I have not known, I was left alone,
The moon has gone into riot, inside these old white bones,
then her silence passed my world, tenderly, yes I stood
strangers, oh tender enchanted thoughts, enchanted me!
Is this your last home? If so, it’s the best!
As if she was an only child, now she is beautiful.
It is only one way, the last; you have, I take your way.
Speak, I want to hear your silver voice, illuminated by the moon.
Clear moonlight, mystic, within my wildest dream,
yet in Your eyes I see distant tears! And I hear you say:
‘I am spirit, you are only flesh, listen, what do you say?
I tell you: what have you done with my mountains?
and my stream, now is the shameful flow’r.’
Is this your last home? If so, it’s the best!
But I couldn’t speak in the silver, moonlit voice,
its wonder, phenomenon, in it a distant dream.
She comes, no longer silent, but fragrance to your heart,
What do you want me to say? ‘All is well from your throne!’
Oh no! Oh no! I tell you that your eyes are part of Paradise!
Oh yeah! Oh goddess, alter-flame of the world, do not despair
The blinding sight has made your heart ache and rain,
however, your stars return to you, your beauty, just be.
Is this your last home? If so, it’s the best!
My heart is lost in the central valley of its delight,
Oh relentless satiety, pass the walls of my soul.
And she spoke to me again, in her moon-silver voice,
Come with me, oh prince! she said, ‘for distant adventures awaits.
Your heart is warmer than light, drowned in joy,
walk, and do not leave me, I will see my steps,
Tell Christ you can’t leave, hold on to my arms please!’
She is something beyond, much beyond, these human hours.
Here in the valley, comes buds and dust of kings
yet in Your eyes I see distant tears! And I hear you say:
‘…tell Christ you can’t leave, hold on to my arms, please!’
Note: in a Sestina, you can often feel (if done correctly) creating a rolling musical effect, almost like rolling down a hill or mountain into a valley, which was the effect I chose and tried to produce in this poem. . No.: 1931 8-8-2007.
Spanish version
(Sestina):
For the Mantaro Valley
The flowering of the Valley has manifested coming
from magnificent ancient mountains with Spring.
Humming, my body is a dance today, and in my mind
sweet eaters are revealed. A wish for the far distant winds…
Fading I see the rainbow pedestal, a fiery sapphire,
stones like opals, cover the sunsets of the mountains.
Is this my last home? If it is, it’s the best!
As an only child, this one is beautiful all the same.
‘This is only one path, the last one; Do you take it? I take his way.
Here in the valley, eat buds and dust of kings,
kings: breathless admiration, immemorial beauty–;
between the sunsets and the solitudes, an eternal splendor!
Beauty never misses to sleep–this is your stealthy friend!
Strange and dreamy are the stars that follow
Strange and dreamy, are the stars over your Valley.
Is this my last home? If it is, it’s the best!
As an only child, this one is beautiful all the same.
‘This is only one path, the last one; Do you take it? I take his way.
I have seen the condor: in the valley, just a few nights ago,
fast he flew, oozed in music, his wings of darkness;
dreamed things that I did not know, I was only,
the moon prepared the riot, inside these old white bones,
so that their silences pass my world, tenderly, if I was strange,
oh sweet enchanted thoughts–they enchanted me!
Is this my last home? If it is, it’s the best!
As an only child, this one is beautiful all the same.
‘This is only one path, the last one; Do you take it? I take his way.
Speak, as I long to hear your silver, moonlit voice.
Clear moonlight, mystic, within my furthest dream
still, in my eyes I see distant tears! And I hear you say:
‘I am spirit, you only flesh, listening to you say, what do you say,
I tell you, what have you done to my mountains
and my stream, because now it’s just a shameful flower.’
Is this my last home? If it is, it’s the best!
But I could not speak to the silver, moonlit voice,
his wonder, phenomenon, in his farthest dream.
She comes, never more silent, even the fragrance to the heart,
What would you make me say? All is well from your throne!
Oh no! Oh no! I tell you, your eyes are part of Paradise!
Oh yeah! O goddess, pyro-altar of the world, do not despair
The blinding sight has caused your heart pain and rain
Although your stars return to you, your beauty is scarce.
Is this my last home? If it is, it’s the best!
My heart is lost in the central valley of the place,
Or you, implacable satiety, pass the walls of my soul.
And she spoke to me again, in her silver moonlit voice,
‘Come forth with me, O prince!’ she said, ‘for distant adventures awaits.
Your heart is hotter than light, drowning in happiness,
go, and do not abandon me, your steps I will see,
tell Christ you can’t leave, hold on to my arms, please!
She is something amazing, far beyond these human hours.
Here in the valley, eat buds and dust of kings,
still, in my eyes I see distant tears! And I hear you say:
‘…tell Christ you can’t leave, hold on to my arms, please!’
Note: In a Sestina, a menudo can feel (if done correctly) the creation of a musical rolling effect, such as rolling down a hill or mountain into a valley, an effect I chose and tried to produce in this poem.
#1931 Aug-8-2007.
