[original
poem in Spanish]
La
aurora
La
aurora de Nueva York tiene
cuatro
columnas de cieno
y
un huracán de negras palomas
que
chapotean las aguas podridas.
La
aurora de Nueva York gime
por
las inmensas escaleras
buscando
entre las aristas
nardos
de angustia dibujada.
La
aurora llega y nadie la recibe en su boca
porque
allí no hay mañana ni esperanza posible:
a
veces las monedas en enjambres furiosos
taladran
y devoran abandonados niños.
Los
primeros que salen comprenden con sus huesos
que
no habrá paraíso ni amores deshojados:
saben
que van al cieno de números y leyes,
a
los juegos sin arte, a sudores sin fruto.
La
luz es sepultada por cadenas y ruidos
en
impúdico reto de ciencia sin raíces.
Por
los barrios hay gentes que vacilan insomnes
como
recién salidas de un naufragio de sangre.
[English
translation by Greg Simon and Stephen F. White]
Dawn
Dawn
in New York has
four
columns of mire
and
a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing
in the putrid waters.
Dawn
in New York groans
on
enormous fire escapes
searching
between the angles
for
spikenards of drafted anguish.
Dawn
arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because
tomorrow and hope are impossible there:
sometimes
the furious swarming coins
penetrate
like drills and devour abandoned children.
Those
who go out early know in their bones
there
will be no paradise or loves that bloom and die:
they
know they will be mired in numbers and laws,
in
mindless games, in fruitless labors.
The
light is buried under chains and noises
in
an impudent challenge of rootless science.
And
crowds stagger sleeplessly through the boroughs
as
if they had just escaped a shipwreck of blood.
Source
of the text – Federico García Lorca, Collected
Poems, revised edition, with an introduction and notes by Christopher
Maurer. New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux, 2002, pp. 682-683.
TJB: Abandon-hope aubade. New York as if the 2d, 4th or maybe 7th circles of the Inferno. This is nothing like the cover art to the Freewheelin’…
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