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The poet tells the truth
I want to weep with my pain and tell
you - so you'll love me and cry for me also
in a nightfall of nightingales
with a knifeblade, with kisses and with you.
I want to kill the only one to witness
the assassination of my flowers
and transform my weeping and sweat
into an everlasting heap of dry wheat.
That ‘I love you, you love me’ yarn
should never run out, let it always be burnt
by the decrepit sun and the old moon.
What you don’t give and I don’t ask
for is taken by death that leaves not
even a shadow on shuddering flesh.
English translation by Paul Archer of Lorca's El poeta dice la verdad.
For more translations from Lorca's Sonetos del amor oscuro, go to Sonnets of Dark Love. |
