On the Agony in the Garden

15 03 2008

agony.jpg

NOCTURNO

Padre Nuestro, que estás en los cielos,
¡por qué te has olvidado de mí!
Te acordaste del fruto en febrero,
al llagarse su pulpa rubí.
¡Llevo abierto también mi costado,
y no quieres mirar hacia mí!

Te acordaste del negro racimo,
y lo diste al lagar carmesí;
y aventaste las hojas del álamo,
con tu aliento, en el aire sutil.
¡Y en el ancho lagar de la muerte
aun no quieres mi pecho oprimir!

Caminando vi abrir las violetas;
el falerno del viento bebí,
y he bajado, amarillos, mis párpados,
por no ver más enero ni abril.

Y he apretado la boca, anegada
de la estrofa que no he de exprimir.
¡Has herido la nube de otoño
y quieres volverte hacia mí!

Me vendió el que besó mi mejilla;
me negó por la túnica ruin.
Yo en mis versos el rostro con sangre,
como Tú sobre el paño, le di,
y en mi noche del Huerto, me han sido
Juan cobarde y el Ángel hostil.

Ha venido el cansancio infinito
a clavarse en mis ojos, al fin:
el cansancio del día que muere
y el del alba que debe venir;
¡el cansancio del cielo de estaño
y el cansancio del cielo de añil!

Ahora suelto la mártir sandalia 
y las trenzas pidiendo dormir.
Y perdida en la noche, levanto
el clamor aprendido de Ti:
¡Padre Nuestro, que estás en los cielos,
por qué te has olvidado de mí!

Gabriela Mistral

Our Father who art in Heaven
Why hast Thou forsaken me!
You looked upon the fruit in February
When it was cut open for all to see,
Now my own side has been opened
And your face is turned away from me!

You remembered the day of the black cluster
And over to the red press you gave it for wine,
And you stirred the leaves of the poplar,
With your breath, a wind divine;
But in the delivering winepress of death
My poor chest you will not unbind!

Walking I saw the violets open
And of the wind’s taste I had my fill,
I have lowered sorrowfully my yellow eyelids,
To see neither February nor April.

I have closed my mouth, overflowing
With the verse that I should never speak,
The cloud of autumn you have cruelly wounded
And now you want to turn towards me!

I was sold by him who kissed my cheek
For a tunic shameful and guilty,
I in my verses a face full of blood
Like You I offer up reverently,
All I have this night in the Garden
Are John’s cowardice and the Angel’s hostility.

At last, the endless fatigue has come
To seal my eyes heavily,
The tiredness of the dying day
And of the dawn that comes rapidly,
The fatigue and wailing of the sky of tin
And of the same sky, an indigo sea.

Now the martyred sandal is unloosed,
And my locks are pleading to sleep,
And in the lost night, the cry learnt from You
I now in despair unfree:
Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Why hast Thou forsaken me!

-translated by Arturo Vasquez


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2 responses

15 03 2008
primo de Arturo

Happy Easter

Now that is good poetry and translation

15 03 2008
Arturo Vasquez

And with this begins my hiatus for Holy Week. Check back after Easter.

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