Poem
Aurelio Arturo
Silence
Heads of hair and confused dreamscover the bodies like muffled mosses
in the night, in the embroidering shade
of deep velvets and oblivion.
Gold flickers the sky like beaks
of birds that swoop down in flocks,
black warps inlaid with living gold,
over that great silence of corpses.
And thus, alone, saved from the shade,
next to the library where the murmur
of aged trunks wanders, I hear something like
the limitless clamour of a valley.
Harsh drum amid the night, it sounds
when all are dead, when all
in the dream, in death, fall into
a silence full and deep as a scream.
Let the dream of silky wings haunt me,
haunt me like a laurel of dark leaves
but oh the great hurricane of the deep silences,
of the clamorous silences.
And next to that bivouac of old books,
while the still night that imitates
a grove moves shade and silence,
I look for you in the prodigious depths,
fiery, voracious, chained word.
© Translation: 2004, Raúl Jaime Gaviria
Translated with the collaboration of Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
Translated with the collaboration of Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
Silencio
Silencio
Cabelleras y sueños confundidoscubren los cuerpos como sordos musgos
en la noche, en la sombra bordadora
de terciopelos hondos y olvidos.
Oros rielan el cielo como picos
de aves que se abatieran en bandadas,
negra comba incrustada de oros vivos,
sobre aquel gran silencio de cadáveres.
Y así solo, salvado de la sombra,
junto a la biblioteca donde vaga
rumor de añosos troncos, oigo alzarse
como el clamor ilímite de un valle.
Ronco tambor entre la noche suena
cuando están todos muertos, cuando todos,
en el sueño, en la muerte, callan llenos
de un silencio tan hondo como un grito.
Róndeme el sueño de sedosas alas,
róndeme cual laurel de oscuras hojas
mas oh el gran huracán de los silencios
hondos, de los silencios clamorosos.
Y junto a aquel vivac de viejos libros,
mientras sombra y silencio mueve, sorda
la noche que simula una arboleda,
te busco en las honduras prodigiosas,
ígnea, voraz, palabra encadenada.
© 1932, Aurelio Arturo
From: Morada al sur
Publisher: Oveja Negra, Bogotá
From: Morada al sur
Publisher: Oveja Negra, Bogotá
Poems
Poems of Aurelio Arturo
Close
Silence
Heads of hair and confused dreamscover the bodies like muffled mosses
in the night, in the embroidering shade
of deep velvets and oblivion.
Gold flickers the sky like beaks
of birds that swoop down in flocks,
black warps inlaid with living gold,
over that great silence of corpses.
And thus, alone, saved from the shade,
next to the library where the murmur
of aged trunks wanders, I hear something like
the limitless clamour of a valley.
Harsh drum amid the night, it sounds
when all are dead, when all
in the dream, in death, fall into
a silence full and deep as a scream.
Let the dream of silky wings haunt me,
haunt me like a laurel of dark leaves
but oh the great hurricane of the deep silences,
of the clamorous silences.
And next to that bivouac of old books,
while the still night that imitates
a grove moves shade and silence,
I look for you in the prodigious depths,
fiery, voracious, chained word.
© 2004, Raúl Jaime Gaviria
Translated with the collaboration of Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
From: Morada al sur
Translated with the collaboration of Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
From: Morada al sur
Silence
Heads of hair and confused dreamscover the bodies like muffled mosses
in the night, in the embroidering shade
of deep velvets and oblivion.
Gold flickers the sky like beaks
of birds that swoop down in flocks,
black warps inlaid with living gold,
over that great silence of corpses.
And thus, alone, saved from the shade,
next to the library where the murmur
of aged trunks wanders, I hear something like
the limitless clamour of a valley.
Harsh drum amid the night, it sounds
when all are dead, when all
in the dream, in death, fall into
a silence full and deep as a scream.
Let the dream of silky wings haunt me,
haunt me like a laurel of dark leaves
but oh the great hurricane of the deep silences,
of the clamorous silences.
And next to that bivouac of old books,
while the still night that imitates
a grove moves shade and silence,
I look for you in the prodigious depths,
fiery, voracious, chained word.
© 2004, Raúl Jaime Gaviria
Translated with the collaboration of Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
Translated with the collaboration of Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
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