Poem
Henry Luque
ULUGH BEG* / (1394-1449)
Ulugh Beg, I have travelled on so much dustto be near the Stars you fashioned.
I want to keep warm for an instant
– allow me this boon –
under the celestial cloak, it is cold
and we will die while the night passes.
In the firmament I see your hand stretched out.
An old, millenary man told me
that due to your cosmogonical passion
you became a brother of the sky.
And now I see you as if it were yesterday:
every star that you discover
you burnish and keep in the motherland of your heart.
Your stature is a walking phosphorescense.
Humbly I join the homage.
The madrasah puts the minarets in rhythmical row
to lodge your coming,
the sand of the desert stops whistling
so that the only thing that enters its ear
is your intense word of malachite.
King on earth,
blessed by the multitude,
the orbits know
that you were also
khan of infinite space.
In a time of rigid obscurity
you filled the void with oracular numbers.
Archer of radiant pulse
your arrow defeated the blackness,
your arm scared ignorance
and you even left flashes of wisdom
to the barbarians that tore up your life.
The blue silence
of Samarkand,
the erect brightness
of Bukhara
preserve your gaze in a coffer,
and the mosques
fly
to put the flower of dawn
on the shores of your name.
I touch
the firmament
you went over with your hand,
I touch
the sextant
that will make me travel
to where the grandfathers
of the topaz dome sparkle.
I feel a shudder all over
when I go up the grand staircase
that took you to the incorporeal realm.
You, habitué of the white perfection,
you who never acted out of balance,
spill the attribute of the spark
on this disoriented human race.
© Translation: 2007, Nicolás Suescún
*Ruler, scientist and astronomer. Grandson of the great Tamerlane. He discovered more than 200 stars. Author of a catalog in which he located with amazing exactitude nearly one thousand heavenly bodies. He built the sextant. He was assassinated by his son.
ULUBEK* / (1394-1449)
ULUBEK* / (1394-1449)
Ulugbek, recorrí mucho polvopara acercarme a las estrellas que forjaste.
Quiero abrigarme un instante
– pemíteme ese don –
con el manto celeste, hace frío
y nos morimos mientras pasa la noche.
En el firmamento veo tu mano tendida.
Un viejo milenario me dijo
que con tu pasión cosmogónica
te hiciste hermano del cielo.
Y ahora te veo como si fuera ayer:
toda estrella que descubres
la pules y guardas en la patria de tu corazón.
Tu estatura es fosforescencia que camina.
Con humildad me uno al homenaje.
La medersa coloca en rítmica fila los minaretes
para albergar tu llegada,
la arena del desierto cesa de silbar
para que solo entre a su oído
tu intensa palabra de malaquita.
Rey en la tierra,
por la multitud bendecido,
las órbitas saben
que también fuiste
khan de los espacios infinitos.
En tiempos de rígida oscuridad
llenaste el vacío de números oraculares.
Arquero de pulso radiante
tu flecha venció la negrura,
tu brazo amedrentó la ignorancia
y hasta dejaste relámpagos de sabiduría
a los bárbaros que te rasgaron la vida.
El silencio azul
de Samarcanda,
el brillo enhiesto
de Bujará
conservan tu mirada en un cofre,
y las mezquitas
vuelan
a colocar la flor del alba
a orillas de tu nombre.
Toco el firmamento
que recorriste con tu mano
toco
el sextante
que me hará viajar
adonde fulguran los abuelos
de la cúpula de topacio.
Un escalofrío me recorre
cuando asciendo la escalinata
que te llevó hacia lo incorpóreo.
Tú, frecuentador de la blanca perfección,
tú que jamás obraste a espaldas de la balanza,
derrama el atributo de la centella
en esta raza humana desorientada.
© 1991, Sara Gonzáles
From: El libro de los caminos
Publisher: Fundación Simón y Lola Guberek, Ed. Lealón, Bogotá
From: El libro de los caminos
Publisher: Fundación Simón y Lola Guberek, Ed. Lealón, Bogotá
*Gobernante, científico y astrónomo. Nieto del gran Tamerlán. Descubrió más de doscientas estrellas. Autor de un catálogo en el que ubicó con asombrosa exactitud cerca de un millar de cuerpos celestes. Construyó el sextante. Murió asesinado por su hijo.
Poems
Poems of Henry Luque
Close
ULUGH BEG* / (1394-1449)
Ulugh Beg, I have travelled on so much dustto be near the Stars you fashioned.
I want to keep warm for an instant
– allow me this boon –
under the celestial cloak, it is cold
and we will die while the night passes.
In the firmament I see your hand stretched out.
An old, millenary man told me
that due to your cosmogonical passion
you became a brother of the sky.
And now I see you as if it were yesterday:
every star that you discover
you burnish and keep in the motherland of your heart.
Your stature is a walking phosphorescense.
Humbly I join the homage.
The madrasah puts the minarets in rhythmical row
to lodge your coming,
the sand of the desert stops whistling
so that the only thing that enters its ear
is your intense word of malachite.
King on earth,
blessed by the multitude,
the orbits know
that you were also
khan of infinite space.
In a time of rigid obscurity
you filled the void with oracular numbers.
Archer of radiant pulse
your arrow defeated the blackness,
your arm scared ignorance
and you even left flashes of wisdom
to the barbarians that tore up your life.
The blue silence
of Samarkand,
the erect brightness
of Bukhara
preserve your gaze in a coffer,
and the mosques
fly
to put the flower of dawn
on the shores of your name.
I touch
the firmament
you went over with your hand,
I touch
the sextant
that will make me travel
to where the grandfathers
of the topaz dome sparkle.
I feel a shudder all over
when I go up the grand staircase
that took you to the incorporeal realm.
You, habitué of the white perfection,
you who never acted out of balance,
spill the attribute of the spark
on this disoriented human race.
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
From: El libro de los caminos
From: El libro de los caminos
*Ruler, scientist and astronomer. Grandson of the great Tamerlane. He discovered more than 200 stars. Author of a catalog in which he located with amazing exactitude nearly one thousand heavenly bodies. He built the sextant. He was assassinated by his son.
ULUGH BEG* / (1394-1449)
Ulugh Beg, I have travelled on so much dustto be near the Stars you fashioned.
I want to keep warm for an instant
– allow me this boon –
under the celestial cloak, it is cold
and we will die while the night passes.
In the firmament I see your hand stretched out.
An old, millenary man told me
that due to your cosmogonical passion
you became a brother of the sky.
And now I see you as if it were yesterday:
every star that you discover
you burnish and keep in the motherland of your heart.
Your stature is a walking phosphorescense.
Humbly I join the homage.
The madrasah puts the minarets in rhythmical row
to lodge your coming,
the sand of the desert stops whistling
so that the only thing that enters its ear
is your intense word of malachite.
King on earth,
blessed by the multitude,
the orbits know
that you were also
khan of infinite space.
In a time of rigid obscurity
you filled the void with oracular numbers.
Archer of radiant pulse
your arrow defeated the blackness,
your arm scared ignorance
and you even left flashes of wisdom
to the barbarians that tore up your life.
The blue silence
of Samarkand,
the erect brightness
of Bukhara
preserve your gaze in a coffer,
and the mosques
fly
to put the flower of dawn
on the shores of your name.
I touch
the firmament
you went over with your hand,
I touch
the sextant
that will make me travel
to where the grandfathers
of the topaz dome sparkle.
I feel a shudder all over
when I go up the grand staircase
that took you to the incorporeal realm.
You, habitué of the white perfection,
you who never acted out of balance,
spill the attribute of the spark
on this disoriented human race.
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
*Ruler, scientist and astronomer. Grandson of the great Tamerlane. He discovered more than 200 stars. Author of a catalog in which he located with amazing exactitude nearly one thousand heavenly bodies. He built the sextant. He was assassinated by his son.
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