Michel Galiana Poems

The song, to be sure, was not lost,
But no mouth was left to sing it,
Nor, to shape the smile, were there lips,
Nor, for the avowal, were there words.
...

Since on our night a voice sometimes swells and then fades,
To drown it we'll invent a still louder silence
So that the vintager who's in charge of the graves
In the mud of our days may find no repentance.
...

You have surged from my deepest night
But it's night that swells your bosom
An echo follows the faint light
...

With your spindles you fix, spinning girls, our shadows,
But mind you don't hinder Apollo's slow journey
And don't stop the river that in conformity
With the decrees of stars, seasons and hours flows
...

The wonderful Autumn blew its horns at my pane
Where are the silver horns? Is the hunting over?
They must have lost my scent. The barks are on the wane.
I wail in vain, a mocked lover
...

Brother, these caravans come from your inmost being.
Salt and balm silver their dromedaries' nostrils.
Ripples of bells have wrought a net of paths until
You knew of realms beyond the bush and of their kings.
...

Lanterns are stars guiding the belated walker
Whose step must cautiously figure out the lane
Which the night, this wizard, dips again and again
Into shade propitious both to thief and stroller.
...

Songs of gold, songs of blood used to lull your children:
A captive with his lute overpowered a fortress,
A man ever fighting in spite of his blindness,
A prophet whose cause was pleaded by martyrdom.
...

Of the rock, seaweed, gale and flood
I am the foam - I am the blood,
And the song enthralling my being.
...

Better than I did, the sea knew the route.
Fingers, spin for me: I am the blind past.
Thus shuttle, scythe, adze know better about
Weft and crouching corn, gods hiding in casks.
...