La lluvia tiene un vago secreto de ternura,
algo de somnolencia resignada y amable,
una música humilde se despierta con ella
que hace vibrar el alma dormida del paisaje.
Es un besar azul que recibe la Tierra,
el mito primitivo que vuelve a realizarse.
El contacto ya frío de cielo y tierra viejos
con una mansedumbre de atardecer constante.
Es la aurora del fruto. La que nos trae las flores
y nos unge de espíritu santo de los mares.
La que derrama vida sobre las sementeras
y en el alma tristeza de lo que no se sabe.
La nostalgia terrible de una vida perdida,
el fatal sentimiento de haber nacido tarde,
o la ilusión inquieta de un mañana imposible
con la inquietud cercana del color de la carne.
El amor se despierta en el gris de su ritmo,
nuestro cielo interior tiene un triunfo de sangre,
pero nuestro optimismo se convierte en tristeza
al contemplar las gotas muertas en los cristales.
Y son las gotas: ojos de infinito que miran
al infinito blanco que les sirvió de madre.
Cada gota de lluvia tiembla en el cristal turbio
y le dejan divinas heridas de diamante.
Son poetas del agua que han visto y que meditan
lo que la muchedumbre de los ríos no sabe.
¡Oh lluvia silenciosa, sin tormentas ni vientos,
lluvia mansa y serena de esquila y luz suave,
lluvia buena y pacifica que eres la verdadera,
la que llorosa y triste sobre las cosas caes!
¡Oh lluvia franciscana que llevas a tus gotas
almas de fuentes claras y humildes manantiales!
Cuando sobre los campos desciendes lentamente
las rosas de mi pecho con tus sonidos abres.
El canto primitivo que dices al silencio
y la historia sonora que cuentas al ramaje
los comenta llorando mi corazón desierto
en un negro y profundo pentágrama sin clave.
Mi alma tiene tristeza de la lluvia serena,
tristeza resignada de cosa irrealizable,
tengo en el horizonte un lucero encendido
y el corazón me impide que corra a contemplarte.
¡Oh lluvia silenciosa que los árboles aman
y eres sobre el piano dulzura emocionante;
das al alma las mismas nieblas y resonancias.
Federico Garcia Lorca
.....................................................................
THE RAIN
The rain has a vague secret of tenderness,
some resigned and kind drowsiness,
a humble music wakes up with her
that makes the sleeping soul of the landscape vibrate.
It's a blue kiss that Earth receives,
the primitive myth that returns to be realized.
The already cold contact of old heaven and earth
with a meekness of a constant sunset.
It's the aurora of the fruit. The one that brings us the flowers
and anoints us with the holy spirit of the seas.
The one that spills life on the sowings
and in the soul sadness of what is not known.
The terrible nostalgia of a lost life,
the fatal feeling of being born late,
or the restless illusion of an impossible tomorrow
with the inquietude close to the color of the flesh.
Love wakes up in the gray of its rhythm,
our inner heaven has a triumph of blood,
but our optimism turns to sadness
when contemplating the drops dead in the crystals.
And they are the drops: eyes of infinity that look
to the white infinity that served as their mother.
Every drop of rain trembles in the cloudy crystal
and leave you divine diamond wounds.
They are poets of water who have seen and who meditate
what the crowd of the rivers does not know.
¡Oh silent rain, without storms or winds,
gentle and serene rain of shearing and soft light,
good and peaceful rain that you are the true one,
the one that tearful and sad about things you fall!
¡Oh Franciscan rain that you take to your drops
souls from clear sources and humble springs!
When on the fields you descend slowly
the roses of my chest with your sounds open.
The primitive song that you say to silence
and the sound story that you tell the branches
tells them crying my desolate heart
in a black and deep pentagram without a key.
My soul has the sadness of the serene rain,
the resigned sadness of helplessness
I have a lighted star on the horizon
and my heart stops me from running to look at you.
¡Oh silent rain that the trees love
and you are on the piano exciting sweetness;
give to the soul the same mists and resonances
English version,
This poem is just beautiful, carefully created and I like the picture put as much as I like the poem. Thank you for sharing this marvelous poem. A 10 and much more.
Thank you for your kind thoughts...I tried my best to make Federico Garcia Lorca sound original in English...I hope that I came close to his heart...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautifully crafted write. So imaginative. ++10
Federico Garcia Lorca is an outstanding Poet...I simlpy tried to dream his words in English...