What Is Not A Dream Poem by Claudio Rodríguez

Let me speak to you now, in this hour
of pain, with happy
words. It's common knowledge
that scorpions, ticks and leeches
sometimes heal. But listen, let me
tell you, that in spite
of so much miserable living, yes,
in spite of it and even now
that we have been defeated, though not tamed,
it's pain that is the cloud
and happiness the air;
pain is the guest
and happiness the house.
For grief is honey,
a symbol of death, but joy
though bitter, dry, new,
is the only thing
that makes any real sense.
With sage of old,
let me say:
in spite
of all the spites,
and when life is very painful,
and at times
even revolting, always, always
the deepest truth is happiness.
The one that of a muddied river
makes clear waters,
the one that makes me tell you now
such undignified words;
the one that comes
as night and morning do,
as the wave
comes to the shore:
unstoppable.


Translation: ANABEL TORRES