Posts tagged ‘robert bly’

Thursday, 30 December 2021

The Snowfall is So Silent by Miguel de Unamuno

The snowfall is so silent,
so slow,
bit by bit, with delicacy
it settles down on the earth
and covers over the fields.
The silent snow comes down
white and weightless;
snowfall makes no noise,
falls as forgetting falls,
flake after flake.
It covers the fields gently
while frost attacks them
with its sudden flashes of white;
covers everything with its pure
and silent covering;
not one thing on the ground
anywhere escapes it.
And wherever it falls it stays,
content and gay,
for snow does not slip off
as rain does,
but it stays and sinks in.
The flakes are skyflowers,
pale lilies from the clouds,
that wither on earth.
They come down blossoming
but then so quickly
they are gone;
they bloom only on the peak,
above the mountains,
and make the earth feel heavier
when they die inside.
Snow, delicate snow,
that falls with such lightness
on the head,
on the feelings,
come and cover over the sadness
that lies always in my reason.

From: https://allpoetry.com/The-Snowfall-Is-So-Silent

Date: 1922 (original in Spanish); 1976 (translation in English)

By: Miguel de Unamuno (1864-1936)

Translated by: Robert Bly (1926-2021)

Friday, 28 February 2014

Gacela of the Dark Death by Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca

I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,
I want to get far away from the busyness of the cemeteries.
I want to sleep the sleep of that child
who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea.

I don’t want them to tell me again how the corpse keeps all its blood,
how the decaying mouth goes on begging for water.
I’d rather not hear about the torture sessions the grass arranges for
nor about how the moon does all its work before dawn
with its snakelike nose.

I want to sleep for half a second,
a second, a minute, a century,
but I want everyone to know that I am still alive,
that I have a golden manger inside my lips,
that I am the little friend of the west wind,
that I am the elephantine shadow of my own tears.

When it’s dawn just throw some sort of cloth over me
because I know dawn will toss fistfuls of ants at me,
and pour a little hard water over my shoes
so that the scorpion claws of the dawn will slip off.

Because I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,
and learn a mournful song that will clean all earth away from me,
because I want to live with that shadowy child
who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea.

From: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15819

Date: 1973 (translated)

By: Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca (1898-1936)

Translated by: Robert Bly (1926- )

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Surprised By Evening by Robert Bly

There is unknown dust that is near us
Waves breaking on shores just over the hill
Trees full of birds that we have never seen
Nets drawn with dark fish.

The evening arrives; we look up and it is there
It has come through the nets of the stars
Through the tissues of the grass
Walking quietly over the asylums of the waters.

The day shall never end we think:
We have hair that seemed born for the daylight;
But at last the quiet waters of the night will rise
And our skin shall see far off as it does under water.

From: http://qap.upsd.wikispaces.net/file/view/Poem+Surprised+By+Evening.pdf

Date: 1962

By: Robert Bly (1926-2021)

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Mourning by Georg Trakl

The dark eagles, sleep and death,
Rustle all night around my head:
The golden statue of man
Is swallowed by the icy comber
Of eternity. On the frightening reef
The purple remains go to pieces,
And the dark voice mourns
Over the sea.
Sister in my wild despair
Look, a precarious skiff is sinking
Under the stars,
The face of night whose voice is fading.

From: Bly, Robert and Wright, James, Twenty Poems of Georg Trakl, 1961, Sixties Press;Madison, p. 23.
(http://www.dreamsongs.com/Files/Trakl.pdf)

Date: 1914 (in German)

By: Georg Trakl (1887-1914)

Translated by: James Wright (1927-1980) and Robert Bly (1926- )