English version by Robert Bly
Original Language Spanish
Dedicated to Jose Ortega y Gasset
an eye because you see it;
it is an eye because it sees you.
and now it's a boring fault too.
But look in your mirror for the other one,
the other one who walks by your side.
Between living and dreaming
can't see his face in the mirror
because he has become the mirror.
firing up the same forge?
Is the water still going along in its bed?
The sun in Aries. My window
Oh the sound of the water far off!
The evening awakens the river.
-- a high tower with storks! --
the gregarious sound falls silent,
and in the field where no one is,
water makes a sound among the rocks.
Just as before, I'm interested
When you hear water, does its sound tell you
if it's from a mountain or farm,
city street, formal garden, or orchard?
What I find surprises me:
leaves of the garden balm
Don't trace out your profile,
who walks always next to you
and tends to be what you aren't.
I have seen things very clearly
Water is good, so is thirst;
shadow is good, so is sun;
the honey from the rosemarys
and the honey of the bare fields.
quod elixum est ne asato.
Don't roast what's already boiled.
Sing on, sing on, sing on,
Form your letters slowly and well:
is more important than making them.
moving the legs fast is important,
as the snail said to the greyhound.
There are really men of action now!
But don't hunt for dissonance;
because, in the end, there is no dissonance.
When the sound is heard people dance.
What the poet is searching for
The eyes you're longing for --
the eyes you see yourself in
are eyes because they see you.
Beyond living and dreaming
there is something more important:
Now someone has come up with this!
I thought my fire was out,
a heart that's all by itself
I've caught a glimpse of him in dreams:
expert hunter of himself,
the one who on sunny days
If a poem becomes common,
passed around, hand to hand, it's OK:
gold is chosen for coins.
then it's better to be asleep dreaming,
Sunlight is good for waking,
the best thing about morning.
Among the figs I am soft.
Among the rocks I am hard.
how close my friends are;
Now, poet, your prophecy?
“Tomorrow what is dumb will speak,
the human heart and the stone.”
It is pure and intense play,
so it is like pure and intense life,
so it is like pure and intense fire.
You'll see the coal burning