Time in Spain is different isn't it? The seconds, the minutes are not the same as the ones in your watch. Here is a poem by Pedro Salinas (from Voz a ti debida). I've provided an English translation below. Let me know what you all think. Enjoy!
¡Qué cruce en tu muñeca
del tiempo contra el tiempo!
Reló, frío, enroscado,
acechador, espera
el paso de tu sangre
en el pulso. Te oprimen
órdenes, desde fuera:
tic tac, tic tac,
la voz, allí, en la máquina.
A tu vida infinita,
sin término, echan lazos
pueriles los segundos.
Pero tu corazón
allá lejos afirma
-- sangre yendo y viniendo
en ti, con tu querer-
su ser, su ritmo, otro.
No. Los días, el tiempo,
no te serán contados
nunca en esfera blanca,
tres, cuatro, cinco, seis.
Tus perezas, tus prontos,
tu gran ardor sin cálculo,
no se pueden cifrar.
Siéntelos tú, desnuda
de reló, en la muñeca:
latido contra número.
¿Amor? ¿Vivir? Atiende
al tic tac dimunito
que hace ya veinte años
sonó por vez primera
en una carne virgen
del tacto de la luz,
para llevarle al mundo
una cuenta distinta,
única, nueva: tú.
(English version)
What a cross in your wrist
of time against time!
The watch, cold, twisted,
observer, awaits
the passage of blood
in your pulse. Orders
press you, from outside:
tic toc, tic toc,
the voice, there, in the machine.
To your infinite life,
without end, the seconds
tie childish knots.
But your heart
affirms far from there
-- blood coming and going
in you, with your love -
its being, its rhythm, is another.
No. Your days, your time,
won't ever be counted
in a white sphere,
three, four, five, six.
Your lazy impulses, your urges
your great heat without measure
can't be calculated.
Feel them, without
a watch, in your wrist:
heartbeat against number.
Love? Live? Attend
to the tiny tic toc
that twenty years ago
sounded for the first time
in a flesh virgin to the
touch of light,
to bring to the world,
a different unique,
new count: you.
[ 06-17-2001: Message edited by: caminante ]
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