This afternoon it is raining, as never before; and I have no desire to live, my heart. This afternoon is sweet. Why should it not be? Dressed in grace and pain; dressed like a woman. This afternoon in Lima it is raining. And I recall the cruel caverns of my ingratitude; my block of ice over her poppy, stronger than her "Don't be this way!" My violent black flowers; and the barbaric and terrible stoning; and the glacial distance. And the silence of her dignity with burning holy oils will put all end to it. So this afternoon, as never before, I am with this owl, with this heart. Other women go by; and seeing me so sad, they take on a bit of you in the abrupt wrinkle of my deep remorse. This afternoon it is raining, raining hard. And I have no desire to live, my heart!
translated by The Friend
It’s a massive spider who can’t move;
a colorless spider, whose body—
a head and an abdomen—bleed.
Today I saw her up close. And with what effort
all along her flanks
her innumerable feet stiffened.
I have thought of her invisible eyes
the fatal pilots of the spider.
It’s a spider that trembled stuck
at the edge of a stone;
abdomen to one side,
to the other the head.
With so many feet the poor thing, she still can’t
work herself out. When seeing her,
stunned in some trance,
what grief this traveler gave me today.
An enormous spider who blocks
the abdomen from following the head.
I’ve thought about her eyes,
considered her numerous feet...
What grief this traveler’s given me today.
Es una araña enorme que ya no anda;
una araña incolora, cuyo cuerpo,
una cabeza y un abdomen, sangra.
Hoy la he visto de cerca. Y con qué esfuerzo
hacia todos los flancos
sus pies innumerables alargaba.
Y he pensado en sus ojos invisibles,
los pilotos fatales de la araña.
Es una araña que temblaba fija
en un filo de piedra;
el abdomen a un lado,
y al otro la cabeza.
Con tantos pies la pobre, y aún no puede
resolverse. Y, al verla
atónita en tal trance,
hoy me ha dado qué pena esa viajera.
Es una araña enorme, a quien impide
el abdomen seguir a la cabeza.
Y he pensado en sus ojos
y en sus pies numerosos...
¡Y me ha dado qué pena esa viajera!