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Columnistas

Oh sweet pale girl

Translation by Tomás F. Molina, doctoral researcher at the University of Granada, Spain.

02/08/2018

Volumen 4 - Nº 40 ago./2018
ISSN: 2422-2216

Two poems by José Asunción Silva (1865-1896)

 

col1im3der

Oh sweet pale girl,

like a mountain of gold

you guard the treasure

of your lovely innocence;

The most audacious

in the art of seduction

have never approached you

with carnal desires;

You let me glimpse

a strange naïveté

in eyes veiled

with silky eyelashes;

not even the shadow of a kiss

has been close to your sweet lips

-open only to prayer-...

Tell me secretly, in my ear,

with that soft voice of yours:

If in dreams you were to glimpse

the one that you desire

after the beautiful balls

and felt his lips touching yours;

and with mad desire

they kissed your tender skin

full of aromas

and the rigid tips

of your breasts;

and if in the mad,

ardent

and profound embraces

you agonize

and dream of pleasure

in the arms of the one

to whom you are all the happiness,

oh sweet pale girl!

Tell me:

Would you resist?

col1im3der

Nocturne II

 

      Poeta di paso,

      The furtive kisses!

 

The shadow, the memories!

There, the moon did not shine.

You trembled

and were mine.

You trembled

and were mine

under the foliage.

An errant firefly

lit our kiss,

the furtive contact

with your silky lips;

the dark jungle

was our sombre chamber…

There, moss has the aroma

of flowers.

Light passed through the branches

as if daylight finally came.

Through a pale mist the moon appeared.

 

     Poeta di paso,

     The intimiate kisses!

 

I still remember the sweet nights!

In lordly rooms

in which the tapestries

softened the noise

with their dense threads,

nude in my arms, your kisses were mine;

your twenty year old body

in red silk,

your golden hair

and your melancholy;

your virgin freshness

and flowery aromas…

The sombre lamp barely lit

the faded threads of the tapestries.

 

    Poeta di paso,

    The last kiss!

 

I still remember the tragic night!

The heraldic coffin laid in the room,

my ear tired

by vigils and excesses

felt monotonous prayers from afar!

You, withered, stiff and pale

in black silk.

The candle-flame trembled and moved,

and perfumed everything with flowery aromas.

A pale crucifix extended its arms

and there they were:

the frozen

purple lips

that were mine.

Tomás Felipe Molina
 
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