Oh sweet pale girl
Translation by Tomás F. Molina, doctoral researcher at the University of Granada, Spain.
Two poems by José Asunción Silva (1865-1896)
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?
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.