Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Giovanni Quessep

Song of the two roses

Don\'t say anything, listen to the stars  
Perhaps they will tell you something  
of the rose that in your garden is  
and of the rose of  time,  
- the one that is dead or alive -  
in the burning sand.  
Beautiful the rose that in your garden is,
not the bitter sorceress  that calls you  
since your birth, obscure rose
that lights you the end and the banks
of the Acheron. Don’t talk, you are alone
with your unutterable nothingness, for always distant  
from the deepest blue. Look then
if the water goes into an island
where the roses grow fateful or fortunate;
and write and sing. And hear the stars
that speak from a page lost.

Cántico de las dos rosas

Cántico de las dos rosas

No digas nada, escucha a las estrellas
Tal vez te digan algo
de la rosa que hay en tu jardín
y la rosa del tiempo,
-la que está viva o muerta-
en la arena que arde.
La rosa que hay en tu jardín es bella,
no la amarga hechicera que te llama
desde tu nacimiento, rosa oscura
que te alumbra el final y las orillas
del Aqueronte. No hables, que estás solo
con tu nada indecible, siempre lejos
del azul más profundo. Mira pues
si el agua va a una isla donde crecen
rosas ya sin ventura o venturosas;
y escribe y canta. Y oye a las estrellas
que hablan desde una página perdida.
Close

Song of the two roses

Don\'t say anything, listen to the stars  
Perhaps they will tell you something  
of the rose that in your garden is  
and of the rose of  time,  
- the one that is dead or alive -  
in the burning sand.  
Beautiful the rose that in your garden is,
not the bitter sorceress  that calls you  
since your birth, obscure rose
that lights you the end and the banks
of the Acheron. Don’t talk, you are alone
with your unutterable nothingness, for always distant  
from the deepest blue. Look then
if the water goes into an island
where the roses grow fateful or fortunate;
and write and sing. And hear the stars
that speak from a page lost.

Song of the two roses

Don\'t say anything, listen to the stars  
Perhaps they will tell you something  
of the rose that in your garden is  
and of the rose of  time,  
- the one that is dead or alive -  
in the burning sand.  
Beautiful the rose that in your garden is,
not the bitter sorceress  that calls you  
since your birth, obscure rose
that lights you the end and the banks
of the Acheron. Don’t talk, you are alone
with your unutterable nothingness, for always distant  
from the deepest blue. Look then
if the water goes into an island
where the roses grow fateful or fortunate;
and write and sing. And hear the stars
that speak from a page lost.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
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