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Poem

Porfirio Barba Jacob

October Lamentation

I did not know that the blue of tomorrow
is a vague specter of the haze of yesterday;
that shaken by gusts of centuries
the heart longs to burn, to burn.
I feel its influence, its latency, and the moment
in which it wants to light its altar candles.

            But life is calling
            and it’s too late to learn.

I did not know that your sun, tenderness,
gives the children’s sky a rosy hue,
and that under the laurel, the coarse hero
must have something of the child.
Ah, who could be reborn from tremulous
childhood into a dawn of innocence!

            But life is passing
            and it’s too late to learn.

I did not know that the deep peace
of affection, the lilies of pleasure,
the magnolia of light of energy,
woman carries in her soft breast.
How much a true man I would like to be,
my temples submissive to that soft breast!

            But life is running out
            and it’s too late to learn.

Lamentación de octubre

Lamentación de octubre

Yo no sabía que el azul mañana
es vago espectro del brumoso ayer;
que agitado por soplos de centurias
el corazón anhela arder, arder.
Siento su influjo y su latencia, y cuándo
quiere sus luminarias entender.

            Pero la vida está llamando,
            y ya no es hora de aprender.

Yo sabía que tu sol, ternura,
da al cielo de los niños rosicler,
y que, bajo el laurel, el héroe rudo
algo de niño tiene que tener.
¡Oh, quién pudiera de niñez temblando,
a un alba de inocencia renacer!

            Pero la vida está pasando
            y ya no es hora de aprender.

Yo sabía que la paz profunda
del afecto, los lirios del placer,
la magnolia de luz de la energía,
lleva en su blando seno la mujer.
Mi sien rendida en este seno blando,
un hombre de verdad quisiera ser…

            Pero la vida está acabando,
            y ya no es hora de aprender.
Close

October Lamentation

I did not know that the blue of tomorrow
is a vague specter of the haze of yesterday;
that shaken by gusts of centuries
the heart longs to burn, to burn.
I feel its influence, its latency, and the moment
in which it wants to light its altar candles.

            But life is calling
            and it’s too late to learn.

I did not know that your sun, tenderness,
gives the children’s sky a rosy hue,
and that under the laurel, the coarse hero
must have something of the child.
Ah, who could be reborn from tremulous
childhood into a dawn of innocence!

            But life is passing
            and it’s too late to learn.

I did not know that the deep peace
of affection, the lilies of pleasure,
the magnolia of light of energy,
woman carries in her soft breast.
How much a true man I would like to be,
my temples submissive to that soft breast!

            But life is running out
            and it’s too late to learn.

October Lamentation

I did not know that the blue of tomorrow
is a vague specter of the haze of yesterday;
that shaken by gusts of centuries
the heart longs to burn, to burn.
I feel its influence, its latency, and the moment
in which it wants to light its altar candles.

            But life is calling
            and it’s too late to learn.

I did not know that your sun, tenderness,
gives the children’s sky a rosy hue,
and that under the laurel, the coarse hero
must have something of the child.
Ah, who could be reborn from tremulous
childhood into a dawn of innocence!

            But life is passing
            and it’s too late to learn.

I did not know that the deep peace
of affection, the lilies of pleasure,
the magnolia of light of energy,
woman carries in her soft breast.
How much a true man I would like to be,
my temples submissive to that soft breast!

            But life is running out
            and it’s too late to learn.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère