my horse for her house, green wind, green branches. my saddle for her mirror, The two friends climbed up. my knife for her blanket. The stiff wind left My friend, I come bleeding in their mouths, a strange taste from the gates of Cabra. of bile, of mint, and of basil --If it were possible, my boy, My friend, where is she--tell me-- I'd help you fix that trade. where is your bitter girl? But now I am not I, How many times she waited for you! nor is my house now my house. How many times would she wait for you, --My friend, I want to die cool face, black hair, decently in my bed. on this green balcony! Of iron, if that's possible, Over the mouth of the cistern with blankets of fine chambray. the gypsy girl was swinging, Don't you see the wound I have green flesh, her hair green, from my chest up to my throat? with eyes of cold silver. --Your white shirt has grown An icicle of moon thirsy dark brown roses. holds her up above the water. Your blood oozes and flees a The night became intimate round the corners of your sash. like a little plaza. But now I am not I, Drunken "Guardias Civiles" nor is my house now my house. were pounding on the door. --Let me climb up, at least, Green, how I want you green. up to the high balconies; Green wind. Green branches. Let me climb up! Let me, The ship out on the sea. up to the green balconies. And the horse on the mountain. Railings of the moon through which the water rumbles. Translation by William Logan Now the two friends climb up, up to the high balconies. Leaving a trail of blood. Leaving a trail of teardrops. Tin bell vines were trembling on the roofs. A thousand crystal tambourines struck at the dawn light. Green, how I want you green,
my horse for her house, my saddle for her mirror, my knife for her blanket. My friend, I come bleeding from the gates of Cabra. --If it were possible, my boy, I'd help you fix that trade. But now I am not I, nor is my house now my house. --My friend, I want to die decently in my bed. Of iron, if that's possible, with blankets of fine chambray. Don't you see the wound I have from my chest up to my throat? --Your white shirt has grown thirsy dark brown roses. Your blood oozes and flees a round the corners of your sash. But now I am not I, nor is my house now my house. --Let me climb up, at least, up to the high balconies; Let me climb up! Let me, up to the green balconies. Railings of the moon through which the water rumbles. Now the two friends climb up, up to the high balconies. Leaving a trail of blood. Leaving a trail of teardrops. Tin bell vines were trembling on the roofs. A thousand crystal tambourines struck at the dawn light. Green, how I want you green, green wind, green branches. The two friends climbed up. The stiff wind left in their mouths, a strange taste of bile, of mint, and of basil My friend, where is she--tell me-- where is your bitter girl? How many times she waited for you! How many times would she wait for you, cool face, black hair, on this green balcony! Over the mouth of the cistern the gypsy girl was swinging, green flesh, her hair green, with eyes of cold silver. An icicle of moon holds her up above the water. The night became intimate like a little plaza. Drunken "Guardias Civiles" were pounding on the door. Green, how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches. The ship out on the sea. And the horse on the mountain. Translation by William Logan
faculty-poetry-reading-program-2013.docx