NERVO, Amado
Offertory / Ofertorio
Deus dedit, Deus abstulit
[God has given, God has taken away]
God, I offer you my pain—
that’s all I can offer you!
You gave me a love, only one love,
a great love!
Death stole it from me,
and I have nothing else now but my pain.
Accept it, Lord—
it’s all that I can offer you!
The Wing’s Shadow / La sombra del ala
You who assume I don’t believe
whenever we two debate:
you can’t imagine how I long,
I thirst, I hunger for God.
You’ve never heard
my desperate cries filling
the heart of darkness
with invocations of the Infinite.
You’ve never seen how my thought,
in its dedication to bearing
the ideal, regularly endures
the tortures of childbirth.
If my barren spirit
had your fertility,
it would’ve already forged a heaven
to make its world whole.
But I say: who knows
what effort would suffice
in a soul with no flag
to lead your torturer about,
a soul that lives by abstinence from faith,
and with heroic tenacity,
interrogates each abyss
and each night, asking why?
At all events, I take refuge
in my thirst for investigation,
my craving for God, deep and silent;
and there is more love in my doubt
than in your heated contention.
Kalpa
Do you want all this to begin again?”
“Yes!” the chorus replied.
THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA
In all the eternities
that preceded our world,
how can we refuse to believe that there have already
been other planets with human beings,
whose Homers have declaimed
their first heroic deeds
and whose Shakespeares have shared wisdom gleaned
from delving into the depths of the soul?
Serpent biting your tail,
uncompromising circle, black
ball that turns without ceasing,
monotonous refrain of the same song,
abysmal tide—
is this story of yours ever to have an end?
Deity / Deidad
As a spark sleeps in the pebble
and a statue in the clay,
so in you, divinity sleeps.
Just a press of intense pain
till the shock—the lightning of deity
bursting from the inert stone.
Therefore don’t complain and blame fate,
since what is divine within you
can only emerge in such a manner.
Grin and bear it if you can,
this life the creator is sculpting,
the hard blow of the chisel.
What matter, then, the evil hours,
if every hour he adds a lovelier
plume to your nascent wings?
You shall see the condor at full altitude,
you shall see the completed sculpture,
you shall see, my soul, you shall see…
And the Basalt Buddha smiled / Y el Buda de basalto sonreía
That evening in the poplar grove, mad
with love, the sweet one I idolized
offered me the wild rose of her mouth.
And the basalt Buddha smiled…
Later there was another whose charms
captured me; we made a date, and in the shade
exchanged letters and lockets.
And the basalt Buddha smiled…
It’s been a year today since I lost her love.
I return to our trysting spot and, exhausted
from the long walk, creep up to the top
of the pedestal where the image rests.
The day dies, squandered and bloody,
and in the arms of the basalt Buddha
I’m astonished to see the mysterious moon.
And the basalt Buddha smiled…
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because you never gave me neither unfilled hope,
nor unfair work, nor undeserved sorrow;
that I was the architect of my own destiny; if I extracted the sweetness or the bitterness of things, it was because I put the sweetness or the bitterness in them:
when I planted rose bushes I always harvested roses.
but you didn’t tell me that May was eternal!
but you didn’t promise me only good nights;
and in exchange I had some peaceful ones I loved …
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Were restless, nervous.
was already waiting… and in her anxiety
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¿Llorar? ¡Para qué!
Este es el libro de mi dolor:
lágrima a lágrima lo formé;
una vez hecho, te juro, por
Cristo, que nunca más lloraré.
¿Llorar? ¡Por qué!
Serán mis rimas como el rielar
de una luz íntima, que dejaré
en cada verso; pero llorar,
¡eso ya nunca! ¿Por quién? ¿Por qué?
Serán un plácido florigelio,
un haz de notas que regaré,
y habrá una risa por cada arpegio…
¿Pero una lágrima? ¡Qué sacrilegio!
Eso ya nunca. ¿Por quién? ¿Por qué?