Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer / Rhyme 21

Louise Brooks
by Grace Hamilton

Rhyme 21

By Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Translated by A.Z. Foreman

"What's poetry?" You ask me as you lock
My pupil in your pupil of pure blue.
"What's poetry?" You're really asking me?
Poetry is just you. 

Louise Brooks
by Grace Hamilton

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Rima 21

¿Qué es poesía?, dices mientras clavas
en mi pupila tu pupila azul.
¡Qué es poesía! ¿Y tú me lo preguntas?
Poesía eres tú.

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer / Rhyme II

Photo by Alessio Albi

Rhyme II

By Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Translated by A.Z. Foreman

A headlong flying arrow
Fired by a random hand
Not knowing where its trembling
Steel tip shall pierce and land.

A leaf from a dry tree-branch
Ripped by a crazy gust:
Unknowable the furrow
Where it shall fall at last.

A huge wave that the ocean's
Winds pull and push and lash,
Rolling with no idea
What beach it means to splash.

Lights in a hallway's torches
Burn, destined to expire,
None caring which possesses
The longest-lasting fire.

These things am I who travel
This world, who do not know
Where I am from nor whither
My willful feet will go.

Photo by Alessio Albi

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Rima II

Saeta que voladora
Cruza, arrojada al azar,
Sin adivinarse dónde
Temblando se clavará;

Hoja del árbol seca
Arrebata el vendaval,
Sin que nadie acierte el surco
Donde a caer volverá;

Gigante ola que el viento
Riza y empuja en el mar,
Y rueda y pasa, y no sabe
Qué playa buscando va;

Luz que en los cercos temblorosos
Brilla, próxima a expirar,
Ignorándose cuál de ellos
El último brillará;

Eso soy yo, que al acaso
Cruzo el mundo, sin pensar
De dónde vengo, ni a dónde

Mis pasos me llevarán.