SONG OF THE QUIET NIGHT
By Aurelio Arturo
Translated by Raúl Jaime Gaviria
With the collaboration of
Edgardo Arturo and Nicolás Suescún
In the balmy night, in the night,
when the leaves rise until they are the stars,
I hear the women grow in the mauve penumbra
and the falling of the shade from their lids, drop by drop.
I hear the broadening of their arms in the penumbra
and I could even hear the breaking of an ear of wheat in the field.
A word sings in my heart, whispering
when the leaves rise until they are the stars,
I hear the women grow in the mauve penumbra
and the falling of the shade from their lids, drop by drop.
I hear the broadening of their arms in the penumbra
and I could even hear the breaking of an ear of wheat in the field.
A word sings in my heart, whispering
green leaf falling without end. In the balmy night,
when the shade is the unrestrained growing of the trees,
a long dream of prodigious journeys kisses me
and there is in my heart a great light of sun and marvel.
In the midst of a night with a murmur of forest
like the very light noise of a falling star,
I woke in a dream of trembling golden ears of wheat
beside the nubile body of a sweet brunette,
as at the edge of a sleeping valley.
And in the night of leaves and murmuring stars,
I loved a country, and it is from its dark slime
a scarce portion the bitter heart;
I loved a country that for me is a maiden,
a deep murmur, an endless flow, a soft tree.
I loved a country and from it I brought a star
which is a wound in my side, and I brought
a woman’s scream from within my flesh.
In the balmy night, young and soft night,
when the high leaves are already light, eternal . . .
But if your body is earth from where the shade grows,
if already in your eyes big stars fall endlessly,
what shall I find in the valleys that ruffle brief wings?
what fire shall I look for without days or nights?
when the shade is the unrestrained growing of the trees,
a long dream of prodigious journeys kisses me
and there is in my heart a great light of sun and marvel.
In the midst of a night with a murmur of forest
like the very light noise of a falling star,
I woke in a dream of trembling golden ears of wheat
beside the nubile body of a sweet brunette,
as at the edge of a sleeping valley.
And in the night of leaves and murmuring stars,
I loved a country, and it is from its dark slime
a scarce portion the bitter heart;
I loved a country that for me is a maiden,
a deep murmur, an endless flow, a soft tree.
I loved a country and from it I brought a star
which is a wound in my side, and I brought
a woman’s scream from within my flesh.
In the balmy night, young and soft night,
when the high leaves are already light, eternal . . .
But if your body is earth from where the shade grows,
if already in your eyes big stars fall endlessly,
what shall I find in the valleys that ruffle brief wings?
what fire shall I look for without days or nights?
