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THE SPRING (translation)

(Versión inglesa de mi poema LA PRIMAVERA realizada por Pilar Ruiz Santamaría)

They will not be either mercy or greed

bearers of gesture at the moment of decease.

I shall agree to its hidden caress

after that even wind,

elixir of the flowers scent

in the season of joy and love.

I foretell neither dates nor figures,

deserted I live from such ornaments.

Hours and years I fancy the same

they go by swiftly, or else they seem still.

Hitherto, in heaven,

which is nothingness, to nothingness I decline distress.

I already feel free of every grief,

there is not vital project that remains incomplete,

rebel flame that puts out its blaze

deferred paradise that does not exhibit misuse.

Never before have I been so honest

Since it is not what I wanted what I want.

I know what I am meant to be when I’ll be repose,

Sown field of manure, igneous dust,

Eternity calm, bottom of ditch,

offering without witness or intent.

But my soul, defeated by her purity

will, finally, tempt Beauty.

Don’t forget the errand I entrust thee,

final companion in the path

of life. My pulse will become weak

before your presence and I’ll reject the wine

thou offer me, the touch of your chest

and the heat of your bed.

And, when death outwits me with its trick,

close my eyes and spread my ashes

over Simonetta Cattaneo’s grave

in Florence. While thou art perfuming,

Boticelli, with orange trees and bay, the whole meadow,

for what I’m telling should happen in spring.

© Javier Figuero y Pilar Ruiz Santamaría

Foto: Pilar Ruiz Santamaría (iglesia de Ognissanti de Florencia donde está enterrada Simonetta)