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)