{"id":7862,"date":"2018-05-04T14:17:47","date_gmt":"2018-05-04T11:17:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=7862"},"modified":"2018-05-04T14:17:47","modified_gmt":"2018-05-04T11:17:47","slug":"la-lluvia-the-rain","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=7862","title":{"rendered":"La lluvia \/ The Rain"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"ploaia\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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La lluvia \/ The Rain<\/p>\n

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La lluvia tiene un vago secreto de ternura,
\nalgo de somnolencia resignada y amable,
\nuna m\u00fasica humilde se despierta con ella
\nque hace vibrar el alma dormida del paisaje.<\/p>\n

Es un besar azul que recibe la Tierra,
\nel mito primitivo que vuelve a realizarse.
\nEl contacto ya fr\u00edo de cielo y tierra viejos
\ncon una mansedumbre de atardecer constante.<\/p>\n

Es la aurora del fruto. La que nos trae las flores
\ny nos unge de esp\u00edritu santo de los mares.
\nLa que derrama vida sobre las sementeras
\ny en el alma tristeza de lo que no se sabe.<\/p>\n

La nostalgia terrible de una vida perdida,
\nel fatal sentimiento de haber nacido tarde,
\no la ilusi\u00f3n inquieta de un ma\u00f1ana imposible
\ncon la inquietud cercana del color de la carne.<\/p>\n

El amor se despierta en el gris de su ritmo,
\nnuestro cielo interior tiene un triunfo de sangre,
\npero nuestro optimismo se convierte en tristeza
\nal contemplar las gotas muertas en los cristales.<\/p>\n

Y son las gotas: ojos de infinito que miran
\nal infinito blanco que les sirvi\u00f3 de madre.<\/p>\n

Cada gota de lluvia tiembla en el cristal turbio
\ny le dejan divinas heridas de diamante.
\nSon poetas del agua que han visto y que meditan
\nlo que la muchedumbre de los r\u00edos no sabe.<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh lluvia silenciosa, sin tormentas ni vientos,
\nlluvia mansa y serena de esquila y luz suave,
\nlluvia buena y pacifica que eres la verdadera,
\nla que llorosa y triste sobre las cosas caes!<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh lluvia franciscana que llevas a tus gotas
\nalmas de fuentes claras y humildes manantiales!
\nCuando sobre los campos desciendes lentamente
\nlas rosas de mi pecho con tus sonidos abres.<\/p>\n

El canto primitivo que dices al silencio
\ny la historia sonora que cuentas al ramaje
\nlos comenta llorando mi coraz\u00f3n desierto
\nen un negro y profundo pent\u00e1grama sin clave.<\/p>\n

Mi alma tiene tristeza de la lluvia serena,
\ntristeza resignada de cosa irrealizable,
\ntengo en el horizonte un lucero encendido
\ny el coraz\u00f3n me impide que corra a contemplarte.<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh lluvia silenciosa que los \u00e1rboles aman
\ny eres sobre el piano dulzura emocionante;
\ndas al alma las mismas nieblas y resonancias.<\/p>\n

Federico Garcia Lorca
\n……………………………………………………………………………
\nTHE RAIN<\/p>\n

The rain has a vague secret of tenderness,
\nsome resigned and kind drowsiness,
\na humble music wakes up with her
\nthat makes the sleeping soul of the landscape vibrate.<\/p>\n

It’s a blue kiss that Earth receives,
\nthe primitive myth that returns to be realized.
\nThe already cold contact of old heaven and earth
\nwith a meekness of a constant sunset.<\/p>\n

It’s the aurora of the fruit. The one that brings us the flowers
\nand anoints us with the holy spirit of the seas.
\nThe one that spills life on the sowings
\nand in the soul sadness of what is not known.<\/p>\n

The terrible nostalgia of a lost life,
\nthe fatal feeling of being born late,
\nor the restless illusion of an impossible tomorrow
\nwith the inquietude close to the color of the flesh.<\/p>\n

Love wakes up in the gray of its rhythm,
\nour inner heaven has a triumph of blood,
\nbut our optimism turns to sadness
\nwhen contemplating the drops dead in the crystals.<\/p>\n

And they are the drops: eyes of infinity that look
\nto the white infinity that served as their mother.<\/p>\n

Every drop of rain trembles in the cloudy crystal
\nand leave you divine diamond wounds.
\nThey are poets of water who have seen and who meditate
\nwhat the crowd of the rivers does not know.<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh silent rain, without storms or winds,
\ngentle and serene rain of shearing and soft light,
\ngood and peaceful rain that you are the true one,
\nthe one that tearful and sad about things you fall!<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh Franciscan rain that you take to your drops
\nsouls from clear sources and humble springs!
\nWhen on the fields you descend slowly
\nthe roses of my chest with your sounds open.<\/p>\n

The primitive song that you say to silence
\nand the sound story that you tell the branches
\ntells them crying my desolate heart
\nin a black and deep pentagram without a key.<\/p>\n

My soul has the sadness of the serene rain,
\nthe resigned sadness of helplessness
\nI have a lighted star on the horizon
\nand my heart stops me from running to look at you.<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh silent rain that the trees love
\nand you are on the piano exciting sweetness;
\ngive to the soul the same mists and resonances<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

English version, Maria Magdalena Biela<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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