Written by
Alfonsina Storni |
The sky a black sphere,
the sea a black disk.
The lighthouse opens
its solar fan on the coast.
Spinning endlessly at night,
whom is it searching for
when the mortal heart
looks for me in the chest?
Look at the black rock
where it is nailed down.
A crow digs endlessly
but no longer bleeds.
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Written by
Alfonsina Storni |
My melancholy was gold dust in your hands;
On your long hands I scattered my life;
My sweetnesses remained clutched in your hands;
Now I am a vial of perfume, emptied
How much sweet torture quietly suffered,
When, my soul wrested with shadowy sadness,
She who knows the tricks, I passed the days
kissing the two hands that stifled my life.
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Written by
Alfonsina Storni |
Teeth of flowers, hairnet of dew,
hands of herbs, you, perfect wet nurse,
prepare the earthly sheets for me
and the down quilt of weeded moss.
I am going to sleep, my nurse, put me to bed.
Set a lamp at my headboard;
a constellation; whatever you like;
all are good: lower it a bit.
Leave me alone: you hear the buds breaking through .
.
.
a celestial foot rocks you from above
and a bird traces a pattern for you
so you'll forget .
.
.
Thank you.
Oh, one request:
if he telephones again
tell him not to keep trying for I have left .
.
.
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Written by
Alfonsina Storni |
Little little man, little little man,
set free your canary that wants to fly.
I am that canary, little little man,
leave me to fly.
I was in your cage, little little man,
little little man who gave me my cage.
I say "little little" because you don't understand me
Nor will you understand.
Nor do I understand you, but meanwhile,
open for me the cage from which I want to escape.
Little little man, I loved you half an hour,
Don't ask me again.
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Written by
Alfonsina Storni |
Today my mother and sisters
came to see me.
I had been alone a long time
with my poems, my pride .
.
.
almost nothing.
My sister---the oldest---is grown up,
is blondish.
An elemental dream
goes through her eyes: I told the youngest
"Life is sweet.
Everything bad comes to an end.
"
My mother smiled as those who understand souls
tend to do;
She placed two hands on my shoulders.
She's staring at me .
.
.
and tears spring from my eyes.
We ate together in the warmest room
of the house.
Spring sky .
.
.
to see it
all the windows were opened.
And while we talked together quietly
of so much that is old and forgotten,
My sister---the youngest---interrupts:
"The swallows are flying by us.
"
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Written by
Alfonsina Storni |
You said the word that enamors
My hearing.
You already forgot.
Good.
Sleep peacefully.
Your face should
Be serene and beautiful at all hours.
When the seductive mouth enchants
It should be fresh, your speech pleasant;
For your office as lover it's not good
That many tears come from your face.
More glorious destinies reclaim you
That were brought, between the black wells
Of the dark circles beneath your eyes,
the seer in pain.
The bottom, summit of the beautiful victims!
The foolish spade of some barbarous king
Did more harm to the world and your statue.
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