A Blind Man/ Un Ciego

I do not know what face is looking back

whenever I look at the face in the mirror;

I do not know what old face seeks its image

in silent and already weary anger.

Slow in my blindness, with my hand I feel

the contours of my face. A flash of light

gets through to me. I have made out your hair,

colour of ash and at the same time, gold.

I say again that I have lost no more

than the inconsequential skin of things.

These wise words come from Milton, and are noble,

but then I think of letters, and of roses.

I think, too, that if I could see my features,

I would know who I am, this precious afternoon.

(1975)

***

No se cual es la cara que me mira

Cuando miro la cara del espejo;

No se que anciano acecha en su reflejo

Con silencio soy ya cansada ira.

Lento en mi sombra, con la mano exploro

Mis invisiables rasagos. Un destello

Me alcanza. He vislumbrado tu cabello

Que es de ceniza o es aun de oro.

Repito que he perdido solamente

La vana superficie de los cosas.

El consuelo es de Milton y es valiente,

Pero pienso en las letras y en las rosas.

Pienso que si pudiera ver mi cara

Sabriaquien soy esta tarde rara.

(1975)