Monday, July 10, 2006

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.


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.


Blogger Jenni said...

Ahhh...that is so sad!

5:44 PM  

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