"Death Sonnets" by Gabriela Mistral

 

I

From the cold niche where men placed you

I will lower you to the humble and sunny ground

That I too must sleep in it, men did not know

and that we will have to dream on the same pillow

I will lay you onto the sunny ground, with a

mother's sweet care for her sleeping child,

and the soil will become a soft cradle

receiving your infant's body aching,

Then I will scatter dirt and powder of roses,

and in a bluish and slight dusting of the moon

your light remains will turn into prisoners.

I'll leave, singing my beautiful revenges,

And no hand will dispute in this

hidden depth, your fistful of bones!

II

This long fatigue, will be greater one day

and the soul will tell the body it does not want to go on

dragging its mass by the rosy path,

Where men, content to live, walk on

You will feel beside you, digging briskly,

another sleeper comes to the quiescent town.

I'll wait until they covered me completly...

And we will talk for an eternity!

Only then you will know why your flesh

did not mature for those profound bones

you had to descend, without tiredness, to sleep.

There will be light in the dark place of fate,

you will know our alliance was written in the stars

and once broken the huge covenant, you had to die ...

III

Wrong hands took your life from the day

when, at a sign of the stars, you left the set of

snowy lilies, blooming in joy.

Evil hands entered tragically on it...

And I said to the Lord: - "For mortals paths they take him

beloved shadow, they cannot guide!

Tear him away, Lord, of those fatal hands

or sink him into the long sleep you can give!

I can not call him, I can not go with him!

His boat pushes a black wind of tempest.

Return him to my arms or you will reap him in bloom".

The rosy boat of his life stopped...

Did I not know what love is, had I no mercy?

You, who will judge me, you understand, oh Lord!

 

"Explosion" by Delmira Agustini

 

. . . If life is love, be blessed!

I want more life to love! Today I feel

a thousand years of its thought are not worth

one blue minute of the sentiment.

.

. . . . My heart was dying sad and slow ...

Today it opens like a phoebean flower.

Life burst forth as a violent sea

where the hand of love strikes!

.

. . . . Today departed for the night, my sad, cold

melancholy, of broken wings;

Like an old stain of ache 

in the distant shadow it dissolves ...

My whole life sings, kisses, laughs!

My whole life is, a mouth in bloom!

 

 

"You want me white" by Alfonsina Storni

You want me to be alb,

made out of foams,

made out of nacre.

You want me to be a lily

over them all, caste.

Of faint perfume.

Corolla closed

Not one filtered

moonbeam should find me.

Not a daisy

should call me her sister.

You want me like snow,

you want me white,

you want me alb.

You, who had all

the cups at hand,

of fruits and honeys,

the purple lips.

You, who at the banquet

covered in tendrils

left the flesh,

celebrating Bacchus.

You, who in the black

gardens of deception

dressed in red

ran towards havoc.

You, who preserves

his skeleton intact

I do not know yet

through what kind of miracles,

You purport me white

(God forgive you),

You purport me caste

(God forgive you),

You purport me alb!

Flee to the woods,

go to the mountain;

wipe your mouth;

live in the cabins;

touch with your hands

the wet dirt;

feed the body

with bitter root;

drink of the rocks;

sleep on frost;

renew the tissues

with nitre and water;

talk to the birds

and raise at dawn.

And when your flesh

has been turned,

and you have put 
your soul into it,

which was left tangled
through the bedrooms,
then, good man,

pretend me white

pretend me like snow,

pretend me caste.

 

 

“Dregs” by César Vallejo

 

It rains this afternoon, as never before;

and I have no zest for life, heart.

The afternoon is sweet. Why should it be not?

Dressed in grace and sorrow; dressed womanly.

It rains in Lima this afternoon. And I remember the

cruel caverns of my ingratitude;

my block of ice on her poppy,
stronger than her "Don’t be like that!"

My violent black flowers, and the barbaric

huge stone thrown, and the glacial distance.

And the silence of her dignity will put

with burning holy oils an end to all.

So this afternoon, as never before, I will go

with this owl, with this heart.

And other women passing by, and seeing me so sad,

they take a dash of you

in the abrupt crease of my deep remorse.

It rains this afternoon, it rains a lot. And

I have no zest for life, heart.

"Poem 20" by Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest verses tonight.

Write, for example: "The night is starry,

and the stars, shivering blue in the distance."

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest verses tonight.
I wanted her, and sometimes, she wanted me too.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could I not love her great still eyes.

I can write the saddest verses tonight.

Thinking I do not have her. Feeling I have lost her.

Listening to the immense night, more immeasurable without her.

And the verse falls on to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter, my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

That is all. Far off someone sings. Far off.

My soul cannot be content to have lost her.

As though to bring her near, my gaze looks for her.

My heart looks for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.

We, the ones from then, we are not longer the same.

I no longer love her, true, but how I loved her.

My voice searched for the wind to touch her ear.

Of another. (She will) be of another. As before of my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.

So short is love, and so long is oblivion.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,

My soul cannot be content to have lost her.

Although this is the last pain she will cause me,

and these are the last lines I write for her.

 

"Reason of tears" by Luis Cernuda

The night, because of her sadness, lacks of boundaries.
Her shadow in rebellion as the foam,
Breaking weak walls
Ashamed of whiteness;
Night can not be anything but night.

Perhaps the lovers will stab stars,
Maybe the adventure turns off the sorrow.
But you, night, driven by desires,
till the paleness of water,
Forever you stand waiting for who knows what nightingales.    

Beyond, the abysses tremble
Villages of snakes between feather
Header of sick
Not looking at anything but the night
While closing the air between the lips.

The night, the dazzling night, 
that along the corners twist her hips,
Waiting, who knows,
Like me, like everyone else.


     

"Epigram" by Ernesto Cardenal

When I lost you,
you and I have lost:

me, because you were
what I loved most,

and you, because I was
who loved you the most.

But of both of us,
you lose more than I:

because I may
love others
as I loved you,

but no one will love you
as I have loved you.

Girls who someday
read excited these verses

And dream of a poet

Know that I did these
for someone like you

and that it was in vain.