today’s poem

Today’s poem, when day already struck
the dark forehead, and dispersed
the stars in a multiple fall,
and the abandoned or unknown site
occupied the whole world;
Today’s poem is the poem of ever,
of later on, of then,
the sole poem which a hand
draws without tiring,
happily on a paper in vast flight,
and where it places skies, stars,
burning calls,
which in the evening
will return to talk to us.

Roberto Fernández Retamar

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the queen

I believe in nothing, in nothing…My,,Nothing’’
is like a furious night, full of the hurricane.
In its profound depths
my lineage was watered by gall.

A cold gust of wind, which freezes
ancient vigor to inaction, weeps in my reason.
Self-despising, I am wounded!
Self-despising, you have put gangrene
in my heart!

Neither a white love nor a hatred makes me tremble,
a blind form in limitless blackness;
and in rhythm after rhythm in my heart there seems
to be said in death-agony:,,Nothing…nothing…’’
My Muse was deceived by the Gods

Of the wandering breeze, of the lamp of the morning star,
of the trembling love of a young sailor,
in the night with its bishop’s robes of opal,
I ask:,,What enigma lies in you?’’ And my Muse
— through my flesh, illumined by tapers—
answers, desolate in her laurels:
— Nothing…
Oh Queen, rancorous, and in mourning!

Porfirio Barba-Jacob

beside Christ’s lake in Aldehuela de Yeltes, on a night of full moon

White night in which the glassy water
sleeps quietly in its lake bed,
over which watches a round full moon
that leads its army of  stars,

and a round holm-oak is reflected
in the unrippling mirror,
white night in which the water acts as cradle
for the highest and most profound wisdom.

It is a tatter of sky that Nature holds
clasped in her arms, it is a tatter of sky
which has come down

and in the silence of the night prays
the prayer of the lover resigned
solely to love, which is his only riches.

Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo

song

Now night is coming on,
cattle and people are released,
desired rest begins,
my sorrow approaches.

The moonlight and the little golden stars
shine beautifully,
everything all round is happy;
only I am in sadness.

Two are lacking everywhere
in the number of the beautiful stars;
the two stars I mean are
the dear eyes of my beloved.

The moon holds no charms for me,
the light of the stars is dark since
Asteris, my firmament,
has turned away from me.

But when she,
the beauty of my sun,
approaches me again,
I prefer neither star nor moon to shine.

Martin Opitz

the morning star

Over the early ship
that furrows the serene
wave the morning star
swings in the lateen yard.

The sea, amid vague nets,
seems to open in its track
its stern blue brows
with a very gentle swoon.

And, soothing its deep anxiety,
the star falls asleep
in the bosom of the titan,
like your love in my life.

Leopoldo Lugones

june nights

In summer, when day has fled,
the plain covered with flowers pours out
far away an intoxicating sent; eyes shut, ears half open to noises,
we only half sleep in a transparent slumber.

The stars are purer, the shade seems pleasanter;
a hazy half-day colours the eternal dome;
and the sweet pale dawn awaiting her hour
seems to wander all night at the bottom of the sky.

Victor Hugo

stars

Stars in the firmament, glittering splendidly,
What is the secret you guard and withhold from us?
Stars deeply treasuring thoughts of profundity,
What is the charm that you exercise over us?

Stars bright and plentiful, crowding the Universe,
What makes you beautiful, what makes you powerful?
How do you prompt in us, stars bright and numerous,
А curiosity so insurmountable?

Why do you seem to be, when you’re so luminous,
Heavenward luring us, fondly embracing us?
Kindly you gaze on us, cheering and soothing us,
Stars up in heaven there, so faraway from us!

Esenin