Para que tú me oigas
mis palabras
se adelgazan a veces
como las huellas de las gaviotas en las playas.

Collar, cascabel ebrio
para tus manos suaves como las uvas.

Y las miro lejanas mis palabras.
Más que mías son tuyas.
Van trepando en mi viejo dolor como las yedras.
Ellas trepan así por las paredes húmedas.
Eres tú la culpable de este juego sangriento.

Ellas están huyendo de mi guarida oscura.
Todo lo llenas tú, todo lo llenas.

Antes que tú poblaron la soledad que ocupas,
y están acostumbradas más que tú a mi tristeza.

Ahora quiero que digan lo que quiero decirte
para que tú las oigas como quiero que me oigas.
El viento de la angustia aún las suele arrastrar.
Huracanes de sueños aún a veces las tumban.

Escuchas otras voces en mi voz dolorida.
Llanto de viejas bocas, sangre de viejas súplicas.
Ámame, compañera. No me abandones. Sígueme.
Sígueme, compañera, en esa ola de angustia.

Pero se van tiñendo con tu amor mis palabras.
Todo lo ocupas tú, todo lo ocupas.

Voy haciendo de todas un collar infinito
para tus blancas manos, suaves como las uvas.

Pablo Neruda


For you to hear,
my words
sometimes grow thin
as seagull tracks on the beach.

Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes.

And I watch them from far away, my words.
They are more mine than yours.
They climb up my old pain like ivy.
As ivy climbs up humid walls.
You are the one to blame for this bloodthirsty sport.

They flee from my dark cavern.
You fill everything, you are in everything.

Before you they lived in the loneliness that you came to fill,
and they are more used to my sadness than you are.

Now I want them to say what I wish to tell you,
so that you will hear me as I want you to hear.
The wind of fear still sweeps them along.
Hurricanes in dreams sometimes still strike them down.

You hear other voices in my bitter voice.
Cries from old mouths, the blood of old pleas.
Love me, my companion. Don’t desert me.
Follow me.Follow me, my companion, in this wave of fear.

But my words are tinged with your love.
You inhabit everything, you are in everything.

I will make an endless necklace out of my words
for your white hands, smooth as grapes.

Pablo Neruda
(Translated by Johannes Beilharz)


Kim said…
"...my words/ some times grow thin/ as seagull tracks on a beach."

I hope I have that right. I have to say those words struck a chord with me. Thank you for sharing them, Belinda.

I love the painting, too. The quality of the colors and the piercing of the branch into the cloth/paper seems to be saying how much growth their can be in pain.

You know I am a HUGE Fan of your paintings!

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