The Solitudes

Luis de Góngora

the theatre makes
mixers of us
    Brief space
in spite of the sun
  in which LIMBS are
snow of hues

time to the hill girls equals
distance from sun to wolf
bringing turbulent morning
Then (over there) walnut
drainage ditch
Dawn parades in
      her new hat

But here slow squadron
of mountain
    men dissolves
They’ve come to the village
   by flaming arrow  day
  purple breath

         like in that ardent car
Charged with solemnizing
fire—elder gobbles
         mad at the wedding
But youth is fast
nighttime orchard
          morning’s ash

Next are poplars
Doing their green hair
 while thick boys
lithe women
Poplars and poplars

the sun would turn star
to see these night things
     would rob bengal
     of stripes
     surly riverbird

then the bagpipes want
     dancing bad +
     hard for as long
as the big dipper
mows the sphere
Major trunk shake
now by river now   echo
     is yelling (anxious
           host) spikes
the drink of silence
      silence goes far from
      these woods    and woods
             become a wedding yard

Wild dream   in motion
Sleep is no remedy

for a while the bonfires
—who strive to be night
dots—stars—who think
   w/ sun brains
keep death at bay   night
    dark cooking a fear
and then put themselves to bed
Life unlaced   a
tomb inside you

Finally the night wins and silence
wins but sliced through by
              a laurel moan
knife    glade something
Some villain strips her frondy
pomp—although a tree
         can resist many things     
like ghosts   
trunk is paper for shepherds
     carve drunk secrets


   those trees
morning’s espionage
caught them dreaming
            other forests

knock knock it is morning
instead of birds (bizarre) it was
two topazes clinked
the sun zooms a little

wedding day on the mountain
roses     jasmines    violets

thinks the wanderer


here we call strangers
foresters  or people from
the forest
Pacing outside the
rose     the groom
obviously a hero etc

August: the wanderer
is in sick memory

the day he told her

   no land
no life but forgetting

translated from the Spanish by Hamish Ballantyne