Spanish Poems

Rhyme II. BOLT THAT FLIES...

Bolt that flies
headlong, fired at random,
without divining where
it will nail itself, trembling;

leaf of a dry tree
snatched by the gale,
never guessing the furrow
into which it will fall;

giant wave that the wind
twists and pushes in the sea,
that rolls and moves, and knows not
what beach it is seeking;

lamps that shine on the flickering
wall, about to expire,
ignorant of which one
will shine the longest;

and I, who by chance
travel this world, without thinking
from where I am come, nor to where
my steps will take me.

Translated by Howard A. Landman

Rhyme II. AN AIMLESS DARTING ARROW...

An aimless darting arrow
Through the distance flying,
Never knowing where
Its target may be lying;

A vagrant autumn leaf
By sea winds whirled around,
No one knowing where
It will fall upon the ground;

A towering ocean wave,
Tossed in the storm's vast roar,
Swirling, passing, unaware
What beach it searches for;

A light that flickers, shines,
Wavers, all but dark,
Nor knows which trembling gleam
May be its final spark;

All of this am I;
I go my way unheeding,
Never knowing where
My footsteps may be leading.

Translated by Alice Jane McVan

Rhyme II. ARROW THAT FLIETH...

Arrow that flieth,
At random shot,
To fall to earth trembling
In some unknown spot;

Leaf that the whirlwind
From dead tree doth tear,
To rest in some furrow,
Unknowing where;

Wave that the sudden gale
Rouseth at sea,
Unknowing the strand
Where its end will be;

Lights that in sconces
Burn high and low,
Not knowing which flame
Farthest will glow;

Such am I, by chance
In the world, unknowing
Whence I come, nor whither
My steps are going.

Translated by Young Allison

Rhyme II. A RAPID-FLYING DART...

A rapid-flying dart, by Fate impelled
For blind destruction and which cannot know
Where it may find its quivering course repelled,
Nor why it strikes the blow.
A withered leaf, stripped from a famished tree
By frenzied autumn-gales in madd'ning dance;
Which ditch may shelter its extremity
Is hid in ignorance.

A monstrous billow, which the ocean wind
Curls and drives onward, lashes into foam;
Rolling, unheedful of what shore may find
For it a restful home.

A waxlight, flick'ring in a chandelier,
Which, ere it is extinguished, sputters low;
Which is the first to end its brief career
And which the last to go?

All these am I, - with blind, hap-hazard aim
I cross this world, without the slightest heed
From what mysterious origin I came,
Nor where my steps may lead.

Translated by Jules Renard