Poetry: El secreto / The Secret

I love translating things, so I wanted to share this beautiful, super sexy poem I carried from Spanish to English for a class. ūüôā Aside from translation, what else do I love? Sex. And beauty and romance and language, of course. And this has all of that.

I wonder what my professors think of me when all I generally focus on are these things…


El secreto
Adriano del Valle

A orillas de la fábula, secretamente mía,
desde el √°rbol de sangre donde nace el latido
que se asoma a tu pulso, tu lengua, flor mojada,
era un sésamo oculto para el paisaje mórbido
de tu floral desnudo, desgajado en pudores
y amorosas laderas silvestres, en la sombra
de tus senos en vilo, colmenas del enjambre
cuyo vuelo guiaba el beso m√°s antiguo.

Sempiternas colinas con pétalos y zumos,
el sí y el no acertaban, dudoso de tu aroma;
áureo botín de besos, acosadas axilas,
fugacísima imagen traída en tus relámpagos,
abriéndome entre lirios palomas y moluscos.

Y t√ļ, ya casi un claro de luna en tus pesta√Īas,
arc√°ngel sin edad eras sencillamente.
Y acueducto sin lluvia, la luz del arco iris
nos volcaba el secreto flamígero del beso,
la soledad abriendo a nuestras almas juntas
donde las aves urden sus alcobas de trinos.

¡Oh amada mía! Siempre tu inaccesible cumbre;
y ya en ti, me despe√Īo virg√≠neamente tuyo,
cuando el aire y el río te huelen desde cerca
el tatuaje invisible de la piel de tu aroma.

Y entonces, voy bajando por la rampa del grito,
del fulgor y la piedra, del viento y de la nieve;
ave soy rubricando con el vuelo las cumbres;
√Āngel Ca√≠do soy recluido en tus ojos,
mordiendo en tu cabello sus pendulares frutos,
desplegando en mi torso su funeral bandera,
tu ardiente cordillera midiendo con mis brazos…
Con mi equinoccio envuelvo tus claros hemisferios
de antípodas caricias, cuando exploran mis besos
la tibia sangre nómada de tus venas azules.

La luna era el ex-libris del éxtasis nocturno,
tallo de flor nacido de tu propia semilla,
soledad sin los √°rboles que sostienen el cielo,
la delicia ignorando de beber en tu lengua,
como la piedra ignora el lenguaje del p√°jaro.

Si el beso no era un símbolo creado en tu homenaje,
su corola en tu hálito tuvo pétalos dulces
para impregnar la tierra con mieles suficientes
cuyo dulzor brotaba de la raíz del mundo.

Te conocí en el lecho mineral del planeta,
mientras t√ļ apaciguabas la luz en la monta√Īa‚Ķ
Cósmicamente mía… Norte, Sur, Este, Oeste,
nupciales, cuatro vientos te velaban el sue√Īo.


The Secret
Translation by Aida Manduley

On shores of the fable, secretly mine,
from the tree of blood where the beat is born
that peeks into your pulse, your tongue, wet flower,
was a hidden sesame for the morbid landscape
of your floral nude, ripped into modesties
and amorous wild slopes, in the shadow
of your suspended breasts, beehives of the swarm
whose flight guided the most ancient kiss.

Sempiternal hills with petals and juices
the yes and no guessed, doubtful of your aroma;
aureate contraband of kisses, harassed armpits,
most fleeting image brought in your lightning,
opening me among lilies doves and mollusks.

And you, a moonlit clearing almost on your lashes,
were simply an ageless archangel.
And rainless aqueduct, the rainbow’s light
emptied on us the kiss’ flamiferous secret,
the solitude opening our souls together
where the birds weave their alcoves of chirps.

Oh, my beloved! Always your inaccessible summit;
and already in you, I fall virginally yours,
when the air and the river smell you up close
the invisible tattoo of the skin of your aroma.

And then, I am going down the ramp of the scream,
of the fulgor and the stone, of the wind and the snow;
a bird I am signing the peaks with flight;
a Fallen Angel I am secluded in your eyes,
biting in your hair its pendular fruits,
displaying on my torso its funeral flag,
your burning mountain range measuring with my arms…
With my equinox I wrap your light hemispheres
in Antipodean caresses, when my kisses explore
the warm nomad blood of your blue veins.

The moon was the ex-libris of nocturnal ecstasy,
flower stem born from your own seed,
solitude without the trees that hold up the sky,
delight ignoring to drink on your tongue
like the stone ignores the bird’s language.

If the kiss was not a symbol created in your honor,
its corona on your breath had sweet petals
to impregnate the earth with sufficient honeys
whose sweetness flowed from the world’s root.

I met you on the planet’s mineral bed,
while you soothed the light on the mountain…
Cosmically mine… North, South, East, West,
nuptially, four winds watched over your sleep.

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