Lost Paradise
1.
Crossing rivers of time,
without pay, for nothing at all,
I, dreamless, looking for you.
Behind me, imperceptible,
without brushing my shoulders,
you, death angel, watch and ask:
“Where is that Paradise,
shadow, lately your home?”
Silent cities, without answer,
rivers without speech, summits
with no echo, silent seas—say I,
Nobody knows home. Fixed men
standing on the shore stopped
at tombs,
ignore me. The birds are dejected,
songs etched in chipping bone,
in joy running the course
blindly. They know nothing.
Without the sun, ancient winds,
inert in the leagues
for walking, charred for climbing
and falling
backwards, all speak few words.
Broken down and watery the
truth hidden in wells within us,
heaven runs in streams from inside us.
And, at salty mariner’s sign of Earth’s end,
over jutting chalk, cliffs of cloud and water
our eyes rolling back
find me just one safe drop of hope—
that potable, greenest flowering cache
I seek in the black abyss.
2.
In the shadowlands
where the world keeps seed; our children,
confused–grown between the centuries!
They can’t go back, they wish they could!
What terror known without speaking–
how very lost I am, my love.
“Dark angel, awaken.”
Where are you?
“Strike match, illume your ray; return.”
Return.
Silence.
Still more motionless the pulses
of the endless in the night.
Lost paradise!
Lost to look for you,
I, without lamp light forever.
Author: Rafael Alberti
Translator: Manny Grimaldi
18 thoughts on "Lost Paradise"
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Wow !!!!!
gott. ” find me just one safe drop of hope—
that potable, greenest flowering cache
I seek in the black abyss.”
Depth.
It’s kind of like first falling into a hole the size of Robert Plant’s maw when he screams “gun” in How Many More Times? Remember that feeling Coleman?
Hey man, thanks for reading this one, I know it takes a minute.
“They can’t go back, they wish they could!” — so much yes.
Slightly embellished for the English by the translator, keeping faith with the mood of the piece. Alberti was in such a somber mood.
I’m not sure when he wrote this Bill, but it is more spiritual and gnawing than political/communist as his later work.
A little story from Spain for you Bill. When my father was raised by Salesian fathers and brothers, those religious men had a strong distaste for Alberti’s post exile output – it wasn’t, as my father’s teachers called it “poesia pura”. Everyone has their political leanings, right?
The Church was protected from the socialists, by the Fascists, in the Spanish Civil war. I had, in my living breathing family, until recently, card carrying Reds who never let the war die and hated the Church, hated conservative Spanish belief, and now their children are hoping to rip down things like Holy Week processions of faith (Balcony? Lola sings deep songs……?.). My uncle had issues of PRAVDA and Sputnik delivered until the USSR fell, as after Francisco Franco died and it became kosher for a Spaniard to openly be Red.
In any case, Alberti changed quite a bit from someone geared toward pure beauty, to someone more into goals and aspiration. There is nothing wrong with this.
But it pisses off old school Spaniards.
Great translation
like Neruda
if he was channeling John Milton
Oh good example!!
Thanks Jim!
I’m really enjoying these translations. Thanks so much for sharing them.
Thanks!
Love this one, sir! Will come back to reread tonight and say something better!
If you say something more better you get a special award.
Not my favorite Alberti poem, to be honest, but again I’m loving your translations. I can’t tell from direct comparison with the original, but it feels like you’re sensitive not only to specific word choices but to the overall mood & music of these poems. Fine work.
Stay awile, good sir, I will be faithful. It is chosen deliberately to sit with tomorrow’s Lorca offering. I, also, am not a fan of Albert’s famous Angel sequences. He is ridiculously famous for those poems and they are not my favorite. Making direct comparison to the original there are three areas of mine own liberty – for which I do not apologize. Where Spanish can sing melodiously and effectively Kevin with an economy of words, I find English gives me more choices when I am limited by what would be a paltry, limp English equivalent. Again, I assure, it was intermittent.
well, I might hold off on that Lorca a couple of days to be sure he is in working order. I’m adaptable.
I have no problem at all with poet/translators who put their own spin or stamp on the poems they’re translating. I prefer it, in fact. That’s why it can be so rewarding to read multiple translations of certain poems—Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo,” to name one famous one. What fresh insight does each translator bring to the poem? It’s like listening to various recordings of a symphony by different conductors, or deciding whose cover of “Lush Life” you prefer.
What he said !
That last line–chills