Here’s to awakened hearts and the Spanish poet Antonio Machado (1875-1939).
16. (Has my heart gone to sleep?)
Has my heart gone to sleep?
Have the beehives of my dreams
stopped working, the waterwheel
of the mind run dry,
scoops turning empty,
only shadow inside?
No, my heart is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
Not asleep, not dreaming—
its eyes are opened wide
watching distant signals, listening
on the rim of the vast silence.
translated by Alan S. Trueblood
Some powerful food for thought this Sunday morning from the Spanish poet, novelist, and playwright Miguel de Unamuno (1864-1936).
“Throw Yourself Like Seed”
Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
that brushes your heel as it turns going by,
the man who wants to live is the man in whom life is abundant.
Now you are only giving food to that final pain
which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
but to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
is the work; start then, turn to the work.
Throw yourself like seed as you walk, and into your own field,
don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
and do not let the past weigh down your motion.
Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what’s dead in yourself,
for life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
from your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.
Today we see the world through the endless eye of Spanish poet and storyteller Gloria Fuertes (1918-1998)
Now I will tell you
how the worms
I kept in an empty soap carton
and fed white mulberry leaves,
changed themselves without my help,
curling into scoops of color,
and how later I watched them
transform into butterflies,
and all this just because it was May
and because insects possess a bit of magic.
Then I’ll tell you
how Eloisa Muro,
fourth mistress of Cervantes,
was the author of Don Quixote.
For though I’m small, I know many things,
and my body is an endless eye
through which, unfortunately, I see everything.
translated by Brian Barker