Happy National Poetry Month

Hoping to distract you from noticing the long delay between posts with two of my favorite love poems. Have a great April!

Jay Wright

Love in the Weather’s Bells

BY JAY WRIGHT

   

    Snow hurries

    the strawberries

    from the bush.

    Star-wet water rides   

    you into summer,   

    into my autumn.

    Your cactus hands   

    are at my heart again.   

    Lady, I court

    my dream of you

    in lilies and in rain.   

    I vest myself

    in your oldest memory   

    and in my oldest need.   

    And in my passion

    you are the deepest blue   

    of the oldest rose.   

    Star circle me an axe.   

    I cannot cut myself

    from any of your emblems.   

    It will soon be cold here,

    and dark here;

    the grass will lie flat

    to search for its spring head.

    I will bow again

    in the winter of your eyes.

    If there is music,

    it will be the weather's bells

    to call me to the abandoned chapel

    of your simple body.

Anhelo su boca, su voz, su pelo.
by Pablo Neruda

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

Anhelo su boca, su voz, su pelo.
Silencioso y muerto de hambre, rondo a través de las calles.
El pan no me alimenta, amanecer me interrumpe,
yo busca todo el dia para la medida líquida de sus pasos.

Tengo hambre de su risa lisa, sus manos el color de una cosecha salvaje, hambre para las piedras pálidas de sus uñas,
yo deseo comer su piel como una almendra entera.

Deseo comer el rayo de sol que señala por medio de luces en su cuerpo encantador, la nariz soberana de su cara arrogante,
yo deseo comer la cortina efímera de sus latigazos,

y establezco el paso alrededor de hambriento, oliendo el crepúsculo,
caza para usted, para su corazón caliente,
como un puma en los barrens de Quitratue

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. 

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. 
Silent, starving I prowl through the streets. 
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disquiets me, 
I search the liquid sound of your steps all day. 

I hunger for your sleek laugh, 
For your hands the color of the wild grain, 
I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, 
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. 

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your loveliness, 
The nose, sovereign of your arrogant face, 
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, 

And I walk hungry, smelling the twilight 
Looking for you, for your hot heart, 
Like a puma in the barren wilderness