Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Black Land
Rest from your trip. Beneath the golden eye
the kingdom stretches forth forever. On the plain
of calm and solitude the wind drifts off to sleep.
Upriver, between desert walls,
the god's ship draws near. A thousand banners
flutter on the masts, ablaze with sun.
Rower priests sing ancient anthems
to the lord of death, as they pierce
the mud, the swollen waves.
This light, the peace of this long day,
are yours, traveler, if the vast earth
of eternal wheat cries out to you by your own name.
Salvador Espriu, English translation - Magda Bogin 1989
// posted by George Manka @ 11:28 AM 
