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Hand-delivered Vicente Aleixandre Vicente Aleixandre-

Hand delivered
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

But another day I touch your hand. Warm hand. Your delicate hand
silent.
Sometimes I close my eyes and touch your hand slightly, light touch
checking form, which tempts
its structure, feeling under the skin winged
uncompromising hard bone, the bone sad
where never comes love. Oh yes, sweet flesh is soaked in the love beautiful. For skin
secret, open secret, invisible ajar
where warm heat spreads her voice, her sweet desire;
where my voice penetrates to warm your veins, to shoot for them
in your hidden blood, blood
as another dark sound that gently kiss you
dark inside, walking slowly as pure sound
body that resonates now mine, mine town of my deep voice, body resonated
oh my love, owned oh body oh body sound of my voice just possessing it.
So when I caress your hand I know that only the bone
refuse my love-bone man never glow.
and sad that an area of \u200b\u200byour being you refuse, your flesh whole
while comes a lucid moment in which total
Flames, by virtue of this slight touch of your hand,
in your hand very soft porous whining, your delicate hand
silent where entrodespacio, despacísimo, secretly in your life,
up your total deep veins where bogo,
where you people and full song from your flesh.

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-Oblivion-

Oblivion
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

is not your cup final as a vain
to be rushed. Throw the old, and dies. Therefore
slowly lift your hand
a glow or a mention, and burn your fingers,
as a sudden snow.
It was not, but was and remains silent.
Cold burning and your eyes born
memory. Remembering is obscene,
worse: it is sad. To forget is to die.
Died with dignity. His shadow crossed.

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Vicente Aleixandre "He wanted

They wanted
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

suffered from light blue lips in the morning, leaving lips
last night,
chapped lips, blood , "where blood?
was wanted on a bed vessel, half night, half light.
They loved the flowers and the thorns deep, loving
to the yellow gem again when faces turn
sadly, receiving glowing Giraluna
that kiss.
is wanted at night, when deep
dogs lie down the ground and valleys and ridges stretch
feel archaic reviewed:
touch, silk, hand, couples who come and play.
They wanted to love the morning, between the hard stones
closed at night, hard as
icy bodies for hours, such as kissing hard
from tooth to tooth alone.
is wanted by day, beach grows,
foot waves that caress the thighs,
bodies rising from the earth and floating ...
They loved the day, the sea, beneath the sky. Midi
perfect, so intimate they wanted, high Tues
young, intimacy extensive
loneliness of living, remote horizons as bodies linked
singing alone. Amando
. They loved the moon as lucid as that sea round
applied to that face, sweet eclipse
water darkened cheek, where goldfish
come and go without music.
Day, night, sunsets, dawns, space, waves
new, old, fugitive, perpetual,
land or sea, ship, bed, pen, glass, metal
, music, lip, silence, Plant,
world, quiet, its shape. They loved, fellows know.

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Vicente Aleixandre" Death, "

Death
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Ah! You, you You, eternal name undated
sea brave struggle with thirst, cliff
all threats sink water on my way
smooth blade without memory.
you, shadow of the mighty sea, great resentment
green where all the fish are like stones in the air,
gloom or sorrow that threatened my life
as a love that ends with death.
Kill me if you will, unforgiving sea of \u200b\u200blead, which contains huge drop
land
destructive fire of my life without numen
here on the beach where the light trails.
Kill me like a dagger, a golden sun or bright
tributed look of an unimpeachable eye, an arm
arrogant that nudity was cold, lightning
that seek my chest or destination ...
Ah, soon, soon, I want to die before you, sea,
front of you, whose vertical sea foam touched the heavens, whose heavenly
you fish among the clouds are like birds
forgotten the deep!
Come to me your foam breaking, crystalline green
arms come crashing down, choking
come when the body is submerged under
crispa black lips collapse. Look
purple sun even death. Come
total death hold on the beach, beach
on this earth that weighs on my chest,
by which light feet seem to escape.
I want the pink or life
want the red or yellow frantic
want the tunnel where the color is dissolved in the black
false death that laughs in the mouth.
I kiss the penultimate ivory silence, when the sea
hasty retreat, when the sand
are only shells,
frosty loving some fish scales. Death
as the handful of sand,
like water in the hole is lonely, as the gull
in the middle of the night
has a color of blood on the sea does not exist.

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Vicente Aleixandre-love-

love Torment
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

I loved, I loved you, through your eyes, your lips, your throat, your voice, your heart
on violence.
I loved as my anger, my destiny furious without dawn
my stubbornness, my moon crushed. Eras

beautiful. You had big eyes. Palomas
large, swift talons, eagles high potent ... You had that fullness
a brilliant sky
where the clash of worlds is not a kiss in your mouth.

But I loved you like the moon loves the blood,
as the moon looks for blood in the veins,
supplanted as the moon crosses the blood and veins
furious yellow flushed with passion.

I do not know what death is, if you kiss her mouth.
not know what it is die. I do not die. I sing. Canto
dead and rotten as a bone brilliant, radiant
to the moon like a pure crystal. Canto

as meat, as the hard stone. Canto
your teeth fierce for words. Canto
its sole shadow, its sad shadow over the sweet
land where a tame grass.

No one cries. Do not watch this face
the tears do not live, do not breathe.
not look this rock, this flame of iron,
this body that resonates like a metal tower.

You had hair, sweet curls, eyes and cheeks.
had arms, and not Rivers Unlimited.
had your way, your beautiful border, your sweet meat
margin shaken.
was your heart as winged flag.

your blood But no, your life is not, your not evil!
Who am I to beg the moon my death?
Who am I to resist the wind, you feel the wounds of his frantic
knives,
you wet your drawing marble statue
a bloody hard by the storm?

Who am I have not heard the thunder, and my arm
bone with signs of lightning, and rain
bloody grass stains
is born in my foot bitten by a river teeth?
Who am I, who you are, who you know? Who
love, O thou beautiful mortal lover
glistening chest radiant
who or whom I love, what shadow, what meat
what rotten bones and flowers intoxicate me?

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Tormento Vicente Aleixandre-Poets-

Poets
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Do poets, you ask? I saw a broken flower
the breeze. The cry

petals falling silent
ruined their perfect dream. Vasto

love without delirium in the light flywheel
while the eyes are doves

an earthquake registering an assumption!
I saw, I saw other wings. Vast wings
hurt.
Angeles banished from his heavenly home

on earth slept
his exalted paradise. Huge hard

dreams are still current divined

solid-white on his forehead. Who looked
those worlds,
fertile island of a dream, pure diamond

where love match? Who saw clouds flying,
long arms, flowers,
caresses the night
underfoot, the moon as a breast
pressing?
tirelessly
Angeles
lucid wings stained of a flush without twilight,
between green valleys.
One love, noon

permanent vertical falls on the shoulders
naked lover.
The girls are happy
rivers, their foam-hands
continuous-tie the necks

flowers with a light longed
between beautiful words.
kisses, beats,
silent birds,
everything is there in
breast-secret, hard, continuous

amazing lips around forever. How sweet accent

prevails in the woods without shadows,
where smooth skin, gazelle
unnamed
sweet deer,

up its response on its face the day!
Oh, mystery
air which is entangled in packages
inexplicably stray
like foam!
Angeles mysterious human
burning, thoughtful domes erected

on fresh waves.
Their wings move laborious
elusive wind, slashing down
that love
air fronts. The earth sustains

barefooted
columns that extolled love,
temples of the fertile, the moon reveals
.
Bodies, souls or
flash lights, singing
near the sea, almost celestial
lira, alone. Who that world was solid,
who fought with their pens that wind

radiant lips that
dies giving life to men? What mysterious
legion,
angels in exile, continuously
arrives
invisible to the eye?
No, do not ask; silent.
The city, mirrors, white
his voice, his cold cruelty
tomb unknown
those wings. You questions, questions ...

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Vicente Aleixandre-it-Unit

Unit
it Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Fortunate body flowing through my hands, which I contemplate
beloved face the world, where graceful birds
copied fugitives
flying to the region where nothing is forgotten. Your
externally, diamond or ruby \u200b\u200bhard
brightness of a sun that shines in my hands,
crater calling me with their music intimate, impenetrable
to call your teeth.
die because I throw myself because I want to die,
because I live in the fire, because the air outside
is not mine, but the hot breath
that if I approach my lips burn and brown from a fund. Leave
, let look, tinged with love,
face flushed purple for your life, let
look at the deep tumult of thy bowels
where I will die and resigned to live forever.
I love or death, I want to die completely,
want to be you, your blood, the lava roaring
that enclosed watering
beautiful extremities feel like the beautiful life limits.
This kiss on your lips like a slow spine
flew like a sea that made a mirror like shine
of a wing is still
hands, a review of your hair crunchy, crackling
an avenging light,
light or sword on my neck deadly threat,
but never able to destroy the unity of this world.

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Vicente Aleixandre "Hands-

hands
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Look at your hand, which moves slowly,
transparent, tangible, crossed by light,
beautiful, lively, almost human at night.
With reflection of the moon, with a sore cheek, vaguely
sleep and watch it grow, as you raise your arm,
vain search for a lost night, light
wing cross in silence
carnal touch that dark vault.
phosphorescent not your sorrow has not caught
that hot throb of another flight. Hand wheel
persecuted: groups.
Sweet, dark and dull, you cross. You are the lovers
vocations
signs in the darkness without sound appealing. Heaven
extinguished stars that warm,
field gives you silent flight. Hands
lovers who died recently, life hands
fliers seeking
and when they collide and narrow light on men
instant moon.

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Vicente Aleixandre-end look-

final look
(Death and reconnaissance)
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Solitude, where we have opened our eyes.
loneliness that one morning we woke, fallen, felled
somewhere, may hardly recognize.
As a body that has rolled down an embankment
and earth mixed with sudden rises and he can barely recognize.
And you look and shakes and go lift the cloud of dust that he is not, and sees its members appear,
and feels: "Here I, here my arm, and this my body, and that my leg, and intact is my head "and still dizzy from looking up and see where it was filmed, and now
mound to cover him at his feet and he emerges
not know if in pain, do not know if shining, and looks up and the sky flashes with a rueful
light, and sits on the edge
and almost feels like to mourn. And nothing hurts, but it hurts
everything. And look up the road, and here
the hollow, here is absorbed
sitting and puts her head in his hands, where no one sees, but a dull blue sky seems remotely contemplate.
Here at the edge of life, after having been run through life as a moment, looked at me.
This land was you, love of my life? And when I ask to know me, when I recognize and awaken,
just lifted up, and tempted me, and sitting in the hollow, in the end, look mercifully shining sky? I can not concebirte
you, beloved of my existence, as only a land that sways to rise, ending when the long roll of life has ceased.
No, mine dust, dirt sudden that has accompanied me all the living.
No, swabs and hand sad that latter end, mine it, so had to eject.
No: soul rather that all I have lived and soul for which I was
life possible and from which also will lift up my eyes
final time with the same eyes that are yours, my soul with you all looks,
contemplate with your pupils, with pupils who feel themselves under the eyelids,
in heaven devoutly to shine.

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Vicente Aleixandre-kisses-

kisses
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

not forget, early, kisses a day. Of the kisses
winged your mouth arrived.
A moment
put their feathers on the drawing that is rendered pure ajar.
I brushed his teeth. You felt the lump,
beating her in your mouth blue plumage.
Ah, round your lips throbbed with joy.
Who does not kiss the birds when they arrive, they escape?
your mouth ajar I saw your white teeth.
Ah, thin peaks between lips sink.
Ah, heavenly stung while sweet
your body felt light, very light, stood.
How funny, how fine, how slender Queens! Light
or birds arrive, kisses pure plumes.
and darken your face with its wings hot, you rub
. stir while blind you shine.
Do not forget. Happy, look, they now escape.
Look, flying, amount, blue adopt them. Rise
high, brown. Van Hot, burning.
moan, sing, splendid. Rave in the sky.

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Vicente Aleixandre-song to a dead girl-

Song to a Dead Girl
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Tell me, tell me the secret of your heart virgin
tell me the secret of your body underground
I know why now are water, fresh
those banks where bare feet bathe with foam. Tell me why
on your hair down, on your sweet grass
cherished,
falling, slipping, caresses, is Vaun scorching sun or rested
touches you like a wind that takes only a bird or hand.
Tell me why your heart like a tiny jungle underground
expects the impossible birds that song
total above
eyes are the dreams they pass quietly.
Oh you, song to a dead body or alive,
that a being beautiful on the floor sleeping, singing
stone color, color or lip kiss,
sing as if the pearl sleep or breathe. That
waist, the weak volume a chest sad that curl
ignored fickle wind
those eyes where only silence vogue,
these ivory teeth are protected,
that air does not move non-green leaves.
Oh you, you spend laughing sky like a cloud;
oh happy bird on his shoulder laughing;
source, jet cool, get entangled with the moon;
soft grass beneath their feet feet worshiped!

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Vicente Aleixandre" The most beautiful love-

The most beautiful love
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)
distant day before yesterday
very remote

One day I ran into the glass with a unseen

language butterfly that vibration getaway where it was secured. I had cried
ten centuries and ten drops

cast and I had felt the beauty of watching
intranscurrido express speed
But I realized that everything was false False
how
cow who dreams of being a pretty housemaid False
emerging as the false teacher who has waited
after
False understand her naked to the simple way with the girls
night hanging breasts that are not touched
But I found a baby shark as
no no: shark shaped shark loved
clean heart extensible delicious
burning or possession crime is tormented sea Clouds
after Storms
cheeks turned into blue made on that sweet embrace tired wanting to
viscous than black bigger and thus overriding
that tastes infinitely slippery
So not finished
bloody dumb that link especially breathing
thick ink stains kisses are
The extensive that I can boot most delicate hands
A stunning mouth like a fruit bestial
like a dagger that threatens sand
love bite covering all water or night
a name that resonates like a roaring stock everything
who murmur
lips that I adore Tell me tell me your secret softness that skin
expected to reserve his right as systolic
fall asleep in my arms like a nut
expired as at least being that forgets its cataclysms.
You are a point only a comma or tab
are the largest single sea monster that mountain
are browsing
occupies the bottom of the seas as a heart overflowing
quiet while you penetrate scream or tear my screams
while making music or
sleep because they never kiss walls have eyes and kiss the yolk
easy
sensitive pen the truth The truth is the truth I say
that huge gun lying on the road
the silence-is ultimately self-
when the first appliance with a broom

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-Life-Vicente Aleixandre Vicente Aleixandre

Life
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

A paper bird chest
says the time has come kisses;
live, live, the sun pops invisible,
kissing birds, late or soon or ever.
To die just a ruidillo,
another's heart to be silent, or that lap
alien on earth
is a golden vessel for blond hair.
sore head, golden temples, the sun is going to be;
here in the shadow dream of a river, green blood rushes
now being born, supported
you sleep hot or life.

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- Vicente Aleixandre

Silence
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Under sob
not wet garden birds singing Oh plumages
This lyric blue hand without sleep.
the size of a bird lips. I do not listen
The landscape is laughter. Two loving waists. Trees shaded
secrete
So Silent Voice review hard mist or silver kiss on the forehead
water alone
lyric snow water urn heart or prediction
accommodate kisses oh!
where my ears and not listen
the steps in the sand or light or shadow

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silence "The air-

air
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Even more than the sea, the air
vaster than the sea is calm. High
lucid ensure no one. Perhaps
cortex could one day land
, feel human. Undefeated
know that inhabited the air in your chest.
Without memory, immortal, the air glows.

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Vicente Aleixandre" The sun-

Sun
Vicente Aleixandre (Spain, 1898-1984)

Light, weightless, just,
sandal.
footsteps without meat. Goddess alone claim to a world

plant for your body, up solar
. No hair
say: burning hair. Say
sandal
mild tread; say only, not land
, sweet grass that rustles
that flash, so soft
who adores
when stepped on. Oh, feel
your light, solar
touch your grave! Here, feeling,
earth is heaven. And shine.

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Vicente Aleixandre-La rosa-

The rose
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

I know you're here in my hand
I have you, rose cold. Nude

weak beam of the sun reaches you. Smell,
emanate. From where,
transcript
ice cream today lie to me? "From a secret
realm of beauty, where your scent
scatter,
for total
invandir skies that blessed
your own air, fire, perfumes
breathe? Ah
only there
heavenly creatures you drunken!
But here are pink secret
cold, motionless, pale pink fine

pretend that this hand
your picture on the ground.

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Vicente Aleixandre "The wind-

Wind
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

has been to see the wind in your hands, your fingers anchored
,
rise and bind you.
of flame in your hair, "twilight",
my body twists and yerguehecho
tape and reflection
copper in your eyes,
of meat in my fingers,
If you hear the wind made
date all wind
Wind,
and take me in it and pour me
body,
before my face,
you and the wind away, if only
friction, wind
memory.

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Vicente Aleixandre Vicente-Youth-

Youth
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

stay sunny.
Where are you going, look?
These white walls closing
hope. Paredes
ceiling, floor:
tight time slice. Closed
him, my body.
My body, life, slender.
You
limits fall one day. What divine
nudity! Pilgrim
light. Joy, joy!

But the eyes are closed.
demolished walls. The open, closed
stars.

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Form-Aleixandre, Vicente Aleixandre

Form
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984) Menudo

foot prints
footprint
fingers on the sand, kissing the long
wind.
Pick it up, takes
to hit my chest,
and still warm, five yolks, meat
feel.
The soft gesture my hand

is opposed to the wind I cast the brief, fleeting
standing offer him. But since the passage
, elusive,
rises and breaks the zephyr,
and drizzle
foot of sand, drops dispersed.

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Adolescence
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Vinieras and walked away sweetly

another way another way. Green,
and you do not see you again.
Pass through a bridge to another bridge.
-foot short, losing
cheerful light,
Boy would I be looking
downstream current,
and the mirror of your ticket
flow, vanish.