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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