La poesía no llega Está siempre allí Incrustada en el alma del poeta Como aguas apacibles y turbulentas el poeta espera ver sentir vivir La angustia permanente Por la pasión, el amor, el miedo y el deseo para escribir y declamar palabra por palabra Los sentimientos más íntimos De su alma inquieta
Himmelsglut Hejo Müller
Wenn nur der Wind den Brand nicht erneut anfacht.
Zu viele Paradiese liegen schon in Asche.
Select Poems—Part IV International Poems
Ode to Enchanted Light Pablo Neruda
Under the trees light has dropped from the top of the sky, light
like a green
latticework of branches
shining
on every leaf,
drifting down like clean
white sand.
A cicada sends
its sawing song
high into the empty air.
The world is
a glass overflowing
with water.
The Craft of a Poem Maria Gabriela Madrid
Poetry doesn’t arrive It is always there Ingrained in the soul of the poet Like placid and turbulent waters The poet waits To see To feel To live The permanent anguish For passion, love, fear and desire To write, and to recite Word by word The intimate feelings Of his/her anguished soul
Skies Aglow Translated by James Brandenburg
If only the wind not fan the flames afresh.
Too many paradises already in ashes.
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