[A] My mind is in Mathura And my body wanders in Brindavan. And eyes overflow like the river Yamuna

Where are you Krishna? Every part of me is crying like a Gopi You are but the life of everything here in Brindavan

In this season when rain stirs up everything Let your name stir up my love for you Please come and steal from me everything else.

You are all what I wish to see, face to face! Where are you Krishna? This is your servant, crying out to you.

[B] Grant me your presence, lover of life. Kind hearted God, beauteous and full of grace. Grant me your presence soon.

You who charms everyone heart, Don’t you see I have surrendered right away? Grant me your presence soon.

Thinking, tangling shadows in the deep solitude. You are far away too, oh farther than anyone. Thinking, freeing birds, dissolving images, burying lamps.

Belfry of fogs, how far away, up there! Stifling laments, milling shadowy hopes, taciturn miller, night falls on your face downward, far from the city.

Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing. I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you. My life before anyone, my harsh life. The shout facing the sea, among the rocks, running free, mad, in the sea-spray. The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea. Headlong, violent, stretched towards the sky.

You, woman, what were you there, what ray, what vane of that immense fan? You were as far as you are now. Fire in the forest! Burn in blue crosses. Burn, burn, flame up, sparkle in trees of light.

It collapses, crackling. Fire. Fire. And my soul dances, seared with curls of fire. Who calls? What silence peopled with echoes? Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude, hour that is mine from among them all!

Hunting horn through which the wind passes singing. Such a passion of weeping tied to my body. Shaking of all the roots, attack of all the waves! My soul wandered, happy, sad, unending.

Thinking, burying lamps in the deep solitude.

Who are you, who are you?"

for Natalia

By the way of the hills of Scotland Or the shores of Wales, your ancestor Rode the waters, sand and stone to land At Chile. He gave you, your unusual eyes.

His forgotten tongue you had to relearn In America, where I still labor to perfect Its speaking. It’s the only language I can write to you, myself in.

A person of class, my friend calls you. You now in a plane high above Texas, Across whose borders lies your country, In whose streets disbelief greets you.

Habla Espanol Senorita! These exclamations point to the secrets of distant origins, we are all that Even if we are lost. You are soon headed to India, it informs me still and my reticence around you.

How your eyes hide green coral! Such words Perhaps you may read in glances in the dusty streets Of Poona, I couldn’t say them. The only words left To say then are perhaps these by Neruda:

“Tu presencia es ajena, extraña a mí como una cosa. Pienso, camino largamente, mi vida antes de ti. Mi vida antes de nadie, mi áspera vida. El grito frente al mar, entre las piedras, corriendo libre, loco, en el vaho del mar. La furia triste, el grito, la soledad del mar. Desbocado, violento, estirado hacia el cielo.

Tú, mujer, qué eras allí, qué raya, qué varilla de ese abanico inmenso? Estabas lejos como ahora. Incendio en el bosque! Arde en cruces azules. Arde, arde, llamea, chispea en árboles de luz.”

Gracias! Adios!

English Translation

"Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing. I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you. My life before anyone, my harsh life. The shout facing the sea, among the rocks, running free, mad, in the sea-spray. The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea. Headlong, violent, stretched towards the sky.

You, woman, what were you there, what ray, what vane of that immense fan? You were as far as you are now. Fire in the forest! Burn in blue crosses. Burn, burn, flame up, sparkle in trees of light."