22 Julio 2008. Gray morning, four black crows on a single streetlamp stanchion, high above. Two by two, it seems. Moving closer, the ones on the left, each reaching out to touch the other's beak. A perfectly normal way of being: tendresse among the corvidiae.
Dos hermanos, Tafí del Valle, Tucumán. Their cast off clothes, hand-me-downs, the older one already with the stance of a man, jacket arm draped around his brother's shoulder, small hand exposed. Eyes askance--the hour, the setting, the world? Rubber boots for an awaited rain, dry hills--arroyos and vados--en las sendas de Tafí...
* * *
Qué mala será mi pena,
que sólo sabe penar.
Cómo me duele esta pena
de irme tan lejos de mi tucumán...
(Atahualpa Yupanqui)
2 comments:
Qué mala será mi pena,
que sólo sabe penar.
Cómo me duele esta pena
de irme tan lejos de mi tucumán...
How hard will be my pain
that knows only to be sad
How this pain hurts me
to go (take myself) so far from my Tucumán...
(Atahualpa Yupanqui)
Line 2, "que sólo sabe penar," would read more literally: "for I only know to be sad..."
Post a Comment