Gemini Writers and Poets





Ditty of First Desire

In the green morning
I wanted to be a heart.
A heart.

And in the ripe evening
I wanted to be a nightingale.
A nightingale.

(Soul,
turn orange-colored.
Soul,
turn the color of love.)

In the vivid morning
I wanted to be myself.
A heart.

And at the evening's end
I wanted to be my voice.
A nightingale.

Soul,
turn orange-colored.
Soul,
turn the color of love.

Translated by Alan S. Trueblood

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It's True

Oh what a hard time I have
loving you as I love you.
On account of your love
I have an air ache,
a heart ache, a hat ache.
Someone please buy
this hatband of mine
and this fine-spun white sadness
perfect for kerchiefs!
Oh, what a hard time I have
loving you as I love you.

Translator Unknown

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The Weeping

I have shut my windows.
I do not want to hear the weeping.
But from behind the grey walls.
Nothing is heard but the weeping.

There are few angels that sing.
There are few dogs that bark.
A thousand violins fit in the palm of the hand.
But the weeping is an immense angel.
The weeping is an immense dog.
The weeping is an immense violin.
Tears strangle the wind.
Nothing is heard but the weeping.

Translated by Rolfe Humphries

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Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint

Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

Translated by John K. Walsh and Francisco Aragon

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Lucia Martinez

Lucia Martinez.
Shadowy in red silk.
Like the evening, your thighs
move from light into shadow.
Hidden veins of jet
dark your magnolias.
Here I am Lucia Martinez.
I've come to devour your mouth
and drag you off by the hair
into the seashells of daybreak.
Because I want to and I can.
Shadowy in red silk.

Translator Unknown

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Saturday Paseo: Adelina

Oranges
do not grow in the sea
neither is there love in Sevilla.
You in Dark and the I the sun that's hot,
loan me your parasol.

I'll wear my jealous reflection,
juice of lemon and lime-
and your words,
your sinful little words-
will swim around awhile.

Oranges
do not grow in the sea,
Ay, love!
And there is no love in Sevilla!

Translator Unknown


Federico Garcia Lorca poet/playwright writing

Marquis de Sade

Albrecht Durer artist

Paul Gauguin painter

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