Nocturne III —José Asunción Silva

 Nocturne III 

          A night
A night full of hushings, of the curled wool of perfume
     And incanting wing,
          A night
Where phantasmagoric glowworms bump in nuptial blackness,
At our own pace, linked together,
          Mute and glittering,
As if we could portend ruin,
And your hot fibers all slopped and tangled,
Along the path strung with flowers, which crosses emptiness,
          We walked,
          And the disc of silvery water
In tumbling azure splashed and laughed,
          And your shadow,
          Fine and dripping,
          And my shadow,
Which the rays of the moon nailed down
On the sad sands
Of the pathway, our shadows joined
And became one
          One
          One
And they became one horn of shadow!
And they became one horn of shadow!
And they became one horn of shadow!
            Tonight,
          Here I am, myself,
Filled with the black cakes of loneliness and of your death,
Separated from you by all—time, tomb, earth—
          And by the nothing
          Where no voice can reach;
          Mortally there and silent,
          Along the path I roamed,
And the dogs’ snapping at moonlight rang out
          At the splendor
          And the chirping
          Of the frogs—
A chill. It was the chill that in the tomb
Your face and hands sang with
          Under a starry vibrance
          Of funereal linens.
It was the grave’s face of pebbles, death’s slick,
          It was the coldness of nothing.
          And my shadow
          Frayed by wild silver,
          Walked alone,
          Walked alone,
          Walked alone amid nothings,
          And your shadow, trim and quick,
          Fine and dripping,
As in that luxuriant spring night expiring,
As in that night full of hushings, of the curled wool of perfume
     And incanting wing,
          Came and creased through mine
          Came and creased through mine
          Came and creased through mine…Oh the shadows fuse!
Oh the puzzle pieces of the shadows interlocking,
Oh the shadows chew through each other across zodiacs of sorrows
     And tears.

—José Asunción Silva (trans. Robert Fernandez)

Nocturne Iii Poem by Jose Asuncion Silva

 One night

one night all full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings;
one night
in which fantastic fireflies burnt in the humid nuptial shadows,
slowly by my side, pressed altogether close, silent and pale,
as if a presentiment of infinite bitternesses
agitated you unto the most hidden fibers of your being,
along the flowering path which crosses the plain
you walked;
and the full moon
in the infinite and profound blue heavens scattered its white light;
and your shadow,
fine and languid,
and my shadow
projected by the rays of the moon,
upon the sorrowful sands
of the path, joined together;
and they became one,
and they became one,
and they became only one long shadow,
and they became only one long shadow,
and they became only one long shadow....

Tonight
alone; my soul
full of the infinite bitternesses and agonies of your death,
separated from you by time, by the tomb and by distance,
by the infinite blackness
where our voice cannot reach,
silent and alone
along the path I walked ...
And the barking of dogs at the moon could be heard,
at the pale moon,
and the chirping
of the frogs ...
I felt cold. It was the coldness that in your alcove
your cheeks and your temples and your adoréd hands possessed
within the snowy whiteness
of the mortuary sheets.
It was the coldness of the sepulcher, it was the ice of death,
it was the coldness of oblivion.
And my shadow,
projected by the rays of the moon,
walked alone,
walked alone,
walked alone along the solitary plain;
and your shadow, svelte and agile,
fine and languid,
as in that warm night of springtime death,
as in that night full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings,
approached and walked with mine,
approached and walked with mine,
approached and walked with mine ... Oh, the shadows intertwined!
Oh, the corporeal shadows united with the shadows of the souls!
Oh, the seeking shadows in those nights of sorrows and of tears!

Jose Asuncion Silva