San Juan de la Cruz
had his dark night of the soul.
At San Juan de la Arena
it was a bright day of the body.
Two rivers flowed together under sunlight.
Watercourses scored the level sand.
The sea hushed and glittered outside the bar.
And in the afternoon the cockleshells
I threw together in a casual pile
bobbed and flashed on air like altar boys
with their quick tapers and responses
in the great re-echoing cathedral gloom
of distant Compostela, stela, stela.
had his dark night of the soul.
At San Juan de la Arena
it was a bright day of the body.
Two rivers flowed together under sunlight.
Watercourses scored the level sand.
The sea hushed and glittered outside the bar.
And in the afternoon the cockleshells
I threw together in a casual pile
bobbed and flashed on air like altar boys
with their quick tapers and responses
in the great re-echoing cathedral gloom
of distant Compostela, stela, stela.
San Xuan de la Cruz
tuvo la so nueche escura del alma.
En San Xuan de l’Arena
fue un día rellumante del cuerpu:
dos corrientes fluíen xuntes baxo la llume’l sol,
les sos agües resgaben la sablera d’areñes uniformes,
la mar taba sele y llastía tresallá de la barra;
y, a la tardina, les cáscares de berberichu
que llanzaba p’amontonales nun caramiellu mal iguáu
banciaben y rellumaben nel aire, como molacinos
antainado con cirios y respuestes
na gran retumbeyante penumbra
de la llonxana Compostela, stela, stela.
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