![\"Spanish](\"\/\/mydailyspanish.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/12\/Lovely-Spanish-Poems-Twitter.png\" "\\"Lovely")
<\/span><\/p>\nI. Ciudad sin sue\u00f1o \/ \u201cCity That Does Not Sleep\u201d by Federico Garc\u00eda Lorca<\/b><\/h2>\n
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Ciudad sin sue\u00f1o<\/strong><\/p>\n Por Federico Garc\u00eda Lorca<\/p>\n No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie. No duerme nadie. Las criaturas de la luna huelen y rondan sus caba\u00f1as. Vendr\u00e1n las iguanas<\/em> vivas a morder a los hombres que no sue\u00f1an y el que huye con el coraz\u00f3n roto encontrar\u00e1 por las esquinas al incre\u00edble cocodrilo quieto bajo la tierna protesta de los astros. <\/p>\n No duerme nadie por el mundo. Nadie, nadie. No duerme nadie. Hay un muerto en el cementerio m\u00e1s lejano que se queja tres a\u00f1os porque tiene un paisaje seco en la rodilla; y el ni\u00f1o que enterraron esta ma\u00f1ana lloraba tanto que hubo necesidad de llamar a los perros para que callase. No es sue\u00f1o la vida. \u00a1Alerta! \u00a1Alerta! \u00a1Alerta! Nos caemos por las escaleras para comer la tierra h\u00fameda o subimos al filo de la nieve con el coro de las dalias muertas. Pero no hay olvido, ni sue\u00f1o: carne viva. Los besos atan las bocas en una mara\u00f1a de venas recientes y al que le duele su dolor le doler\u00e1 sin descanso y al que teme la muerte la llevar\u00e1 sobre sus hombros. <\/p>\n Un d\u00eda los caballos vivir\u00e1n en las tabernas y las hormigas furiosas atacar\u00e1n los cielos amarillos que se refugian en los ojos de las vacas. Otro d\u00eda veremos la resurrecci\u00f3n de las mariposas disecadas y a\u00fan andando por un paisaje de esponjas grises y barcos mudos veremos brillar nuestro anillo y manar rosas de nuestra lengua. \u00a1Alerta! \u00a1Alerta! \u00a1Alerta! A los que guardan todav\u00eda huellas de zarpa y aguacero, a aquel muchacho que llora porque no sabe la invenci\u00f3n del puente o a aquel muerto que ya no tiene m\u00e1s que la cabeza y un zapato, hay que llevarlos al muro donde iguanas y sierpes esperan, donde espera la dentadura del oso, donde espera la mano momificada del ni\u00f1o y la piel del camello se eriza con un violento escalofr\u00edo azul. No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie. No duerme nadie. Pero si alguien cierra los ojos, \u00a1azotadlo, hijos m\u00edos, azotadlo! Haya un panorama de ojos abiertos y amargas llagas encendidas. No duerme nadie por el mundo. Nadie, nadie. Ya lo he dicho. <\/p>\n No duerme nadie. Pero si alguien tiene por la noche exceso de musgo en las sienes, abrid los escotillones para que vea bajo la luna las copas falsas, el veneno y la calavera de los teatros.<\/p>\n <\/b><\/b><\/b><\/p>\n <\/p>\n City That Does Not Sleep<\/strong><\/p>\n By Federico Garc\u00eda Lorca<\/p>\n In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.Nobody is asleep.The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on thestreet cornerthe unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of thestars.Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.Nobody is asleep.In a graveyard far off there is a corpsewho has moaned for three yearsbecause of a dry countryside on his knee;and that boy they buried this morning cried so muchit was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earthor we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the deaddahlias.But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouthsin a thicket of new veins,and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain foreverand whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.One daythe horses will live in the saloonsand the enraged antswill throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in theeyes of cows.Another daywe will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the deadand still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boatswe will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.Careful! Be careful! Be careful!The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm,and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the inventionof the bridge,or that dead man who possesses now only his head and a shoe,we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakesare waiting,where the bear’s teeth are waiting,where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody.Nobody is sleeping.If someone does close his eyes,a whip, boys, a whip!Let there be a landscape of open eyesand bitter wounds on fire.<\/p>\n <\/b><\/b><\/b><\/p>\n <\/p>\n No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one.I have said it before.<\/p>\n <\/b><\/b>No one is sleeping.But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during thenight,open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlightthe lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theaters.<\/p>\n La Durmiente<\/strong><\/p>\n Por Edgar Allan Poe<\/p>\n A medianoche, en el mes de junio, permanezco de pie bajo la m\u00edstica luna. Un vapor de opio, como de roc\u00edo, tenue, se desprende de su dorado halo, y, lentamente manando, gota a gota, sobre la cima de la tranquila monta\u00f1a, se desliza so\u00f1olienta y musicalmente hasta el universal valle. El romero cabecea sobre la tumba; la lila se inclina sobre la ola; abrazando la niebla en su pecho las ruinas se van a dormir. Parecido a Leteo, \u00a1mira!, el lago parece que se entrega a un sue\u00f1o consciente y no despertar\u00eda por nada del mundo. \u00a1Toda la belleza duerme! Y \u00a1mira d\u00f3nde reposa Irene, con sus destinos! \u00a1Oh, ilustre se\u00f1ora!, \u00bfc\u00f3mo puede estar bien esta ventana abierta a la noche? El aire travieso, desde la cima de los \u00e1rboles, pasa riendo a trav\u00e9s de la reja. Aires incorp\u00f3reos, revoltoso brujo, entran y salen de tu aposento revoloteando, y mueve el dosel de las cortinas tan caprichosamente -tan temerariamente- por encima de la cercana y orlada cobertura bajo la cual tu alma adormecida reposa escondida, que, sobre el suelo y por las paredes abajo, \u00a1como fantasmas las sombras suben y bajan! \u00a1Oh, querida se\u00f1ora!, \u00bfno tienes miedo? \u00bfPor qu\u00e9 y qu\u00e9 est\u00e1s t\u00fa so\u00f1ando aqu\u00ed? \u00a1Seguro que vienes de allende lejanos mares, atra\u00edda por este jard\u00edn! \u00a1Extra\u00f1a es tu palidez! \u00a1Extra\u00f1o tu vestido! \u00a1Extra\u00f1a, sobre todo, la longitud de tu trenza, todo ese silencio solemne! \u00a1La se\u00f1ora duerme! \u00a1Oh, que pueda su dormir que permanece, ser tan profundo que el cielo la tenga bajo su sagrada protecci\u00f3n! Este aposento se prepar\u00f3 para otra m\u00e1s santa, esta cama para otra m\u00e1s melanc\u00f3lica. \u00a1Rezo a Dios para que repose con los ojos cerrados para siempre, mientras los p\u00e1lidos amortajados fantasmas pasan! \u00a1El amor m\u00edo duerme! \u00a1Oh, que pueda ella dormir, tan profundamente como largo sea tu sue\u00f1o! \u00a1Que los gusanos se deslicen hacia ella suavemente! En lo profundo del bosque, oscuro y viejo puede aparecer alg\u00fan alto cofre para ella, alg\u00fan cofre que se abra frecuentemente su negra tapa como unas alas, triunfantes, sobre los pin\u00e1culos de los palios, de los grandiosos funerales de su familia -alg\u00fan sepulcro, remoto, solitario, contra cuya tapa ella ha tirado muchas piedras distra\u00eddas en su ni\u00f1ez-. Alguna tumba de cuya chirriante puerta ella no pueda forzar nunca m\u00e1s un eco, temblando al pensar, \u00a1pobre ni\u00f1a de pecado!, que eran los muertos que gem\u00edan dentro<\/p>\n The Sleeper<\/strong><\/p>\n By Edgar Allan Poe<\/p>\n At midnight in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapour, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And, softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top. Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley. The rosemary nods upon the grave; The lily lolls upon the wave; Wrapping the fog about its breast, The ruin moulders into rest; Looking like Lethe, see! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take, And would not, for the world, awake. All Beauty sleeps! \u2013 and lo! where lies (Her easement open to the skies) Irene, with her Destinies! Oh, lady bright! can it be right \u2013 This window open to the night? The wanton airs, from the tree-top, Laughingly through the lattice drop \u2013 The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully \u2013 so fearfully \u2013Above the closed and fringed lid ‘Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid, That o’er the floor and down the wall, Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? Why and what art thou dreaming here? Sure thou art come p’er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye, While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold — Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o’er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals \u2013 Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone \u2013Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne’er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n La sombra del ala<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/strong><\/p>\n Por Amado Nervo<\/p>\n T\u00fa que piensas que no creo<\/p>\n cuando arg\u00fcimos los dos,<\/p>\n no imaginas mi deseo,<\/p>\n mi sed, mi hambre de Dios;<\/p>\n ni has escuchado mi grito<\/p>\n desesperante, que puebla<\/p>\n la entra\u00f1a de la tiniebla<\/p>\n invocando al Infinito;<\/p>\n ni ves a mi pensamiento,<\/p>\n que empe\u00f1ado en producir<\/p>\n ideal, suele sufrir<\/p>\n torturas de alumbramiento.<\/p>\n Si mi esp\u00edritu infecundo<\/p>\n tu fertilidad tuviese,<\/p>\n forjado ya un cielo hubiese<\/p>\n para completar su mundo.<\/p>\n Pero di, \u00bfqu\u00e9 esfuerzo cabe<\/p>\n en un alma sin bandera<\/p>\n que lleva por dondequiera<\/p>\n tu torturador \u00bfqui\u00e9n sabe?;<\/p>\n que vive ayuna de fe<\/p>\n y, con tenaz hero\u00edsmo,<\/p>\n va pidiendo a cada abismo<\/p>\n y a cada noche un \u00bfpor qu\u00e9?<\/p>\n De todas suertes, me escuda<\/p>\n mi sed de investigaci\u00f3n,<\/p>\n mi ansia de Dios, honda y muda;<\/p>\n y hay m\u00e1s amor en mi duda<\/p>\n que en tu tibia afirmaci\u00f3n.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Shadow of the Wing<\/strong><\/p>\n By Amado Nervo<\/p>\n You who think I don\u2019t believe<\/p>\n when we two feud<\/p>\n do not imagine my desire,<\/p>\n my thirst, my hunger for God;<\/p>\n nor have you heard my desolate<\/p>\n cry that echoes through<\/p>\n the inner place of shadow,<\/p>\n calling on the infinite;<\/p>\n nor do you see my thought<\/p>\n laboring in ideal genesis,<\/p>\n frequently in distress<\/p>\n with throes of light.<\/p>\n If my sterile spirit<\/p>\n could own your power of birth,<\/p>\n by now \u2013 I would have columned heaven<\/p>\n to perfect your earth.<\/p>\n But tell me, what power stows<\/p>\n within a flagless soul<\/p>\n to carry anywhere at all<\/p>\n its torturer \u2013 who knows? \u2013<\/p>\n that keeps a fast from faith,<\/p>\n and with valiant integrity<\/p>\n goes on asking every depth<\/p>\n and every darkness, why?<\/p>\n Notwithstanding, I am shielded<\/p>\n by my thirst for inquiry \u2013<\/p>\n my pangs for God, cavernous and unheard;<\/p>\n and there is more love in my unsated<\/p>\n doubt than in your tepid certainty.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Poema 15: Me gustas cuando callas<\/strong><\/p>\n Por Pablo Neruda<\/p>\n Me gustas cuando callas porque est\u00e1s como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca. Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. <\/p>\n Como todas las cosas est\u00e1n llenas de mi alma emerges de las cosas, llena del alma m\u00eda. Mariposa de sue\u00f1o, te pareces a mi alma, y te pareces a la palabra melancol\u00eda.<\/p>\n Me gustas cuando callas y est\u00e1s como distante.Y est\u00e1s como quej\u00e1ndote, mariposa en arrullo. Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: d\u00e9jame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.<\/p>\n D\u00e9jame que te hable tambi\u00e9n con tu silencio claro como una l\u00e1mpara, simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.<\/p>\n Me gustas cuando callas porque est\u00e1s como ausente. Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Poem 15: I Like for You to Be Still<\/strong><\/p>\n By Pablo Neruda<\/p>\n I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.It seems as though your eyes had flown awayand it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.<\/p>\n As all things are filled with my soulyou emerge from the things, filled with my soul.You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,and you are like the word Melancholy.<\/p>\n I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:Let me come to be still in your silence.<\/p>\n And let me talk to you with your silencethat is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.<\/p>\n I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.One word then, one smile, is enough.And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.<\/p>\n Poema 20: Puedo escribir los versos m\u00e1s tristes esta noche<\/strong><\/p>\n Por Pablo Neruda<\/strong><\/p>\n Escribir, por ejemplo: \u201cLa noche est\u00e1 estrellada,y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.\u201d<\/p>\n El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.<\/p>\n Puedo escribir los versos m\u00e1s tristes esta noche.Yo la quise, y a veces ella tambi\u00e9n me quiso.<\/p>\n En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.La bes\u00e9 tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.<\/p>\n Ella me quiso, a veces yo tambi\u00e9n la quer\u00eda.C\u00f3mo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.<\/p>\n Puedo escribir los versos m\u00e1s tristes esta noche.Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.<\/p>\n O\u00edr la noche inmensa, m\u00e1s inmensa sin ella.Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el roc\u00edo.<\/p>\n Qu\u00e9 importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.La noche est\u00e1 estrellada y ella no est\u00e1 conmigo.<\/p>\n Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.<\/p>\n Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.Mi coraz\u00f3n la busca, y ella no est\u00e1 conmigo.<\/p>\n La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos \u00e1rboles.Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.<\/p>\n Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cu\u00e1nto la quise.Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su o\u00eddo.<\/p>\n De otro. Ser\u00e1 de otro. Como antes de mis besos.Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.<\/p>\n Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.<\/p>\n Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.<\/p>\n Poem 20: Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines<\/strong><\/p>\n By Pablo Neruda<\/strong><\/p>\n Write, for example, “The night is starryand the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.Tonight I can write the saddest lines.I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.How could one not have loved her great still eyes.Tonight I can write the saddest lines.To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.What does it matter that my love could not keep her.The night is starry and she is not with me.This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.The same night whitening the same trees.We, of that time, are no longer the same.I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.<\/p>\n What\u2019s your favorite Spanish poem from those listed above? And what\u2019s your all-time favorite? Do share with all of us in the comments! <\/b><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Are you looking for short poems in the Spanish language? Here are five wonderful poems from great writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Federico Garc\u00eda Lorca, Amado Nervo, and Pablo Neruda. The poems are also translated in English to be better appreciated by non-Spanish speakers and beginner Spanish language learners. We hope you will enjoy […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2173,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","tve_updated_post":" Are you looking for short poems in the Spanish language? Here are five wonderful poems from great writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Federico Garc\u00eda Lorca, Amado Nervo, and Pablo Neruda.<\/p> The poems are also translated in English to be better appreciated by non-Spanish speakers and beginner Spanish language learners. We hope you will enjoy the poems!<\/p><\/div>II. La Durmiente \/ \u201cThe Sleeper\u201d by Edgar Allan Poe<\/b><\/h2>\n
III. La sombra del ala \/ \u201cThe Shadow of the Wing\u201d by Amado Nervo<\/strong><\/h2>\n
IV. Poema 15: Me gustas cuando callas \/ \u201cPoem 15: I Like for You to Be Still\u201d by Pablo Neruda<\/strong><\/h2>\n
V. Poema 20: Puedo escribir los versos m\u00e1s tristes esta noche \/ \u201cPoem 20: Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines\u201d by Pablo Neruda<\/strong><\/h2>\n
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