Your Childhood in Menton

A translation of Tu Infancia en Menton by Lorca based on my less than rudimentary Spanish, Google Translate, the Ben Belitt translation and this one.

Yes, your childhood, now the fable’s source –Jorge Guillen

Yes, your childhood is the fable’s source.
The train and the woman that fill the sky.
Your solitude, elusive in hotels
and your pure mask of another sign.
It is the childhood of the sea and your silence
where wise glasses are broken.
It is your stiff ignorance where once
my torso was defined by fire.
The rule of love given to you, man of Apollo,
crying with the alienated nightingale,
in a pasture of ruin, you whittled away
by quick, unresolved dreams.
Thinking of opposites, light of yesterday,
indexes and signals of chance.
Your waist of restless sand
serves only trails that do not climb.
But I must search in corners for
your warm spirit without you, without understanding,
with the pain that stops Apollo
with which I broke the mask you bore.
There lion, there, wrath of heaven,
your failure to graze on my cheeks;
there, blue horse of my madness,
pulse of nebular and minute-hand,
I must search the stones of scorpions
and the clothes of your mother girl,
crying of midnight and torn cloths
that take the moonlight from the temple of dead men.
Yes, your childhood is the fable’s source.
Strange soul of my hollow veins,
I must search for you, so small and rootless.
Love of always, love, love of never!
Oh, yes! I want you. Love! love! Let me.
Do not cover my mouth, you who seek
the corn of Saturn in the snow
or castrate animals on behalf of heaven,
infirmary and the forest of anatomy.
Love, love, love. Childhood of the sea!
Your warm spirit, without you, without understanding.
Love, love, flight of the deer
through the bosom of white without end.
And your childhood, love, and your childhood.
The train and the woman that fills the sky.
Neither you, nor I, nor the air, nor the leaves.
Yes, your childhood is the fable’s source.