Ballad Of The Small Plaza (Federico García Lorca, Translation By Michael Leigh) Poem by Alejandro Cheirif

Singing of children

in the night silence:

Light of the stream, and

calm of the fountain!



THE CHILDREN



What does your heart hold,

divine in its gladness?



MYSELF



A peal from the belltower,

lost in the dimness.



THE CHILDREN



You leave us singing

in the small plaza.

Light of the stream, and

calm of the fountain!



What do you hold in

your hands of springtime?



MYSELF



A rose of blood, and

a lily of whiteness.




THE CHILDREN



Dip them in water

of the song of the ages.

Light of the stream, and

calm of the fountain!



What does your tongue feel,

scarlet and thirsting?



MYSELF



A taste of the bones

of my giant forehead.



THE CHILDREN



Drink the still water

of the song of the ages.

Light of the stream, and

calm of the fountain!



Why do you roam far

from the small plaza?



MYSELF



I go to find Mages

and find princesses.



THE CHILDREN



Who showed you the road there,

the road of the poets?



MYSELF



The fount and the stream of

the song of the ages.



THE CHILDREN



Do you go far from

the earth and the ocean?



MYSELF



It’s filled with light, is

my heart of silk, and

with bells that are lost,

with bees and with lilies,

and I will go far off,

behind those hills there,

close to the starlight,

to ask of the Christ there

Lord, to return me

my child’s soul, ancient,

ripened with legends,

with a cap of feathers,

and a sword of wood.



THE CHILDREN



You leave us singing

in the small plaza.

Light of the stream, and

calm of the fountain!



Enormous pupils

of the parched palm fronds

hurt by the wind, they

weep their dead leaves.