Gypsy Nun F. G. Lorca - translation

To Jose Moreno Villa.


Silence of lime and myrtle,
mallows and grass turn greener.
The nun embroiders wallflowers
on the yellow linen.
Seven birds of prism’s glare
fly through а spider’s web,
the church growls like a bear
caught in a hidden trap.
What an embroidery, grace
of emblazoned linen cloth.
How she captures the lace
of flowers that she adores.
Sunflowers, magnolias, golden
sequins, what ribbons to prune!
Onto her linen altar
she brings a saffron moon.
In the nearby kitchen
five ripe grapefruit are diced,
picked in Almeria,
five burning wounds of Christ.
Through the eyes of the nun
gallops a gypsy horse,
a murmur of distant run
lifts up her shirt with force.
And far away mountains start
their hiding game with clouds,
breaking her gentle heart
of verbena, sugar and doubts.
Oh how the plain careens,
flooded with twenty suns!
How the river begins
moving its feet and runs!
But she continues to dress
her flowers in the breeze,
while the light plays chess
through the lattice of jalousies.