Saint Raphael, Cordoba F. G. Lorca - translation

To Juan Izquierdo Croselles.
 
I

Coaches come to the shore
where among the reeds,
polished by steady waves,
a nude Roman torso sits.
Guadalquivir grabs the couches
and rolls them, piece by piece,
on the ripened mirror,
between the clouds and trees.
Yong boys weave fishnets and sing
the unhappiness and the fight,
near the aging coaches
lost in the coming night.
But Cordoba doesn't tremble
in mystery, with the talk.
Although the shadows raise   
the architecture of smoke,
a marble foot, lean and chaste,
affirms its radiant chalk. 
Petals of darkened tin
are shaken in the clutches
of the breeze set to win   
above the triumphal arches,
and while the bridge is busy
with the Neptune's brawl,
tobacco vendors escape   
through the broken wall.

          II

One golden fish in the water,
knows how Cordoba splits
into Cordoba of architecture 
and soft Cordoba of green reeds.
Undressing on the shore,
impassive boys, smooth-faced,
apprentices of Tobias,
Merlins of thin waist,
ask ironic questions
to tease fish, ready to swoon:
would you prefer wine
or jumps like a half-moon?
But fish that gilds the water
and mourns the marble, solemn,   
teaches them the balance
of a  lone column.
The archangel, part Arab,
with sequins dark and obscure
is seeking in the waves   
a cradle and a cure.

*

One golden fish in the water.
two Cordobas of splendour.
Cordoba split by the stream,
celestial and tender.