Amor

T R A N S L A T E D F R O M T H E S P A N I S H B Y C H R I S J A N S E N

Mujer, yo hubiera sido tu hijo, por beberte
la leche de los senos como de un manantial,
por mirarte y sentirte a mi lado y tenerte
en la risa de oro y la voz de cristal.
Por sentirte en mis venas como Dios en los ríos
y adorarte en los tristes huesos de polvo y cal,
porque tu ser pasara sin pena al lado mío
y saliera en la estrofa -limpio de todo mal-.

Cómo sabría amarte, mujer, cómo sabría
amarte, amarte como nadie supo jamás!
Morir y todavía
amarte más.
Y todavía
amarte más
y más.

Woman, I might have been your son, for having drunk
the milk from your breasts as if from a spring,
for having looked at you and felt you by my side,
and having your golden laughter and crystalline voice.
For having felt you in my veins the way God is in the river,
and having adored you in the sad bones of dust and limestone.
Because your being passes through my side, painless,
and emerges in the next stanza, purged of all evil.

How I would know how to love you, woman,
how I would know how to love you, love you
like no one has ever known.
To die, and still
to love you more.
And still
to love you more
and more.