Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English] -

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Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English]

Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English]

Burning Autumn Leaves
[1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]

My long steel pointed rake punctured
And twisted through tons of autumn leaves
(back in the '50s);
And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I see
Behind it, two embankments
Leaves I didn't rake a day ago;
The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
I love the scent of burning leaves:
I seem to dream of them nowadays.
I cannot shake the excitement I get
From the sight and smells of burning leaves.
Now the city will not allow the burning,
Not sure what can take its place-:
Only wishful thinking and dreaming, I think.

But every leaf that now appears, in autumn
I keep hearing the cracking of the fire; see
The flickering-flames of burning leaves; I
Can even smell--the autumn leaves of long ago.
I have had too much of raking leaves, I do believe-.
I'm now old and tired, too tired to rake those hills;
Yet raking I still desire, not sure why.
There were a thousand days I raked, back then
Held in hand, the rake that struck the earth-
Spiked, into its dirt-capturing those critters (leaves)
Like thieves-: thieves sleeping.

This tiredness of mine will never go away, I fear
It's called aging, or something, so I will have to find
Another place, to smell the burning autumn leaves;
And perhaps, perchance, do just a ting of raking:
Before the long, long, very long sleep.

#771 7/24/05

In Spanish

Hojas ardientes de otoño (Los años de 1950 en St. Paúl. Minnesota)

Mi rastrillo de acero largo y puntiagudo pinchó
Y dio vuelta a través de toneladas de hojas
(Atrás en los años 50);
Y hay una colina aún, que no rastrillé, yo veo
Detrás de esto, dos terraplenes
De hojas que yo no rastrille hace un dìa;
La esencia del otoño dormirá sobre el piso.
Me gusta la esencia de las hojas ardiendo;
Yo parezco soñar con ellas estos días.
No puedo sacudirme el entusiasmo que consigo
De la vista y los olores de quemar hojas:
Ahora la ciudad no permitirá quemar,
No seguro de qué puede tomar lugar-:
Solo el optimismo pensando y soñando, Pienso

Pero cada hoja que ahora aparece, en otoño
Yo sigo oyendo el crujir del fuego; veo
El parpadear de las llamas de hojas ardiendo; yo
Puedo aún oler- las hojas de otoño de hace tiempo.
He tenido demasiado rastrillando hojas, Yo creo-
Ahora yo estoy viejo y cansado, demasiado cansado

para rastrillar esas colinas;
Aun rastrillando y todavía deseando, no seguro ¿por qué?
Hubo miles de días que rastrillé, atrás entonces
Sosteniendo en la mano, el rastrillo que golpeo la tierra-
Claveteando, dentro de su suciedad- capturando aquellos

bichos (hojas)
Como ladrones-: ladrones durmiendo.

Este cansancio mío no se irá jamás, yo temo
Esto es llamado envejecimiento o vejez, entonces yo tendré

que encontrar
Otro lugar, para oler las hojas ardiendo en otoño;
Y talvez, la posibilidad, de hacer justo un intento de rastrillar:
Antes de largo, largo, muy largo sueño.

#771 7/24/05

Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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