Friday Poem: The Wind Gleams
Friday Poem: The Wind Gleams
From Gloomy Mornings to Verses. Encountering Inspiration in Denmark's Spring.
A couple of weeks ago, as spring was supposedly making its arrival in this corner of the planet, I woke up feeling somewhat despondent.
Rain was tapping against the window, and the daylight was notable for its absence, leaving me to ponder for 15 minutes, "Why am I here?"
The answer, of course, is straightforward - my family is here, and I like living in this small town (Aarhus) - but it was one of those mornings when Denmark presents you with the most challenging weather, hardly the sort to keep your spirits up.
Then, as I was brewing coffee, attempting to shake off the gloom, a verse came to mind: "El viento brilla/the wind gleams."
It stuck with me insistently, as Nas would put it, "It was written". So, I went to my computer and penned the rest of the poem within the hour.
I started writing consistently in January 2024, whether for this Substack, personal journaling, or another publication of mine.
Since then, I've observed a (massive) shift, one that was aptly described by Alberto Romero on Substack not too long ago:
Recently, I've caught myself watching grains of sand trickle down one by one while my son plays in the playground, gazing out the window to see a bird gliding through air currents during a storm, or observing an ant ascend a chair and thinking, "This could be a story."
This poem emerged from one of those moments of zoning out - or is it introspection?.
I can’t deny that the following poem's construction is more effective in Spanish. I'm not a professional translator, and English is (still) my second language.
But while the translation doesn't perfectly capture the original, I still believe it serves to convey the essence.
Here is the translation; the original in Spanish follows below for those fluent in Cervantes's language.
Have a great weekend when you get there, by any art necessary.
The Wind Gleams
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
as if the world were but a juxtaposition
as if its verses were mere breaths
timeless, adrift in a sea devoid of hue.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
memory quivers within the synapses
like lovers separated
by absence of time, matter, or speech.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
and now there's no one left to proceed
no fears, no gatherings of witches,
nor the defiance in her stare.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
trees meander toward the shore
flowers embrace in silence
and the train, ever moving, crosses the station.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
you're thought of by no one, unnamed
your shadow, no longer pursued
your irises, fading into the shade
Brilla el viento
Brilla el viento y sopla el sol
como si el mundo fuera una yuxtaposicion
como si sus versos solo fueran exhalaciones
atemporales, perdidas en un oceano sin color.
Brilla el viento y sopla el sol,
y su recuerdo tiembla en las synapsis
como una partida de amantes
sin tiempo, ni materia, ni lenguaje
Brilla el viento y sopla el sol,
y ya no hay nadie por delante
ni los miedos, ni aquelarres,
ni su mirada desafiante.
Brilla el viento y sopla el sol,
los arboles caminan hacia la orilla
las flores se abrazan en silencio
y el tren sin parar, cruza la estacion.
Brilla el viento y sopla el sol,
ya nadie te piensa, ni te nombra
ya nadie persigue tu sombra
tus iris, perdiendo color.
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