By Train
translated by Walter Smelt
The whole way,
sitting on a wooden seat
in my third-class car,
I go with just one bag,
sitting the same at night
(I seldom sleep anyway)
and in the daytime
(to watch the little trees
pass by). I never sleep
on the train, yet I like
to travel. The pleasure
of moving off!
London, Madrid,
Ponferrada, so lovely
to leave. Arriving’s the trouble.
Then the train,
at a walk,
always makes us
dream; and almost,
almost we forget
this old nag we ride,
the idiot donkey
that knows this road
so well. Where are we?
Where do we all get off?
In front of me travels
a pretty little nun.
She has that serene face
that lends hope even
to pain. And I think,
You’re good, because
you gave all your love
to Jesus, because
you don’t want to become
a mother to sinners,
blessed little virgin.
Under the linen wimple,
your cheeks, yellow roses—
they were pink, but then a fire
burnt your insides,
and today, bride of Christ,
you are light, just light.
Oh, that all the pretty women
were like you, maidens closed
in a convent! But the girl
I wanted, ha! She preferred to marry
a barber. The train goes
and goes, and the engine wheezes,
and coughs its iron cough.
We’re riding on a spark.
Yo, para todo viaje
—siempre sobre la madera
de mi vagón de tercera—,
voy ligero de equipaje.
Si es de noche, porque no
acostumbro a dormir yo,
y de día, por mirar
los arbolitos pasar,
yo nunca duermo en el tren,
y, sin embargo, voy bien.
¡Este placer de alejarse!
Londres, Madrid, Ponferrada,
tan lindos... para marcharse.
Lo molesto es la llegada.
Luego, el tren, al caminar,
siempre nos hace soñar;
y casi, casi olvidamos
el jamelgo que montamos.
¡Oh, el pollino
que sabe bien el camino!
¿Dónde estamos?
¿Dónde todos nos bajamos?
¡Frente a mí va una monjita
tan bonita!
Tiene esa expresión serena
que a la pena
da una esperanza infinita.
Y yo pienso: Tú eres buena;
porque diste tus amores
a Jesús; porque no quieres
ser madre de pecadores.
Mas tú eres
maternal,
bendita entre las mujeres,
madrecita virginal.
Algo en tu rostro es divino
bajo tus cofias de lino.
Tus mejillas
—esas rosas amarillas—
fueron rosadas, y, luego,
ardió en tus entrañas fuego;
y hoy, esposa de la Cruz,
ya eres luz, y sólo luz...
¡Todas las mujeres bellas
fueran, como tú, doncellas
en un convento a encerrarse!...
¡Y la niña que yo quiero,
ay, preferirá casarse
con un mocito barbero!
El tren camina y camina,
y la máquina resuella,
y tose con tos ferina.
¡Vamos en una centella!
ANTONIO MACHADO Y RUIZ (1875—1939) was a preeminent poet and playwright of Spain’s Generation of ’98. This poem is taken from the collection Campos de Castilla, first published in 1912.
WALTER SMELT is a Master’s candidate studying religion, literature, and culture at Harvard Divinity School. He holds a Master’s in creative writing from the University of Florida. His translations have been published in the Harvard Divinity Bulletin, and his own poems have been published or are forthcoming in Subtropics and Poetry East.