Yay!
I'm here with you.
[LAUGHTER]
[CLAPPING]
So this one starts out--
and it's written in 1956, it's dated on the first page.
And then there's a line to Matilde, his last wife--
in my translation, it's, "you're not
made of dreams, beloved love.
And held to the light, you're like an agrarian grape."
That's an uva agraria.
[LAUGHTER]
Might have been sexy at first, but then he
realized, that's a bad line, and he crossed it out.
And then he starts again and writes--
"Never alone with you, over the earth, crossing through fire.
Never alone with you, in the forests, finding again
dawn's stiff arrow, the tender moss of spring.
With you in my struggle-- not the one
I chose, but the only one.
With you, through the streets and sand.
With you, my love, my exhaustion.
The bread, the wine, poverty and glint of one coin.
Wounds, sorrow, happiness-- all the light, shadows, stars.
All the cut wheat, the corollas of giant sunflowers,
defeated by their very fullness.
The cormorants flight nailed to the sky like a coastline cross.
All the space-- the autumn, the carnations--
never alone.
With you, never alone.
With you, earth.
With you, the sea.
My life, all I am, all I give, and everything I sing--
the substance of this love, the earth, the sea bred a life."