El albanil
dispuso
los ladrillos.
Mezclo la cal, trabajo
con arena.
Sin prisa, sin palabras,
hizo sus movimientos
alzando la esccalera,
nivelando
el cemento.
Hombros redondos, cejas
sobre unos ojos
serios.
Pausado iba y venia
en su trabajo
u de su mano
la materia
crecia.
La cal cubrio los muras,
una columna
elevo su linage,
los techos
inpidieron la furia
del sol exasperado.
De un lado a otro iba
con
tranquilas manos
el albanil
moviendo
materiales.
Y el fin
de
la semana,
las columnas, el
arco,
hijos de
cal, arena,
sabiduria y manos,
inauguraron
la sencilla firmeza
y la frescura.
Ay, que leccion
me dio con su trabajo
el albanil tranquilo!
ODE TO THE QUIET STONEMASON
The stonemason
arranged
the bricks.
He mixed the lime, worked
the sand.
Without rushing, without words,
he fashioned his movements,
raising the ladder,
leveling
the cement.
Round shoulders, eyebrows
above serious
eyes.
Slowly he came
and went in his work,
and by his hand
the structure
grew.
Lime covered the walls,
a column
elevated its lineage,
the roofs
prevented the fury
of an exasperated sun.
From one side to another
with
sure hands
the stonemason
moved materials.
And at the end
of
the week,
the columns,
the arch,
children of
lime, sand,
wisdom and hands,
inaugurated
simplicity, firm
and fresh.
Ah, what a lesson
I learned from the work
of the quiet stonemason!
