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The
Brownstone Journal >>
Issues >> Vol.
XII Spring 2005
The Eyes
Translated by Grecia Alvarez
When his lover died
he considered turning old
in the shuttered mansion,
alone with his memory and the mirror
Where she looked at herself one clear day.
Like the gold in the chest of a miser
he thought he could save
all of a yesterday in a clear mirror.
Time, for him, marched on no more.
But after the first anniversary:
Which were they—he asked—brown or black,
her eyes? . . . light green? . . . gray?
Which? My God! Don't I remember?
He went outside one day
in spring, and ambled in silence
with his double mourning, his shuttered heart . . .
From a window in a shadowed hollow
he saw a pair of eyes flash. He lowered his,
And kept walking. —Like those!
Grecia Alvarez (CAS 07) interest in Spanish translation
began with discussion in The
Poetry Seminar organized by Professor George Kalogeris.
She is studying abroad in the Fall of 2005 in Madrid, Spain.
TBJ
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