Translation:The Black Heralds (1918)/May
At daybreak the house’s smoke pours out
its taste of the remnant of crops;
and, making firewood, the shepherdess sings
a savage hallelujah!
Sepia and red.
Smoke from the kitchen, legendary
aperitif in this brave dawn.
The last fugitive star
drinks it, and, drunk already from its sweetness-
oh celestial shepherd boy awake all night!
it sleeps in a dawn-pink droplet.
He has a certain lovely craving to eat lunch
and to drink from the brook, and to amuse himself!
To take flight with the smoke over there, on the heights;
or to surrender to the autumnal winds
in search of same sacred, pure Ruth
who offers a corn-ear of sweetness
beneath the Hebraic unction of the wheat!
Sickle at the calm shoulder,
his spirited expression rough,
a young farm-laborer goes to Irichugo.
And in each arm that seems like a yoke
the palpitating ferrous juice spatters,
the juice that in a creative daily effort
sparkles, like a tragic diamond,
through the pores of the hand
that the glove has still not byzantinated.
Beneath the arc formed by the green alder tree,
oh fecund crusade of the derelict!
The shepherd girl who cries
her yaravi at daybreak,
gathers, oh poor Venus!
fresh fragrant logs
on her exposed arrogant arms
sculpted in copper.
Meanwhile a bull-calf,
chased by the dog,
runs through the coarse
slope, offering to the flowering day
a hymn of Virgil with his cowbell.
Before the shack,
the Indian grandfather smokes;
and the mountainous rosy sundown,
the primitive altar perfumes itself
with the gas of the tobacco.
Thus rises the fabulous essence
of the epic huaco,
mythical aroma of bronzed lotus
the blue thread of broken breaths!