Antoni Miró’s world

Salvador Espriu

In tribute to the great artist from Alcoi.

In the late afternoon of our weird country,
a lonely lighthouse stalks the night.

The gasp of suffering is hiding it,
waves go in when it gets dark.

He follows me in the rough discontent
of fighting vainly against death.

- The hands with thick ropes have me tied,
when I call the lords for freedom.

- I cannot do anything to help anyone,
because I am as helpless as you are.

But restlessness and with a deep clamor,
shape and color will serve me.

An unceasing riot.
I left my spirit and my bones.

- Intone, thus, a triumphant song
for the abysses guardians of the damage.

You have won, light eyes, far from any mistletoe,
just downed by the fresh air.

And you will feel how the bird’s wing
connects you with the blue, with the name of an old town.