The Church in Siguenza
Light is grafted pore by pore,
tingeing the inside walls,
staining the darkness, lighting it up.
Like a porous tongue,
it leaves a tide of rust and blue,
cloaking the brilliance
in a wrapping of tinted dust.
Cascade of water and of blood,
the pulpit the placenta,
a stone hollow of love,
where the child who'll be born is growing.
Bloodlines endure the storm,
the depths enriched,
stone after stone,
a source in the dark.
Down towards indigos, garnets,
past lecterns, past pews to the altar,
the soft fire of stained glass.
My son and I see it with our hands.
Gradually, life takes life.
The literal translation of this poem was made by Gwen MacKeith
The final translated version of the poem is by Sarah Maguire
© Poetry Translation Centre 2004-2014