The Eyes

When his beloved died
he decided to grow old
and shut himself inside
in the empty house, alone
with his memories of her
and the big sunny mirror
where she’d fixed her hair.
This great block of gold
he hoarded like a miser,
thinking here, at least,
he’d lock away the past,
Keep one thing intact.

But around the first anniversary,
he began to wonder, to his horror,
about her eyes: Were they brown or black,
or grey? Green? Christ! I can’t say…

One Spring morning, something gave in him;
shouldering his twin grief like a cross,
he shut the front door, turned into the street
and walked just ten yards, when, from a dark close,
he caught a flash of eyes. He lowered his hat-brim
and walked on… yes, they were like that; like that …

from The Eyes: A version of Antonio Machado by Don Paterson
Faber & Faber

The Eyes

When his beloved died
he thought he'd just grow old,
shutting himself in the house
alone, with memories and the mirror
that she had looked in one bright day.
Like gold in the miser's chest,
he thought he'd keep all yesterday
in the clear mirror intact.
For him time's flow would cease.

But after a year had passed,
he began to wonder about her eyes:
"Were they brown or black? Or green? ...Or grey?
What were they like? Good God! I can't recall..."

One day in spring he left the house
and took his double mourning down the street
in silence, his heart tight shut...
In the dim hollow of a window
he caught a flash of eyes. He lowered his...
and walked right on...Like those!

translated by Alan S Trueblood

Eyes

When his girlfriend died
he planned to grow old
in his closed mansion, alone
with his memory and the mirror
where once on a clear day
she looked at her reflection.
Like the gold in a miser's chest,
that mirror, where he thought
he would guard all his yesterday.
He thought that as far as he was concerned
time would not be hurrying by.

Just after the first anniversary,
and he asked himself, What were her eyes like?
Were they brown or black? Green? Or grey?
What colour were they? Saints alive, can't I remember?

And he went out into the streets one spring day
where he strolled in silence
with his deep mourning and his closed heart.
From a window's dark hollow
he saw bright eyes shine. He lowered his own
and continued on his way. Those eyes. Like that.

Los Ojos

Cuando murió su amada
pensó en hacerse viejo
en la mansión cerrada,
solo, con su memoria y el espejo
donde ella se miraba un claro día.
Como el oro en el arca del avaro,
pensó que guardaría
todo un ayer en el espejo claro.
Ya el tiempo para él no correría.

Mas pasado el primer aniversario,
¿cómo eran--preguntó--, pardos o negros,
sus ojos? ¿Glaucos?...¿Grises?
¿Cómo eran, ¡Santo Dios!, que no recuerdo?...

Salió a calle un día
de primavera, y paseó en silencio
su doble luto, el corazón cerrado...
De una ventana en el sombrío hueco
vio unos ojos brillar. Bajó los suyos
y siguió su camino...¡Como ésos!

by Antonio Machado