Noche oscura (Atencia)

The one who squeezes the night under the sheets once again
denies me as a guest of his everyday love,
and the word--the tenuous whisper of the breath
that barely signifies--with the first lark
weaves the fragile plot of despair:
against himself debates the one who battles by himself.

The most difficult lover, whom I pursue until dawn:
in your void my poem finds its making.

D-

***

That would be a very rough version. Here's a second attempt:

He who bunches up the night in tangled sheets once again
denies me as a guest of his ordinary love,
and the word--a faint whisper of breath
signifying almost nothing--at the first lark
intertwines the fragile weave of despair:
the solitary combatant debates only against himself.

That most difficult lover, whom I chase until dawn:
in your void my poem finds its handicraft.

D

***

Still not very good, is it? Lines two, six, and seven, are very bad. The whole thing lacks any kind of satisfying rhythm. I discovered that "trama" means "weave" as a noun. It is also a plot (conspiracy) a plot (in a story). "Hechura" is the "confection" of a piece of clothing. I came up with "handicraft." I could come up with a C- version with a little more effort. It is lacking precision and musicality. It is not yet a poem. Only a few lines might survive:

and the word--a faint whisper of breath
signifying almost nothing--at the first lark
intertwines the fragile weave of despair

***

The next version would try to evoke some of the resonance some of the words have in English:

"Like to the lark at break of day arising / From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate." "Full of sound and fury / Signifying nothing." "Oh what a subtle web we weave..."


He who hoards night under the fold of the sheet once again
denies me as a guest of his habitual love,
and the word--a faint whisper of breath
signifying almost nothing--at the first lark
weaves the fragile web of despair:
he argues only with himself who combats alone.

That most difficult lover, whom I chase until break of day:
in your void my poem finds its handiwork.

D+

A good poem cannot have a hideous first line. tbc