Carpenter, make a small coffin
using odorous wood,
a dream for us has died,
something that was between the bird and the rose.
It was its outer life so vague
that it was only seen when it was living
in the tremulous profile of a smile
or in the tone of the voice that named it.
But it´s not your concern the name , carpenter,
it was a love dream, your hand put together
soon the odorous tables, I want
bury deep the dream , flower and bird.
Accompassing the hammer it sounds a song!
' Don´t go to cemetery,
because the love dreams
don´t die, become in weeping
their form of flower and bird´
When I was 12 years old or so, coming back home from school, I got into my house, and the radio was on, I left my bagpack in my chair, and in that moment the man in the news said:
´Conrado Nale Roxlo has died.´
I began to cry so bad. My mother asked me what happened, I said that a classmate had a huge problem or so.
This is the little poem, that I remember from my memory (is that the phrase or how is in English?)
I am sure that this translation needs tons of corrections. I would be glad if you post them, to make the neccesary changes.
Carpintero, haz un féretro pequeño
de madera olorosa,
se nos ha muerto un sueño,
algo que era entre el pájaro y la rosa.
Fue su vida exterior tan imprecisa
que sólo se lo vio cuando asomaba
al trémulo perfil de una sonrisa
o al tono de la voz que lo nombraba...
Mas que te importa el nombre, carpintero,
era un sueño de amor, tu mano clave
pronto las tablas olorosas, quiero
enterrar hondo el sueño flore y ave.
Al compás del martillo
suena un canto:
´No vayas al camposanto
porque los sueños de amor
no mueren, se muda en llanto
su forma de ave y de flor ´.