Anoche cuando dormía – three translations of the Antonio Machado poem

I was writing a poem about bees, and a friend shared these with me. They are lovely.

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Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt – marvelous error! –
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from all my old failures.

(Antonio Machado, translated by Robert Bly)

Last night I had a dream—
a blessed illusion it was—
I dreamt of a hive at work
deep down in my heart.
Within were the golden bees
straining out the bitter past
to make sweet-tasting honey,
and white honeycomb.

(Antonio Machado, translated byAlan S. Trueblood)

Last night while sleeping
I dreamt, – blessed illusion!
that a beehive
within my heart;
and the golden bees
were making,
from my bitter disappointments,
white wax and sweet honey.

(Antonio Machado, translated by Chris Cavanagh)

Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que una colmena tenía
dentro de mi corazón;
y las doradas abejas
iban fabricando en él,
con las…

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Excavation

I got this from Jon Winokur’s twitter feed. It’s a lot like what Benjamin Taylor and Robert Antoni taught me at The New School:

“The responsibility of a writer is to excavate the experience of the people who produced him.” – James Baldwin

Leave it to James Baldwin to define this whole addiction and ordeal so briefly, so clearly, so truly.

Top of My Christmas List, 1990.

My parents didn’t budge. My family and expensive sneakers have never been on what you might call speaking terms. Plus, I’ll just outgrow them.

I don’t use words like exquisite very often, but these were like Zoey Deschanel in Elf. Miraculous.