My sun, burn the sins
In the tissue of hands, the claws of the tongue,
Destroy the cells, the “honest” marble,

O kindly sun, with your open bow,
Throw away your hat and gloves,
Blazing and smiling, go to monkeys
At this century’s end and kiss them on the cheek.

O my sun, dawn flows
Like a river in the sin-soaked sky,
They have hanged Homer and Lorca by the neck.

O my sun, burn the sins,
The new dawn threatens a storm,
They are hanging poets from high gallows.

1989

Translated: John Hodgson