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by José Lezama Lima (Translated by Nathaniel Tarn1)
her fast, close-fitting lawns revolve3 in me, sleep on my balcony. They rule her beaches, her indefinite alabaster4 dome5 re-creates itself. On the waters of a mirror, the voice cut short crossing a hundred paths, my memory prepares surprise: fallow dew in the sky, dew, sudden flash. Without hearing I'm called: I slowly enter the meadow, proudly consumed in a new labyrinth6. a hundred heads, bugles8, a thousand shows baring their sky, their silent sunflower. Strange the surprise in that sky where unwilling9 footfalls turn and voices swell10 in its pregnant center. An obscure meadow goes by. Between the two, wind or thin paper, the wind, the wounded wind of this death, this magic death, one and dismissed. A bird, another bird, no longer trembles. 点击收听单词发音
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