My writing artist spotlight today is Rafael Alberti. Rafael Alberti was a Spanish born painter and writer of Italian, Spanish an Irish heritage. He began as a painter replicating famous works. After the death of his father and a diagnosis of tuberculosis, he turned to reading and writing poetry. He was awarded the Premio Nacional de Literatura in 1924 for Marinero en tierra. Rafael went on to publish La amante and El alba del alheli in a similar folkloric style. He spent time with many of his contemporaries in the arts. Most noted was his friendship with Pablo Neruda for whom he lobbied politically and shared an apartment with in Paris. Below is Alberti’s poem Nocturno/ Nocturne in its original Spanish and English translation.

Nocturno

Cuando tanto se sufre sin sueño y por la sangre
se escucha que transita solamente la rabia,
que en los tuétanos tiembla despabilado el odio
y en las médulas arde continua la venganza,
las palabras entonces no sirven: son palabras.
     Balas. Balas.
     Manifiestos, artículos, comentarios, discursos,
humaredas perdidas, neblinas estampadas.
¡qué dolor de papeles que ha de barrer el viento,
qué tristeza de tinta que ha de borrar el agua!
     Balas. Balas.
Ahora sufro lo pobre, lo mezquino, lo triste,
lo desgraciado y muerto que tiene una garganta
cuando desde el abismo de su idioma quisiera
gritar lo que no puede por imposible, y calla.
     Balas. Balas.
Siento esta noche heridas de muerte las palabras.

Nocturne

When you endure so much sleepless
and through your blood
you hear how only anger passes,
how hatred trembles wakeful in your marrow
and vengence burns constant in your pith,
then words won't do: they're words.

Bullets. Bullets.

Manifestos, articles, discourses, graveyards,
lost smokeclouds, printed mists:
such sorrow of papers for the wind to blow,
such sadness of ink for the water to blur!

Bullets. Bullets.

Now I suffer the poverty, meanness, sadness,
wretchedness, death that a throat endures
when it wants to cry out from its tongue's abyss
what it can't, what's impossible, and falls silent.

Bullets. Bullets.

Tonight I feel words wounded to death.

- Rafael Alberti

~ Nia Andino ~

The Writing Artist- Rafael Alberti

Nocturne