«El lecho de lirios»: Isabella Valancy Crawford; poema y análisis.
El lecho de lirios (The Lily Bed) es un poema de amor de la escritora canadiense Isabella Valancy Crawford (1846-1887), publicado originalmente en el el periódico The Evening Telegram a finales de 1884, y luego en la antología de 1905: Poemas selectos de Isabella Valancy Crawford (The Collected Poems of Isabella Valancy Crawford).
El lecho de lirios es uno de los mejores poemas de Isabella Valancy Crawford, cuyo tratamiento de los lirios como metáfora de la sexualidad femenina se repite una y otra vez a lo largo de su obra, casi como una obsesión, sin perder nunca su eficacia.
El lecho de lirios.
The Lily Bed, Isabella Valancy Crawford (1850-1887)
Su bote de cedro, perfumado, rojizo,
Fluyó hacia abajo en un lecho de lirios;
Envuelto en una pausa de oro yacía,
Entre los brazos de una apacible bahía.
Temblaba solo en su barca de corteza,
Mientras los lirios rompían con certeza
El inmóvil cristal de la marea,
Hiriendo la frágil proa de madera.
O cuando cerca de los delgadas plantas
Levanta sus afiladas escamas de plata;
O cuando en el viento frío y sonoro
Cae la libélula envuelta en oro
Y todas las joyas y las amplias aguas,
En anillos cantan en sus alas;
O cómo el alma ardiente y alada,
Que de la oscuridad desciende en llamas
Sobre la fría ola, como el bálsamo
Que por un gran espíritu es derramado,
El alma vuela en libertad, y el silencio se aferra
A las horas inmóviles, como cuelga la Tierra,
Cortando la oscuridad, en los árboles,
A medias enterrados hasta las rodillas.
Se sentó en su quietud de plácidas hojas,
Aferrado a sus sombras, doradas y rojas,
Y sobre el suelo cóncavo, como una espiga,
Cayó el rostro entre luces ambarinas.
Orgullosa y valiente espuma de madera,
Perla brillante, una doncella frente a la marea.
Y él hubo de cantar de su alma el amor,
Con la voz del águila y el dolor.
En lo alto, fuertes pinos fueron hechos de su lengua,
Sus labios florecieron suaves en la sombra de la tormenta,
Besando los femeninos pétalos, plateados despojos,
Como lirios blancos en un íntimo arroyo.
Hasta hoy él permanece allí, en reposo,
Su imagen pintada en ella, descanso glorioso.
Una isla entre dos azules no se derrite,
Una gota de rocío en la costa
Se alza como un crepúsculo púrpura,
Sobre la vasta arena durmiendo bajo el cielo.
Su bote de cedro, perfumado, rojizo,
Fluyó hacia arriba desde un lecho de lirios;
Todas las flores, todos los lirios,
En la luz de la tarde la corteza agitaron.
Sus labios frescos rodearon la aguda proa,
Sus caricias suaves treparon por los flancos,
Con labios y senos tejieron su bóveda,
Robando a sus ojos la noche estrellada;
Con mano dorada ella tomó el cabello
De una nube roja, hasta su planicie de azur.
Furtivo, el dorado atardecer fluyó,
Un viento frío de su cuerpo huyó.
Aceptaron lo alto, los árboles oscuros,
Y los bajos lirios que cubrían todo.
Su bote de cedro, perfumado, rojizo,
Escapó lejos de su lecho de lirios.
His cedar paddle, scented, red,
He thrust down through the lily bed;
Cloaked in a golden pause he lay,
Locked in the arms of the placid bay.
Trembled alone his bark canoe
As shocks of bursting lilies flew
Thro' the still crystal of the tide,
And smote the frail boat's birchen side;
Or, when beside the sedges thin
Rose the sharp silver of a fin;
Or when, a wizard swift and cold,
A dragon-fly beat out in gold
And jewels all the widening rings
Of waters singing to his wings;
Or, like a winged and burning soul,
Dropped from the gloom an oriole
On the cool wave, as to the balm
Of the Great Spirit's open palm
The freed soul flies. And silence clung
To the still hours, as tendrils hung,
In darkness carven, from the trees,
Sedge-buried to their burly knees.
Stillness sat in his lodge of leaves;
Clung golden shadows to its eaves,
And on its cone-spiced floor, like maize,
Red-ripe, fell sheaves of knotted rays.
The wood, a proud and crested brave;
Bead-bright, a maiden, stood the wave.
And he had spoke his soul of love
With voice of eagle and of dove.
Of loud, strong pines his tongue was made;
His lips, soft blossoms in the shade,
That kissed her silver lips--her's cool
As lilies on his inmost pool--
Till now he stood, in triumph's rest,
His image painted in her breast.
One isle 'tween blue and blue did melt,--
A bead of wampum from the belt
Of Manitou--a purple rise
On the far shore heaved to the skies.
His cedar paddle, scented, red,
He drew up from the lily bed;
All lily-locked, all lily-locked,
His light bark in the blossoms rocked.
Their cool lips round the sharp prow sang,
Their soft clasp to the frail sides sprang,
With breast and lip they wove a bar.
Stole from her lodge the Evening Star;
With golden hand she grasped the mane
Of a red cloud on her azure plain.
It by the peaked, red sunset flew;
Cool winds from its bright nostrils blew.
They swayed the high, dark trees, and low
Swept the locked lilies to and fro.
With cedar paddle, scented, red,
He pushed out from the lily bed.
Isabella Valancy Crawford (1850-1887)
He thrust down through the lily bed;
Cloaked in a golden pause he lay,
Locked in the arms of the placid bay.
Trembled alone his bark canoe
As shocks of bursting lilies flew
Thro' the still crystal of the tide,
And smote the frail boat's birchen side;
Or, when beside the sedges thin
Rose the sharp silver of a fin;
Or when, a wizard swift and cold,
A dragon-fly beat out in gold
And jewels all the widening rings
Of waters singing to his wings;
Or, like a winged and burning soul,
Dropped from the gloom an oriole
On the cool wave, as to the balm
Of the Great Spirit's open palm
The freed soul flies. And silence clung
To the still hours, as tendrils hung,
In darkness carven, from the trees,
Sedge-buried to their burly knees.
Stillness sat in his lodge of leaves;
Clung golden shadows to its eaves,
And on its cone-spiced floor, like maize,
Red-ripe, fell sheaves of knotted rays.
The wood, a proud and crested brave;
Bead-bright, a maiden, stood the wave.
And he had spoke his soul of love
With voice of eagle and of dove.
Of loud, strong pines his tongue was made;
His lips, soft blossoms in the shade,
That kissed her silver lips--her's cool
As lilies on his inmost pool--
Till now he stood, in triumph's rest,
His image painted in her breast.
One isle 'tween blue and blue did melt,--
A bead of wampum from the belt
Of Manitou--a purple rise
On the far shore heaved to the skies.
His cedar paddle, scented, red,
He drew up from the lily bed;
All lily-locked, all lily-locked,
His light bark in the blossoms rocked.
Their cool lips round the sharp prow sang,
Their soft clasp to the frail sides sprang,
With breast and lip they wove a bar.
Stole from her lodge the Evening Star;
With golden hand she grasped the mane
Of a red cloud on her azure plain.
It by the peaked, red sunset flew;
Cool winds from its bright nostrils blew.
They swayed the high, dark trees, and low
Swept the locked lilies to and fro.
With cedar paddle, scented, red,
He pushed out from the lily bed.
Isabella Valancy Crawford (1850-1887)
Poemas góticos. I Poemas de Isabella Valancy Crawford.
Más literatura gótica:
- Poemas de flores.
- Poemas victorianos.
- Poemas de pasión.
- Poemas de deseo.
- Poemas de sentimientos.
- Poemas para hombres.
- Poemas de lujuria.
- Poemas de mujeres.
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