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A Halloween Lorca


Ungod
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Alright, let's get into the mood for story-telling with an easy literary quest! It won't work your right side of the brain ;)

Task is simple: you choose one of the following poems and turn it Halloween themed by replacing words and (exceptionally) adding lines. Judging will take into consideration: 

-changing as little as possible but obtaining as much (spooky?) atmosphere as possible

-humor or other personal touches that transform the poem into something special

-for the long poems, you can stick with only the first 10-12 lines

I hope you don't mind having me as judge, since I want to give everyone a shot; I'll be gentle. Deadline is Nov 5th, post here!!; I will update post with prizes and ranks after I find out what people would like (so send me messages!).

Santiago, Balada ingenua I ; Cancion para la luna ; Cancion oriental ; Sueno ; Soledad ; En el bosque ; En la nariz...

 

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I've been made aware there is no available translation that's easily reachable, so I shall post mine for all the poems:

Spoiler

 

Santiago, Balada ingenua

 

Tonight has pulled Santiago

On a path of light, in the sky.

‘Tis what those kids are saying,

Playing in the water of a canal.

 

What is the celestial pilgrim aiming for,

On this clear and infinite road?

It aims the Aurora, shining in the back

Of a white horse resembling ice.

 

Little children, sing! on the meadow,

Cutting the wind with your laughter!

 

A man says he saw Santiago

In the midst of two hundred warriors,

All clad in light,

With wreaths of green stars,

And the horse that Santiago mounted

Was a star of shimmering light.

 

The man tells it must be known

That through the quiet night you could hear

The trembling of silver wings

Carried by the waves of the silence.

 

What stopped the flowing of the river?

Those horse-riders were angels.

 

Little children, sing! on the meadow,

Cutting the wind with your laughter!

 

 

Dream

My heart rested against the cold well.

(weave your web, spider of forgetfulness)

The water of the well confessed its song.

(weave your web, spider of forgetfulness)

My trembling heart confessed its many loves.

(spider of silence, unravel your mystery)

The water of the well was listening, somber.

(spider of silence, unravel your mystery)

My heart slipped on top of the cold well.

(White, far-away hands, stop the waters!)

And the water took it away, singing cheerfully.

(white, far-away hands, there’s nothing left in the water)

 

Song for the moon

White turtle,

Sleeping moon,

Slowly travelling…

With the lid covered by shadows,

An iris archaeological.

Maybe you are…

(Satan is cross-eyed)

A relic.

A living lesson

For the anarchist.

Jehova gets used to

Sowing its field

With the dead eyes

And skulls

Of enemies.

 

Oriental song

The fragrant pomegranate

Is a crystalized sky.

(Each grain is a star,

Each seedcoat is a twilight.)

A dry sky, compressed

By the claw of the years.

 

The pomegranate is like a breast

That’s old and wrinkled,

Whose nipple became a star

To shine over the fields.

It’s a small beehive

With bloody honeycombs,

Honeycombs made by bees

With mouths of women.

Because of this, when broken,

it laughs with the purpur

of a thousand lips.

 

 

Loneliness

I abandon my clothes

And squeeze my heart.

My heart oozes mist.

When the sky’s wilderness

Will cover the earth,

My heart will be

Soaked in the mist.

River, blue.

Looking for my ancient kiss.

The kiss

Of my only hour.

My mouth,

Spent lamp,

Looks for its light.

River, blue.

 

On the nose

On the nose of Newton

Falls the big apple –

Meteor of truth.

The last hanging one

In the Tree of Science.

 

The great Newton

Scratched his huge nose.

There was a white moon

On the barbaric embroidery

Of the beeches.

 

In the bushes

The gnomes

Of secrets

Are pulling

their hair out.

They are mooring Death

And commanding the echoes

To detect humans

With their mirrors.

In a corner

Sits the secret

-revealed-

-dead.

Grieved

By companions.

It’s a sky-blue youth

With legs of iron

And between his eyebrows

Rests a star.

Grieved

By its companions.

The green lake trembles.

The wind blows.

And since I have received no extensive input on what kind of rewards you'd like, I'll throw something like:

1st place: 2gc+3 random totems+1 uncommon item

2nd place: 2gc+2 totem+1 common item+1 spellstone I have

participation prizes (if not a Halloween joke :P) : 1 random totem+2 common items

Minimum participants: 3. If there are 4 or more, prizes will be updated.

Edited by Ungod
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Dream,

My heart rested late in the night, was so cold..
the pulse was so weak that I could barely tell if it was still beating,
(a spider web covered all off my chest)

The water of the well confessed of someone crying

(The spider web continuied to grow up)

it was an eerie sound of my sweetheart, which scream after of my name.
Although I wanted to get up and go check it out the water of the well.
(spider of silence, you've poisened my heart)

My sweetheart slipped in the cold well.
(spider of silence, I beg you to let me save my "heart")

the water almost took her away,
(the spider freed me from his web and let me go)

But was so late, she is not there anymore.

But almost immediately I woke up, 
(I realized it was a nightmare)
When I looked near by me, my love, it was like a statue
(I asked her what happened?)
She replied twith a tone of fear in her voice. 
"I saw an enormous spider on your chest that watching you while you were asleep."

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Santiago, Balada ingenua
 

The night has pulled Tacitamuta
On a path of darkness, in the depth.
‘Tis what those kids are saying,
Sitting in the ashes of desolation.

What is the grim rider aiming for,
On this dark and narrow road?
It aims the Nighttide, lingering in the back
Of a black horse resembling liquid dust.

Little children, cry on the meadow,
Gutting the mind with your sorrow!

A man says he saw Tacitamuta
In the midst of two hundred wraiths,
All clad in black,
With shrouds of grey ash,
And the horse that Tacitamuta mounted
Was a void of black.

The man tells it must be known
That through the quiet night you could hear
The trembling of black hoofs
Carried by the waves of the silence.

What stopped the flowing of the river?
Those horse-riders were wraiths.

Little children, cry on the meadow,
Gutting the mind with your sorrow!

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