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Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English]

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Burning Autumn Leaves[1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]

My long steel pointed rake puncturedAnd twisted through tons of autumn leaves(back in the '50s);And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I seeBehind it, two embankmentsLeaves I didn't rake a day ago;The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.I love the scent of burning leaves:I seem to dream of them nowadays.I cannot shake the excitement I getFrom the sight and smells of burning leaves.Now the city will not allow the burning,Not sure what can take its place-:Only wishful thinking and dreaming, I think.

But every leaf that now appears, in autumnI keep hearing the cracking of the fire; seeThe flickering-flames of burning leaves; ICan even smell--the autumn leaves of long ago.I have had too much of raking leaves, I do believe-.I'm now old and tired, too tired to rake those hills;Yet raking I still desire, not sure why.There were a thousand days I raked, back thenHeld in hand, the rake that struck the earth-Spiked, into its dirt-capturing those critters (leaves)Like thieves-: thieves sleeping.

This tiredness of mine will never go away, I fearIt's called aging, or something, so I will have to findAnother place, to smell the burning autumn leaves;And perhaps, perchance, do just a ting of raking:Before the long, long, very long sleep.

#771 7/24/05

In Spanish

Hojas ardientes de otoo(Los aos de 1950 en St. Pal. Minnesota)

Mi rastrillo de acero largo y puntiagudo pinchY dio vuelta a travs de toneladas de hojas(Atrs en los aos 50);Y hay una colina an, que no rastrill, yo veoDetrs de esto, dos terraplenesDe hojas que yo no rastrille hace un da;La esencia del otoo dormir sobre el piso.Me gusta la esencia de las hojas ardiendo;Yo parezco soar con ellas estos das.No puedo sacudirme el entusiasmo que consigoDe la vista y los olores de quemar hojas:Ahora la ciudad no permitir quemar,No seguro de qu puede tomar lugar-:Solo el optimismo pensando y soando, Pienso

Pero cada hoja que ahora aparece, en otooYo sigo oyendo el crujir del fuego; veoEl parpadear de las llamas de hojas ardiendo; yoPuedo an oler- las hojas de otoo de hace tiempo.He tenido demasiado rastrillando hojas, Yo creo-Ahora yo estoy viejo y cansado, demasiado cansado

para rastrillar esas colinas;Aun rastrillando y todava deseando, no seguro por qu?Hubo miles de das que rastrill, atrs entoncesSosteniendo en la mano, el rastrillo que golpeo la tierra-Claveteando, dentro de su suciedad- capturando aquellos

bichos (hojas)Como ladrones-: ladrones durmiendo.

Este cansancio mo no se ir jams, yo temoEsto es llamado envejecimiento o vejez, entonces yo tendr

que encontrarOtro lugar, para oler las hojas ardiendo en otoo;Y talvez, la posibilidad, de hacer justo un intento de rastrillar:Antes de largo, largo, muy largo sueo.

#771 7/24/05

Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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