" By disposition of angels "


Messengers much like ourselves? Explain it.
Steadfastness the darkness makes explicit?
Something heard most clearly when not near it?
        Above particularities,
these unparticularities praise cannot violate.
    One has seen, in such steadiness never deflected,
    how by darkness a star is perfected.


Star that does not ask me if I see it?
Fir that would not wish me to uproot it?
Speech that does not ask me if I hear it?
         Mysteries expound mysteries.
Steadier than steady; star dazzling me, live and elate,
    no need to say, how like some we have known; too like her,
    too like him, and a-quiver forever.


   Moore, Marianne. Poesía Reunida ( 1915 - 1951 ). Madrid: Hiperión, 1996, p 314.
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   " Light is speech "


One can say more of sunlight
    than of speech; but speech
    and light, each
aiding each - when French -
have not disgraced that still
unextirpated adjective.
Yes, light is speech. Free frank
impartial sunlight, moonlight,
starlight, lighthouse light,
    are language. The Creach'h
d'Ouessant light -
house on its defenseless dot of
rock, is the descendant of Voltaire

whose flaming justice reached
    a man already harmed;
    of unarmed
Montaigne whose balance,
maintained despite the bandit's
hardness, lit remorse's saving
spark; of Émile Littré,
philology's determined,
ardent eight-volume
    Hippocrates-charmed
editor: A
man of fire, a scientist of
freedoms, was firm Maximilien

Paul Émile Littré. England
    guarded by the sea,
    we, with re-enforced Bartholdi's
Liberty holding up her
torch beside the port, hear France
demand, "Tell me the truth,
especially when it is
    unpleasant. "And we
cannot but reply,
"The word France means
enfranchisemente; means one who can
'animate whoever thinks of her.' "


   Moore, Marianne. Poesía Reunida ( 1915-1951 ). Madrid: Hiperión, 1996, pp 222 - 224.
.

             " To a prize bird "


You suit me well, for you can make me laugh
nor are you blinded by the chaff
    That every wind sends spinning from the rick.


You know to think, and what you think you speak
with much of Samson's pride and bleak
    finality, and none dare bid you stop.


Pride sits you well, so strut, colossal bird.
No barnyard makes you look absurd;
     you brazen claws are staunch against defeat.


    Moore, Marianne. Poesía Reunida ( 1915 - 1951 ). Madrid: Hiperión, 1996, p 86.
.