To Francisco Salinas, Reader in Music at the University of Salamanca

The air clears, and puts on beauty and
an unaccustomed light, when, my friend,
       at a touch of your skilled hand
   you make the consummate music sound.

At this divine tone, my soul once held
in apathy recovers what was gone,
       its sense of higher self,
   and thus recalls its origin.

As it remembers once again, its fate
improves; and too my thoughts--my soul ignores
       that bright deceptive bait
   of gold which the blind crowd adores.

It ascends beyond the air, and floats
in the highest sphere where it hears the call--
       imperishable notes
   of music that was first of all.

There it watches how our greatest master,
with skillful motions, makes the sacred sounds
       on that enormous cither,
   by which eternity's sustained,

and as it is composed of harmonious numbers
it sends out a consonant reply,
       and the songs combine
   completing a sweetest harmony.

Here the soul sails such a sea of sweetness
that it finally is so drowned in it
       it neither hears nor sees
   any strange or rare event.

Oh happy faint! oh death that gives me life!
oh sweet oblivion! Might I remain
       and never be revived
   to this low consciousness again!

I call you to the good you do, Salinas,
glory of Apollo's sacred choir
       beloved above all riches,
   for everything below is tears--

oh, forever go on playing, sound
the music in my ears which makes my feelings
       wake to the good of God
   and unaware of other things.

—22 February 1995

This is my translation (which was published a few *cough* years back) of a poem by Fray Luis de León (1527?-1591), a Spanish poet of the Golden Age. Original text behind a ( courtesy cut. )

---L.