Il Postino (일 포스티노) [ost] (1995) by Various Artists (보컬) on maniadb.com

Naked you are simple as one of your hands; Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round. You've moon-lines, apple pathways Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat. Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba; You've vines and stars in your hair. Naked you are spacious and yellow As summer in a golden church. Naked you are tiny as one of your nails; Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born And you withdraw to the underground world. As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores; Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves, And becomes a naked hand again.

And it was at that age. Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me. I did not know what to say, my mouth had no way with names my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing, and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open planets, palpitating plantations, shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers, the winding night, the universe. And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

What it takes on this planet, to make love to each other in peace. Everyone pries under your sheets, everyone interferes with your loving. They say terrible things about a man and a woman, who after much milling about, all sorts of compunctions, do something unique, they both lie with each other in one bed. I ask myself whether frogs are so furtive, or sneeze as they please. Whether they whisper to each other in swamps about illegitimate frogs, or the joys of amphibious living. I ask myself if birds single out enemy birds, or bulls gossip with bullocks before they go out in public with cows. Even the roads have eyes and the parks their police. Hotels spy on their guests, windows name names, canons and squadrons debark on missions to liquidate love. All those ears and those jaws working incessantly, till a man and his girl have to raise their climax, full tilt, on a bicycle.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight searches for her as though to go to her. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before. Her voice. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

Vieja pared del arrabal
Tu sombra fue mi companera
De mi ninez sin esplendor
La amiga fue tu madreselva.
Cuando temblando mi amor primero
Con esperanzas besaba mi alma
Yo junto a vos pura y feliz
Cantaba asi mi primera confesion.

Madreselvas en flor que me vieron nacer
Y en la vieja pared sorprendieron mi amor
Tu humilde caricia es como el carino
Primero y querido que siento por el.

Madreselvas en flor que trepandose van
Es su abrazo tenaz y dulzon como aquel
Si todos los anos tus flores renacen
Hace que no muera mi primer amor.

Pasaron los anos y mil desenganos
Yo vengo a contarte mi vieja pared
Asi aprendi que hay que fingir
Para vivir decentemente.

Que amor y fe, mentiras son
Y del dolor se rie la gente
Hoy que la vida me ha castigado
Y me ha ensenado su credo amargo.

Vieja pared con emocion
Me acerco a vos y te digo como ayer

Madreselvas en flor que me vieron nacer
Y en la vieja pared sorprendieron mi amor
Tu humilde caricia es como el carino
Premero y querido que nunca olvide.

Madreselvas en flor que trepandose van
Es su abrazo tenaz y dulzon como aquel
Si todos los anos tus flores renacen
¿por que ya no vuelve mi primer amor?