Cada Día tiene un Pájaro

I like the rhythm in this one… It twitches, just like those springy little muscles in a bird’s neck, or the way a whole flock can leap into flight at once.

And then there’s that feeling you’re left with once you finish the final verse…

EVERY DAY HAS A BIRD (1929)

Evaristo Ribera Chevremont

     Every day has a bird;
each bird, a branch.
Every day has a bird
full of glass of water.
Its peak of freshness
from the springs, in the branches,
and the branches make flowers
and all the air is fragrance.
Every day has a bird;
each bird, a branch.
Every day has a bird
with voice clear, clear, clear.
Today, the nightingale that ripples
ripples of notes; tomorrow,
the wonderful troupial
to pour the sweet dawn
its white pot of milk
in the udder of cows.
 
     Every day has a bird;
each bird, a branch.
Every day has a bird
with voice clear, clear, clear.
A bird grey or black.
green or with golden feathers,
blue, a navy blue,
or red like a flame.
A song is a bird;
a song is a branch;
and branch and bird dream,
full of glass of water.
 
 
     Every day has a bird;
each bird, a branch.
Magpie the bird the dew;
the dew hones his wing,
and wing and dew are one,
as a single word.
From where has the bird come
full of glass of water,
to form in the tree,
beak to beak and straw to straw,
the nest in which love is hidden,
before you laugh and later you cry?
 
 
     Every day has a bird;
each bird, a branch.
Every day has a bird
with voice clear, clear, clear.
With the day, the bird is going;
with the bird, the branch,
and only the memory remains
the singing and the fragrance.
Thus, in constant succession,
passes birds and branches,
and the heart feels the weight
of what begins and ends.
Every day has a bird;
each bird, a branch.