Pine Forest

Let us go now into the forest.

Trees will pass by your face,

and I will stop and offer you to them,

but they cannot bend down.

The night watches over its creatures,

except for the pine trees that never change:

the old wounded springs that spring

blessed gum, eternal afternoons.

If they could, the trees would lift you

and carry you from valley to valley,

and you would pass from arm to arm,

a child running

from father to father.

The Little New Moon

It is in the sky--the new moon is looking at me--light as air. Twilight’s enchantment still endures. In the hills, glorious afternoon tapestries linger, but amid this dazzling twilight, the new moon is a drop of sweetness; I set my eyes on it and smile. So, Francis, in the Father’s sky, there are magnificent saints like Paul, rich with passion, and those like Augustine, rich as twilight gold, and others who form the great and violent West.

But my eyes have rested and want to remain on you, a little new moon, thin as a golden hair, lost in the red sky.

From “Gabriela Mistral: A Reader” (White Pine Press, 76 Center Street, Fredonia, NY 14063: $13, paper; 250 pp.). In 1945, Gabriela Mistral was the first Latin American to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature. This reader gathers, for the first time in English, a selection of her poetry and prose. Mistral took her name from the archangel Gabriel and the strong Mistral winds that blow through the South of France. She is one of Chile’s most beloved and celebrated poets.

1993 Translation by Maria Giachetti. Reprinted by permission.