En La Palma de La Mano

(Dedicated to Don Diego de los Santos
and Doña Concha Parejo, whom they know,
so they can enjoy it in good health
with their children and family.)
I don’t curse my luck or the punishment of loving you
which is a deadly affection that condemned me to live.
I have a chain that comes from the heart
and ends buried in the ground.
Comb, long dress,
bunch of carnations escaping
no one can when you say: here I am.
So good fortune read my palm:
What’s yours has no cure.
No matter how much I try to hide in the East
or in the West,
whether in white or in green,
I always end up in mourning.
No matter how much I try to hide,
I know I’m going to run into
your pretty face head-on.
Chorus
You’re dynamite,
I’m fire.
You’re the wind,
I’m the flame from that mouth
that melts iron
and in the mouth, it’s a flower
that springs like a fountain
that gives a drink to those
who lose themselves seeking love.
Of all we’ve been through,
I don’t regret a thing.
Good and bad go with me
every time the curtain rises.
Loneliness of the stage where
wherever I am, your name trembles on my lips.
Chorus
Granada, I want it to lose myself in,
and Sevilla, I want to drink in your eyes,
the guts of Andalusia
and let the air carry away my sorrows.
They’re like swallows that come
and go flying over the Guadalquivir River
and sing in the morning:
I have mint! I have marjoram!
And for the pretty girls,
the daisy that says yes!