Camino-Poem by A. Machado

Home made translation
(by Martin Paulus & a little help from my friends)

Everything passes and everything stays,
Yet, our duty is to walk,
To walk making pathways, pathways on the sea.

Never did I seek glory, or did I expect
Anyone to remember my song.

I love the subtle, weightless and gentile worlds
Like soap bubbles.
I like watching them painted as suns in red
Floating under the blue sky,
Trembling and suddenly blasting.

Never did I seek for glory...

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the pathway, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing behind
one sees the pathway
that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road--
Only the wash left by the sea.

Some time ago in that place, where the woods are dressed in thorns,
A poet’s voice is heard,
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking...

Beat to beat, verse to verse...

The poet died far away from home,
covered in the dust of a neighbouring country.
When leaving he was seen crying.

When the finch, cannot sing anymore,
when the poet becomes a pilgrim,
When praying doesn’t help at all.