Alberto Cortez
Miscellaneous
Portrait
My childhood are memories of a patio in Seville
And a clear orchard where the lemon tree matures;
My youth, twenty years in lands of Castile;
My history, some cases that I do not want to remember.
Neither a seductive Mañara nor a Bradomin have I been
-You already know my clumsy dressing -;
The more I received the arrow that Cupid assigned me,
And I loved how hospitable they can be.
There are drops of Jacobin blood in my veins,
But my verse springs forth of a serene spring;
And more than a normal man who knows his doctrine,
I am, in the good sense of the word, good.
I disdain the romances of hollow tenors
And the chorus of crickets that sing to the moon.
To distinguish the voices from the echoes,
And I hear only, among the voices, one.
I converse with the man who always goes with me
-He who speaks to himself, hopes to speak to God one Day-;
My soliloquy is talk with this good friend
Who taught me the secret of philanthropy.
And in the end, I owe you nothing; You owed me what I have written.
I go to my work, with my money I pay
The suit that covers me and the mansion that I live in,
The bread that feeds me and the bed where I lie.
And when the day of the last voyage arrives,
And the ship that will never return is leaving,
You will find me on board, light of luggage,
Almost Naked, like the children of the sea.

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