Condición de nube

Condición de nube is a cycle for voice and piano based on texts by Octavio Paz. Specifically, the poems are taken from “Condición de nube”, which gives its name to the cycle. This cycle is composed of six songs.

The first poem, Clouds, takes the text literally to the clouds, where the human being enjoys many imaginations capable of taking us out of the real world for a few moments. The second poem, The Branch, shows how a simple memory can break our strength. In Silence, the third poem, a simple note, a simple silence can make us feel more than anything else. Many times, through pain, we end up screaming inside, in silence for others. The fourth poem, Wind, Octavio Paz shows us how the wind is everywhere and that human beings are only passing through. He is and he is not. The fifth poem, New Face, shows how the night is capable of erasing time and reality, how on waking up from sleep everything changes. The dream transports us to another place before we are aware of our own otherness. Finally, Epitaph for a poet, takes us to something that happens today. That ability to show what we really are not.



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Year: 2020
Text: Octavio Paz
Difficulty: Variable
Staff: Voice & piano
Duration: 11.00 min.
Pages: 20
Language: Spanish


I. Nubes

Islas del cielo, soplo en un soplo suspendido,
¡con pie ligero, semejante al aire,
pisar sus playas sin dejar más huella
que la sombra del viento sobre el agua!

¡Y como el aire entre las hojas
perderse en el follaje de la bruma
y como el aire ser labios sin cuerpo,
cuerpo sin peso, fuerza sin orillas!

II. La rama

Canta en la punta del pino
un pájaro detenido,
trémulo, sobre su trino.

Se yergue, flecha, en la rama,
se desvanece entre alas
y en música se derrama.

El pájaro es una astilla
que canta y se quema viva
en una nota amarilla.

Alzo los ojos: no hay nada.
Silencio sobre la rama,
sobre la rama quebrada.

III. Silencio

Así como del fondo de la música
brota una nota
que mientras vibra crece y se adelgaza
hasta que en otra música enmudece,
brota del fondo del silencio
otro silencio, aguda torre, espada,
y sube y crece y nos suspende
y mientras sube caen
recuerdos, esperanzas,
las pequeñas mentiras y las grandes,
y queremos gritar y en la garganta
se desvanece el grito:
desembocamos al silencio
en donde los silencios enmudecen.

IV. Viento

Cantan las hojas,
bailan las peras en el peral;
gira la rosa,
rosa del viento, no del rosal.

Nubes y nubes
flotan dormidas, algas del aire;
todo el espacio
gira con ellas, fuerza de nadie.

Todo es espacio;
vibra la vara de la amapola
y una desnuda
vuela en el viento lomo de ola.

Nada soy yo,
cuerpo que flota, luz, oleaje;
todo es del viento
y el viento es aire siempre de viaje.

V. Nuevo rostro

La noche borra noches en tu rostro,
derrama aceites en tus secos párpados,
quema en tu frente el pensamiento
y atrás del pensamiento la memoria.

Entre las sombras que te anegan
otro rostro amanece.
Y siento que a mi lado
no eres tú la que duerme,
sino la niña aquella que fuiste
y que esperaba sólo que durmieras
para volver y conocerme.

VI. Epitafio para un poeta

Quiso cantar, cantar
para olvidar
su vida verdadera de mentiras
y recordar
su mentirosa vida de verdades.


I. Clouds

Islands of the sky, I blow in a suspended breath,
with a light foot, similar to air,
to step on its beaches without leaving any more footprints
than the shadow of the wind on the water!

And like the air between the leaves
get lost in the foliage of the mist
and like the air to be lips without a body,
body without weight, strength without edges!

II. The branch

Sing at the tip of the pine tree
a bird in custody,
trembling, about his trill.

He stands, arrow, on the branch,
vanishes into thin air
and into music it spills.

The bird is a splinter
that sings and burns alive
on a yellow note.

I raise my eyes: there’s nothing.
Silence on the branch,
on the broken branch.

III. Silence

As well as of the deep of the music
a note sprouts
that as it vibrates it grows and thins
until in other music it becomes silent,
It springs from the depths of silence
another silence, sharp tower, sword,
and it goes up and grows and suspends us
and as it goes up they fall
memories, hopes,
the little lies and the big ones,
and we want to scream and in our throats
the scream fades away:
we lead to silence
where silences are silenced.

IV. Wind

The leaves are singing,
they dance the pears on the pear tree;
turn the rose,
wind rose, not rose bush.

Clouds and clouds
floating in their sleep, algae from the air;
all space
turn with them, no one’s strength.

Everything is space;
vibrates the poppy stick
and a nude
flies in the wave-back wind.

I am nothing,
floating body, light, waves;
everything is from the wind
and the wind is always travelling air.

V. New face

The night erases nights from your face,
spills oil on your dry eyelids,
Burns in your forehead the thought
and behind the thought the memory.

Among the shadows that flood you
another face dawns.
And I feel that by my side
you’re not the one who’s sleeping,
but the girl you were
and that I was just waiting for you to sleep
to come back and meet me.

VI. Epitaph for a poet

He wanted to sing, sing
to forget
his real life of lies
and to remember
his lying life of truth.