On today’s walk I went down a street I don’t normally use and found a bronze plaque I had never noticed. On it was a poem by JosÃ© Hierro, one of Spain’s twentieth century poets. He was born in Madrid, but then moved to Cantabria, the region where I live, when he was two years old. I don’t know about Hierro’s philosophy, but this particular poem is quite nihilistic. It’s also just the length and has just the right amount of wordplay that I like in poems. What do you think?
DespuÃ©s de todo, todo ha sido nada,
a pesar de que un dÃa lo fue todo.
DespuÃ©s de nada, o despuÃ©s de todo
supe que todo no era mÃ¡s que nada.
Grito “Â¡Todo!”, y el eco dice “Â¡Nada!”.
Grito “Â¡Nada!”, y el eco dice “Â¡Todo!”.
Ahora sÃ© que la nada lo era todo,
y todo era ceniza de la nada.
No queda nada de lo que fue nada.
(Era ilusiÃ³n lo que creÃa todo
y que, en definitiva, era la nada.)
QuÃ© mÃ¡s da que la nada fuera nada
si mÃ¡s nada serÃ¡, despuÃ©s de todo,
despuÃ©s de tanto todo para nada.
After everything, everything has been nothing,
despite that one day it was everything.
After nothing, or after everything
I knew that everything was no more than nothing.
I shout, “Everything!”, and the echo says, “Nothing!”
I shout, “Nothing!”, and the echo says, “Everything!”
Now I know that the nothing was everything
and everything was the ash of the nothing.
Nothing is left of what nothing was.
(It was illusion that created everything
and that, in short, was the nothing.)
Who cares if the nothing was nothing
if it will be more nothing, after everything,
after so much everything for nothing.