[Camino Poem No. 12] Traveller, There is No Path

This is the 12th of 42 posts about the poems that carried me across the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Spain. 

this moment has arisen
and gone

and we make our paths by walking,
step
by
step.


this poem speaks to me of trust -
the trust we need to keep walking

and to keep speaking,
beat by beat, verse by verse.

(it was chosen by one of the volunteers who ran the wonderful hostel in Granon. The hostel adjoins the church and is donativo (you pay what you want). In the evening, after the communal meal that they provided, the volunteers took us into the cloister at the back of the church for a candlelit reflection on our camino experience.)

Traveller, There is No Path – Antonio Machado (1875-1939)

Translated by Asa Cusack

Everything passes on and everything remains,

But our lot is to pass on,

To go on making paths,

Paths across the sea.

I never sought glory,

Nor to leave my song

In the memory of man;

I love those subtle worlds,

Weightless and graceful,

As bubbles of soap.

I like to watch as they paint themselves

In sunlight and scarlet, floating

Beneath the blue sky, trembling

Suddenly then popping…

I never sought glory.

Traveller, your footprints

Are the path and nothing more;

Traveller, there is no path,

The path is made by walking.

By walking the path is made

And when you look back

You'll see a road

Never to be trodden again.

Traveller, there is no path,

Only trails across the sea…

Some time past in that place

Where today the forests are dressed in barbs

A poet was heard to cry

"Traveller, there is no path,

The path is made by walking…"

Beat by beat, verse by verse…

The poet died far from home.

He lies beneath the dust of a neighbouring land.

As he walked away he was seen to weep.

"Traveller, there is no path,

The path is made by walking…"

Beat by beat, verse by verse…

When the goldfinch cannot sing,

When the poet is a pilgrim,

When prayer will do us no good.

"Traveller, there is no path,

The path is made by walking…"

Beat by beat, verse by verse.

On this day I walked 22km from Azofra to Granon.