Spanish Poems





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About this blog
Poemas en Inglés es un blog que pretende acercar poemas de lengua inglesa al castellano
Sentences
"Por principio, toda traducción es buena. En cualquier caso, pasa con ellas lo que con las mujeres: de alguna manera son necesarias, aunque no todas son perfectas"

Augusto Monterroso

-La palabra mágica-

"Es imposible traducir la poesía. ¿Acaso se puede traducir la música?"

Voltaire

"Translating poetry is like making jewelry. Every word counts, and each sparkles with so many facets. Translating prose is like sculpting: get the shape and the lines right, then polish the seams later."

James Nolan

"La traducción destroza el espí­ritu del idioma"

Federico García Lorca
César Vallejo -A mi hermano Miguel-
sábado, 10 de enero de 2004
A mi hermano Miguel

In memoriam

Hermano, hoy estoy en el poyo de la casa.
Donde nos haces una falta sin fondo¡
Me acuerdo que jugábamos esta hora, y que mamá
nos acariciaba: "Pero, hijos..."

Ahora yo me escondo,
como antes, todas estas oraciones
vespertinas, y espero que tú no des conmigo.
Por la sala, el zaguán, los corredores.
Después, te ocultas tú, y yo no doy contigo.
Me acuerdo que nos hacíamos llorar,
hermano, en aquel juego.

Miguel, tú te escondiste
una noche de agosto, al alborear;
pero, en vez de ocultarte riendo, estabas triste.
Y tu gemelo corazón de esas tardes
extintas se ha aburrido de no encontrarte. Y ya
cae sombra en el alma.

Oye, hermano, no tardes
en salir. Bueno? Puede inquietarse mamá.


To my brother Miguel

In memoriam

Brother, today I sit on the brick bench of the house,
where you make a bottomless emptiness.
I remember we used to play at this hour, and mama
caressed us: "But, sons..."

Now I go hide
as before, from all evening
lectures, and I trust you not to give me away.
Through the parlor, the vestibule, the corridors.
Later, you hide, and I do not give you away.
I remember we made ourselves cry,
brother, from so much laughing.

Miguel, you went into hiding
one night in August, toward dawn,
but, instead of chuckling, you were sad.
And the twin heart of those dead evenings
grew annoyed at not finding you. And now
a shadow falls on my soul.

Listen, brother, don't be late
coming out. All right? Mama might worry.

Translated by James Wright

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posted by Bishop @ 10:20  
1 Comments:
  • At 20 de junio de 2007, 16:59, Blogger Bishop said…

    TO MY BROTHER MIGUEL

    In memoriam

    Brother, today I sit on the brick bench outside the house,
    where you make a bottomless emptiness.
    I remember we used to play at this hour of the day, and mama
    would calm us: "There now, boys..."
    would calm us: "There now, boys..."
    Now I go hide
    as before, from all these evening
    prayers, and I hope that you will not find me.
    In the parlor, the entrance hall, the corridors.
    Later, you hide, and I do not find you.
    I remember we made each other cry,
    brother, in that game.
    Miguel, you hid yourself
    one night in August, nearly at daybreak,
    but instead of laughing when you hid, you were sad.
    And your other heart of those dead afternoons
    is tired of looking and not finding you. And now
    shadows fall on the soul.
    Listen, brother, don't be too late
    coming out. All right? Mama might worry.

    Translated by Robert Bly

     
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