| Pablo Neruda -Oda al tomate- |
| lunes, 21 de marzo de 2005 |
Oda al tomate
La calle
se llenó de tomates,
mediodia,
verano,
la luz
se parte
en dos
mitades
de tomate,
corre
por las calles
el jugo.
En diciembre
se desata
el tomate,
invade
las cocinas,
entra por los almuerzos,
se sienta
reposado
en los aparadores,
entre los vasos,
las matequilleras,
los saleros azules.
Tiene
luz propia,
majestad benigna.
Devemos, por desgracia,
asesinarlo:
se hunde
el cuchillo
en su pulpa viviente,
es una roja
viscera,
un sol
fresco,
profundo,
inagotable,
llena las ensaladas
de Chile,
se casa alegremente
con la clara cebolla,
y para celebrarlo
se deja
caer
aceite,
hijo
esencial del olivo,
sobre sus hemisferios entreabiertos,
agrega
la pimienta
su fragancia,
la sal su magnetismo:
son las bodas
del día
el perejil
levanta
banderines,
las papas
hierven vigorosamente,
el asado
golpea
con su aroma
en la puerta,
es hora!
vamos!
y sobre
la mesa, en la cintura
del verano,
el tomate,
aastro de tierra,
estrella
repetida
y fecunda,
nos muestra
sus circunvoluciones,
sus canales,
la insigne plenitud
y la abundancia
sin hueso,
sin coraza,
sin escamas ni espinas,
nos entrega
el regalo
de su color fogoso
y la totalidad de su frescura.
Ode to tomatoes
The street
filled with tomatoes
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera,
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhausible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth,
recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
Translated by Margaret Sayers PedenEtiquetas: Pablo Neruda |
posted by Bishop @ 22:55  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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Ode to the Tomato
The street
was overflowing with tomatoes.
Noon,
summer,
light
splits
into
two tomato
halves;
juice
runs through
the streets.
In December,
the tomato plant
is set free.
It invades kitchens,
enters lunches.
It sits
and rests
on cupboards,
between tumblers,
butterdishes,
and sky blue salt shakers.
The tomato revels in
its own light,
a gentle majesty.
Unfortunately
we must extinguish it:
the knife
sinks into its living pulp,
visceral red,
a fresh
sun,
deep,
and inextinguishable.
It fills Chilean
salads,
happily marries
the brilliant onion,
and to celebrate,
oil,
essential
son of the olive,
is allowed
to drizzle
over half-naked hemispheres.
To the sunbright wedding,
pepper
adds
sharp perfume,
and salt, magnetism,
parsley hoists
bannerettes,
potatoes
boil in a fury,
a roast knocks
aromatically
at the door.
It's time!
Let's go!
And on the table,
surrounded by summer,
the tomato
is an earthly star,
a fertile
and prolific
star,
revealing to us
circumvolutions,
canals,
an emblem
of abundance
with boneless,
heartless,
scaleless and spineless
wealth.
It blesses us
with a treasure
of fiery watercolors,
and an undiminished blush.
Translated by Maria Jacketti
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Ode to the Tomato
The street
was overflowing with tomatoes.
Noon,
summer,
light
splits
into
two tomato
halves;
juice
runs through
the streets.
In December,
the tomato plant
is set free.
It invades kitchens,
enters lunches.
It sits
and rests
on cupboards,
between tumblers,
butterdishes,
and sky blue salt shakers.
The tomato revels in
its own light,
a gentle majesty.
Unfortunately
we must extinguish it:
the knife
sinks into its living pulp,
visceral red,
a fresh
sun,
deep,
and inextinguishable.
It fills Chilean
salads,
happily marries
the brilliant onion,
and to celebrate,
oil,
essential
son of the olive,
is allowed
to drizzle
over half-naked hemispheres.
To the sunbright wedding,
pepper
adds
sharp perfume,
and salt, magnetism,
parsley hoists
bannerettes,
potatoes
boil in a fury,
a roast knocks
aromatically
at the door.
It's time!
Let's go!
And on the table,
surrounded by summer,
the tomato
is an earthly star,
a fertile
and prolific
star,
revealing to us
circumvolutions,
canals,
an emblem
of abundance
with boneless,
heartless,
scaleless and spineless
wealth.
It blesses us
with a treasure
of fiery watercolors,
and an undiminished blush.
Translated by Maria Jacketti