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Poemas en Inglés es un blog que pretende acercar poemas de lengua inglesa al castellano |
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"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 |
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Pablo Neruda -Oda a las patatas fritas- |
lunes, 21 de marzo de 2005 |
Oda a las patatas fritas
Chisporrotea en el aceite hirviendo la alegría del mundo: las patatas fritas entran en el sartén como nevadas plumas de cisne matutino y salen semidoradas por el crepitante ámbar de las olivas. El ajo les añade su terrenal fragancia, la pimienta, polen que atravesó los arrecifes, y vestidas de nuevo con traje de marfil, llenan el plato con la repetición de su abundancia y su sabrosa sencillez de tierra.
Ode to french fries
What sizzles in boiling oil is the world's pleasure: French fries go into the pan like the morning swan's feathers and emerge half-golden from the olive's crackling amber.
Garlic lends them its earthly aroma, its spice, its pollen that braved the reefs. Then, dressed anew in ivory fruits, they fill our plates with repeated abundance and the delicious simplicity of the soil.Etiquetas: Pablo Neruda |
posted by Bishop @ 19:00 |
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1 Comments: |
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Ode to the Waterfall
The world's joy is spluttering, sizzling in olive oil. Potatoes to be fried enter the skillet, snowy wings of a morning swan — and they leave half-braised in gold, gift of the crackling amber of olives.
Garlic embellishes the potato with its earthy perfume, and the pepper is pollen that has traveled beyond the reefs, and so freshly dressed in a marbled suit, plates are filled with the echoes of potatoey abundance: delicious simplicity of the earth.
Translated by Maria Jacketti
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Ode to the Waterfall
The world's joy
is spluttering,
sizzling in olive oil.
Potatoes
to be fried
enter the skillet,
snowy wings
of a morning swan —
and they leave
half-braised in gold,
gift of the crackling amber
of olives.
Garlic
embellishes the potato
with its earthy perfume,
and the pepper
is pollen that has traveled
beyond the reefs,
and so
freshly
dressed
in a marbled suit,
plates are filled
with the echoes of potatoey abundance:
delicious simplicity of the earth.
Translated by Maria Jacketti