Spanish Poems





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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
Pablo Neruda -Poema 15. Me gustas cuando callas...-
martes, 15 de febrero de 2005
Poema 15. Me gustas cuando callas...

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza :
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.


Poema 15. I like it when you're quiet...

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now,
and you heard me from a distance, and my voice couldn't reach you.
It's as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if
your mouth were closed because I leaned to kiss you.

Just as all living things are filled with my soul.
you emerge from all living things filled with the soul of me.
It's as if, a butterfly in dreams, you were my soul,
and as if you were the soul's word, melancholy.

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you'd gone away now,
And you'd become the keening, the butterfly's insistence,
And you heard me from a distance and my voice didn't reach you.
It's then that what I want is to be quiet with your silence.

It's then that what I want is to speak to you your silence
in a speech as clear as lamplight, as plain as a gold ring.
You are quiet like the night, and like the night you're star-lit.
Your silences are star-like, they're a distant and a simple thing.

I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now.
As if you were dead now, and sorrowful, and distant.
A word then is sufficient, or a smile, to make me happy,
Happy that it seems so certain that you're present.

Translated by Hass

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 17:15  
2 Comments:
  • At 14 de mayo de 2007, 11:40, Blogger Bishop said…

    I like you calm, as if you were absent,
    and you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you.
    It seems that your eyelids have taken to flying:
    it seems that a kiss has sealed up your mouth.

    Since all these things are filled with my spirit,
    you come from things, filled with my spirit.
    You appear as my soul, as the butterfly’s dreaming,
    and you appear as Sadness’s word.

    I like you calm, as if you were distant,
    you are a moaning, a butterfly’s cooing.
    You hear me far-off, my voice does not reach you.
    Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence.

    Let me commune, then, commune with your silence,
    clear as a light, and pure as a ring.
    You are like night, calmed, constellated.
    Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

    I like you calm, as if you were absent:
    distant and saddened, as if you were dead.
    One word at that moment, a smile, is sufficient.
    And I thrill, then, I thrill: that it cannot be so.

     
  • At 14 de mayo de 2007, 11:41, Blogger Bishop said…

    I Like For You to be Still

    I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
    and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
    It seems as though your eyes had flown away
    and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

    As all things are filled with my soul
    you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
    You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
    and you are like the word Melancholy.

    I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
    It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
    And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
    Let me come to be still in your silence.

    And let me talk to you with your silence
    that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
    You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
    Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

    I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
    distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
    One word then, one smile, is enough.
    And I am happy, happy that it's not true.

     
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