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
Pablo Neruda -Poema 20. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes...-
martes, 15 de febrero de 2005
Poema 20. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes...

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche esta estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.


Poem 20. I can write the saddest poem...

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 17:20  
1 Comments:
  • At 2 de junio de 2007, 14:31, Blogger Bishop said…

    POEM TWENTY

    I could write the very saddest verses tonight
    Writing, for example "The night is sprinkled

    With stars sparkling blue, far away."
    The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

    I could write the very saddest verses tonight
    I loved her and at times she also loved me.

    On nights like this I had her in my arms.
    I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

    She loved me, at times I also loved her.
    How could I not love her big staring eyes?

    I could write the very saddest verses tonight.
    To think I don't have her. To feel that I have lost her.

    To hear the immense night, even more immense without her.
    And the verses fall on the soul like dew on the pasture.

    What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her?
    The night is full of stars and she's not with me.

    That's all. Far off someone is singing. Far off
    My love is not used to having lost her.

    How my glance looks for her to get close to her.
    My heart looks for her and she's not with me.

    The same night that turns the same trees white.
    We aren't now the same way we were then.

    I no longer love her, that's certain, but how much I loved her.
    My voice searched on the wind to touch her ear.

    Someone else's, she's someone else's. Like before I kissed her.
    Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

    I no longer love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her.
    Love lasts so short and forgetting takes so long.

    But on nights like this I had her in my arms.
    My heart is not used to having lost her.

    Although this may be the last pain that she causes me
    And these may be the last verses that I write her.

    Translated by Jodey Bateman

     
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