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 -Soneto LXXVIII-
martes, 12 de abril de 2005
Soneto LXXVIII

No tengo nunca más, no tengo siempre. En la arena
la victoria dejó sus pies perdidos.
Soy un pobre hombre dispuesto a amar a sus semejantes.
No sé quién eres. Te amo. No doy, no vendo espinas.

Alguien sabrá tal vez que no tejí coronas
sangrientas, que combatí la burla,
y que en verdad llené la pleamar de mi alma.
Yo pagué la vileza con palomas.

Yo no tengo jamás porque distinto
fui, soy, seré. Y en nombre
de mi cambiante amor proclamo la pureza.

La muerte es sólo piedra del olvido.
Te amo, beso en tu boca la alegría.
Traigamos leña. Haremos fuego en la montaña.


Sonnet 78

I have no never-again, I have no always. In the sand
Victory abandoned its footprints.
I am a poor man willing to love his fellow men.
I don't know who you are. I love you. I don't give away thorns, and I don't sell them.

Maybe someone will know that I didn't weave crowns
to draw blood; that I fought against mockery;
that I did fill the high tide of my soul with truth.
I repaid vileness with doves.

I have no never, because I was different--
Was, am will be. And in the name
Of my ever-changing love I proclaim a purity.

Death is only the stone of oblivion.
I love you, on your lips I kiss happiness itself.
Let's gather firewood. We'll light a fire on the mountain.

Translated by Stephen Tapscott

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 2:18  
2 Comments:
  • At 29 de mayo de 2007, 18:43, Blogger Bishop said…

    I don't hold on to never. I don't hold on to forever. In the sand
    victory leaves vanishing footprints.
    I'm just a poor man disposed to cherishing our similarities.
    Whoever you are. I love you. I neither give nor sell suspicion.

    Someone knows that I haven't woven crowns
    of thorns; that I've fought the stupidness,
    And the tide of my spirit filled up with truth.
    I repaid the vicious with doves.

    I don't hold on to never because I'm distinct,
    Every moment, I have been, I am, I always will be.
    In the name of my love's changeability I proclaim its purity.

    Death is only a stone of oblivion.
    I love you. Into your mouth I kiss happiness.
    Let's gather some sticks. Let's light a fire on the mountain.

    Translated by Audie McCall

     
  • At 2 de junio de 2007, 15:09, Blogger Bishop said…

    SONETO LXXVIII
    I don't have a "never", I don't have an "always".
    In the sand
    Victory left its forgotten footprints.
    I'm a poor man ready to love others who are like me.
    I don't know who you are. I love you. I don't give or sell thorns.

    Someone perhaps may know that I didn't weave bloody
    Crowns, that I fought against mockery
    And that truly I filled the high tide of my soul.
    I gave doves as repayment for vileness.

    I don't have a "never" because
    I was, am, will be unique. And in the name
    Of my changing love, I proclaim purity.

    Death is only a stone of forgetting.
    I love you, I kiss your mouth of happiness.
    Let's bring the wood and make fire on the mountain.

    Translated by Jodey Bateman

     
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