| Pablo Neruda -Soneto VIII- |
| domingo, 10 de abril de 2005 |
Soneto VIII
Si no fuera porque tus ojos tienen color de luna,
de día con arcilla, con trabajo, con fuego,
y aprisionada tienes la agilidad del aire,
si no fuera porque eres una semana de ámbar,
si no fuera porque eres el momento amarillo
en que el otoño sube por las enredaderas
y eres aún el pan que la luna fragante
elabora paseando su harina por el cielo,
oh, bienamada, yo no te amaría!
En tu abrazo yo abrazo lo que existe,
la arena, el tiempo, el árbol de la lluvia,
y todo vive para que yo viva:
sin ir tan lejos puedo verlo todo:
veo en tu vida todo lo viviente.
Sonnet 8
If your eyes were not the colour of the moon,
the colour of the day with clay, with toil, with fire,
if you had not the litheness of breezes, even imprisioned,
if you were not a week of amber,
if you were not the yellow moment
in which the autumn rises through the thicket
and if you were not still the bread baked
by the sweet moon sprinkling flour about the sky,
o beloved, I would not love you!
In your embrace I embrace what exists,
sand, time, tree and rain,
and everything lives so that I may live:
without wondering far I can see it all:
I see in your life all that which is alive.Etiquetas: Pablo Neruda |
posted by Bishop @ 1:08  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full of clay,and work, and fire,
if even held-in you did not move on agile grace like the air,
if you were not an amber week,
if you were not the yellow moment
when autumn climbs through the vines;
if you were not that bread the
fragrant moon kneads,sprinkling its flour across the sky,
Oh,my dearest,I would not love you so!
But when I hold you I hold everything that
is sand, time, the tree of the rain,
everything is alive so that I can be alive:
without moving I can see it all in your life
I see everything that lives.
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If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full of clay,and work, and fire,
if even held-in you did not move on agile grace like the air,
if you were not an amber week,
if you were not the yellow moment
when autumn climbs through the vines;
if you were not that bread the
fragrant moon kneads,sprinkling its flour across the sky,
Oh,my dearest,I would not love you so!
But when I hold you I hold everything that
is sand, time, the tree of the rain,
everything is alive so that I can be alive:
without moving I can see it all in your life
I see everything that lives.