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 -Abejas-
viernes, 27 de mayo de 2005
Abejas

Que voy a hacerle, yo nací
cuando habían muerto los dioses
y mi insufrible juventud
siguió buscando entre las grietas:
ese fué mi oficio y por eso
me sentí tan abandonado.

Una abeja más una abeja
no suman dos abejas claras
ni dos abejas oscuras:
suman un sistema de sol,
una habitación de topacio,
una caricia peligrosa.

La primera inquietud del ambar
son dos abejas amarillas
y atado a las mismas abejas
trabaja el sol de cada día:
me da rabia enseñarles tanto
de mis ridículos secretos.

Me van a seguir preguntando
mis relaciones con los gatos,
cómo descubrí el arco iris,
por qué se vistieron de erizos
las beneméritas castañas,
y sobre todo que les diga
lo que piensan de mí los sapos,
los animales escondidos
bajo la fragancia del bosque
y en las pústulas del cemento.

Es la verdad que entre los sabios
he sido el único ignorante
y entre los que menos sabían
yo siempre supe un poco menos
y fué tan poco mi saber
que aprendí la sabiduría.


Bees

What could I do? I was born
when the gods had all died,
and my incorrigible childhood
was spent looking between all the crevices:
that was my function: that's
why I'm left out of it now.

One bee plus one bee
does not make two light bees
or two dark bees:
they make up a cycle of sun,
a mansion of topaz,
a hazardous touching of hands.

The initial disturbance in amber
requires two yellow bees:
around them the quotidian sun
toils in its orbit:
I'm wild to explain
my ridiculous secrets.

But they keep after me
with their questions: what are my relations
with cats, how I discovered the rainbow,
why the worth of the chestnut
is contained in its burr;
they want, of all things, to know
the bullfrog's opinions: what do
animals under their burrows
in the fragrance of forests or
in pustules of asphalt, make of my life?

The truth of it is: of all
extant sages, I alone remained ignorant,
and among those who have learned less and less
I was always a jot less in the know-
till my learning has come to so little
I know how to be wise in the end.

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 8:00  
1 Comments:
  • At 31 de mayo de 2007, 20:18, Blogger Bishop said…

    Bees

    What was I to do, I, born
    when the gods were dead,
    and my insufferable youth
    spent searching between cracks?
    It was my role, and because of it
    I felt so desolate.

    One bee plus one bee
    does not make two bees of light
    or two bees of darkness:
    it makes a solar system,
    a house of topaz,
    a dangerous caress.

    The first concern of amber
    is two golden bees
    and tied to those same bees
    each day’s sun travels:
    I rage at revealing so many
    of my ridiculous secrets.

    They go on chasing me questioning
    my relationship with cats,
    how I found the rainbow’s arc,
    why the worthy chestnuts
    show themselves as hedgehogs,
    and above all for me to say
    what the toads think of me,
    the creatures hidden
    beneath the wood’s fragrance
    or in the bubbles of concrete.

    The truth is that among the knowers
    I owned to a unique ignorance
    and among those who might know less
    I was always a little less knowing
    and so little was my knowledge
    that I learned wisdom.

     
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