| Antonio Machado -Iris de la noche- |
| viernes, 5 de agosto de 2005 |
Iris de la noche
A D. Ramón del Valle-Inclán
Hacia Madrid, una noche,
va el tren por el Guadarrama.
En el cielo, el arco iris
que hacen la luna y el agua.
¡Oh luna de abril, serena,
que empuja las nubes blancas!
La madre lleva a su niño
dormido sobre la falda.
Duerme el niño y, todavía,
ve el campo verde que pasa,
y arbolillos soleados,
y mariposas doradas.
La madre, ceño sombrío
entre un ayer y un mañana,
ve una ascuas mortecinas
y una hornilla con arañas.
Hay un trágico viajero,
que debe ver cosas raras,
y habla solo y, cuando mira,
nos borra con la mirada.
Yo pienso en campos de nieve
y en pinos de otras montañas,
Y tú, Señor, por quien todos
vemos y que ves las almas,
dinos si todos un día,
hemos de verte la cara.
Rainbow at night
For Don Ramón del Valle-Inclán
Bound for Madrid, one evening
the train in the Guadarrama.
In the sky the rainbow’s arch
of moonlight and water.
Oh calm moon of April
driving the white clouds!
The mother holds her child,
sleeping, in her lap.
Sleeping the child still sees
the green fields going by
with little sunlit trees
and gilded butterflies.
The mother, frowning dark
between tomorrow, yesterday
sees dying embers
and an oven full of spiders.
And there’s a sad traveller
who has to view rare sights,
talks to himself, glances up
and voids us with his glance.
I think of fields of snow,
pine-trees on other hills.
And you, Lord, through whom
all see, who sees all souls,
say if a day will come
when we shall see your face.
Translated by A. S. KlineEtiquetas: Antonio Machado |
posted by Bishop @ 11:30  |
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| 2 Comments: |
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RAINBOW AT NIGHT
One night, on a train that was bound for Madrid,
In the darkness over Guadarrama, I saw a rainbow
Just as it was emerging from moonlit fog.
O peaceful April moon, covered by clouds
You can drive away just by looking down!
Though he's fast asleep in his mother's lap, the child
Still sees the meadows flash by, and it feels so lush
Lying there in his mother's arms he dreams he's enclosed
By a warm circle of trees, and closes his eyes
Tighter to catch the flutter of yellow butterflies.
But his mother, whose face is lined like a map
Of yesterday's gloom as well as tomorrow's, sees only
The coals smoldering out and the black oven
Crawling with spiders. One of our fellow passengers
Must be seeing things, too. He stares out the window,
Muttering something to himself. Then his shattered look
Looks right through us. My mind dwells on fields
Buried under snow, even as it pictures pine trees
Evergreen on other mountains. And you, O Lord,
Overseer of our souls, and the one through whom
Our eyes are able to see: will the day ever dawn
When your countenance shines in everyone's eyes?
Translated by George Kalogeris and Gláucia Rezende
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Juan Ramón Jiménez dijo sobre este romance: "Iris de la noche, uno de los romances más hondos de Antonio Machado y uno de los más bellos que he leído en mi vida."
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RAINBOW AT NIGHT
One night, on a train that was bound for Madrid,
In the darkness over Guadarrama, I saw a rainbow
Just as it was emerging from moonlit fog.
O peaceful April moon, covered by clouds
You can drive away just by looking down!
Though he's fast asleep in his mother's lap, the child
Still sees the meadows flash by, and it feels so lush
Lying there in his mother's arms he dreams he's enclosed
By a warm circle of trees, and closes his eyes
Tighter to catch the flutter of yellow butterflies.
But his mother, whose face is lined like a map
Of yesterday's gloom as well as tomorrow's, sees only
The coals smoldering out and the black oven
Crawling with spiders. One of our fellow passengers
Must be seeing things, too. He stares out the window,
Muttering something to himself. Then his shattered look
Looks right through us. My mind dwells on fields
Buried under snow, even as it pictures pine trees
Evergreen on other mountains. And you, O Lord,
Overseer of our souls, and the one through whom
Our eyes are able to see: will the day ever dawn
When your countenance shines in everyone's eyes?
Translated by George Kalogeris and Gláucia Rezende