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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 |
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| Antonio Machado -Siesta- |
| lunes, 8 de agosto de 2005 |
Siesta
Mientras traza su curva el pez de fuego,
junto al ciprés, bajo el supremo añil,
y vuela en blanca piedra el niño ciego,
y en el olmo la copla de marfil
de la verde cigarra late y suena,
honremos al Señor
—la negra estampa de su mano buena—
que ha dictado el silencio en el clamor.
Al dios de la distancia y de la ausencia,
del áncora en el mar, la plena mar…
Él nos libra del mundo—omnipresencia—,
nos abrea senda para caminar.
Con la copa de sombra bien colmada,
con este nunca lleno corazón,
honremos al Señor que hizo la Nada
y ha esculpido en la fe nuestra razón.
High noon
Just as the scales of a leaping fish catch fire
So far from the sky's azure, and the wings of Eros
Quiver, though his eyes are blank marble,
So, too, somewhere inside that leafy elm's
Tremulous limbs is a green cicada trilling—
Though it sounds no different than a toy whistle.
Siesta time. Let us praise the Lord
Almighty, whose open palm can silence the loud
And unruly anytime he pleases, and casts a shadow
Dark as the one that extends from the cypress tree.
God of distance and God of absence, anchor
Stone that plumbs its own bottomless depth;
Path that's open for all to walk on; key
That turns on ubiquitous life, and shuts the door.
Freedom. By this glass of wine so dark it brims
Like rising nightfall, with a heart whose deepest faith
Is insatiable thirst, let us praise the Lord of Desire,
Who molded our mind as if it was good for nothing.
Translated from the Spanish by George Kalogeris and Gláucia RezendeEtiquetas: Antonio Machado |
posted by Bishop @ 14:30  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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SIESTA
In Memory of Abel Martin
While the fish of fire traces its curve,
near the cypress beneath the supreme blue,
and the blind child flies in the white stone,
and in the elm the ivory couplet
of the green cicada beats and returns,
let's honor the Lord
-- the black stamp of his good hand --
who has dictated the silence in the clamor.
To the god of the distance and the absence,
of the anchor in the sea, the open sea...
He frees us from the world -- omnipresence --
opening for us a path to walk on.
With the hidden cup well-filled,
with this ever-filling heart,
let's honor the Lord who has made the Void
and has sculpted in faith our reason.
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SIESTA
In Memory of Abel Martin
While the fish of fire traces its curve,
near the cypress beneath the supreme blue,
and the blind child flies in the white stone,
and in the elm the ivory couplet
of the green cicada beats and returns,
let's honor the Lord
-- the black stamp of his good hand --
who has dictated the silence in the clamor.
To the god of the distance and the absence,
of the anchor in the sea, the open sea...
He frees us from the world -- omnipresence --
opening for us a path to walk on.
With the hidden cup well-filled,
with this ever-filling heart,
let's honor the Lord who has made the Void
and has sculpted in faith our reason.