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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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| Federico García Lorca -Casida de los ramos- |
| martes, 13 de septiembre de 2005 |
Casida de los ramos
Por las arboledas del Tamarit
han venido los perros de plomo
a esperar que se caigan los ramos
a esperar que se quiebren ellos solos.
El Tamarit tiene un manzano
con una manzana de sollozos.
Un ruiseñor agrupa los suspiros,
y un faisán los ahuyenta por el polvo.
Pero los ramos son alegres,
los ramos son como nosotros.
No piensan en la lluvia y se han dormido,
como si fueran árboles, de pronto.
Sentados con el agua en las rodillas
dos valles esperaban al otoño.
La penumbra con paso de elefante
empujaba las ramas y los troncos.
Por las arboledas del Tamarit
hay muchos niños de velado rostro
a esperar que se caigan mis ramos
a esperar que se quiebren ellos solos.
Casida of the branches
Through the groves of the Tamarit
the dogs of lead have come
to wait for the branches to fall
to see if they'll break off by themselves.
The Tamarit has an apple tree
with an apple of sobs.
A nightingale gathers the sighs together,
and a pheasant chases them through the dust.
But the branches are cheerful,
the branches are like us.
Not thinking of the rain, they have gone to sleep,
as if they had become trees suddenly.
Sitting with the water up to their knees
two valleys are waiting for autumn.
The gloom with elephant's tread
pushes at the branches and the trunks.
Through the groves of the Tamarit
there are many children with their faces veiled
waiting for my branches to fall,
waiting for them to break off by themselves.
Translated by Simon AndrewesEtiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
posted by Bishop @ 15:40  |
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| 2 Comments: |
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Casida of the Clusters
Through the groves of the Tamarit
the dogs of lead have come
waiting for the clusters to fall,
waiting for them to break on their own.
The Tamarit has an apple-tree
with an apple of sobs.
A nightingale gathers sighs
that a pheasant chases through the dust.
But the clusters are happy,
the clusters are like us.
They are not thinking of rain and have gone to sleep,
suddenly, as if they were trees.
Sitting with the water up to their knees,
two valleys were waiting for autumn.
Dusk with elephantine tread
was pushing the branches and tree-trunks.
Through the groves of the Tamarit
there are many children with veiled face
waiting for my clusters to fall,
waiting for them to break on their own.
Translated by Michael Smith
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Casida of the Branches
The leaden dogs have come
through the groves of the Tamarit
waiting for the branches to fall,
waiting for them to break themselves apart.
The Tamarit has an apple-tree
with an apple of weeping.
A nightingale gathers sighs
a pheasant chases them through the dust.
But the branches are happy,
the branches are like us.
They are not thinking about rain.
Suddenly, as if they were trees, they are sleeping.
Sitting in water up to their knees,
two valleys wait for the Fall.
With an elephant's tread, darkness comes
pushing aside the branches and the trunks.
There are many children with hidden faces
in the groves of the Tamarit
waiting for my branches to fall,
waiting for them to break themselves apart.
Translated by Carlos Amantea
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Casida of the Clusters
Through the groves of the Tamarit
the dogs of lead have come
waiting for the clusters to fall,
waiting for them to break on their own.
The Tamarit has an apple-tree
with an apple of sobs.
A nightingale gathers sighs
that a pheasant chases through the dust.
But the clusters are happy,
the clusters are like us.
They are not thinking of rain and have gone to sleep,
suddenly, as if they were trees.
Sitting with the water up to their knees,
two valleys were waiting for autumn.
Dusk with elephantine tread
was pushing the branches and tree-trunks.
Through the groves of the Tamarit
there are many children with veiled face
waiting for my clusters to fall,
waiting for them to break on their own.
Translated by Michael Smith