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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 -El amor duerme en el pecho del poeta- |
| sábado, 17 de septiembre de 2005 |
El amor duerme en el pecho del poeta
Tú nunca entenderás lo que te quiero
porque duermes en mí y estás dormido.
Yo te oculto llorando, perseguido
por una voz de penetrante acero.
Norma que agita igual carne y lucero
traspasa ya mi pecho dolorido
y las turbias palabras han mordido
las alas de tu espíritu severo.
Grupo de gente salta en los jardines
esperando tu cuerpo y mi agonía
en caballos de luz y verdes crines.
Pero sigue durmiendo, vida mía.
¡Oye mi sangre rota en los violines!
¡Mira que nos acechan todavía!
The beloved sleeps on the breast of the poet
You will never know how much I love you
because you sleep and have slept in me.
I hide you weeping, pursued
by a voice of penetrating steel.
A law that disturbs both flesh and star
pierces my aching breast now,
and clouded words have eaten at
the wings of your severe spirit.
A knot of people leap in the gardens
waiting for your body and my pain
on horses of light with emerald manes.
But, my beloved, keep on sleeping.
Hear my shattered blood in the violins!
Beware lest they still lie in wait for us!
Translated by A. S. KlineEtiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
posted by Bishop @ 12:20  |
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| 2 Comments: |
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HIS LOVE SLEEPS ON THE BREAST OF THE POET
You will never understand the love I feel,
because you sleep on me, you are asleep.
And I conceal you, haunted, as I weep,
pursued by a voice of penetrating steel.
The law that shakes both flesh and stars that roll
is piercing now my breast so full of grief,
and turbid troubled words have sunk their teeth
into the wings of your relentless soul.
On steeds of light with manes of lucent green.
some people leap across the garden gate.
They want to see your body and my pain.
But keep on sleeping, my life's only mate,
and hear my broken blood as violins keen!
Look, even now they're lying there in wait!
Translated by Brian Cole
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LOVE SLEEPS IN THE POET'S HEART
You'll never understand my love for you,
because you dream inside me, fast asleep.
I hide you, persecuted though you weep,
from the penetrating steel voice of truth.
Normalcy stirs both flesh and blinding star,
and pierces even my despairing heart.
Confusing reasoning has eaten out
the wings on which your spirit fiercely soared:
onlookers who gather on the garden lawn
await your body and my bitter grief,
their jumping horses made of light, green manes.
But go on sleeping now, my life, my dear.
Hear my smashed blood rebuke their violins!
See how they still must spy on us, so near!
Translated by Rafael Campo
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HIS LOVE SLEEPS ON THE BREAST OF THE POET
You will never understand the love I feel,
because you sleep on me, you are asleep.
And I conceal you, haunted, as I weep,
pursued by a voice of penetrating steel.
The law that shakes both flesh and stars that roll
is piercing now my breast so full of grief,
and turbid troubled words have sunk their teeth
into the wings of your relentless soul.
On steeds of light with manes of lucent green.
some people leap across the garden gate.
They want to see your body and my pain.
But keep on sleeping, my life's only mate,
and hear my broken blood as violins keen!
Look, even now they're lying there in wait!
Translated by Brian Cole