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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
Federico García Lorca -Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías- 1. La cogida y la muerte-
lunes, 12 de septiembre de 2005
Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías

1. La cogida y la muerte

A las cinco de la tarde.
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde.
Un niño trajo la blanca sábana
a las cinco de la tarde.
Una espuerta de cal ya prevenida
a las cinco de la tarde.
Lo demás era muerte y solo muerte
a las cinco de la tarde.

El viento se llevó los algodones
a las cinco de la tarde.
Y el óxido sembró cristal y níquel
a las cinco de la tarde.
Ya luchan la paloma y el leopardo
a las cinco de la tarde.
Y un muslo con un asta desolada
a las cinco de la tarde.
Comenzaron los sones del bordón
a las cinco de la tarde.
Las campanas de arsénico y el humo
a las cinco de la tarde.
En las esquinas grupos de silencio
a las cinco de la tarde.
¡Y el toro solo corazón arriba!
a las cinco de la tarde.
Cuando el sudor de nieve fue llegando
a las cinco de la tarde,
cuando la plaza se cubrió de yodo
a las cinco de la tarde,
la muerte puso huevos en la herida
a las cinco de la tarde.
A las cinco de la tarde.
A las cinco en punto de la tarde.
Un ataúd con ruedas es la cama
a las cinco de la tarde.
Huesos y flautas suenan en su oído
a las cinco de la tarde.
El toro ya mugía por su frente
a las cinco de la tarde.
El cuarto se irisaba de agonía
a las cinco de la tarde.
A lo lejos ya viene la gangrena
a las cinco de la tarde.
Trompa de lirio por las verdes ingles
a las cinco de la tarde.
Las heridas quemaban como soles
a las cinco de la tarde,
y el gentío rompía las ventanas
a las cinco de la tarde.
A las cinco de la tarde.
¡Ay qué terribles cinco de la tarde!
¡Eran las cinco en todos los relojes!
¡Eran las cinco en sombra de la tarde!


Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías

1. Cogida and death

At five in the afternoon.
It was exactly five in the afternoon.
A boy brought the white sheet
at five in the afternoon.
A frail of lime ready prepared
at five in the afternoon.
The rest was death, and death alone.

The wind carried away the cottonwool
at five in the afternoon.
And the oxide scattered crystal and nickel
at five in the afternoon.
Now the dove and the leopard wrestle
at five in the afternoon.
And a thigh with a desolated horn
at five in the afternoon.
The bass-string struck up
at five in the afternoon.
Arsenic bells and smoke
at five in the afternoon.
Groups of silence in the corners
at five in the afternoon.
And the bull alone with a high heart!
At five in the afternoon.
When the sweat of snow was coming
at five in the afternoon,
when the bull ring was covered with iodine
at five in the afternoon.
Death laid eggs in the wound
at five in the afternoon.
At five in the afternoon.
At five o'clock in the afternoon.

A coffin on wheels is his bed
at five in the afternoon.
Bones and flutes resound in his ears
at five in the afternoon.
Now the bull was bellowing through his forehead
at five in the afternoon.
The room was iridiscent with agony
at five in the afternoon.
In the distance the gangrene now comes
at five in the afternoon.
Horn of the lily through green groins
at five in the afternoon.
The wounds were burning like suns
at five in the afternoon.
At five in the afternoon.
Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon!
It was five by all the clocks!
It was five in the shade of the afternoon!

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 11:30  
4 Comments:
  • At 5 de junio de 2007, 18:52, Blogger Bishop said…

    Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías

    1. The Goring and the Death

    At five in the afternoon.
    It was just five in the afternoon.
    A boy brought the white sheet
    at five in the afternoon.
    A basket of lime made ready
    at five in the afternoon.
    The rest was death and only death
    at five in the afternoon.

    The wind blew the cotton wool away
    at five in the afternoon.
    And oxide scattered nickel and glass
    at five in the afternoon.
    Now the dove and the leopard fight
    at five in the afternoon.
    And a thigh with a desolate horn
    at five in the afternoon.
    The bass-pipe sound began
    at five in the afternoon.
    The bells of arsenic, the smoke
    at five in the afternoon.
    Silent crowds on corners
    at five in the afternoon.
    And only the bull with risen heart!
    at five in the afternoon.
    When the snow-sweat appeared
    at five in the afternoon.
    when the arena was splashed with iodine
    at five in the afternoon.
    death laid its eggs in the wound
    at five in the afternoon.
    At five in the afternoon.
    At just five in the afternoon.

    A coffin on wheels for his bed
    at five in the afternoon.
    Bones and flutes sound in his ear
    at five in the afternoon.
    Now the bull bellows on his brow
    at five in the afternoon.
    The room glows with agony
    at five in the afternoon.
    Now out of distance gangrene comes
    at five in the afternoon.
    Trumpets of lilies for the green groin
    at five in the afternoon.
    Wounds burning like suns
    at five in the afternoon,
    and the people smashing windows
    at five in the afternoon.
    At five in the afternoon.
    Ay, what a fearful five in the afternoon!
    It was five on every clock!
    It was five of a dark afternoon!

    Translated by A. S. Kline

     
  • At 7 de junio de 2007, 20:37, Blogger Bishop said…

    LAMENT FOR IGNACIO SANCHEZ MEJÍAS

    I
    The goring and the death

    In the afternoon at five.
    It was afternoon, exactly at five.
    A boy brought in the white sheet
    in the afternoon at five.
    A basket of lime was standing ready
    in the afternoon at five.
    The rest was death and only death
    in the afternoon at five.

    The wind carried off the balls of lint
    in the afternoon at five.
    And the chloride glittered nickel and crystal
    in the afternoon at five.
    Now the dove struggles and the leopard
    in the afternoon at five.
    And a gored thigh with the bull's horn
    in the afternoon at five.
    There began the sound of a bass string
    in the afternoon at five.
    The bells of arsenic and the smoke
    in the afternoon at five.
    In the corner groups of silence
    in the afternoon at five.
    And the bull stood alone with head held high
    in the afternoon at five,

    When the snowy sweat was starting
    in the afternoon at five,
    when the sand was covered with iodine
    in the afternoon at five,
    Death laid her eggs in the wound
    in the afternoon at five.
    In the afternoon at five.
    In the afternoon exactly at five.

    A coffin on wheels is the bed
    in the afternoon at five.
    Bones and flutes sound in his ears
    in the afternoon at five.
    The bull was bellowing in his face
    in the afternoon at five.
    The room was rainbowed with agony
    in the afternoon at five.
    Already gangrene comes from afar
    in the afternoon at five.
    A lily trumpet through his green loins
    in the afternoon at five.
    The wounds were burnng like suns
    in the afternoon at five,
    and the crowd broke the windows
    in the afternoon at five.
    In the afternoon at five.
    How terrible this afternoon at five!
    It was five o'clock by all the watches!
    The afternoon was in shadow at five!

    Translated by Brian Cole

     
  • At 7 de junio de 2007, 20:49, Blogger Bishop said…

    LAMENT FOR IGNACIO SANCHEZ MEJÍAS

    I
    The Tossing and the Death

    At five in the afternoon.
    Exactly five in the afternoon.
    A boy fetched the white sheet
    at five in the afternoon.
    A basket of lime made ready
    at five in the afternoon.
    The rest was death and death alone
    at five in the afternoon.

    The wind removed the cotton
    at five in the afternoon.
    The rust sowed glass and nickel
    at five in the afternoon.
    Now fight the leopard and the dove
    at five in the afternoon.
    A thigh with a forsaken horn
    at five in the afternoon.
    The sounds of the bourdon started
    at five in the afternoon.
    The bells of arsenic and smoke
    at five in the afternoon.
    Silent groups on corners
    at five in the afternoon.
    The bull alone was glad of heart
    at five in the afternoon.

    When sweat of snow was falling
    at five in the afternoon,
    when the ring was covered with iodine
    at five in the afternoon,
    then death laid eggs within the wound
    at five in the afternoon.
    At five in the afternoon
    exactly five in the afternoon.

    The bed is a wheeled coffin
    at five in the afternoon.
    Bones and flutes ring in his ears,
    at five in the afternoon.
    The bull roared through his forehead now
    at five in the afternoon.
    The room was luminous with pain
    at five in the afternoon.
    Far off, the gangrene coming
    at five in the afternoon.
    An iris horn through his green groins
    at five in the afternoon.
    Like suns the wounds were burning
    at five in the afternoon,
    the crowd was breaking windows
    at five in the afternoon.
    At five in the afternoon.

    Ah, terrible five in the afternoon!
    It was five by all the clocks!
    The shadow of five in the afternoon.

    Translated by Merryn Williams

     
  • At 8 de junio de 2007, 6:45, Blogger Bishop said…

    LAMENT FOR IGNACIO SANCHEZ MEJÍAS

    I
    The wounding and death

    Five in the afternoon. The stroke
    of five in the afternoon.
    A boy hauled white silk.
    Five in the afternoon.
    A basket of lime prepared.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Above all, death, only death.
    Five in the afternoon.

    The wind carried off the cotton.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Rust scattered the crystal and nickel.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The dove and the leopard struggle.
    Five in the afternoon.
    A thigh with a desolate horn.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The refrain of the bass began.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Bells of arsenic and soil.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Gangs of silence on street corners.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Only the bull's heart sang.
    Five in the afternoon.

    Icy sweat dropped.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The square was stained with iodine.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Death laid eggs in the wounds.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The stroke of five in the afternoon.

    A wheeled coffin for his bed.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Bones and flutes ring in his ears.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The bull roared in his head.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The room shimmered in agony.
    Five in the afternoon.
    From the distance gangrene comes.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Lilies rise in green corners.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The wounds burned like suns.
    Five in the afternoon.
    The people shattered the windows.
    Five in the afternoon.
    Five in the afternoon.
    So terrible, this five,
    five in the afternoon
    on every clock,
    five,
    in the shadow of the afternoon!

    Translated by Mark Leech

     
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