| Federico García Lorca -Romance de la pena negra- |
| jueves, 15 de septiembre de 2005 |
Romance de la pena negra
Las piquetas de los gallos
cavan buscando la aurora,
cuando por el monte oscuro
baja Soledad Montoya.
Cobre amarillo, su carne,
huele a caballo y a sombra.
Yunques ahumados sus pechos,
gimen canciones redondas.
Soledad, ¿por quién preguntas
sin compaña y a estas horas?
Pregunte por quien pregunte,
dime: ¿a ti qué se te importa?
Vengo a buscar lo que busco,
mi alegría y mi persona.
Soledad de mis pesares,
caballo que se desboca,
al fin encuentra la mar
y se lo tragan las olas.
No me recuerdes el mar,
que la pena negra, brota
en las tierras de aceituna
bajo el rumor de las hojas.
¡Soledad, qué pena tienes!
¡Qué pena tan lastimosa!
Lloras zumo de limón
agrio de espera y de boca.
¡Qué pena tan grande! Corro
mi casa como una loca,
mis dos trenzas por el suelo,
de la cocina a la alcoba.
¡Qué pena! Me estoy poniendo
de azabache carne y ropa.
¡Ay, mis camisas de hilo!
¡Ay, mis muslos de amapola!
Soledad: lava tu cuerpo
con agua de las alondras,
y deja tu corazón
en paz, Soledad Montoya.
Por abajo canta el río:
volante de cielo y hojas.
Con flores de calabaza,
la nueva luz se corona.
¡Oh pena de los gitanos!
Pena limpia y siempre sola.
¡Oh pena de cauce oculto
y madrugada remota!
Ballad of black dread
Frenetic axes of cocks
digging in search of the dawn
when down from the dark foothills
comes Soledad Montoya.
Yellow copper of her flesh
smelling of horses and murk.
Smoky anvils of her breasts,
wailing out rounded songs.
"Soledad, who are you calling for,
all alone, at this hour?"
"Do not worry who it is,
what is this to you, anyway?
I want whatever I want,
my body and my joy."
"Soledad, dreadful one,
the stallion that runs free
finds at last the sea
only to be swallowed by the waves."
"Do not speak to me of the sea,
for the black dread surges out
from the land of the olive tree,
under the rustling of its leaves."
"Soledad, what anguish you have
what horrendous pain!
You wail lemon juice,
bitter from the lips with longing."
"Ai, what anguish! I drift
around my house,
from kitchen to bedroom,
my braids undone, on the floor.
Ai, what terror! My clothes
and flesh are fading into black.
Ai, my linen nightgowns!
Ai, my poppy thighs!"
"Soledad, wash your body
in skylark water.
Let peace into your heart,
Soledad Montoya."
Downhill the river sings:
mantle of leaves and sky.
The new light is crowned
in wild pumpkin flowers.
Ai, the pain! Pain of the gypsies,
clean pain from a hidden stream
and from the endless dawn!
Translated by Zachary Jean ChartkoffEtiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
posted by Bishop @ 17:10  |
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Ballad of the Black Sorrow
The beaks of cockerels dig,
searching for the dawn,
when down the dark hill
comes Soledad Montoya.
Her skin of yellow copper
smells of horse and shadow.
Her breasts, like smoky anvils,
howl round-songs.
‘Soledad, who do you ask for
alone, at this hour?’
‘I ask for who I ask for,
say, what is it to you?
I come seeking what I seek,
my happiness and my self.’
‘Soledad of my regrets,
the mare that runs away
meets the sea at last
and is swallowed by the waves.’
‘Don’t recall the sea to me
for black sorrow wells
in the lands of olive-trees
beneath the murmur of leaves.’
‘Soledad, what sorrow you have!
What sorrow, so pitiful!
You cry lemon juice
sour from waiting, and your lips.’
‘What sorrow, so great! I run
through my house like a madwoman,
my two braids trailing on the floor,
from the kitchen to the bedroom.
What sorrow! I show clothes
and flesh made of jet.
Ay, my linen shifts!
Ay, my thighs of poppy!
‘Soledad: bathe your body
with the skylarks’ water
and let your heart be
at peace, Soledad Montoya.’
Down below the river sings:
flight of sky and leaves.
The new light crowns itself
with pumpkin flowers.
O sorrow of the gypsies!
Sorrow, pure and always lonely.
Oh sorrow of the dark river-bed
and the far dawn!
Translated by A. S. Kline
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Ballad of the Black Sorrow
The beaks of cockerels dig,
searching for the dawn,
when down the dark hill
comes Soledad Montoya.
Her skin of yellow copper
smells of horse and shadow.
Her breasts, like smoky anvils,
howl round-songs.
‘Soledad, who do you ask for
alone, at this hour?’
‘I ask for who I ask for,
say, what is it to you?
I come seeking what I seek,
my happiness and my self.’
‘Soledad of my regrets,
the mare that runs away
meets the sea at last
and is swallowed by the waves.’
‘Don’t recall the sea to me
for black sorrow wells
in the lands of olive-trees
beneath the murmur of leaves.’
‘Soledad, what sorrow you have!
What sorrow, so pitiful!
You cry lemon juice
sour from waiting, and your lips.’
‘What sorrow, so great! I run
through my house like a madwoman,
my two braids trailing on the floor,
from the kitchen to the bedroom.
What sorrow! I show clothes
and flesh made of jet.
Ay, my linen shifts!
Ay, my thighs of poppy!
‘Soledad: bathe your body
with the skylarks’ water
and let your heart be
at peace, Soledad Montoya.’
Down below the river sings:
flight of sky and leaves.
The new light crowns itself
with pumpkin flowers.
O sorrow of the gypsies!
Sorrow, pure and always lonely.
Oh sorrow of the dark river-bed
and the far dawn!
Translated by A. S. Kline