Federico García Lorca -San Gabriel (Sevilla)- |
martes, 13 de septiembre de 2005 |
San Gabriel (Sevilla)
I. Un bello niño de junco, anchos hombros, fino talle, piel de nocturna manzana, boca triste y ojos grandes, nervio de plata caliente, ronda la desierta calle. Sus zapatos de charol rompen las dalias del aire, con los dos ritmos que cantan breves lutos celestiales. En la ribera del mar no hay palma que se le iguale, ni emperador coronado, ni lucero caminante. Cuando la cabeza inclina sobre su pecho de jaspe, la noche busca llanuras porque quiere arrodillarse. Las guitarras suenan solas para San Gabriel Arcángel, domador de palomillas y enemigo de los sauces. San Gabriel: El niño llora en el vientre de su madre. No olvides que los gitanos te regalaron el traje.
II. Anunciación de los Reyes, bien lunada y mal vestida, abre la puerta al lucero que por la calle venía. El Arcángel San Gabriel, entre azucena y sonrisa, biznieto de la Giralda, se acercaba de visita. En su chaleco bordado grillos ocultos palpitan. Las estrellas de la noche se volvieron campanillas. San Gabriel: Aquí me tienes con tres clavos de alegría. Tu fulgor abre jazmines sobre mi cara encendida. Dios te salve, Anunciación. Morena de maravilla. Tendrás un niño más bello que los tallos de la brisa. ¡Ay, San Gabriel de mis ojos! !Gabrielillo de mi vida!, Para sentarte yo sueño un sillón de clavellinas. Dios te salve, Anunciación, bien lunada y mal vestida. Tu niño tendrá en el pecho un lunar y tres heridas. ¡Ay, San Gabriel que reluces! ¡Gabrielillo de mi vidal! En el fondo de mis pechos ya nace la leche tibia. Dios te salve, Anunciación. Madre de cien dinastías. Áridos lucen tus ojos, paisajes de caballista.
El niño canta en el seno de Anunciación sorprendida. Tres balas de almendra verde tiemblan en su vocecita. Ya San Gabriel en el aire por una escala subía. Las estrellas de la noche se volvieron siemprevivas.
Saint Gabriel (Sevilla)
I. A beautiful child, lithe, wide shoulders, slim hips, skin of a nocturnal apple, sad mouth and big eyes, a nerve of hot silver, searches the famished streets. Breaking the writhing dahlias with two measures, he sings of a brief celestial grief with his shoes of patent leather. There no palm can be his equal up and down the seashore; no passing star, nor crowned emperor. When he bows his head against his jacket breast the night looks about for plains where it might kneel down to rest. Guitars play themselves for Archangel Saint Gabriel, tamer of dwarf doves, envy of all the willows. "Saint Gabriel: The baby is wailing in his mother's womb. Do not forget the suit that the gypsies gave to you."
II. Annunciatión de los Reyes, full as a half-moon and poor in dress, opens the door to the evening star that shines down on the street. Saint Gabriel, the Archangel, great-grandson of the Giralda, half a lily and half a smile, returns on his visit. Hidden crickets beat in his embroidered waistcoat. The stars of the night sky, turn into tiny tolling flowers. "Here I am, Saint Gabriel, with the three nails of intoxication. Your radiance makes jasmine burn on my hot face." "God save you, Annunciatión, dark woman of wonder. You will have a boy more beautiful than all the new shoots in the breeze." "Ai, Saint Gabriel, light of my eyes! Dearest Gabrielillo, joy of my life! I dream of giving you a throne of raw carnations." "God save you, Annunciatión, full as a half-moon, poor in dress. On his breast your child will bear a blotch and three deep wounds." "Ai, my radiant Saint Gabriel, Dearest Gabrielillo, joy of my life! Deep in my breasts the warm milk is about to be born." "God save you, Annunciatión, mother of a hundred dynasties. Your eyes gleam like the arid dunes of my hopes and your highwaymen."
The child sings at the womb of the fascinated Annunciatión. Three green-almond bullets shiver in his little voice. Up a ladder through the sky Saint Gabriel climbs. And the night stars all turned into everlastings.
Translated by Zachary Jean Chartkoff Etiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
posted by Bishop @ 13:40 |
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1 Comments: |
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Saint Gabriel (Sevilla) 1 A lovely reed-like boy, wide shoulders, slim waist, skin of nocturnal apple-trees, sad mouth and large eyes, with nerves of hot silver, walks the empty street. His shoes of leather crush the dahlias of air, in a double-rhythm beating out quick celestial dirges. On the margins of the sea there’s no palm-tree his equal, no crowned emperor, no bright wandering star. When his head bends down over his breast of jasper, the night seeks out the plains, because it needs to kneel. The guitars sound only for Saint Gabriel the Archangel, tamer of pale moths, and enemy of willows. ‘Saint Gabriel: the child cries in his mother’s womb. Don’t forget the gypsies gifted you your costume.’ 2 Royal Annunciation, sweetly moonlit and poorly clothed opens the door to the starlight that comes along the street. The Archangel Saint Gabriel scion of the Giralda tower, came to pay a visit, between a lily and a smile. In his embroidered waistcoat hidden crickets throbbed. The stars of the night turned into bells. ‘Saint Gabriel: Here am I with three nails of joy. Your jasmine radiance folds around my flushed cheeks. ‘God save you, Annunciation. Dark-haired girl of wonder. You’ll have a child more beautiful than the stems of the breeze.’ ‘Ah, Saint Gabriel, joy of my eyes! Little Gabriel my darling! I dream a chair of carnations for you to sit on.’ ‘God save you, Annunciation, sweetly moonlit and poorly clothed. Your child will have on his breast a mole and three scars.’ ‘Ah, Saint Gabriel, how you shine! Little Gabriel my darling! In the depths of my breasts warm milk already wells.’ God save you, Annunciation. Mother of a hundred houses. Your eyes shine with arid landscapes of horsemen.’ In amazed Annunciation’s womb, the child sings. Three bunches of green almond quiver in his little voice. Now Saint Gabriel climbed a ladder through the air. The stars in the night turned to immortelles.
Translated by A. S. Kline
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Saint Gabriel (Sevilla)
1
A lovely reed-like boy,
wide shoulders, slim waist,
skin of nocturnal apple-trees,
sad mouth and large eyes,
with nerves of hot silver,
walks the empty street.
His shoes of leather
crush the dahlias of air,
in a double-rhythm beating out
quick celestial dirges.
On the margins of the sea
there’s no palm-tree his equal,
no crowned emperor,
no bright wandering star.
When his head bends down
over his breast of jasper,
the night seeks out the plains,
because it needs to kneel.
The guitars sound only
for Saint Gabriel the Archangel,
tamer of pale moths,
and enemy of willows.
‘Saint Gabriel: the child cries
in his mother’s womb.
Don’t forget the gypsies
gifted you your costume.’
2
Royal Annunciation,
sweetly moonlit and poorly clothed
opens the door to the starlight
that comes along the street.
The Archangel Saint Gabriel
scion of the Giralda tower,
came to pay a visit,
between a lily and a smile.
In his embroidered waistcoat
hidden crickets throbbed.
The stars of the night
turned into bells.
‘Saint Gabriel: Here am I
with three nails of joy.
Your jasmine radiance folds
around my flushed cheeks.
‘God save you, Annunciation.
Dark-haired girl of wonder.
You’ll have a child more beautiful
than the stems of the breeze.’
‘Ah, Saint Gabriel, joy of my eyes!
Little Gabriel my darling!
I dream a chair of carnations
for you to sit on.’
‘God save you, Annunciation,
sweetly moonlit and poorly clothed.
Your child will have on his breast
a mole and three scars.’
‘Ah, Saint Gabriel, how you shine!
Little Gabriel my darling!
In the depths of my breasts
warm milk already wells.’
God save you, Annunciation.
Mother of a hundred houses.
Your eyes shine with arid
landscapes of horsemen.’
In amazed Annunciation’s
womb, the child sings.
Three bunches of green almond
quiver in his little voice.
Now Saint Gabriel climbed
a ladder through the air.
The stars in the night
turned to immortelles.
Translated by A. S. Kline