| Federico García Lorca -Soneto de la guirnalda de rosas- |
| martes, 13 de septiembre de 2005 |
Soneto de la guirnalda de rosas
¡Esa guirnalda! ¡pronto! ¡que me muero!
¡Teje deprisa! ¡canta! ¡gime! ¡canta!
que la sombra me enturbia la garganta
y otra vez viene a mi la luz de enero.
Entre lo que me quieres y te quiero,
aire de estrellas y temblor de planta,
espesura de anemonas levanta
con oscuro gemir un ano entero.
Goza el fresco paisaje de mi herida,
quiebra juncos y arroyos delicados.
Bebe en muslo de miel sangre vertida.
Pero, ¡pronto!, que unidos, enlazados,
boca rota de amor y alma mordida,
el tiempo nos encuentre destrozados.
Sonnet of the wreathe of roses
That wreathe! Hurry! I am about to die!
Weave and twine quicker! Sing and moan and sing!
For this shadow in my throat moves, clouding
the light from an endless January sky.
Between my love for you, your love for me,
the quake of plants, stars filling the air,
a windflower's thicket is constructed, where
a year long sigh is moaning obscurely.
Love this, my wound's morning landscape, resigned
to break open this wild reed, this river;
and from my honeyed thigh, my poured blood's void,
drink. Quick! We, so bound together, entwined
as one, bite my soul, break my mouth, lover;
time will see that we are wholly destroyed.
Translated by Zachary Jean ChartkoffEtiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
posted by Bishop @ 14:00  |
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| 2 Comments: |
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Sonnet of the Wreath of Roses
The wreath, quick, I am dying!
Weave it quick now! Sing, and moan, sing!
Now the shadow is darkening my throat,
and January’s light returns, a thousand and one times.
Between what needs me, and my needing you,
starry air, and a trembling tree.
A thickness of windflowers lifts
a whole year, with hidden groaning.
Take joy from the fresh landscape of my wound,
break out the reeds, and the delicate streams,
and taste the blood, spilt, on thighs of sweetness.
But quick! So that joined together, and one,
time will find us ruined,
with bitten souls, and mouths bruised with love.
Translated by A. S. Kline
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SONNET OF THE GARLAND OF ROSES
That garland! Hurry! Grievous is the pain!
Weave it quickly! Sing and groan and sing!
How this darkness makes my gullet sting
and January's light still comes again.
For what you want of me and I of you,
a gust of stars and trembling greeneries,
there grows a thicket of anemones
where dark groans block it out the whole year through.
Enjoy the cooling landscape of my wound.
Break down the reeds and stamp where streams would wind,
and drink from honeyed thigh the welling blood.
But quick, before united, intertwined,
with broken mouths and souls chewed up by love
we are destroyed by the eternal power of Time.
Translated by Brian Cole
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Sonnet of the Wreath of Roses
The wreath, quick, I am dying!
Weave it quick now! Sing, and moan, sing!
Now the shadow is darkening my throat,
and January’s light returns, a thousand and one times.
Between what needs me, and my needing you,
starry air, and a trembling tree.
A thickness of windflowers lifts
a whole year, with hidden groaning.
Take joy from the fresh landscape of my wound,
break out the reeds, and the delicate streams,
and taste the blood, spilt, on thighs of sweetness.
But quick! So that joined together, and one,
time will find us ruined,
with bitten souls, and mouths bruised with love.
Translated by A. S. Kline