Spanish Poems





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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
Félix Lope de Vega -Soneto de repente-
miércoles, 16 de noviembre de 2005
Soneto de repente

Un soneto me manda hacer Violante,
que en mi vida me he visto en tal aprieto;
catorce versos dicen que es soneto,
burla burlando van los tres delante.
Yo pensé que no hallara consonante,
y estoy a la mitad de otro cuarteto,
mas si me veo en el primer terceto
no hay cosa en los cuartetos que me espante.
Por el primer terceto voy entrando,
y aun parece que entré con pié derecho
pues fin con este verso le voy dando.
Ya estoy en el segundo, y aun sospecho,
que estoy los trece versos acabando:
contad si son catorce, y está hecho.


My darling Vi requests a sonnet now...

My darling Vi requests a sonnet now,
and I have never been so rushed before.
A sonnet's lines must number ten plus four,
so just in jest I have some three lines - now.
(I knew 1 wouldn't find a rhyme for ''now")
but here I 'm halfway thru the second four
and when I find I'm at the sextet's door
there's nothing of the octave left by now.
And now I come to tercet number one,
and I'm prepared to start the scheme anew,
by ending tercet one, although in fun.
And now I come to tercet number two
and I should say that thirteen lines are done:
Now count them, there are fourteen, and I'm thru.

Translated by James H. Donalson

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posted by Bishop @ 13:20  
3 Comments:
  • At 3 de julio de 2007, 18:31, Blogger Bishop said…

    INSTANT SONNET

    A sonnet Violante bids me write,
    such grief I hope never again to see;
    they say a sonnet's made of fourteen lines:
    lo and behold, before this line go three.
    I thought that I could never get this far,
    and now I'm halfway into quatrain two;
    but if at the first tercet I arrive,
    I'll have no fear: there's nothing I can't do!

    The tercets I have just begun to pen;
    I know I must be headed the right way,
    for with this line I finish number one.

    Now I am in the second, and suspect
    that I have written nearly thirteen lines:
    count them, that makes fourteen, and look -- it's done.

    Translated by Alix Ingber

     
  • At 3 de julio de 2007, 18:32, Blogger Bishop said…

    IMPROVISED SONNET

    "Make me a sonnet?" Violante's plea
    performance-fear and promises combines:
    They say a sonnet must have fourteen lines,
    and stealthily before this one go three.
    I thought that finding words would be a chore,
    and here I've half another quatrain done!
    If I achieve the first tercet, I've won;
    those quatrains just don't scare me anymore.

    The first tercet is just beginning here,
    so far, so good, the bearing still seems right,
    since I can see that this line's end is near.

    And now I'm on the second, and suspect
    That thirteen finished lines will expedite
    The count to fourteen, and the end perfect.

    Translated by Aodhagán O'Broin

     
  • At 3 de julio de 2007, 18:34, Blogger Bishop said…

    A SONNET ON SONNETS

    My friend asked me to make for her a sonnet;
    I've never found myself in such a fix.
    Fourteen lines, they say, make up a sonnet;
    I'll write the next three parts with clever tricks.

    I was not born beneath a rhyming planet,
    Yet halfway through this poem I'm still here.
    And if I catch myself a final couplet,
    There's nothing in the quatrains I need fear.

    The third verse, as it seems, I'm now beginning;
    It's likely that I'll make it to the end
    Of this game that I am so slowly winning,
    This poem that I'm making for my friend.

    My thirteenth line, I see, I'm almost ending;
    Do you count fourteen? -- if not, well, 'tis past mending.

    Translated by John Cowan

     
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