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Poemas en Inglés es un blog que pretende acercar poemas de lengua inglesa al castellano |
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"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 |
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| Jorge Luis Borges -Susana Soca- |
| miércoles, 13 de diciembre de 2006 |
Susana Soca
Con lento amor miraba los dispersos
Colores de la tarde. Le placía
Perderse en la compleja melodía
O en la curiosa vida de los versos.
No el rojo elemental sino los grises
Hilaron su destino delicado,
Hecho a discriminar y ejercitado
En la vacilación y en los matices.
Sin atreverse a hollar este perplejo
Laberinto, atisbaba desde afuera
Las formas, el tumulto y la carrera,
Como aquella otra dama del espejo.
Dioses que moran más allá del ruego
La abandonaron a ese tigre, el Fuego.
Susana Soca
With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed
Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly
To lose herself in the complex melody
Or in the cunous life to be found in verse.
lt was not the primal red but rather grays
That spun the fine thread of her destiny,
For the nicest distinctions and all spent
In waverings, ambiguities, delays.
Lacking the nerve to tread this treacherous
Labyrinth, she looked in on, whom without,
The shapes, the turbulence, the striving rout,
(Like the other lady of the looking glass.)
The gods that dwell too far away for prayer
Abandoned her to the final tiger, Fire.Etiquetas: J. L. Borges |
posted by Bishop @ 12:30  |
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SUSANA SOCA
With laggard love she saw dispersed the
Colors of the evening. She was pleased
To lose herself in complex melody
Or in the rather curious life of verses.
Not basic red but grays of every hue spun
For her her thread of delicate destiny,
Made to discriminate, exercised well and truly
In vacillation and every tint of nuance.
Never daring at all tread that perplexed
Labyrinth, she looked on from outside
The forms and all the tumult and the ride,
Like that other lady of the glass.
Gods whose dwelling-place is past all prayer
Abandoned her unto that tiger, Fire.
Translated by Christopher Mulrooney
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SUSANA SOCA
With laggard love she saw dispersed the
Colors of the evening. She was pleased
To lose herself in complex melody
Or in the rather curious life of verses.
Not basic red but grays of every hue spun
For her her thread of delicate destiny,
Made to discriminate, exercised well and truly
In vacillation and every tint of nuance.
Never daring at all tread that perplexed
Labyrinth, she looked on from outside
The forms and all the tumult and the ride,
Like that other lady of the glass.
Gods whose dwelling-place is past all prayer
Abandoned her unto that tiger, Fire.
Translated by Christopher Mulrooney