Spanish Poems





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About this blog
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
Federico García Lorca -Casida de la rosa-
martes, 13 de septiembre de 2005
Casida de la rosa

La rosa
no buscaba la aurora:
casi eterna en su ramo,
buscaba otra cosa.

La rosa
no buscaba ni ciencia ni sombra:
confín de carne y sueño,
buscaba otra cosa.

La rosa
no buscaba la rosa.
Inmóvil por el cielo,
buscaba otra cosa.


Casida of the rose

The rose
wasn't looking for the dawn:
almost eternal on its branch,
it was looking for something else.

The rose
wasn't looking for either science or shadow:
defined in flesh and dream,
it was looking for something else.

The rose
wan't looking for the rose.
motionless against the sky,
it was looking for something else.

Translated by Simon Andrewes

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 15:50  
2 Comments:
  • At 5 de junio de 2007, 2:10, Blogger Bishop said…

    Casida of the Rose

    The rose
    was not searching for the sunrise:
    almost eternal in its branch,
    it was searching for something else.

    The rose
    was not searching for darkness or science:
    borderline of flesh and dream,
    it was searching for something else.

    The rose
    was not searching for the rose.
    Motionless in the sky
    it was searching for something else.

    Translated by Robert Bly

     
  • At 6 de junio de 2007, 5:14, Blogger Bishop said…

    Casida de la Rosa

    The rose was
    not looking for the morning:
    on its branch, almost immortal,
    it looked for something other.

    The rose was
    not looking for wisdom, or for shadow:
    the edge of flesh and dreaming,
    it looked for something other.

    The rose was
    not looking for the rose, was
    unmoving in the heavens:
    it looked for something other.

    Translated by A. S. Kline

     
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