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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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| Delmira Agustini -Plegaria- |
| jueves, 13 de septiembre de 2007 |
Plegaria
—Eros: ¿acaso no sentiste nunca
piedad de las estatuas?
Se dirían crisálidas de piedra
de yo no sé qué formidable raza
en una eterna espera inenarrable.
Los cráteres dormidos de sus bocas
dan la ceniza negra del Silencio;
mana de las columnas de sus hombros
la mortaja copiosa de la Calma,
y fluye de sus órbitas la noche;
víctimas del Futuro o del Misterio,
en capullos terribles y magníficos
esperan a la Vida o a la Muerte.
Eros: ¿acaso no sentiste nunca
piedad de las estatuas?
Piedad para las vidas
que no doran a fuego tus bonanzas,
ni riegan o desgajan tus tormentas;
piedad para los cuerpos revestidos
del armiño solemne de la Calma,
y las frentes en luz que sobrellevan
grandes lirios marmóreos de pureza,
pesados y glaciales como témpanos;
piedad para las manos enguantadas
de hielo, que no arrancan
los frutos deleitosos de la Carne
ni las flores fantásticas del alma;
piedad para los ojos que aletean
espirituales párpados:
escamas de misterio,
negros talones de visiones rosas...
¡Nunca ven nada por mirar tan lejos!
Piedad para las pulcras cabelleras
"místicas aureolas"
peinadas como lagos
que nunca airea el abanico negro,
negro y enorme de la tempestad;
piedad para los ínclitos espíritus
tallados en diamante;
altos, claros, extáticos
pararrayos de cúpulas morales;
piedad para los labios como engarces
celestes, donde fulge
invisible la perla de la Hostia;
"labios que nunca fueron,
que no apresaron nunca
un vampiro de fuego
con más sed y más hambre que un abismo".
Piedad para los sexos sacrosantos
que acoraza de una
hoja de viña astral la Castidad;
piedad para las plantas imantadas
de eternidad, que arrastran
por el eterno azur
las sandalias quemantes de sus llagas;
piedad, piedad, piedad
para todas las vidas que defiende
de tus maravillosas intemperies
el mirador enhiesto del Orgullo:
apúntales tus sales o tus rayos...
Eros: ¿acaso no sentiste nunca
piedad de las estatuas?...
Plegaria
–Eros: have you never felt
Piety for the statues?
These chrysalides of stone,
Some formidable race
In an eternal, unutterable hope.
The sleeping craters of their mouths
Utter the black ash of silence;
A copious shroud of Calm
Falls from the columns of their arms,
And night flows from their eyesockets;
Victims of Destiny or Mystery,
In magnificent and terrible cocoons,
They wait for Life or Death.
Eros: have you never perhaps felt
Piety for the statues?
Piety for the lives
That will not strew nor rend your battles
Nor gild your fiery truces;
Piety for the bodies clothed
In the solemn ermine of Calm,
The luminous foreheads that endure
Their marble wreaths, grand and pure,
Weighty and glacial as icebergs;
Piety for the gloved hands of ice
That cannot uproot
The delicious fruits of the Flesh,
The fantastic flowers of the soul;
Piety for the eyes that flutter
Their spiritual eyelids:
Mysterious fish scales,
Dark curtains on rose visions...
For looking so far, they never see!
Piety for the tidy heads of hair
–Mystical haloes–
Gently combed like lakes
Which the storm’s black fan,
Black and enormous, never thrashes;
Piety for the spirits, illustrious,
Carved of diamonds,
High, clear, ecstatic
Lightning rods on pious domes;
Piety for the lips like celestial settings
Where the invisible pearls of the Host gleam;
–Lips that never existed,
Never seized anything,
A fiery vampire
With more thirst and hunger than an abyss.
Piety for the sacrosanct sexes
That armor themselves with sheaths
From the astral vineyards of Chastity;
Piety for the magnetized footsoles
Who eternally drag
Sandals burning with sores
Through the eternal azure;
Piety, piety, pity
For all the lives defended
By the lighthouse of Pride
From your marvelous raw weathers:
Aim your suns and rays at them!
Eros: have you never perhaps felt
Pity for the statues?
Translated by Valerie MartínezEtiquetas: Delmira Agustini |
posted by Bishop @ 15:40  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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ENTREATY
Eros: have you ever felt
Piety for the statues?
One would say they are chrysalides of stone
Of I know not what formidable lineage
In an eternal, unspeakable wait.
The sleeping craters of their mouths
Give the black ash of silence,
From the columns of his shoulders
Emanates the copious shroud of calm,
And from the hollows of their eyes the night flows;
Victims of the Future or the Mystery,
In terrible and magnificent blooms
Await life or death.
Eros: have you ever felt piety for the statues?
Piety for the lives
That with fire guild not your calms
Nor besprinkle or break off your storms;
Piety for the bodies clad
In the solemn ermine of calm,
And the lighted foreheads that bear
Great marmoreal lilies of purity,
Heavy and glacial like icebergs;
Piety for the hands gloved
With ice, which pick not
The pleasurable fruits of the flesh
Nor the fanciful flowers of the soul;
Piety for the eyes that bat
Spiritual eyelids:
Scales of mystery,
Black shrouds of rosy visions …
They never see anything no matter how far they look!
Piety for the fine locks
(...)
Translated by Alejandro Cáceres
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ENTREATY
Eros: have you ever felt
Piety for the statues?
One would say they are chrysalides of stone
Of I know not what formidable lineage
In an eternal, unspeakable wait.
The sleeping craters of their mouths
Give the black ash of silence,
From the columns of his shoulders
Emanates the copious shroud of calm,
And from the hollows of their eyes the night flows;
Victims of the Future or the Mystery,
In terrible and magnificent blooms
Await life or death.
Eros: have you ever felt piety for the statues?
Piety for the lives
That with fire guild not your calms
Nor besprinkle or break off your storms;
Piety for the bodies clad
In the solemn ermine of calm,
And the lighted foreheads that bear
Great marmoreal lilies of purity,
Heavy and glacial like icebergs;
Piety for the hands gloved
With ice, which pick not
The pleasurable fruits of the flesh
Nor the fanciful flowers of the soul;
Piety for the eyes that bat
Spiritual eyelids:
Scales of mystery,
Black shrouds of rosy visions …
They never see anything no matter how far they look!
Piety for the fine locks
(...)
Translated by Alejandro Cáceres