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Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta English. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta English. Mostrar todas las entradas

viernes, 2 de mayo de 2025

No more

Lips are still wet,
light in the eyes.
Air comes and goes
-soft flutter in each breath-,
skin and flesh in place,
belly and throat,
feet ready to walk.
All you know,
all you have loved;
sad and sweet memories,
that now you evoke,
fragile bonds,
about to be undone.
Disdain and piercing chill.
Looking for a presence,
where does absolute love lie?
A few more steps,
the sound of a heart,
a still-beating heart.
Cold breeze on the face,
eyes become mirrors
for the grey vastness.
In just a moment,
all will disappear.
Trembling legs,
no room for doubt or refusal;
pride, the last to fall.
A final glance
before the dark.
A flying bird, a sound,
a world that will remain.
A shiver follows the thought:
a steel blade coming down,
no more.



lunes, 6 de enero de 2025

The Three Wise Men

They saw the Greatest.
A short and deep glance
before turning their back around.
"The hour has not yet arrived.
Our joy is just to see
who is going to Be".
Death is still alive,
Life is just a hope.
This is our time.
Yours and mine.



martes, 24 de diciembre de 2024

The end of the year (Christmas 2024)


Evenings in autumn that thicken the blood,
silence the birds, cover the hills with grey.
Afternoons that make the houses empty,
white rooms; windows to the forest.
The silence reverberates on the walls
patiently polished by the frozen air.
Darkness penetrates the rooms,
the night grows, hardens itself. 
Sadness is the light of truth;
it ignites memories, tears promises apart;
cold flame of ice, white bones.
A moon without a shadow; a sun that twinkles black.
In the shortest days, everything is clear.
Life has no ornaments, boundaries surrounds you,
the horizon gets closer, the air becomes light,
ones and others drift away.

Lend me, night, the light of home;
the memory of childhood, the harmony of noise,
once again the longing for eternity;
infinite universe; a time without end.
Kisses, hands, cheeks that meet,
the aroma of prawns and cava,
arms that embrace you upon arrival
and wave against the darkness.
The world ends in the living room.
A sweet slumber, the cadence of the clock;
gifts on the floor, an empty glass;
lanterns in the yard, a trivial chat.
These days grant us certainties,
certainties repeated
since the initial cry.
Mingled hair, shared scents, peace at home.

They await the night in the trenches,
the wind makes leaves and branches creak;
the start of the feared battle
will not last.
In the dark field,
on the edge between night and day,
this lone and special sunset.
The nights, in the end, will shorten;
the day, in its time, will prevail.
Everything will make sense,
the wet cheeks will dry,
the shadow will be short at noon,
cars will stop at the red light;
nothing bad or terrible will occur.
This is what Christmas gives us.
Take the innocent message,
show the naivety
long forgotten.
Do not dwell on calculations,
cover the dismay,
tame the rage,
acquire understanding, savor the nougat,
smile, toast, half-close your eyes,
give yourself permission, dare to love.
We are nothing but dust,
dust that wanders;
but, from time to time,
even surrounded by darkness,
a flash of light will find you, 
you will be for an instant a pure mirror
a vibrant reflection, clarity.
Enjoy the dazzling moment
before going back to endlessness.
This is what we are given on this day.
Accept happiness at Christmas Day.
 

domingo, 12 de noviembre de 2023

It is always the same

It is always the same.
Right and evil, fair and tricks;
power and weakness.
A poor man looking down,
bare head, fingers around a crumpled cap.
A woman on her knees,
wrinkled forehead,
cleaning up other's dirt.
A teacher speaks a forbidden tongue,
A man sings a song and waves and old flag,
someone says that privilege has no ground,
freedom is in our hearts.
It is always the shame,
the rage and the fury,
the pain in the night,
just at the end of no one's day.
And those who raise their heads,
and those who say "no"
and those few who are able to see
the world that could be,
and the fewest who, without hope,
still know that to bring the light
well deserves the sweat and the fight,
the fools' hate and maybe,
life's end and the dark.








lunes, 5 de junio de 2023

Walking dead

To walk till death,
to fight till the end,
to understand everything,
not to hate anything,
to catch sounds and feelings,
to listen, to see...
They are not walking dead,
just simply human beings



sábado, 13 de mayo de 2023

El soneto 116

Leía hoy en Facebook que Leopoldo Tolívar se quejaba de las ininteligibles traducciones de los sonetos de Shakespeare y ponía ante nuestros ojos el caso del Soneto 116, a la vez que compartía una traducción del mismo que había hecho un amigo suyo.

Difícil resistir la tentación de intentarlo. Copio primero el texto en inglés y tras él ofrezco mi versión.

Let me not the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Permitid que no admita impedimentos
en la unión de dos mentes verdaderas.
El amor no es amor si muda cuando
se enfrenta a la mudanza, o se distancia
si ve de la distancia consecuencias
¡Oh no! Que es el amor faro de piedra.
Contempla las tormentas, no se quiebra.
De los buques errantes es la estrella
cuya altura se mide y su valor
se ignora. 
                [No es amor simple juguete
del tiempo. Aunque el rojo de los labios
y el rosa de los pómulos se incline
ante su cruel guadaña, no se altera
el amor por lo breve de las horas,
sino que persevera hasta el fin.
Si esto fuera error y se probara,
Ni yo escribí ni nadie nunca amó.

Ciertamente, hay diferencias entre el sentido de las palabras de la versión y el original. He intentado mantener un cierto ritmo, para lo que he buscado versos endecasílabos con acento en sexta sílaba. Algunos versos riman, pero no se ha pretendido buscar ninguna regla en dicha rima, sino que me he dejado guiar por el oído, pensando que un ritmo demasiado marcado no le vendría bien al resultado final. Por esa razón, tampoco me molestan los abundantes encabalgamientos.
A partir de lo anterior, he intentado ser fiel a mi interpretación del poema.


Versión de Luis Astrana Marín (Aguilar, México DF 1991, a partir de la primera edición en Madrid, de 1932)


Versión de Andrés Ehrenhaus (Barcelona, Círculo de Lectores/Galaxia Gutenberg, 1984)


Versión de Jenaro Talens (Madrid, Cátedra, 2014)


Versión de Ignacio Gamen (Renacimiento, 2009)











viernes, 30 de diciembre de 2022

Land in trust

Escribí esto hace tiempo como respuesta a alguien que, en twitter, me decía "Colonos go home":

This is my home,
here my journey ended.
I am not better than you,
you are not better than me.
We shall not be friends,
but this is our land,
yours and mine.


 Lo volvía a colgar hace poco añadiendo una frase final: Tolerancia y convivencia.



Montse Ginés tenía la amabilidad de compartirlo y añadir unas palabras en las que había una idea que me parece muy acertada. Tenemos la tierra no en propiedad, sino en fideicomiso ("trust"). Se pone el acento en la responsabilidad que asumimos y nuestra obligación de entregarla a la siguiente generación. Creo que merece la pena reflexionar sobre ello.



lunes, 4 de abril de 2022

You


Breeze at night,
gentle takes and moves strands of your hair.
They sway around your defiant face,
an indolent and uncontrolled swing,
you can't tame; not even touch or graze.
Head raised, pursed lips, open eyes on fire.
Knees on the ground, trembling thighs apart.
Hands at your back, tied wrists, clenched fists.
Flames prevail over darkness,
battle noise over vigil,
pride and rage over death's
childish fear.
Short is the moment you still have,
little air your chest will contain.
Fiercely, you wish a final flare,
one friend's features, light from the moon,
shadows of the palms on the ground.
Your heart flutters, it beats you;
The cold blade tears your neck's flesh,
Fire and stars spin fast around.
The head falls on the sand.
The end has arrived.



jueves, 6 de enero de 2022

The Duke of York


Oh, thou, city of York! Wind freezes your walls. Under a grey sky, green fields around. How many deaths have your stones witnessed? How much blood have your land wet? Tell me about your people, about the peasants and craftsmen, about lovers and beggars, about marriages and burials, about children and old women telling sad stories to the priests.

Tell me about your dukes, the lords and their manors. Let me see them calling to war. Let me listen to young voices marching south; let me hear the screams; let me touch the tears of the wounded, smell the fragrance of the death.

Oh, thou, city of York! Open your cathedral's doors, music plays and horses neigh. A new duke has arrived and humble people cheer him on. The duke is a king's son. One day he will call to war and many will die for a crown, for a title, for a throne.

Lo anterior surgió como un comentario a la siguiente observación en Facebook de Jamie Mayerfeld:





sábado, 3 de octubre de 2020

Herds and hordes

When herds become hordes,
when fires light the night,
when blood, sand and dirt
cover their new faces.
Now we live that moment,
Remember then, my friend,
the huts in the vast meadow,
our horses and bows.
We rode in the fresh air.
No fear, no time, no death.
We and the world were new.
I can hear now your song.
A woman at your side,
an old tree, chess and bread.
Gentle breeze, a cold sword.
I hear again your song,
Here, under the stone.
Don't let me in the marble!
Take my corpse to the grass.
I will feed the mice,
may the worms clean my skull.
No burial mound, no words,
nor honours neither thoughts.
Don't let me here my friend!
Forget my foolish orders,
my stupid conceit.
Take today my shoulder
in the old way you did.
Let's look at the blue sky
till the cold in the night.
Listen to me, my brother!
We will find our women,
will our children kiss us.
Hold my hand like a lover
takes his beloved's hands.
Let's spend the whole death
evoking the old days,
water, milk, wind and fire.
To win, to lose, to live.
Give me, Lord, one day more.
One day to disdain thrones,
to tear up silky clothes,
one day to dismiss armies;
one day to become nothing.
One day to deserve a beautiful end.
I'll be no one again,
a child, a blade, a sheep.
Then I will disappear
like water on the grass.
I'll have a good man's death.
Nobody will ever remember me.
Nothing on earth becomes alien to me.
The horde is now a herd.
Smooth wind moves the leaves.
The emperor's name
lays on the grave.












miércoles, 13 de mayo de 2015

Childhood

To see
who's going
to see it, is almost
seeing
what's going to be
when -night and dark sea-
no more you'll be.
Your trace lost,
your forgotten name,
somebody who sees
and won't know
that her face was sought
by a dead soul
when he still was
flesh and joy.


viernes, 30 de agosto de 2013

martes, 7 de diciembre de 2010

Versiones de dos poemas de Emily Dickinson


Me atrae la tarea de ofrecer versiones en mi propia lengua de poemas escritos en otras. No intento hacer traducciones (aunque la etiqueta elegida para estas entradas sea, precisamente, la de "traducciones"), sino versiones que equilibren el contenido y el ritmo del original. Aquí ofrezco dos versiones de poemas de Emily Dickinson. Los poemas han sido tomados de wikisource y de la página "American Poems".



Poem 745

Renunciation - is a piercing Virtue-
The letting go
A Presence - for an Expectation-
Not now-
The putting out of Eyes-
Just Sunrise-
Lest Day-
Day's Great Progenitor-
Outvie
Renunciation - is the Choosing
Against itself-
Itself to justify
Unto inself-
When larger function-
Make that appear-
Smaller - that Covered Vision - Here-

La renuncia - Virtud que penetra-
Dejar ir
lo que se siente - por lo que se espera-
Ahora no-
Apartar los ojos-
Al amanecer-
Para que el Día-
El Gran Progenitor del Día-
No prevalezca
Renunciar - es Elegir
Contra uno mismo-
Para justificarse a si mismo-
Ante uno mismo-
Si el trabajo es mayor
Hará que parezca
Menor - la Oculta Visión- Aquí-

Poem 1451

Whoever disenchants
A single Human soul
By failure of irreverence
Is guilty of the whole.

As guileless as a Bird
As graphic as a star
Till de suggestion sinister
Things are not what they are --

Aquel que por error o irreverencia
En tan solo un espíritu humano
Arrancara el encanto y la inocencia
De todo culpable sera.

Tan inocente como es un pájaro
Y tan claro como luce la estrella
Hasta llegar a la idea siniestra:
Las cosas no son aquello que son-

La idea de ocuparme de estos poemas se me ocurrió leyendo las entradas que dedicó a ellos Lisi Prada en su blog. Allí como comentarios míos están ya colgadas versiones anteriores de estas "traducciones".