| 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 |
|
|
| Alfonsina Storni -Tú me quieres blanca- |
| lunes, 22 de marzo de 2004 |
Tú me quieres blanca
Tú me quieres alba,
Me quieres de espumas,
Me quieres de nácar.
Que sea azucena
Sobre todas, casta.
De perfume tenue.
Corola cerrada
Ni un rayo de luna
Filtrado me haya.
Ni una margarita
Se diga mi hermana.
Tú me quieres nívea,
Tú me quieres blanca,
Tú me quieres alba.
Tú que hubiste todas
Las copas a mano,
De frutos y mieles
Los labios morados.
Tú que en el banquete
Cubierto de pámpanos
Dejaste las carnes
Festejando a Baco.
Tú que en los jardines
Negros del Engaño
Vestido de rojo
Corriste al Estrago.
Tú que el esqueleto
Conservas intacto
No sé todavía
Por cuáles milagros,
Me pretendes blanca
(Dios te lo perdone),
Me pretendes casta
(Dios te lo perdone),
¡Me pretendes alba!
Huye hacia los bosques,
Vete a la montaña;
Límpiate la boca;
Vive en las cabañas;
Toca con las manos
La tierra mojada;
Alimenta el cuerpo
Con raíz amarga;
Bebe de las rocas;
Duerme sobre escarcha;
Renueva tejidos
Con salitre y agua;
Habla con los pájaros
Y lévate al alba.
Y cuando las carnes
Te sean tornadas,
Y cuando hayas puesto
En ellas el alma
Que por las alcobas
Se quedó enredada,
Entonces, buen hombre,
Preténdeme blanca,
Preténdeme nívea,
Preténdeme casta.
You want me white
You want me to be the dawn
You want me made of seaspray
Made of mother-of-pearl
That I be a lily
Chaste above all others
Of tenuous perfume
A blossom closed
That not even a moonbeam
Might have touched me
Nor a daisy
Call herself my sister
You want me like snow
You want me white
You want me to be the dawn
You who had all
The cups before you
Of fruit and honey
Lips dyed purple
You who in the banquet
Covered in grapevines
Let go of your flesh
Celebrating Bacchus
You who in the dark
Gardens of Deceit
Dressed in red
Ran towards Destruction
You who maintain
Your bones intact
Only by some miracle
Of which I know not
You ask that I be white
(May God forgive you)
You ask that I be chaste
(May God forgive you)
You ask that I be the dawn!
Flee towards the forest
Go to the mountains
Clean your mouth
Live in a hut
Touch with your hands
The damp earth
Feed yourself
With bitter roots
Drink from the rocks
Sleep on the frost
Clean your clothes
With saltpeter and water
Talk with the birds
And set sail at dawn
And when your flesh
Has returned to you
And when you have put
Into it the soul
That through the bedrooms
Became entangled
Then, good man,
Ask that I be white
Ask that I be like snow
Ask that I be chaste
Translated by Catherine FountainEtiquetas: Alfonsina Storni |
posted by Bishop @ 10:40  |
|
| 1 Comments: |
-
YOU WANT ME WHITE
You want me white,
You want me made of foam,
You want me like Mother-of-Pearl.
You want me to be Lily
Above all others, chaste
Of tenous fragrance;
Closed corolla.
Not touched
even by a moonbeam;
Not rivaled
even by a daisy;
You expect me to be niveous,
You expect me to be white,
You expect me to be dawn.
You, who has had all
The cups at your reach;
Whose lips were stained red
with sweet fruit and libations
You, who at the banquets,
draped in vine shoots,
abandoned his flesh
celebrating Baccus
You, who
dressed in red,
ran to your ruin
in the black gardens of Deceit,
You, who still managed
to keep intact
by some unfathomable miracle
an untouched skeleton ---
You want me white?
(Good Lord!)
You expect me to be Chaste?
(God forgive you!)
You expect me to be dawn!
Flee into the woods,
Find refuge in the mountains,
Purify your mouth;
Go live in reclusion,
feel the moist earth
with your hands,
nourish your body
with bitter roots;
Drink of the stones,
sleep on the frost;
Renew your flesh
With saltpeter and water;
Speak with the birds
and rise at dawn.
And when your tissues
Have been transformed
And when you have put back
into them the soul
that you left behind
in the bedrooms
Only then, good man,
Expect me to be white
Expect me to be niveous
Expect me to be chaste.
|
| |
| << Home |
| |
|
|
|
| About the author |
- Para localizar un poema determinado utilizar la secuencia Ctrl+F y escribir la palabra correspondiente.
- Para ponerse en contacto con el autor del Blog
Los poemas de este blog pueden aumentar con tu colaboración, si tienes alguna traducción de algún poema de lengua inglesa que te guste y quieres enviárnosla, será bienvenida.
|
| Poets |
|
|
| Previous Posts |
|
| Favorite blogs |
|
| Other cool blogs |
|
| Search |
|
| Resources |
|
|
YOU WANT ME WHITE
You want me white,
You want me made of foam,
You want me like Mother-of-Pearl.
You want me to be Lily
Above all others, chaste
Of tenous fragrance;
Closed corolla.
Not touched
even by a moonbeam;
Not rivaled
even by a daisy;
You expect me to be niveous,
You expect me to be white,
You expect me to be dawn.
You, who has had all
The cups at your reach;
Whose lips were stained red
with sweet fruit and libations
You, who at the banquets,
draped in vine shoots,
abandoned his flesh
celebrating Baccus
You, who
dressed in red,
ran to your ruin
in the black gardens of Deceit,
You, who still managed
to keep intact
by some unfathomable miracle
an untouched skeleton ---
You want me white?
(Good Lord!)
You expect me to be Chaste?
(God forgive you!)
You expect me to be dawn!
Flee into the woods,
Find refuge in the mountains,
Purify your mouth;
Go live in reclusion,
feel the moist earth
with your hands,
nourish your body
with bitter roots;
Drink of the stones,
sleep on the frost;
Renew your flesh
With saltpeter and water;
Speak with the birds
and rise at dawn.
And when your tissues
Have been transformed
And when you have put back
into them the soul
that you left behind
in the bedrooms
Only then, good man,
Expect me to be white
Expect me to be niveous
Expect me to be chaste.