| Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz -Mueran contigo, Laura, pues moriste...- |
| viernes, 20 de octubre de 2006 |
Mueran contigo, Laura, pues moriste...
Lamenta con todos la muerte de la señora marquesa de Mancera
Mueran contigo, Laura, pues moriste,
los afectos que en vano te desean,
los ojos a quien privas de que vean
hermosa luz que a un tiempo concediste.
Muera mi lira infausta en que influiste
ecos, que lamentables te vocean,
y hasta estos rasgos mal formados sean
lágrimas negras de mi pluma triste.
Muévase a compasión la misma muerte
que, precisa, no pudo perdonarte;
y lamente el amor su amarga suerte,
pues si antes, ambicioso de gozarte,
deseó tener ojos para verte,
ya le sirvieran sólo de llorarte.
Let them die with you, Laura, now you are dead...
On the death of that most excellent lady, the Marquise de Mancera
Let them die with you, Laura, now you are dead,
these longings that go out to you in vain,
these eyes on whom you once bestowed
a lovely light never to gleam again.
Let this unfortunate lyre that echoes still
to sounds you woke, perish calling your name,
and may these clumsy scribblings represent
black tears my pen has shed to ease its pain.
Let Death himself feel pity, and regret
that, bound by his own law, he could not spare you,
and Love lament the bitter circumstance
that if once, in his desire for pleasure,
he wished for eyes that they might feast on you,
now weeping is all those eyes could ever do.
Translated by Alan S. TruebloodEtiquetas: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz |
posted by Bishop @ 13:40  |
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DEATH LIKE YOURS MY LAURA...
Death like yours, my Laura, since you have died,
to feelings that still long for you in vain,
to eyes you now deny even the sight
of lovely light that in the past you gave.
Death to my hapless lyre from which you drew
these echoes that, lamenting, speak your name,
and let these awkward characters be known
as black tears shed by my grief-stricken pen.
Let compassion move stern Death herself
who (strictly accurate) brooked no excuse,
and let Love lament his bitter fate;
who boldly hoping at one time to woo you
wanted to have eyes simply to see you,
that now do nothing more nor less than mourn you.
Translated by Amanda Powell
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THEY FOLLOWED YOU LAURA...
They followed you, Laura, but you died,
My affection in vain desiring;
My eyes, denied, yet still requiring
The lovely light that you supplied.
Hear how my unlucky lyre has cried,
Sorrowful sounds of your expiring;
And now from my pensive pen I wring
Blackened tears from a blacker tide.
In compassion my pen’s retiring
Mourns your passing unsatisfied;
My love laments your bitter sleep:
Before your death my eyes aspiring,
Seeing your love were gratified;
But now they only want to weep.
Translated by Sandra Sider
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DEATH LIKE YOURS MY LAURA...
Death like yours, my Laura, since you have died,
to feelings that still long for you in vain,
to eyes you now deny even the sight
of lovely light that in the past you gave.
Death to my hapless lyre from which you drew
these echoes that, lamenting, speak your name,
and let these awkward characters be known
as black tears shed by my grief-stricken pen.
Let compassion move stern Death herself
who (strictly accurate) brooked no excuse,
and let Love lament his bitter fate;
who boldly hoping at one time to woo you
wanted to have eyes simply to see you,
that now do nothing more nor less than mourn you.
Translated by Amanda Powell