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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 |
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| Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer -Rima LXXI. No dormía: vagaba en ese limbo...- |
| viernes, 15 de junio de 2007 |
Rima LXXI. No dormía: vagaba en ese limbo...
No dormía: vagaba en ese limbo
en que cambian de forma los objetos,
misteriosos espacios que separan
la vigilia del sueño.
Las ideas que en ronda silenciosa
daban vueltas en torno a mi cerebro,
poco a poco en su danza se movían
con un compás más lento.
De la luz que entra al alma por los ojos
los párpados velaban el reflejo;
mas otra luz el mundo de visiones
alumbraba por dentro.
En este punto resonó en mi oído
un rumor semejante al que en el templo
vaga confuso al terminar los fieles
con un Amén sus rezos.
Y oí como una voz delgada y triste
que por mi nombre me llamó a lo lejos,
¡y sentí olor de cirios apagados,
de humedad y de incienso!
Entró la noche y del olvido en brazos
caí cual piedra en su profundo seno.
Dormí y al despertar exclamé: —¡Alguno
que yo quería ha muerto!
Rhyme LXXI. Sleepless I wandered in that limbo...
Sleepless I wandered in that limbo
where all objects lose their shapes,
mysterious spaces that separate
waking life from sleep.
Thoughts that silently revolved
in wheeling dance about my brain
little by little reduced their pace
to a slower time.
The reflection of the light that comes to the soul
in through the eyes was veiled by the lids;
but the world of vision was lit from within
by another light.
At this point there echoed in my ears
a wavering sound, confused like that
in a church when the faithful are ending their prayers
with a firm 'Amen'.
And I seemed to hear a delicate, sad
voice that called me by name from afar
and I smelt the smell of snuffed-out candles,
of damp and fragrant incense
Night came down, and in the arms
of oblivion I fell like a stone
into her deep breast, and waking cried:
"Someone I loved has died!"
Translated by Brian ColeEtiquetas: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer |
posted by Bishop @ 11:11  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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RHYME LXXI. I WASN'T ASLEEP...
I wasn't asleep; I wandered in the limbo
in which the forms of objects change,
mysterious spaces that separate
the vigil from dream.
The ideas that made circuits
in silent patrol around my brain,
little by little danced along
with a slower stride.
My eyelids shielded the reflection
of the light that enters the soul by the eyes,
but another light, the world of visions,
illuminated them from inside.
At that point resonated in my ear
a vague and confused murmur, similar
to that heard in church when the faithful finish
their prayers with an amen.
And I heard a tenuous and sad voice
that called my name in the distance,
and I caught a scent of extinguished candles,
of moisture and of incense.
The night passed, and I fell into the arms of
forgetfulness, like a stone, into its deep bosom.
Despite that on waking I exclaimed: "Someone
that I desired has died!"
Translated by H. Landman
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RHYME LXXI. I WASN'T ASLEEP...
I wasn't asleep; I wandered in the limbo
in which the forms of objects change,
mysterious spaces that separate
the vigil from dream.
The ideas that made circuits
in silent patrol around my brain,
little by little danced along
with a slower stride.
My eyelids shielded the reflection
of the light that enters the soul by the eyes,
but another light, the world of visions,
illuminated them from inside.
At that point resonated in my ear
a vague and confused murmur, similar
to that heard in church when the faithful finish
their prayers with an amen.
And I heard a tenuous and sad voice
that called my name in the distance,
and I caught a scent of extinguished candles,
of moisture and of incense.
The night passed, and I fell into the arms of
forgetfulness, like a stone, into its deep bosom.
Despite that on waking I exclaimed: "Someone
that I desired has died!"
Translated by H. Landman