Spanish Poems





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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
Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer -Rima XVI. Si al mecer las azules campanillas...-
domingo, 15 de abril de 2007
Rima XVI. Si al mecer las azules campanillas...

Si al mecer las azules campanillas
de tu balcón,
crees que suspirando pasa el viento
murmurador,
sabe que, oculto entre las verdes hojas,
suspiro yo.

Si al resonar confuso a tus espaldas
vago rumor,
crees que por tu nombre te ha llamado
lejana voz,
sabe que, entre las sombras que te cercan,
te llamo yo.

Si se turba medroso en la alta noche
tu corazón,
al sentir en tus labios un aliento
abrasador,
sabe que, aunque invisible, al lado tuyo,
respiro yo.


Rhyme XVI. If when the bluebells stir...

If when the bluebells stir
on your balcony
you believe the murmuring wind
is passing with a sigh,
know that among the leaves, hidden,
it is I who sighs.

If when a vague murmur echoes
confused behind your back
you believe a distant voice
has called you by your name,
know that in the shadows about you
it is I who calls.

If in the depth of the night
your heart is troubled, afraid,
on feeling on your lips
the touch of a burning breath,
know that, unseen at your side,
it is I who breathes.

Translated by Michael Smith

Etiquetas:

posted by Bishop @ 10:16  
3 Comments:
  • At 15 de julio de 2007, 19:20, Blogger Bishop said…

    RHYME XVI. IF WHEN THE BLUEBELLS...

    If when the bluebells rustle
    on your balcony,
    you think that the passing wind's sighing
    is gossip,
    know that, hidden among green leaves,
    I am sighing.

    If when a faint murmur sounds garbled
    behind your back,
    you think you hear your name called by
    a distant voice,
    know that, from the shadows that surround you
    I am calling.

    If your heart is fearful and disturbed
    late at night,
    and you feel on your lips a breath
    burning,
    know that, although invisible, by your side
    I am breathing.

    Translated by Howard A. Landman

     
  • At 15 de julio de 2007, 19:22, Blogger Bishop said…

    RHYME XVI. IF AT THE STIRRING OF THE SWEET BLUEBELLS...

    If, at the stirring of the sweet bluebells
    Upon thy balcony, thou dost believe,
    That murm'ring breezes in their passage grieve
    And melancholy them to sighs impels, -
    Know then, that it is I,
    Who lurk amid their foliage and sigh.

    If, at the bearing of a sound confused
    From distant noises, thou dost seem to hear,
    That far-off voices urgently appear
    To call thee by thuy name, - be not abused,
    - For it is I, who call
    From where the deep surrounding shadows fall.

    If, in the deep tranquility of night
    Thy heart is troubled with disturbing fear
    At feeling on thy lips or hovering near
    A parching respiration, - banish fright,
    Know thou, that I abide
    And breathe, unseen, at thy beloved side.

    Translated by Jules Renard

     
  • At 15 de julio de 2007, 19:23, Blogger Bishop said…

    RHYME XVI. IF AT THE RUSTLING OF THE BLUEBELL BLOSSOMS...

    If, at the rustling of the bluebell blossoms
    On thy balcony,
    Thou dost believe that, sighing, the murm'ring zephyr
    Doth pass by,
    Know that, concealed amid the leafy verdure,
    Sighing am I.

    If, at a faint sound whispering by thy shoulder
    Scarce audibly,
    Thou dost believe upon thy name a distant
    Voice doth cry,
    Know that, amid the shadows that surround thee,
    Calling am I.

    If, in the stilly night, thy heart doth quiver
    Timorously,
    Feeling the presence of a burning breath
    To thy lips nigh,
    Know that, however invisible, at thy side
    Breathing am I.

    Translated by Young Allison

     
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