| Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer -Rima XL. Su mano entre mis manos...- |
| martes, 15 de mayo de 2007 |
Rima XL. Su mano entre mis manos...
Su mano entre mis manos,
sus ojos en mis ojos,
la amorosa cabeza
apoyada en mi hombro,
¡Dios sabe cuántas veces,
con paso perezoso,
hemos vagado juntos
bajo los altos olmos
que de su casa prestan
misterio y sombra al pórtico!
Y ayer... un año apenas,
pasando como un soplo
con qué exquisita gracia
con qué admirable aplomo,
me dijo al presentarnos
un amigo oficioso:
“Creo que alguna parte
he visto a usted” ¡Ah, bobos
que sois de los salones
comadres de buen tono,
y andáis por allí a caza
de galantes embrollos.
¡Qué historía habéis perdido!
¡Qué manjar tan sabroso!
para ser devorado
“soto voce” en un corro,
detrás de abanico
de plumas de oro!
¡Discreta y casta luna,
copudos y altos olmos,
paredes de su casa,
umbrales de su pórtico,
callad, y que en secreto
no salga con vosotros!
Callad; que por mi parte
lo he vivido todo:
y ella..., ella..., ¡no hay máscara
semejante a su rostro!
Rhyme XL. Her hand between my hands...
Her hand between my hands,
her eyes fixed on mine
her loving head reclined
upon my shoulder.
God knows how many times
lazily we have strolled
beneath the lofty elms
that lend mystery
to her house
and shade its portico.
And yesterday ... but a year ...
passed away like a gust ...
With what exquisite grace,
such admirable aplomb,
she remarked to me
when a meddlesome friend
was introducing us:
'I think we met somewhere.'
Ah, fools, fools!
The salon's cultured gossips
prancing there
in search of lovers'
entanglements!
What a story you have missed!
What a tasty food to much
sotto voce in a group
behind a feathered
fan of gold!
Discreet and chaste moon,
tall dense-topped elms,
walls surrounding her house,
thresholds of her porch,
be silent, silent, lest
the secret slip from you.
I for my own part
have clean forgotten all.
And she ... she ... there is no mask
comparable to her face.
Translated by Michael SmithEtiquetas: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer |
posted by Bishop @ 10:40  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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RHYME XL. HER HAND IN MY HAND...
Her hand in my hand,
her eyes in my eyes,
her head leaning
amorously on my shoulder.
God knows how many times,
with lazy steps,
we wandered together
under the tall elms
that lend mystery to her
house and shade to its porch!
And yesterday... hardly a year
had passed, like a puff of wind ...
with what exquisite grace
with what admirable assurance,
she said, when an officious
friend introduced us:
"I believe I might have seen you
somewhere before". Ah, fools
who frequent the salons,
gossips of good tone,
and who go there hunting
for tittilating scandals.
What a history you have lost!
What morsels so tasty!
to be devoured
"sotto voce" in a chorus,
behind a fan
of gold feathers!
Discreet and chaste moon,
bushy and tall elms,
walls of her house,
thresholds of its porch -
keep quiet, so our secrets
don't escape with the others!
Keep quiet: for me,
they are all still vivid:
but she... she... there is no mask
equal to her face!
Translated by H. Landman
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RHYME XL. HER HAND IN MY HAND...
Her hand in my hand,
her eyes in my eyes,
her head leaning
amorously on my shoulder.
God knows how many times,
with lazy steps,
we wandered together
under the tall elms
that lend mystery to her
house and shade to its porch!
And yesterday... hardly a year
had passed, like a puff of wind ...
with what exquisite grace
with what admirable assurance,
she said, when an officious
friend introduced us:
"I believe I might have seen you
somewhere before". Ah, fools
who frequent the salons,
gossips of good tone,
and who go there hunting
for tittilating scandals.
What a history you have lost!
What morsels so tasty!
to be devoured
"sotto voce" in a chorus,
behind a fan
of gold feathers!
Discreet and chaste moon,
bushy and tall elms,
walls of her house,
thresholds of its porch -
keep quiet, so our secrets
don't escape with the others!
Keep quiet: for me,
they are all still vivid:
but she... she... there is no mask
equal to her face!
Translated by H. Landman