| Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer -Rima I. Yo sé un himno gigante y extraño...- |
| domingo, 15 de abril de 2007 |
Rima I. Yo sé un himno gigante y extraño...
Yo sé un himno gigante y extraño
que anuncia en la noche del alma una aurora,
y estas páginas son de ese himno
cadencias que el aire dilata en las sombras.
Yo quisiera escribirle, del hombre
domando el rebelde, mezquino idioma,
con palabras que fuesen a un tiempo
suspiros y risas, colores y notas.
Pero en vano es luchar, que no hay cifra
capaz de encerrarle; y apenas, ¡oh, hermosa!,
si, teniendo en mis manos las tuyas,
pudiera, al oído, cantártelo a solas.
Rhyme I. I know a strange gigantic hymn...
I know a strange gigantic hymn
that announces dawn in the night of the soul,
and these pages are cadences of this hymn
that the air diffuses into shadows.
I wanted to capture it, taming
the rebellious, stingy language of men,
with words that were at the same time
sighs and laughter, colors and notes.
But the struggle is in vain; there is no code
able to confine it, and barely, oh my beauty!
if holding your hands in mine,
could I sing it softly to you alone.
Translated by Howard A. LandmanEtiquetas: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer |
posted by Bishop @ 10:01  |
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| 3 Comments: |
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I KNOW A GIANT, STRANGE HYMN...
I know a giant, strange hymn
that proclaims a dawn in the night of the soul
and these pages are cadences of that hymn,
cadences that the air spreads in the shadows.
I would like to write it, taming
man's rebellious and poor language
with words that would be at once
sighs and laughter, colors and tones.
But the struggle is in vain; there is no cipher
capable of containing it; and hardly, oh my beauty!
could I, holding your hands in mine,
softly sing it to you when we were alone.
Translation of Eugenio Florit
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RHYME I. I KNOW A HYMN...
I know a hymn, titanical and strange
Which to the spirit's night proclaims the dawn;
These pages are its final cadences
Spread out among shadows by the air.
How gladly I would note it, if I could
Subdue the plain, rebellious speech of man
With words, which would be sighs and smiles at once,
Colors and notes as fitting characters.
Vain is the struggle! - For there is no form
Which may enshrine it. Scarcely, beateous one,
May I, on hearing it, sing it for thee,
Alone and holding thy dear hands in mine.
Translated by Jules Renard
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RHYME I. I KNOW AN ANTHEM...
I know an anthem, mystic and tremendous,
Which in my soul's night heralds the morn,
And of this anthem are all these pages
Cadences on the air shadow-wards borne.
Fain would I write it, vanquishing the common
Rebellious idiom of human throats;
Write it in words that were at the same time
Sighing and laughter, colors and notes.
Vain the essay: no characters are there
That can contain it; - scarcely, O my own!
Clasping thy hands in mine might I
Hearing it, sing it to thee alone.
Translated by Young Allison
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I KNOW A GIANT, STRANGE HYMN...
I know a giant, strange hymn
that proclaims a dawn in the night of the soul
and these pages are cadences of that hymn,
cadences that the air spreads in the shadows.
I would like to write it, taming
man's rebellious and poor language
with words that would be at once
sighs and laughter, colors and tones.
But the struggle is in vain; there is no cipher
capable of containing it; and hardly, oh my beauty!
could I, holding your hands in mine,
softly sing it to you when we were alone.
Translation of Eugenio Florit