| Pablo Neruda -Poesía- |
| viernes, 18 de febrero de 2005 |
Poesía
Y fue en aquella edad...
Que la poesía llegó en busca de mí.
Yo no sé, no sé de dónde vino,
del invierno o de un río.
No sé cómo o cuándo,
entre fuegos violentos
o el retorno solitario,
allí estuve sin un rostro
y ésto me llegó hondo.
No supe qué decir,
mi boca no tenía palabras,
mis ojos estaban ciegos,
y algo empezó en mi alma,
una fiebre o unas alas al olvido,
y creé mi propio camino,
descifré ese fuego
y escribí la primera línea sutil,
tenue sin substancia,
puro sin sentido,
pura sabiduría
de alguien que no sabe nada,
y de repente ví los cielos desatados, abiertos,
planetas palpitando,
sombras perforadas,
atravesadas con flechas, fuego y flores,
el viento de la noche, el universo.
Y yo ser infinitesimal,
embriagado por ese inmenso vacío estrellado,
retrato, imagen de misterio,
siento a mi mismo como una parte del abismo,
rodando con las estrellas,
mi corazón se libera en el cielo abierto.
no, no habían voces,
no habían palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle fui llamado por las ramas de la noche,
abruptamente entre las demás
Poetry
And it was at that time... Poetry came
to find me. Don’t know, don’t know from where,
it leapt, winter or the river.
Don’t know how or when
no, not words, not
voices, not silence,
but I was called from the street,
from the branches of the night,
suddenly, from the others,
in violent flames,
or coming back alone,
I, without a face,
it touched me.
I did not know how to say, my mouth
no names,
my eyes
were blind,
and something began in my soul,
fever or lost wings,
and I made it alone,
deciphering,
that fire,
and I wrote the first, vague line,
vague, without a body, pure
nonsense,
pure knowledge,
of he who knows nothing,
and suddenly saw
the sky
unlock
and open,
planets,
pulsating spaces,
perforated shadows,
riddled
with fires, flowers, flights,
the revolving night, the universe.
And I the smallest thing,
made drunk by the great void,
starred,
in the image, likeness
of mystery,
felt myself pure part
of abyss,
turned with the starlight,
my heart broken loose in the wind.Etiquetas: Pablo Neruda |
posted by Bishop @ 1:00  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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POETRY
And at that age poetry came around
to look for me. I don’t know,
don’t know where it came from,
from winter or the river.
I don’t know how or when.
No, it wasn’t voices,
wasn’t words or silence,
but from an alley it beckoned me
from the branches of the night,
suddenly between all the others,
between raging fires
or walking home alone,
there it was without face.
And it touched me.
I didn’t know what to say, my mouth
didn’t know how
to name things,
my eyes were blanks,
and something shook inside me,
a fever or lost wings,
and I went on making it alone,
making out
that burning
and I wrote the first vague line,
vague, no form, sheer
foolishness,
sheer wisdom
that knows nothing,
and all at once I saw
the sky
thrashing
and opened,
planets,
quivering fields,
the shadow punctured,
riddled
with arrows, with fire and flowers,
the night rolled back: the universe.
And I, the slightest of beings,
drunk on this vast
starry nothingness,
felt like a likeness, an image
of the mystery,
felt a pure part
of the great abyss:
I roller-coasted with the stars.
My heart unraveled in the wind.
Translated by James Nolan
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POETRY
And at that age poetry came around
to look for me. I don’t know,
don’t know where it came from,
from winter or the river.
I don’t know how or when.
No, it wasn’t voices,
wasn’t words or silence,
but from an alley it beckoned me
from the branches of the night,
suddenly between all the others,
between raging fires
or walking home alone,
there it was without face.
And it touched me.
I didn’t know what to say, my mouth
didn’t know how
to name things,
my eyes were blanks,
and something shook inside me,
a fever or lost wings,
and I went on making it alone,
making out
that burning
and I wrote the first vague line,
vague, no form, sheer
foolishness,
sheer wisdom
that knows nothing,
and all at once I saw
the sky
thrashing
and opened,
planets,
quivering fields,
the shadow punctured,
riddled
with arrows, with fire and flowers,
the night rolled back: the universe.
And I, the slightest of beings,
drunk on this vast
starry nothingness,
felt like a likeness, an image
of the mystery,
felt a pure part
of the great abyss:
I roller-coasted with the stars.
My heart unraveled in the wind.
Translated by James Nolan