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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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| Rubén Darío -Leda- |
| jueves, 14 de septiembre de 2006 |
Leda
El cisne en la sombra parece de nieve;
su pico es de ámbar, del alba al trasluz;
el suave crepúsculo que pasa tan breve
las cándidas alas sonrosa de luz.
Y luego en las ondas del lago azulado,
después que la aurora perdió su arrebol,
las alas tendidas y el cuello enarcado,
el cisne es de plata bañado de sol.
Tal es, cuando esponja las plumas de seda,
olímpico pájaro herido de amor,
y viola en las linfas sonoras a Leda,
buscando su pico los labios en flor.
Suspira la bella desnuda y vencida,
y en tanto que al aire sus quejas se van,
del fondo verdoso de fronda tupida
chispean turbados los ojos de Pan.
Leda
The swan composed of snow floats in shadow,
amber beak translucent in the last light.
The white and innocent wings in the glow
of the short-lived dusk are rose-tipped and bright.
And then, on ripples of the clear blue lake,
when the crimson dawn is over and done,
the swan spreads his wings and lets his neck make
an arch, silver and burnished by the sun.
Grand, as he ruffles his silken feathers,
this bird from Olympus bearing love’s wound,
ravishing Leda in roiling waters,
thrusting at petals of her sex in bloom...
When at last her sobbing is heard no more,
the stripped, mastered beauty lets out a sigh.
From some tangled green rushes by the shore,
sparkle-eyed Pan watches and wonders why.
Translated by Steven F.White and Greg SimonEtiquetas: Rubén Darío |
posted by Bishop @ 12:00  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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LEDA
The swan in the shadows resembles snow;
His beak is amber, a glow of translucent dawn;
The soft dusk so swiftly passes
Its light blushes on candid wings.
Soon after, on the waves of blue hued lake,
After the sunrise has lost all flush,
The wings spread and the arched neck,
The swan is silver, bathed by the sun.
Such it is, when the silken wings inflates,
Olympian bird wounded with love,
Raping Leda on sonorous roiling waters,
Its beak searching her flower of lips.
The beauty exhales naked, defeated
And while her lament goes away with the wind,
From the green forest of thick canopies
Pan’s eyes are watching disturbed.
Translated by Danilo López
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LEDA
The swan in the shadows resembles snow;
His beak is amber, a glow of translucent dawn;
The soft dusk so swiftly passes
Its light blushes on candid wings.
Soon after, on the waves of blue hued lake,
After the sunrise has lost all flush,
The wings spread and the arched neck,
The swan is silver, bathed by the sun.
Such it is, when the silken wings inflates,
Olympian bird wounded with love,
Raping Leda on sonorous roiling waters,
Its beak searching her flower of lips.
The beauty exhales naked, defeated
And while her lament goes away with the wind,
From the green forest of thick canopies
Pan’s eyes are watching disturbed.
Translated by Danilo López