Where did Pablo Neruda go?

The short answer is nowhere.

One of the problems I have been known to contend with often is consistency. Ironically, that’s part of the reason I started the project in the first place. As we all know, life tends to happen as it does.

If there were a couple of spots, including yesterday, and the time before that was a more prolonged period during which nothing was posted. But don’t worry, it’s mainly because of two things: first, I very likely have ADHD. For me, that usually translates to wanting to do anything and everything that interests me, and overloading myself with countless possibilities and stretching myself too thin. As it relates to this, I got caught up trying to think of what to do next. Because I want to keep working on poetry, I want to keep improving my facility with the Spanish language, and I have another book to work with, but I didn’t really feel like it was suitable for the blog. So it took me a while to figure out what to do next as a kind of anxiety great to me as I approach the end of the specific Pablo Neruda book that I am working with.

I finally figured out what to do next: I’m going to be working on a small collection of poems that were originally written in Spanish by Jose Rizal in the Philippines. I hope you guys enjoy it and hopefully find some value in it. There are six more pieces to go in my current endeavor, and I will probably take a week off from doing poetry interputation just to relax and get to some things that I’ve been neglecting. So I will see you guys tomorrow at some point, depending on when you read this tomorrow might actually be two days from now… LOL 🙂

PS. I wrote this for myself just as much as I did for you guys, thanks for sticking with it!

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Juegas Todos Los Dias (You Play Every Day)

 

StockSnap_0SOS3Y098S

What you are about to read is not meant to be a literal translation, but my somewhat amateur attempt at rescuing Neruda from the clutches of literal translation.  What I’ve attempted to do is inject poetry back into translating Pablo Neruda’s work using things like different synonyms to play with the rhythm, sometimes giving multiple meanings to a word that was placed in the original. But most of all, I wanted to preserve the feeling that I first had when I initially read these pieces. I gave myself a couple of ground rules:
1) I was not allowed to consult any English translations that already existed.
2) I was only allowed to use a monolingual dictionary.

I hope you enjoy these!

Juegas Todos Los Dias (You Play Every Day)

Juegas todos los días con la luz del universo.
Sutil visitadora, llegas en la flor y en el agua.
Eres más que esta blanca cabecita que aprieto
como un racimo entre mis manos cada día.

A nadie te pareces desde que yo te amo.
Déjame tenderte entre guirnaldas amarillas.
Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur?
Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías.

De pronto el viento aúlla y golpea mi ventana cerrada.
El cielo es una red cuajada de peces sombríos.
Aquí vienen a dar todos los vientos, todos.
Se desviste la lluvia.

Pasan huyendo los pájaros.
El viento. El viento.
Yo sólo puedo luchar contra la fuerza de los hombres.
El temporal arremolina hojas oscuras
y suelta todas las barcas que anoche amarraron al cielo.

Tú estás aquí. Ah tú no huyes.
Tú me responderás hasta el último grito.
Ovíllate a mi lado como si tuvieras miedo.
Sin embargo alguna vez corrió una sombra extraña por tus ojos.

Ahora, ahora también, pequeña, me traes madreselvas,
y tienes hasta los senos perfumados.
Mientras el viento triste galopa matando mariposas
yo te amo, y mi alegría muerde tu boca de ciruela.

Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí,
a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan.
Hemos visto arder tantas veces el lucero besándonos los ojos
y sobre nuestras cabezas destorcerse los crepúsculos en abanicos girantes.

Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote.
Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado.
Hasta te creo dueña del universo.
Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues,
avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos.

Quiero hacer contigo
lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.

You play every day with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and in the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly,
like a cluster of fruit between my hands every day.

Nobody looks like you since I love you.
Let me tend to you among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name with letters of smoke among the southern stars?
Ah let me remember you how you were then, before you even existed.

Suddenly the howling wind hits my shuttered window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here come all the winds, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes..

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can only fight against the strength of men.
The storm swirls dark leaves
and turn loose all the boats that were tied down last night into the sky.

You’re here. Oh you do not run away
You will answer me until the last scream.
Cling closely to my side as if you were afraid.
Even still,, at some point a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
And you are covered in its sweet scent, even up to your breasts.
As the sad wind gallops forth, slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my joy bites the plum of your mouth.

How it will hurt you so to acclimate yourself to me,
to my soul solitary and savage, to my name that frightens everyone away.
We have seen the morning star alight so many times kissing our eyes
and over our heads the twilight’s dim brilliance in unwinding itself, turning like the blades of a fan

My words rained over you, caressing you gently.
I loved your sun-kissed mother-of-pearl body for the longest time now.
Even now, I believe you to be the owner of the Universe.
From the mountains I will bring you joyful flowers, the Chilean bell flower,
dark hazelnuts, and wild baskets of kisses.

I want to do with you
What the spring does with cherry trees.

He Ido Marcando (I’ve Gone Marking)

Muslim Women are So Ninja by mindfornication on DeviantArt

What you are about to read is not meant to be a literal translation, but my somewhat amateur attempt at rescuing Neruda from the clutches of literal translation.  What I’ve attempted to do is inject poetry back into translating Pablo Neruda’s work using things like different synonyms to play with the rhythm, sometimes giving multiple meanings to a word that was placed in the original. But most of all, I wanted to preserve the feeling that I first had when I initially read these pieces. I gave myself a couple of ground rules:
1) I was not allowed to consult any English translations that already existed.
2) I was only allowed to use a monolingual dictionary.

I hope you enjoy these!

He Ido Marcando (I’ve Gone Marking)

He ido marcando con cruces de fuego
el atlas blanco de tu cuerpo.
Mi boca era una araña que cruzaba escondiéndose.
En ti, detrás de ti, temerosa, sedienta.

Historias que contarte a la orilla del crepúsculo,
muñeca triste y dulce, para que no estuvieras triste.
Un cisne, un árbol, algo lejano y alegre.
El tiempo de las uvas, el tiempo maduro y frutal.

Yo que viví en un puerto desde donde te amaba.
La soledad cruzada de sueño y de silencio.
Acorralado entre el mar y la tristeza.
Callado, delirante, entre dos gondoleros inmóviles.

Entre los labios y la voz, algo se va muriendo.
Algo con alas de pájaro, algo de angustia y de olvido.
Así como las redes no retienen el agua.
Muñeca mía, apenas quedan gotas temblando.
Sin embargo, algo canta entre estas palabras fugaces.
Algo canta, algo sube hasta mi ávida boca.
Oh poder celebrarte con todas las palabras de alegría.
Cantar, arder, huir, como un campanario en las manos de un loco.
Triste ternura mía, qué te haces de repente?
Cuando he llegado al vértice más atrevido y frío
mi corazón se cierra como una flor nocturna.

I have been marking the blank atlas of your body
With crosses of fire
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.
Within you, behind you, fearful, thirsty.

Stories to tell you on the shores of the twilight,
doll, sad and gently sweet, so you were not sad.
A swan, a tree, something far away and happy.
The season of the grapes, the ripe and fruitful time.

I lived in a port from which I loved you.
Solitude, crossed with dream and with silence
Caught between the sea and sadness.
Silent, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers.

Between the lips and the voice, something goes on dying.
Something with wings of a bird, some anguish and forgetfulness.
As the nets do not hold water.
My doll, there are hardly any trembling drops left.
However, something sings between these fleeting words.
Something sings, something climbs up to my ravenous mouth.
Oh, being able to celebrate with all of the words of joy.
Singing, burning, fleeing, like a belfry in the hands of a madman.
My sad tenderness, what’s come over you so suddenly?
When I have reached the coldest and most adventurous summit,
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower.

Para Mi Corazón (For My Heart)

No tan distintos...: Poema XII - Pablo Neruda

What you are about to read is not meant to be a literal translation, but my somewhat amateur attempt at rescuing Neruda from the clutches of literal translation.  What I’ve attempted to do is inject poetry back into translating Pablo Neruda’s work using things like different synonyms to play with the rhythm, sometimes giving multiple meanings to a word that was placed in the original. But most of all, I wanted to preserve the feeling that I first had when I initially read these pieces. I gave myself a couple of ground rules:
1) I was not allowed to consult any English translations that already existed.
2) I was only allowed to use a monolingual dictionary.

I hope you enjoy these!

Para Mi Corazón (For My Heart)

Para mi corazón basta tu pecho,
para tu libertad bastan mis alas.
Desde mi boca llegará hasta el cielo
lo que estaba dormido sobre tu alma.

Es en ti la ilusión de cada día.
Llegas como el rocío a las corolas.
Socavas el horizonte con tu ausencia.
Eternamente en fuga como la ola.

He dicho que cantabas en el viento
como los pinos y como los mástiles.
Como ellos eres alta y taciturna.
Y entristeces de pronto, como un viaje.

Acogedora como un viejo camino.
Te pueblan ecos y voces nostálgicas.
Yo desperté y a veces emigran y huyen
pájaros que dormían en tu alma.

For my heart your chest is enough,
For your freedom my wings are enough.
What was sleeping on your soul will rise
From my mouth to the heavens.

In you is the illusion of every day.
You arrive like the dew upon the flower petals..
You dig beneath the horizon with your absence.
Eternally in flight like a wave.

I said you sang into the wind
like the pines and like the masts.
Like them you are tall and taciturn.
And you so soon you are saddened like a parting voyage.

Friendly and warm like an old familiar road.
You’re full of echoes and nostalgic voices.
I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated,
That were sleeping in your soul.

Casi Fuera Del Cielo (Almost Out of the Sky)

(Blog principal) Beatriz Salas Escarpa... A mi manera : Pablo Neruda - Poema 11 - Casi fuera del ...

What you are about to read is not meant to be a literal translation, but my somewhat amateur attempt at rescuing Neruda from the clutches of literal translation.  What I’ve attempted to do is inject poetry back into translating Pablo Neruda’s work using things like different synonyms to play with the rhythm, sometimes giving multiple meanings to a word that was placed in the original. But most of all, I wanted to preserve the feeling that I first had when I initially read these pieces. I gave myself a couple of ground rules:
1) I was not allowed to consult any English translations that already existed.
2) I was only allowed to use a monolingual dictionary.

I hope you enjoy these!

Casi Fuera Del Cielo (Almost Out of the Sky)

Casi fuera del cielo ancla entre dos montañas
la mitad de la luna.
Girante, errante noche, la cavadora de ojos.
A ver cuántas estrellas trizadas en la charca.

Hace una cruz de luto entre mis cejas, huye.
Fragua de metales azules, noches de las calladas luchas,
mi corazón da vueltas como un volante loco.
Niña venida de tan lejos, traída de tan lejos,
a veces fulgurece su mirada debajo del cielo.
Quejumbre, tempestad, remolino de furia,
cruza encima de mi corazón, sin detenerte.
Viento de los sepulcros acarrea, destroza, dispersa tu raíz soñolienta.
Desarraiga los grandes árboles al otro lado de ella.
Pero tú, clara niña, pregunta de humo, espiga.
Era la que iba formando el viento con hojas iluminadas.
Detrás de las montañas nocturnas, blanco lirio de incendio,
ah nada puedo decir! Era hecha de todas las cosas.

Ansiedad que partiste mi pecho a cuchillazos,
es hora de seguir otro camino, donde ella no sonría.
Tempestad que enterró las campanas, turbio revuelo de tormentas
para qué tocarla ahora, para qué entristecerla.
Ay seguir el camino que se aleja de todo,
donde no esté atajando la angustia, la muerte, el invierno,
con sus ojos abiertos entre el rocío.

Almost out of the sky, half of the moon
anchors between two mountains.
Whirling, wandering night, the digger of eyes.
Let us see how many stars are smashed in the pond.

It makes a cross of mourning between my eyebrows,it flees.
Forge of blue metals, nights of quiet struggles,
my heart is spinning like a crazy wheel.
Girl who has from so far, been brought from so far away,
sometimes his glance flashes under the night’s sky.
Grumbling, tempest, whirlwind of fury,
You cross over my heart, without stopping.
Wind of the tombs carries, destroys, disperses your sleepy root.
Uproot the big trees at the other side of her.
But you, clear girl, question of smoke, corn tassel.
You were the one that the wind was forming with illuminated leaves.
Behind the nocturnal mountains, white fire lily,
ah, I can not say anything! You were made of all things.

Anxious yearning that splits my chest with a stabbing splitting thrust,
It is time to follow another path, where she does not smile.
Tempest that buried the bells, cloudy stirring of torments
why touch her now, why her cause her such sadness?
And follow the path that leads away from everything,
Without anguish, death, winter waiting along it
with their eyes open though the dew.

Hemos Perdido Aun (We’ve Lost Even)

What you are about to read is not meant to be a literal translation, but my somewhat amateur attempt at rescuing Neruda from the clutches of literal translation.  What I’ve attempted to do is inject poetry back into translating Pablo Neruda’s work using things like different synonyms to play with the rhythm, sometimes giving multiple meanings to a word that was placed in the original. But most of all, I wanted to preserve the feeling that I first had when I initially read these pieces. I gave myself a couple of ground rules:
1) I was not allowed to consult any English translations that already existed.
2) I was only allowed to use a monolingual dictionary.

I hope you enjoy these!

Hemos Perdido Aun (We’ve Lost Even)

Hemos perdido aun este crepúsculo.
Nadie nos vio esta tarde con las manos unidas
mientras la noche azul caía sobre el mundo.

He visto desde mi ventana
la fiesta del poniente en los cerros lejanos.

A veces como una moneda
se encendía un pedazo de sol entre mis manos.

Yo te recordaba con el alma apretada
de esa tristeza que tú me conoces.

Entonces, dónde estabas?
Entre qué gentes?
Diciendo qué palabras?
Por qué se me vendrá todo el amor de golpe
cuando me siento triste, y te siento lejana?

Cayó el libro que siempre se toma en el crepúsculo,
y como un perro herido rodó a mis pies mi capa.

Siempre, siempre te alejas en las tardes
hacia donde el crepúsculo corre borrando estatuas.

We’ve lost even this twilight.
Nobody saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night fell upon the world.

I have seen from my window
the celebration of the westerly setting sun in the distant hills.

Sometimes like a coin
A bit of the bit of the sun burned within my hands.

I remember you with my soul tightly wound
Around that sadness of mine that you know so well

So, where were you?
Among what peoples?
Saying what words?
Why then, does the whole of love come upon me so suddenly
When I feel sad, and I feel you are so far away?

The book fell that is always taken in the twilight,
and my cloak rolled like a wounded dog at my feet.

Always, you always go off in the evenings
towards where the twilight goes on, erasing statues.

Ebrio de Trementina (Drunk on Turpentine)

Hokulea — Waʻa Kaulua – Our Canoes - Hokulea

What you are about to read is not meant to be a literal translation, but my somewhat amateur attempt at rescuing Neruda from the clutches of literal translation.  What I’ve attempted to do is inject poetry back into translating Pablo Neruda’s work using things like different synonyms to play with the rhythm, sometimes giving multiple meanings to a word that was placed in the original. But most of all, I wanted to preserve the feeling that I first had when I initially read these pieces. I gave myself a couple of ground rules:
1) I was not allowed to consult any English translations that already existed.
2) I was only allowed to use a monolingual dictionary.

I hope you enjoy these!

Ebrio de Trementina (Drunk on Turpentine)

Ebrio de trementina y largos besos,
estival, el velero de las rosas dirijo,
torcido hacia la muerte del delgado día,
cimentado en el sólido frenesí marino.

Pálido y amarrado a mi agua devorante
cruzo en el agrio olor del clima descubierto,
aún vestido de gris y sonidos amargos,
y una cimera triste de abandonada espuma.

Voy, duro de pasiones, montado en mi ola única,
lunar, solar, ardiente y frío, repentino,
dormido en la garganta de las afortunadas
islas blancas y dulces como caderas frescas.

Tiembla en la noche húmeda mi vestido de besos
locamente cargado de eléctricas gestiones,
de modo heroico dividido en sueños
y embriagadoras rosas practicándose en mí.

Aguas arriba, en medio de las olas externas,
tu paralelo cuerpo se sujeta en mis brazos
como un pez infinitamente pegado a mi alma
rápido y lento en la energía subceleste.

Drunk on turpentine and long kisses,
Like summer, I steer the sailboat of the roses,
twisted toward the death of the thin day,
cemented in the solid marine frenzied delirium.

Pale and bound to my devouring water
I cruise in the acrid and bitter scent of the the naked climate,
still dressed in gray and bitter sounds,
and a sad crest of abandoned foam.

I go, hardened by passions, mounted on my unique wave,
lunar, solar, burning and cold, suddenly and all at once,
Asleep in the throat of the lucky isles
White and sweet like fresh hips.

My garment of kisses trembles amidst the humid night
Charged to insinity with electric currents,
heroically divided into dreams
and intoxicating roses practicing on me.

Upstream, amidst the outer waves,
your parallel body clings to my embrace
like a fish infinitely glued to my soul
fast and slow in the energy beneath the night sky.