Abeja blanca (White Bee)

 

Tijeras Butterflies | Natural Moments

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!

Abeja blanca

Abeja blanca zumbas -ebria de miel- en mi alma
y te tuerces en lentas espirales de humo.

Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos,
el que lo perdió todo, y el que todo lo tuvo.

Última amarra, cruje en ti mi ansiedad última.
En mi tierra desierta eres la última rosa.

Ah silenciosa!

Cierra tus ojos profundos. Allí aletea la noche.
Ah desnuda tu cuerpo de estatua temerosa.

Tienes ojos profundos donde la noche alea.
Frescos brazos de flor y regazo de rosa.

Se parecen tus senos a los caracoles blancos.
Ha venido a dormirse en tu vientre una mariposa de sombra.

Ah silenciosa!

He aquí la soledad de donde estás ausente.
Llueve. El viento del mar caza errantes gaviotas.

El agua anda descalza por las calles mojadas.
De aquel árbol se quejan, como enfermos, las hojas.

Abeja blanca, ausente, aún zumbas en mi alma.
Revives en el tiempo, delgada y silenciosa.

Ah silenciosa!

 

 

 

White bee buzzes – drunk with honey – in my soul
and you twist yourself into slow spirals of smoke.

I am the hopeless one, the word without echoes,
the one who lost everything, and the one who had everything.

The last hitch, crackles in you my last anxiety.
In my barren desert land you are the last rose.

Oh you who are silent!

Close your deep eyes. There the night flutters its wings.
Ah,your body, a fearful statue, naked.

You have deep eyes where night flutters on.
Fresh, cool arms made of flowers, and a lap of rose.

Your breasts seem like white snails.
A butterfly of shadow has come to fall asleep in your belly.

Oh you who are silent!

Here the solitude from which you are absent.
It rains. The winds of the sea hunt wandering, errant seagulls

The water walks barefoot through the wet streets.
From that tree there the leaves gripe, moan, and complain as though they were sick.

White bee, absent, still buzzing in my soul.
You live again in time, slender and silent.

Oh you who are silent!

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Inclinado En Las Tardes (Leaning Into The Afternoon)

"Inclinado en las tardes tiro mis tristes redes" – poesia ...

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. Before you ask, yes I can speak Spanish (I taught myself). Which is really the only way you can learn a language in my opinion. 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!

Inclinado En Las Tardes

Inclinado en las tardes tiro mis tristes redes
a tus ojos oceánicos.

Allí se estira y arde en la más alta hoguera
mi soledad que da vueltas los brazos como un náufrago.

Hago rojas señales sobre tus ojos ausentes
que olean como el mar a la orilla de un faro.

Sólo guardas tinieblas, hembra distante y mía,
de tu mirada emerge a veces la costa del espanto.

Inclinado en las tardes echo mis tristes redes
a ese mar que sacude tus ojos oceánicos.

Los pájaros nocturnos picotean las primeras estrellas
que centellean como mi alma cuando te amo.

Galopa la noche en su yegua sombría
desparramando espigas azules sobre el campo.

Leaning into the afternoons I throw my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes.

There, as in the highest of bonfires, my loneliness, it stretches and is engulfed in flame,
Its arms turning and flailing like a drowning castaway.

I make red signals over your absent eyes
That flutter like the sea upon the sores of a lighthouse.

You store up my darkness, distant female of mine,
from your eyes sometimes emerges the coast of terror.

Inclined in the afternoons I throw my sad nets
to that sea that beats against your oceanic eyes.

Nocturnal birds peck the first stars
Which twinkle like my soul when I love you.

The night gallops on his somber mare
scattering blue tassels on the fields.

Te Recuerdo Como Eras (I Remember You As You Were)

 

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. Before you ask, yes I can speak Spanish (I taught myself). Which is really the only way you can learn a language in my opinion. 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!

Te Recuerdo Como Eras

Te recuerdo como eras en el último otoño.
Eras la boina gris y el corazón en calma.
En tus ojos peleaban las llamas del crepúsculo.
Y las hojas caían en el agua de tu alma.

Apegada a mis brazos como una enredadera,
las hojas recogían tu voz lenta y en calma.
Hoguera de estupor en que mi sed ardía.
Dulce jacinto azul torcido sobre mi alma.

Siento viajar tus ojos y es distante el otoño:
boina gris, voz de pájaro y corazón de casa
hacia donde emigraban mis profundos anhelos
y caían mis besos alegres como brasas.

Cielo desde un navío. Campo desde los cerros.
Tu recuerdo es de luz, de humo, de estanque en calma!
Más allá de tus ojos ardían los crepúsculos.
Hojas secas de otoño giraban en tu alma.

I remember you as you were last autumn.
You were the gray beret and the calm heart.
In your eyes, the flames of the twilight fought onward.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like an ascending vine entwined,
the leaves picked up your voice, which is slow and calm.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning, unquenched.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted about my soul.

I sense, I feel your eyes and autumn is a long way off:
gray beret, voice of a bird and heart of a house
Toward that place where my deepest of yearnings migrated
and my happy kisses fell like embers.

Sky from a ship. Field from the mountains.
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Far beyond your eyes, the twilights burned.
Dry autumn leaves were turning in your soul.

Para Que Tú Me Oigas (So That You Might Hear Me)

Image result for can you hear me

 

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. Before you ask, yes I can speak Spanish (I taught myself). Which is really the only way you can learn a language in my opinion. 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 Que Tú Me Oigas (So That You Might Hear Me)

Para que tú me oigas
mis palabras
se adelgazan a veces
como las huellas de las gaviotas en las playas.

Collar, cascabel ebrio
para tus manos suaves como las uvas.

Y las miro lejanas mis palabras.
Más que mías son tuyas.
Van trepando en mi viejo dolor como las yedras.

Ellas trepan así por las paredes húmedas.
Eres tú la culpable de este juego sangriento.

Ellas están huyendo de mi guarida oscura.
Todo lo llenas tú, todo lo llenas.

Antes que tú poblaron la soledad que ocupas,
y están acostumbradas más que tú a mi tristeza.

Ahora quiero que digan lo que quiero decirte
para que tú las oigas como quiero que me oigas.

El viento de la angustia aún las suele arrastrar.
Huracanes de sueños aún a veces las tumban.

Escuchas otras voces en mi voz dolorida.
Llanto de viejas bocas, sangre de viejas súplicas.
Ámame, compañera. No me abandones. Sígueme.
Sígueme, compañera, en esa ola de angustia.

Pero se van tiñendo con tu amor mis palabras.
Todo lo ocupas tú, todo lo ocupas.

Voy haciendo de todas un collar infinito
para tus blancas manos, suaves como las uvas.

So that you might hear me
my words
they get thinner sometimes
like the traces of the seagulls on the beaches.

Collar, drunken bell
for your hands soft as grapes.

And I watch my words from afar
More than mine they are yours.
They are climbing upon my aged suffering like ivy..

They thus climb up the damp walls.
You are the culprit of this blood-fueled game.

They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill it all up.

Before you populated the solitude you occupy,
and they are more accustomed to my sadness than you are.

Now I want them to say what I want to tell you
so that you hear me as I want you to hear me.

Anguish’s wind still drags them onward.
Hurricanes of dreams still knock them over sometimes.

You hear other voices in my voice of pain.
Tearful laments from old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, my companion. Do not abandon me. Follow me
Follow me, partner, into that wave of anguish.

But my words are dyed with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.

I’m making all of it into an infinite necklace
for your white hands, soft as grapes.

Es La Mañana Llena (It Is The Morning Full)

Image result for morning kiss
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. Before you ask, yes I can speak Spanish (I taught myself). Which is really the only way you can learn a language in my opinion. 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!

Es la mañana llena

Es la mañana llena de tempestad
en el corazón del verano.

Como pañuelos blancos de adiós viajan las nubes,
el viento las sacude con sus viajeras manos.

Innumerable corazón del viento
latiendo sobre nuestro silencio enamorado.

Zumbando entre los árboles, orquestal y divino,
como una lengua llena de guerras y de cantos.

Viento que lleva en rápido robo la hojarasca
y desvía las flechas latientes de los pájaros.

Viento que la derriba en ola sin espuma
y sustancia sin peso, y fuegos inclinados.

Se rompe y se sumerge su volumen de besos
combatido en la puerta del viento del verano.

It’s a storm-filled morning
in the heart of summer.

As white goodbye handkerchiefs travel the clouds,
the wind shakes them with their traveling hands.

Innumerable heart of the wind
beating over our silence in love.

Vibrating, resounding through the trees, orchestral and divine,
like a language full of wars and songs.

Wind carrying away the dried up leaves like a thief
and diverts the pulsing arrows of the birds.

Wind that beats back a wave without foam
and substance without weight, and inclined fires.

It breaks and submerges its volume of kisses
Assailed at the door of the summer wind.

Ah Vastedad de Pinos (Ah Vastness of Pines)

Flickriver: beautiful pine trees pool

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. Before you ask, yes I can speak Spanish (I taught myself). Which is really the only way you can learn a language in my opinion. 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!

Ah Vastedad de Pinos (Ah Vastness of Pines)

Ah vastedad de pinos, rumor de olas quebrándose,
lento juego de luces, campana solitaria,
crepúsculo cayendo en tus ojos, muñeca,
caracola terrestre, en ti la tierra canta!

En ti los ríos cantan y mi alma en ellos huye
como tú lo desees y hacia donde tú quieras.
Márcame mi camino en tu arco de esperanza
y soltaré en delirio mi bandada de flechas.

En torno a mí estoy viendo tu cintura de niebla
y tu silencio acosa mis horas perseguidas,
y eres tú con tus brazos de piedra transparente
donde mis besos anclan y mi húmeda ansia anida.

Ah tu voz misteriosa que el amor tiñe y dobla
en el atardecer resonante y muriendo!
Así en horas profundas sobre los campos he visto
doblarse las espigas en la boca del viento.

Ah vastness of pine trees, the echoing sound of breaking waves,
slow play of lights, a lone bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, porcelain doll,
Conch shell of the earth in you the earth sings!

In you the rivers sing and my soul flees into them; becoming one
However you wish and toward wherever you desire;
Set me on my path with your bow of hope
And in my delirium I shall loose my flock of arrows.

Around me I see your waist of fog
And your silence pursues me in these tormented hours without end
And you are simply you where my kisses anchor and my hot, moust, unsettled desire finds its nesting place
With your arms of transparent stone

Ah, your mysterious voice which the love tolls like a bell
And it darkens as it passes into the dying evening
Thus in these profound, deep day-passing hours
The wheat stalks turn by the mouth of the wind

 

En Su Llama Mortal (In Your Mortal Flame)

It’s been a while since I bothered to write poetry at all, and I have found myself recently lacking in inspiration. So I’ve decided to go back to what inspired me in the first place. One of those people was Pablo Neruda. We 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. Before you ask, yes I can speak Spanish (I taught myself). Which is really the only way you can learn a language in my opinion. 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!

En su llama mortal la luz te envuelve.
Absorta, pálida doliente, así situada
contra las viejas hélices del crepúsculo
que en torno a ti da vueltas.

Muda, mi amiga,
sola en lo solitario de esta hora de muertes
y llena de las vidas del fuego,
pura heredera del día destruido.

Del sol cae un racimo en tu vestido oscuro.
De la noche las grandes raíces
crecen de súbito desde tu alma,
y a lo exterior regresan las cosas en ti ocultas,
de modo que un pueblo pálido y azul
de ti recién nacido se alimenta.

Oh grandiosa y fecunda y magnética esclava
del círculo que en negro y dorado sucede:
erguida, trata y logra una creación tan viva
que sucumben sus flores, y llena es de tristeza.

In your mortal flame the light envelops you.
Pensively absorbed and pallid (pale), situated thusly,
Against the propellers of the twilight hours
That are turning around you

Rendered speechless, my friend,
Alone in this solitariness of this hour of the dead
And full of lives of fire and flame,
Pure heiress the day destroyed, left in ruin.

From the sun, a cluster of fruit falls upon your dark dress,
And from the night the large roots,
Burst forth suddenly from your soul
And on the outside, things return hidden in you,
So that a people pale and blue newly birthed
Is fed from within you.

Oh great and fertile, lush and magnetic slave
Of the circle of in which the black orb of night
and the gilded sun come to pass:
It rises and is erected, and it achieves a creation so new and lively,
That its flowers succumb and wither,
And it is full of sadness.