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Poemas en Inglés es un blog que pretende acercar poemas de lengua inglesa al castellano |
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"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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| Jorge Luis Borges -Un ciego- |
| viernes, 15 de diciembre de 2006 |
Un ciego
No sé cuál es la cara que me mira
cuando miro la cara del espejo;
no sé qué anciano acecha en su reflejo
con silenciosa y ya cansada ira.
Lento en mi sombra, con la mano exploro
mis invisibles rasgos. Un destello
me alcanza. He vislumbrado tu cabello
que es de ceniza o es aún de oro.
Repito que he perdido solamente
la vana superficie de las cosas.
El consuelo es de Milton y es valiente,
pero pienso en las letras y en las rosas.
Pienso que si pudiera ver mi cara
sabría quién soy en esta tarde rara.
A blind man
I do not know what face is looking back
whenever I look at the face in the mirror;
I do not know what old face seeks its image
in silent and already weary anger.
Slow in my blindness, with my hand I feel
the contours of my face. A flash of light
gets through to me. I have made out your hair,
color of ash and at the same time, gold.
I say again that I have lost no more
than the inconsequential skin of things.
These wise words come from Milton, and are noble,
but then I think of letters and of roses.
I think, too, that if I could see my features,
I would know who I am, this precious afternoon.
Translated by Alastair ReidEtiquetas: J. L. Borges |
posted by Bishop @ 10:20  |
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| 1 Comments: |
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BLIND MAN
Whose face do I see
when I look in the mirror?
What elder lurks in the glass
with silent weary wrath?
Slow in the dark, I explore with my hand
the invisible face. A gleam
reaches me. I just make out your hair
ashy or golden.
I quote I've only lost
the vain superfice of things.
Milton's counsel and valiant,
but I think of letters and roses.
I think if I could see myself
this afternoon I would know myself.
Translated by Christopher Mulrooney
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BLIND MAN
Whose face do I see
when I look in the mirror?
What elder lurks in the glass
with silent weary wrath?
Slow in the dark, I explore with my hand
the invisible face. A gleam
reaches me. I just make out your hair
ashy or golden.
I quote I've only lost
the vain superfice of things.
Milton's counsel and valiant,
but I think of letters and roses.
I think if I could see myself
this afternoon I would know myself.
Translated by Christopher Mulrooney