********************************************************************************
FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA
Sonnet of the sweet complaint
Don’t let me lose the wondrous sight
of your sculpted eyes, or the way you have
of placing on my cheek at night
the solitary rose of your breath.
of your sculpted eyes, or the way you have
of placing on my cheek at night
the solitary rose of your breath.
I fear being left like a limbless tree
on the shoreline; and even worse
not having for my worm of agony
wood pulp or potter’s clay or flowers.
on the shoreline; and even worse
not having for my worm of agony
wood pulp or potter’s clay or flowers.
If you are my buried treasure,
if you are my cross and wet tears,
if I am your dog and you my master,
then don’t let me lose what I’ve won
and adorn the branches of your river
with the leaves of my estranged autumn.
if you are my cross and wet tears,
if I am your dog and you my master,
then don’t let me lose what I’ve won
and adorn the branches of your river
with the leaves of my estranged autumn.
____________
TPB's notes: translated by Paul Archer from Lorca's Soneto de la dulce queja (Sonnets of Dark Love). "The sequence of poems were written in 1935, inspired by Lorca's love affair with Rafael Rodriguez Rapún." - PA
KOTARO TAKAMURA
Late At Night
The moon on this July night,
Look!, shivers with fever among the poplars.
The wafted scent of cyclamen
Whimpers on your lips, T
he wood, the path, the grass, even the distant streets
Are troubled by a deep sadness
And breathe out a faint white mist like a long sigh.
A young couple walk side by side
Holding hands as they tramp over the black mud,
Invisible devils drinking saké
And the reverberations of the last train thundering into the hills
Seem to jeer at the fate of man.
Quietly your soul begins to spasm,
Your sash of Indian cotton becomes moist with sweat,
Like a Parsi you will yourself to suffer in silence.
Oh my heart, wake up!
Your heart too, wake up!
What's happening to us?
It seems so inexorable, excruciating,
We want to escape and yet
It seems so sweet, hard to leave, unbearable...
If only my heart
Could rise from its sickbed,
Break free from this hashish-like trance!
But everything I see is madly confused,
Even the moon on this July night,
Look!, shivers with fever among the poplars.
It's like an interminable disease!
My heart lies on the grass in a hot-house
Tortured by beautiful poisonous insects,
Oh my heart Who can you cry out to?
Now that the midnight is in the thrall of silence.
_____________
TPB's notes: translated by Paul Archer from The Chieko Poems by Kotaro Takamura, published in 1941. "The Chieko Poems by Kotaro Takamura, published in 1941, have historical significance as they are regarded as some of the first Japanese poems to successfully break free from the conventional moulds of the haiku or tanka forms and embrace a free verse form where neither the content, vocabulary and expressions or syllabic count was fixed and formalised. " - Paul Archer
No comments:
Post a Comment