Jump to content
    AC Benus
  • Author
  • 505 Words
  • 276 Views
  • 4 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Lorca’s "Love from the Darkness Sonnets" - 3. the truth and a phone booth

.

El poeta dice la verdad

 

Quiero llorar mi pena y te lo digo

para que tú me quieras y me llores

en un anochecer de ruiseñores,

con un puñal, con besos y contigo.

 

Quiero matar al único testigo

para el asesinato de mis flores

y convertir mi llanto y mis sudores

en eterno montón de duro trigo.

 

Que no se acabe nunca la madeja

del te quiero me quieres, siempre ardida

con decrépito sol y luna vieja.

 

Que lo que no me des y no te pida

será para la muerte, que no deja

ni sombra por la carne estremecida.

 

 

 

The poet tells the truth

 

I’d love to weep in my pain and put it to you

so that you’d love me and find for me tears to cry

in the nightingales’ gloaming of a twilight sky,

together with a queerboy, and kisses with you.

 

I’d love to kill the one surviving witness too

so he who slaughtered my flowers can also try

to transform my crying tears and sweat from a lie

to the enduring wheat of a host ever-true.

 

May we never let our bright ball of yarn unwind,

for how I love you loving me, blazing afresh

‘neath an old-fashioned sun, and moon dated in kind.

 

May that never come ask either of us to thresh

death from its chaff, which’ll leave no darkness in the mind

to cast shadows across the shaken faith of flesh.

 

 

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

El poeta habla por teléfono con el amor

 

Tu voz regó la duna de mi pecho

en la dulce cabina de madera.

Por el sur de mis pies fue primavera

y al norte de mi frente flor de helecho.

 

Pino de luz por el espacio estrecho

cantó sin alborada y sementera

y mi llanto prendió por vez primera

coronas de esperanza por el techo.

 

Dulce y lejana voz por mí vertida.

Dulce y lejana voz por mí gustada.

Lejana y dulce voz amortecida.

 

Lejana como oscura corza herida.

Dulce como un sollozo en la nevada.

¡Lejana y dulce en tuétano metida!


 

 

The poet speaks to his love from a payphone

 

Your voice inundated the sand dune of my chest

in the sweet little wooden booth where your voice played.

For south of my feet rolled away the springtime shade

and north of my brow then, green fiddleheads could nest.

 

A pine grove of light through the cramped space acquiesced

to sing without sunrise or seed-sown serenade,

my tears for the first time ignited light displayed

wreathed on the ceiling where my hopes had coalesced.

 

Sweet and faraway voice that on me poured.

Sweet, remote voice for my pleasure, I know.

Distant, tone-downed voice by me so adored.

 

Distant, like a doe struck by an arrow.

Sweet as a sob in the snow unexplored.

Sweet and distant, stuck down in the marrow.

 

~

 

 

_

Copyright © 2021 AC Benus; All Rights Reserved.
  • Love 6
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
You are not currently following this story. Be sure to follow to keep up to date with new chapters.

Recommended Comments

Chapter Comments

El poeta dice la verdad  paints the halls of the mind with emotion and love. Who could fail to be moved? But Lorca goes further, invoking images of the holy to sanctify a love which the bigots and oppressors of his day reviled. In the next poem, El poeta habla por teléfono con el amor, I’m filled with the poet’s joy and heartbreak at hearing the distant voice of his beloved. Your translations give new readers access to these wonderful gems. Thank you.

  • Love 4
Link to comment
9 hours ago, JACC said:

Thank you, AC!

Thank you, JACC. How do you feel I've done with the payphone poem...? This poem is often seen in English, but none of the usual translations try to capture the lush nature of the original, I feel. It's a ravishing poem, and so, so tender

Link to comment
View Guidelines

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Newsletter

    Sign Up and get an occasional Newsletter.  Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.

    Sign Up
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

Our Privacy Policy can be found here: Privacy Policy. We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..