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XVIII

Through mountains you move as moves the breeze
or as the sudden stream from under snow
or your hair flaring, yes, flickering,
the high banners of an enraptured sun.

All the light of the Caucasus falls over your body
whirling like liquid in a bowl
in which the water changes shape and song
as with the river’s every open move.

Through the mountain flows the old warrior’s road
and below –shining fiercely like a sword–
the water, between the walls of the valley’s hands

until you receive from the forests, suddenly,
the branch of lightning, stroke of blue flowers,
the precious arrow of the forest’s smell.

by Pablo Neruda
tr by Bethany Wilkins and Remy Wilkins

[Click here for the original version and another translation]

Click below for a bad translation and some criticism : Read the rest of this entry »

For many of us our introduction to the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda came through the pink book of 100 Love Sonnets translated by Stephen Tapscott.  I discovered Neruda at the same time my own romance blossomed with the one who would become my wife. I noticed that Tapscott’s translation glossed over words and expressions, often rearranging words and images to construct his idea of poetic, so my wife and I began our own translations. This is the opening sonnet. I’ve also included the original Spanish as well as the recent translation by Gustavo Escobedo whose “100 Love Sonnets” is far superior to Tapscott.

I.

Matilde, the name of a plant or a rock or a wine,
which is born of the earth, and enduring;
a word in whose growth the dawn breaks,
In that name sail ships of wood
surrounded by the swarms of blue fire;

those letters are water to the river,
which overcome my barren heart.
hidden as a tunnel’s door,
speaking with the sweetness of the earth!

O invade me with your mouth,
search me, if you wish, with your midnight eyes,
but in your name let me navigate, let me rest.

-tr. by Bethany and Remy Wilkins

Sonnet 1

Matilde, a name for a plant, stone or wine,
for some enduring thing born of the earth.
The light of lemons comes from this word’s spring,
and bursts forth with this word’s summer.

Wooden ships swiftly sail about this name
surrounded by swarms of sea-blue fire,
and those letters are the waters of a river
spilling, pouring into my burnt-out heart.

O name discovered behind unruly ivy
like the door to a secret tunnel
leading to the scent of the world!

Oh, invade me with your scalding mouth,
Peer into me, if you wish, with your nocturnal eyes,
but let me sail and sleep… in your name.

-tr. Stephen Tapscott

Read the rest of this entry »

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