Michael Smith 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 3 poems translated

from: испанский to: английский

Original

Translation

LO QUE NO ES SUEÑO

испанский | Claudio Rodríguez

Déjame que te hable en esta hora
de dolor con alegres
palabras. Ya se sabe
que el escorpión, la sanguijuela, el piojo,
curan a veces. Pero tú oye, déjame
decirte que, a pesar
de tanta vida deplorable, sí,
a pesar y aun ahora
que estamos en derrota, nunca en doma,
el dolor es la nube,
la alegría, el espacio,
el dolor es el huésped,
la alegría, la casa.
Que el dolor es la miel,
símbolo de la muerte, y la alegría
es agria, seca, nueva,
lo único que tiene
verdadero sentido.
Déjame que con vieja
sabiduría, diga:
a pesar, a pesar
de todos los pesares
y aunque sea muy dolorosa y aunque
sea a veces inmunda, siempre, siempre
la más honda verdad es la alegría.
La que de un río turbio
hace aguas limpias,
la que hace que te diga
estas palabras tan indignas ahora,
la que nos llega como
llega la noche y llega la mañana,
como llega a la orilla
la ola:
irremediablemente.


                                  De Alianza y condena (1965)

© Clara Miranda
from: Claudio Rodríguez, Poesía Completa (1953-1991)
Barcelona: Tusquets Editores, 2001

WHAT IS NOT A DREAM

английский

Let me speak to you now, in this hour
of pain, with happy
words. It’s common knowledge
that scorpions, ticks and leeches
sometimes heal. But listen, let me
tell you, that in spite
of so much miserable living, yes,  
in spite of it and even now
that we have been defeated, though not tamed,
it’s pain that is the cloud
and happiness the air;
pain is the guest
and happiness the house.
For grief is honey,
a symbol of death, but joy
though bitter, dry, new,
is the only thing
that makes any real sense.
With sage of old,
let me say:
in spite
of all the spites,
and when life is very painful,
and at times
even revolting, always, always
the deepest truth is happiness.
The one that of a muddied river
makes clear waters,
the one that makes me tell you now
such undignified words;  
the one that comes
as night and morning do,  
as the wave
comes to the shore:
unstoppable.


Translation: ANABEL TORRES
In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión
Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007


WHAT IS NOT A DREAM

Let me speak to you, at this time
of grief, with happy
words. It is now known
that the scorpion, the leech, the louse,
sometimes cure. But listen, you, let me
say to you that despite
so many deplorable lives, indeed,
despite and even now
that we are defeated, never under control,
grief is the cloud;
happiness, space;
grief is the guest;
happiness, home.
Grief is the honey,
symbol of death, and happiness
is bitter, dry, new,
the only thing that has
true meaning.
Let me, with an old
wisdom, say:
in spite, in spite
of everything
and though it may be very painful, and though
it may at times be revolting, always, always
the deepest truth is happiness.
The one that from a turbid river
produces clean water,
who makes me say to you
these words so unworthy now,
who reaches us
as night and morning reach us,
as the wave reaches
the shore:
irremediably.


Translation: MICHAEL SMITH
In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión
Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007

Translations: Anabel Torres / Michael Smith
Translation ANABEL TORRES In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007
Translation MICHAEL SMITH In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión Madrid: Edic

ALTO JORNAL

испанский | Claudio Rodríguez

Dichoso el que un buen día sale humilde
y se va por la calle, como tantos
días más de su vida, y no lo espera
y, de pronto, ¿qué es esto?, mira a lo alto
y ve, pone el oído al mundo y oye,
anda, y siente subirle entre los pasos
el amor de la tierra, y sigue, y abre
su taller verdadero, y en sus manos
brilla limpio su oficio, y nos lo entrega
de corazón porque ama, y va al trabajo
temblando como un niño que comulga
mas sin caber en el pellejo, y cuando
se ha dado cuenta al fin de lo sencillo
que ha sido todo, ya el jornal ganado,
vuelve a su casa alegre y siente que alguien
empuña su aldabón, y no es en vano.


                                  De Conjuros (1958)

© Clara Miranda
from: Claudio Rodríguez, Poesía Completa (1953-1991)
Barcelona: Tusquets Editores, 2001

HIGH WAGES

английский

Joyful is he who one good day leaves, humble,
and saunters through the streets, like on so many past days
of his life, expecting nothing
and suddenly —what’s this? — he looks up
and can see; puts his ear to the world and he can hear;
walks and feels, climbing among his steps,
earth’s love, and goes ahead and opens
his true workshop, and in his hands
his craft shines, clean, and he offers it to us,
gladly because he loves, and goes to work
trembling like a small boy taking communion
bursting out of his skin, and then
realizing how simple
it’s all been —his wages earned already—
he comes back home, elated, and feels that it is someone
who is grasping the door knob, and it’s not all in vain.


Translation: ANABEL TORRES
In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión
Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007


A HIGH WAGE

Happy the man who one fine day humbly goes out
and walks down the street, like so many
other days of his life, and he doesn’t expect it
and, suddenly, what is this?, looks up
and he sees, puts his ear to the world and hears,
walks, and feels rising between his steps
the love of the earth, and he goes on, and opens
his true workshop, and in his hands
his craft shines clean, and he passes it on to us
heartily because he loves, and he goes to work
trembling like a child taking communion
but really feeling satisfied, and when
he has finally realized how simple
it has all been, his daily wage now earned,
he returns home happy and he feels that someone
grasps his doorknocker, and it’s not in vain.


Translation: MICHAEL SMITH
In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión
Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007

Translations: Anabel Torres / Michael Smith
Translation ANABEL TORRES In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007
Translation MICHAEL SMITH In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión Madrid: Edic

LIBRO PRIMERO, I

испанский | Claudio Rodríguez

Siempre la claridad viene del cielo;
es un don: no se halla entre las cosas
sino muy por encima, y las ocupa
haciendo de ello vida y labor propias.
Así amanece el día; así la noche
cierra el gran aposento de sus sombras.
Y esto es un don. ¿Quién hace menos creados
cada vez a los seres? ¿Qué alta bóveda
los contiene en su amor? ¡Si ya nos llega
y es pronto aún, ya llega a la redonda
a la manera de los vuelos tuyos
y se cierne, y se aleja y, aún remota,
nada hay tan claro como sus impulsos!
Oh, claridad sedienta de una forma,
de una materia para deslumbrarla
quemándose a sí misma al cumplir su obra.
Como yo, como todo lo que espera.
Si tú la luz te la has llevado toda,
¿cómo voy a esperar nada del alba?
Y, sin embargo —esto es un don—, mi boca
espera, y mi alma espera, y tú me esperas,
ebria persecución, claridad sola
mortal como el abrazo de las hoces,
pero abrazo hasta el fin que nunca afloja.


                                  De Don de la ebriedad (1953)

© Clara Miranda
from: Claudio Rodríguez, Poesía Completa (1953-1991)
Barcelona: Tusquets Editores, 2001

FIRST BOOK, I

английский

Clarity always falling from the sky;
it is a gift: it is not found among things
but very high above them and it floods them,
making their lives and labour its vocation.
Thus does day break; thus night
shuts off the roomy chamber of its shadows.
And this is a gift. Who makes beings
less created every time? What lofty dome
contains them in its love? But if it’s here already,
though still early, homing in for the kill,
just as you come and go,
and it hovers, darts off and even from afar
nothing is clearer than its impulses!
Oh, that thirsty brightness of one form,
of one material to bedazzle her
self-consuming as it concludes its work.
Like me, like all that waits.
If you took all of light away with you
how am I to expect anything from the dawn?
And yet —this is a gift— my mouth waits
and my soul waits, and you are waiting for me,
inebriate persecution, simple clarity,
deadly like the embrace of sickles:
an embrace to the end that never slackens.


Translation: ANABEL TORRES
In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión
Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007

FIRST BOOK, I

Clarity always comes from the sky;
it is a gift: it is not found among things
but very high up, and it occupies them
making of it its own life and labours.
Thus day dawns; thus night
encloses the great dwelling of its shadows.
And this is a gift. Who creates less
its beings every time? What high vault
contains them in its love? It is already coming
and though still early, already it comes round
in the manner of your flights
and it hovers, and goes away and, still remote,
there is nothing so clear as its drives!
Oh, clarity thirsty for a form,
for a matter to dazzle it
burning itself on completing its work.
Like me, like everything that waits.
If you have taken all the light away
how am I to expect anything of the dawn?
And, yet, —this is a gift—, my mouth
waits, and my soul waits, and you wait for me,
inebriate pursuit, clarity alone
deadly like the embrace of sickles,
yet an embrace until the end that never slackens.


Translation: MICHAEL SMITH
In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión
Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007

Translations: Anabel Torres / Michael Smith
Translation ANABEL TORRES In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión Madrid: Ediciones Hiperión, 2007
Translation MICHAEL SMITH In: CLAUDIO RODRÍGUEZ, CINCO POEMAS. poesía Hiperión Madrid: Edic