Lovely one,
just as on the cool stone
of the spring, the water
opens a wide flash of foam,
so is the smile of your face,
lovely one.Lovely one,
with delicate hands and slender feet
like a silver pony,
walking, flower of the world,
thus I see you,
lovely one.Lovely one,
with a nest of copper entangled
on your head, a nest
the color of dark honey
where my heart burns and rests,
lovely one.Lovely one,
your eyes are too big for your face,
your eyes are too big for the earth.There are countries, there are rivers,
in your eyes,
my country is your eyes,
I walk through them,
they light the world
through which I walk,
lovely one.Lovely one,
your breasts are like two loaves made
of grainy earth and golden moon,
lovely one.Lovely one,
your waist,
my arm shaped it like a river when
it flowed a thousand years through your sweet body,
lovely one.Lovely one,
there is nothing like your hips,
perhaps earth has
in some hidden place
the curve and the fragrance of your body,
perhaps in some place,
lovely one.Lovely one, my lovely one,
your voice, your skin, your nails,
lovely one, my lovely one,
your being, your light, your shadow,
lovely one,
all that is mine, lovely one,
all that is mine, my dear,
when you walk or rest,
when you sing or sleep,
when you suffer or dream,
always,
when you are near or far,
always,
you are mine, my lovely one,
always.
-Neruda
Language is such a fascinating thing. Even in the same language, there can be such great variations in the meaning of a word. I watch quite a few BBC programs, because most American TV is mindless drivel. My latest find is Last Tango in Halifax. Whenever I watch a show from the UK I have to turn on the closed captioning so I can understand what is bring said. The English have an accent that I just can’t understand. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m frequently pausing the program so I can look up the British meaning of an English word. For example, pissed in Britain means drunk, not mad. And I hope that no one ever calls me a slapper, because it means something totally different there.
“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
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