Poemas de Navidad: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge y G. K. Chesterton
Posted: December 25, 2012 Filed under: English, G. K. Chesterton, Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, Spanish | Tags: Christmas poems, Poemas de Navidad Comments Off on Poemas de Navidad: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge y G. K. Chesterton
ZP_ᐅᓴᐘᐱᑯᐱᓀᓯ Norval Morrisseau_Virgin Mary with Christ Child and St. John the Baptist, 1973
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861-1907)
“Vi un establo”
.
Vi un estable, tan bajo, desnudo,
Con un niño diminuto al heno.
Le conocieron los bueyes y cuidaron de Él
– al hombre fue un desconocido.
La seguridad del mundo estaba tendido
Allá en el jacal
– el peligro del mundo, también.
. . .
“I saw a stable”
.
I saw a stable, low and very bare,
A little child in a manger.
The oxen knew Him, had Him in their care,
To men He was a stranger.
The safety of the world was lying there,
And the world’s danger.
. . .
G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
“The House of Christmas”
.
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise;
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the Yule tale was begun.
.
A child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
Bur our hearts we lost – how long ago! –
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.
.
This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome;
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
. . . . .
Zócalo Poets 