Langston Hughes as Translator: Lorca’s “Gypsy Ballads”
Posted: February 1, 2012 Filed under: English, Federico García Lorca, Langston Hughes, Spanish | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Langston Hughes as Translator: Lorca’s “Gypsy Ballads”_____
Brawl
Half way down the ravine,
Gay with rival blood
The knives of Albacete
Shine like fishes.
*
A light hard as playing cards
In the acid greenness
Silhouettes furious horses
And the profiles of riders.
*
On the crest of an olive tree
Two old women cry.
The bull of the dispute
Charges up the walls.
Black angels bring
Handkerchiefs and snow-water,
Angels with big wings
Made of knives from Albacete.
*
Juan Antonio of Montilla
Rolls dead down the hill,
His body full of lilies
And a pomegranate at his temples.
Now he rides a cross of fire
On the road to death.
*
The judge, with the Civil Guards,
Comes through the olive groves.
Slippery blood sings
A silent song of serpents.
Honourable Civil Guards:
The same as usual –
Four Romans dead
And five Carthaginians.
*
Crazed with hot rumours and fig trees,
The afternoon falls fainting
On the wounded limbs of the riders.
Black angels fly
Through the western air,
Angels with long braids
And hearts of oil.
_____
“Reyerta”
En la mitad del barranco
las navajas de Albacete,
bellas de sangre contraria,
relucen como los peces.
*
Una dura luz de naipe
recorta en el agrio verde
caballos enfurecidos
y perfiles de jinetes.
*
En la copa de un olivo
lloran dos viejas mujeres.
El toro de la reyerta
su sube por la paredes.
Angeles negros traían
pañuelos y agua de nieve.
Angeles con grandes alas
de navajas de Albacete.
*
Juan Antonio el de Montilla
rueda muerto la pendiente
su cuerpo lleno de lirios
y una granada en las sienes.
Ahora monta cruz de fuego,
carretera de la muerte.
*
El juez con guardia civil,
por los olivares viene.
Sangre resbalada gime
muda canción de serpiente.
Señores guardias civiles:
aquí pasó lo de siempre.
Han muerto cuatro romanos
y cinco cartagineses
*
La tarde loca de higueras
y de rumores calientes
cae desmayada en los muslos
heridos de los jinetes.
Y ángeles negros volaban
por el aire del poniente.
Angeles de largas trenzas
y corazones de aceite.
_____
The Faithless Wife
I took her to the river
Thinking she was single,
But she had a husband.
It was Saint James’ Eve,
And almost because I had to.
The street lights went out
And the crickets lit up.
At the farthest corners
I touched her sleeping breasts
And they opened for me quickly
Like bouquets of hyacinths.
The starch of her underskirts
Rustled in my ears
Like a piece of silk
Slit by ten knives.
With no silver light to crown them
The trees grew bigger,
While a horizon of dogs barked
Afar from the river.
*
Beyond the brambles,
The bulrushes, and the hawthorns,
I made her mat of hair
Hollow the muddy bank.
I took off my tie,
She took off her dress,
Me, my belt with the pistol,
She, the four parts of her bodice.
Neither lilies nor snail shells
Have such a lovely skin,
Nor do the crystals of the moon
Shine with such a light.
Half bathed in fire
And half bathed in ice,
Her thighs slipped from me
Like frightened fish.
That night I rode
Down the best of roads
On a mother-of-pearl filly
With no bridle and no stirrups.
Being a man, I can’t tell you
The things that she told me.
The light of understanding
Makes me very careful.
Soiled with kisses and sand
I led her away from the river
While the swords of the lilies
Battled with the breeze.
I acted like the thoroughbred
Gypsy that I am,
And gave her a present,
A big sewing box
Of straw-coloured satin.
But I didn’t want
To fall in love with her
For, having a husband,
She told me she was single
When I took her to the river.
_____
“La Casada Infiel”
Y que yo me la llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
y casi por compromiso.
Se apagaron los faroles
y se encendieron los grillos.
En las últimas esquinas
toqué sus pechos dormidos,
y se me abrieron de pronto
como ramos de jacintos.
El almidón de su enagua
me sonaba en el oído,
como una pieza de seda
rasgada por diez cuchillos.
Sin luz de plata en sus copas
los árboles han crecido
y un horizonte de perros
ladra muy lejos del río.
*
Pasadas las zarzamoras,
los juncos y los espinos,
bajo su mata de pelo
hice un hoyo sobre el limo.
Yo me quité la corbata.
Ella se quitó el vestido.
Yo el cinturón con revólver.
Ella sus cuatro corpiños.
Ni nardos ni caracolas
tienen el cutis tan fino,
ni los cristales con luna
relumbran con ese brillo.
Sus muslos se me escapaban
como peces sorprendidos,
la mitad llenos de lumbre,
la mitad llenos de frío.
Aquella noche corrí
el mejor de los caminos,
montado en potra de nácar
sin bridas y sin estribos.
No quiero decir, por hombre,
las cosas que ella me dijo.
La luz del entendimiento
me hace ser muy comedido.
Sucia de besos y arena
yo me la llevé del río.
Con el aire se batían
las espadas de los lirios.
*
Me porté como quién soy.
Como un gitano legítimo.
La regalé un costurero
grande, de raso pajizo,
y no quise enamorarme
porque teniendo marido
me dijo que era mozuela
cuando la llevaba al río.
_____
Langston Hughes ( February 1st 1902 – 1967)
lived in México for part of his boyhood, and,
two decades later, travelled to
Spain when he became interested in Communism.
Though he was familiar with the Spanish poetry of
Federico García Lorca (1898-1936),
the poet had already been killed by the time
Hughes got to Spain (toward the end of
The Spanish Civil War) in 1938.
*
Inspired by the Fiesta de Cante Jondo (Festival of
Deep Song) in 1922, Lorca had immersed himself
in the gypsy subculture of Andalucía, Spain. The
result was his 1928 collection of poems,
“Primer romancero gitano”. In 1951, Langston
Hughes published his translations into English
of a dozen or so of these “Gypsy Ballads”,
two of which we feature here.
_____
Federico García Lorca: Ghazal of the Terrible Presence
Posted: August 27, 2011 Filed under: English, Federico García Lorca, Spanish Comments Off on Federico García Lorca: Ghazal of the Terrible Presence
Federico García Lorca (1898-1936)
Translation by A.Z. Foreman
.
I would have the water reft from its bed,
I would have the wind bereft of its dell,
The eyes of the night cleft down from its brow
And my heart bereft of the golden flower;
The huge leaves hear what the oxen say
And the earthworm dies of overshade ;
The teeth that hang in the skullmouth glint
And a gush of yellow flood out the silk.
I can see the wounded night in its duel
Writhing against the impending noon.
I resist a green sunset of venomed skies
And the ruined arch of suffering time.
But don’t shine your immaculate nude at me
Like a black cactus opening out in the reeds.
Leave me with my dark planets, let me ache
But don’t you dare teach me the cool of your waist!
*
El poema original en español:
“Gacela de la Terrible Presencia”
.
Yo quiero que el agua se quede sin cauce,
yo quiero que el viento se quede sin valles.
quiero que la noche se quede sin ojos
y mi corazón sin flor del oro;
que los bueyes hablen con las grandes hojas
y que la lombriz se muera de sombra;
que brillen los dientes de la calavera
y los amarillos inunden la seda.
puedo ver el duelo de la noche herida
luchando enroscada con el mediodía.
resiste un ocaso de verde veneno
y el arco roto donde sufre el tiempo.
pero no ilumines tu limpio desnudo
como un negro cactus abierto en los juncos.
déjame en un ansia de oscuros planetas,
¡ pero no me enseñes tu cintura fresca !
*
We are grateful to A.Z. Foreman for his translation.
Visit his site: poemsintranslation.blogspot.com