![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormFirst, pure sex (okay for work, I mean it metaphorically).
Second, two Neruda translations.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
And the second:
I could write the very saddest verses tonight
Writing, for example "The night is sprinkled
With stars sparkling blue, far away."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I could write the very saddest verses tonight
I loved her and at times she also loved me.
On nights like this I had her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, at times I also loved her.
How could I not love her big staring eyes?
I could write the very saddest verses tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, even more immense without her.
And the verses fall on the soul like dew on the pasture.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her?
The night is full of stars and she's not with me.
That's all. Far off someone is singing. Far off
My love is not used to having lost her.
How my glance looks for her to get close to her.
My heart looks for her and she's not with me.
The same night that turns the same trees white.
We aren't now the same way we were then.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched on the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's, she's someone else's. Like before I kissed her.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love lasts so short and forgetting takes so long.
But on nights like this I had her in my arms.
My heart is not used to having lost her.
Although this may be the last pain that she causes me
And these may be the last verses that I write her.
Isn't that amazing? That one line, Love lasts so short and forgetting takes so long, completely reverses meaning as Love is so short, forgetting is so long. The first of the two is, I think, by Merwin, and it's my favourite and comfortably familiar version. It flows well, and the language is so evocative. It's also interesting to see which lines come through more-or-less unchanged, for instance the one right before: I no longer love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her. It makes me wonder about the translator's experiences, and remember just how personal reading something like this is.
Second, two Neruda translations.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
And the second:
I could write the very saddest verses tonight
Writing, for example "The night is sprinkled
With stars sparkling blue, far away."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I could write the very saddest verses tonight
I loved her and at times she also loved me.
On nights like this I had her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, at times I also loved her.
How could I not love her big staring eyes?
I could write the very saddest verses tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, even more immense without her.
And the verses fall on the soul like dew on the pasture.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her?
The night is full of stars and she's not with me.
That's all. Far off someone is singing. Far off
My love is not used to having lost her.
How my glance looks for her to get close to her.
My heart looks for her and she's not with me.
The same night that turns the same trees white.
We aren't now the same way we were then.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched on the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's, she's someone else's. Like before I kissed her.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love lasts so short and forgetting takes so long.
But on nights like this I had her in my arms.
My heart is not used to having lost her.
Although this may be the last pain that she causes me
And these may be the last verses that I write her.
Isn't that amazing? That one line, Love lasts so short and forgetting takes so long, completely reverses meaning as Love is so short, forgetting is so long. The first of the two is, I think, by Merwin, and it's my favourite and comfortably familiar version. It flows well, and the language is so evocative. It's also interesting to see which lines come through more-or-less unchanged, for instance the one right before: I no longer love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her. It makes me wonder about the translator's experiences, and remember just how personal reading something like this is.
