Romance Sonámbulo
The Poetry of Federico García Lorca 作者：加西亚·洛尔迦 投票推荐 加入书签 留言反馈
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<strong>Romanp;aacute;mbulo</strong>English Translation
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her baly,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Uhe gypsy moon,
all things are watg her
and she ot see them.
Green, how I want you green.
Big hoar?9９ｌｉｂ?frost stars
e with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, ing cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will e? And from where?
She is still on her baly
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming iter sea.
--My friend, I want to trade
my horse for her house,
my saddle for her mirror,
my knife for her bla.
My friend, I e bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
--If it were possible, my boy,
Id help you fix that trade.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--My friend, I want to die
detly in my bed.
Of iron, if thats possible,
with blas of fine chambray.
Dont you see the wound I have
from my chest u<var>?99lｉｂ?</var>p to my throat?
--Your white shirt has grown
thirsy dark brown roses.
Your blood oozes and flees a
round the ers of your sash.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--Let me climb up, at least,
up to the high balies;
Let me climb up! Let me,
up to the green balies.
Railings of the moon
through which the water rumbles.
Now the two friends climb up,
up to the high balies.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of teardrops.
Tin bell vines
were trembling on the roofs.
A thousand crystal tambourines
<bdi></bdi>struck at the dawn light.
Green, how I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed up.
The stiff wi
in their mouths, a straaste
of bile, of mint, and of basil
My friend, where is she--tell me--
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green baly!
Over the mouth of the cistern
the gypsy girl was swinging,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
An icioon
holds her up above the water.
The night became intimate
like a little plaza.
Drunken "Guardias Civiles"
were pounding on the door.
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.
<strong>Translated by William Logan</strong>
<strong>inal Spanish</strong>
<strong> la sombra en la tura</strong>
ella sue&ntilde;a en sus baranda,
verde e, pelo verde,
ojos de fr&iacute;a plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la est&aacute;n mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha,
vienen el pez de sombra
que abre el o del alba.
La higuera <s>??</s>frota su viento
la lija de sus ramas,
y el monte, gato gardu&ntilde;o,
eriza sus pitas agrias.
?Pero qui&eacute;n vendr&aacute;? ?Y por d&oacute;nde...?
Ella sigue en su baranda,
verde e, pelo verde,
so&ntilde;ando en la mar amarga.
padre, quiero cambiar
mi caballo por su casa,
mi montura por su espejo,
mi cuchillo por su manta.
padre, vengo sangrando,
desde los puertos de Cabra.
Si yo pudiera, mocito,
este trato se cerraba.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
Ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
padre, quiero morir
detemente en mi cama.
De acero, si puede ser,
las s&aacute;banas de holanda.
?No ves la herida que tengo
desde el pecho a la garganta?
Trestas rosas morenas
lleva tu pechera blanca.
Tu sangre rezuma y huele
alrededor de tu faja.
Pero yo ya no soy yo.
Ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Dejadme subir al menos
hasta las altas barandas,
?dejadme subir!, dejadme
hasta las verdes barandas.
Barandales de la luna
por doumba el agua.
Ya suben los dos padres
hacia las altas barandas.
Dejando un rastro de sangre.
Dejando un rastro de l&aacute;grimas.
Temblaban en los tejados
farolillos de hojalata.
Mil panderos de cristal,
her&iacute;an la madrugada.
Verde que te quiero verde,
verde viento, verdes ramas.
Los dos padres subieron.
El largo viento, dejaba
en la bo raro gusto
de hiel, de menta y de albahaca.
?padre! ?D&oacute;&aacute;, dime?
?D&oacute;&aacute; tu ni&ntilde;a amarga?
?Cu&aacute;ntas veces te esper&oacute;!
?Cu&aacute;ntas veces te esperara,
cara fresegro pelo,
ea verde baranda!
Sobre el rostro del aljibe
se mec&iacute;a la gitana.
Verde e, pelo verde,
ojos de fr&iacute;a plata.
Un car&aacute;bano de luna
la sostiene sobre el agua.
La noche se puso &iacute;ntima
o una peque&ntilde;a plaza.
Guardias civiles borrachos
en la puerta golpeaban.
<strong>Federico García Lorca</strong>?
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