A keresés eredménye

Intertwined

Versions: #1
We go•intertwined the two,1
of laces and•smooth velour.2
Me, with a recruit•of arrowroot ...3
and You, haughty and so serious ...
 
The people are watching
with envy•around the alley ...4
Murmur the neighbourhood,
our friends, ... the Burgomaster !
 
Say that•'it's not styled just now'
my fancy-comb or your tiepin brooch ...5
Say that•'it's not styled, no, no',
my medallion or your cingulum ...
 
I know that•are styled
your great eyes•and my pride ! ...6
... when I am on your arm,
at the Sun•and without hurry ...
 
To us•expect
our coachman•in front
of the•Sanctuary Major,
and with jog-trotty7•walk along by the Paseo ...
 
You•salute
touching•the wing
of your Stetson -the best-8
and I wave gracefully•my kerchief ...
 
'Not styled'.
I know that•it's not styled ...
... but, if you wear to the banquet
jessamines in the eyelet ...❤
 
Certainly, it seems•a game,
but there's•nothing better
that to be•a Lord, of those ...
... who watched•my ancestors !9
 

• 1. Amarraditos = entrelazados = intertwined
• 2. Espumas = encajes = laces
• 3. Almidón = arrowroot
• 4. Calle = alley. Diccionario Cuyás 1979, página 24
• 5. Peinetón = fancy-comb
  Pasador = tiepin brooch
• 6. Ojazos = great eyes
• 7. Jog-trotty = trotecito lento
• 8. Stetson = una muy famosa marca de sombreros
• 9. Abuelos = ancestros, en sentido figurado.
  Ver comentarios

Bridge of the sighs

Little bridge hidden
Among folliages and longings
Little bridge laid
Over the wound
Of a ravine
Thoughts sprout again
Your woods
Hold to the heart
To your banisters
 
Little bridge asleep
And among babblings
Of love
Embraced to memory
Cliffs and stairways
Bridge of the sighs
I want you to keep
In your pleasent silence
My secret
 
My bridge is a poet
Who waits for me
With its steady wood
Every afternoon
And he sighs and I sigh
He receives me and I leave him
Alone over his wound
His ravine
 
And the old wives
Are telling
About the unfair distance
Of the lover
His defeated courage
Defeated by the ficus
Of buried roots
In his loved one
 
~
 
My bridge is a poet
Who waits for me
With its steady wood
Every afternoon
And he sighs and I sigh
He receives me and I leave him
Alone over his wound
His ravine
 
And the old wives
Are telling
About the unfair distance
Of the lover
His defeated courage
Defeated by the ficus
Of buried roots
In his loved one
 
Little bridge asleep
And among babblings
Of love
Embraced to memory
Cliffs and stairways
Bridge of the sighs
I want you to keep
In your pleasent silence
My secret
 

This translation by Diazepan Medina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

Fine appearance

A little lively sidewalk
With light of moon or sun
Lying like a ribbon
With its ties of glow
 
Glow of the geraniums
And smiles with blush
Glow of the carnations
And the cheeks in bloom
 
Perfumed of magnolia,
Sprinkled with morning dew
the little sidewalk smiles
When your foot caress her
 
And the Cuculi1 laughs
and the window starts shaking
When for that sidewalk
Your fine appearance walks
 
Fine appearance, gentleman
Gentleman of fine appearance
A bright star
That would smile under a hat
Wouldn't smile
more gorgeous nor more would shine,
gentleman
And in your walk, walk
shines the sidewalk
when you walking
 
It takes you to the vestibules
and the enchanted courtyards
It takes you to the small squares
snd the dreamed love
 
Sidewalk that coos coos
With embroidered taffeta
chapin's2 heel of silk
And starched jerkins
 
It's a lively little pathway
With light of moon or sun
That I'll Be walking on it singing
to see if I can reach you
 
Fine appearance, gentleman
Who could preserve you
Fine appearance, gentleman
Gentleman of fine appearance
A bright star
That would smile under a hat
Wouldn't smile
more gorgeous nor more would shine,
gentleman
And in your walk, walk
shines the sidewalk
when you walking
 

• 1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_Peruvian_dove
• 2. a type of shoe made of fabric

This translation by Diazepan Medina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

Hand in glove

We go hand in glove
foam and velvet,
me with a creak of starch
and you serious and haughty
 
People stare at us
with envy by the street,
the neighbours mumur
like the friends and the mayor.
 
They say is no more in style
neither my comb nor your hairclip,
they say is no more in style
neither my locket nor your belt
 
I know that are in style
your big eyes and my pride,
when you go taking my arm
on daylight and without hurry.
 
Our cart driver waits for us
in front of the main church,
and slowly we go over the track,
you salute touching the brim
of your best hat,
and I shake my kerchief with grace.
 
I know is no more in style
that I put in the dinner
jazmins on the buttonhole
 
Of course is looks like a game
but there's nothing better
than being a sir of those
that my grandparents saw.
 

This translation by Diazepan Medina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.