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пятница, ноября 02, 2007

Oda a Los Calcetines
(1954 - 1959, english translation below)
Pablo Neruda

Me trajo Mara Mori
un par de calcetines,
que tejió con sus manos de pastora,
dos calcetines suaves como liebres.
En ellos metí los pies
como en dos estuches
tejidos con hebras del
crepúsculo y pellejos de ovejas.

Violentos calcetines,
mis pies fueron dos pescados de lana,
dos largos tiburones
de azul ultramarino
atravesados por una trenza de oro,
dos gigantescos mirlos,
dos cañones;
mis pies fueron honrados de este modo
por estos celestiales calcetines.

Eran tan hermosos que por primera vez
mis pies me parecieron inaceptables,
como dos decrépitos bomberos,
bomberos indignos de aquel fuego bordado,
de aquellos luminosos calcetines.

Sin embargo, resistí la tentación
aguda de guardarlos como los colegiales
preservan las luciénagas,
como los eruditos coleccionan
documentos sagrados,
resistí el impulso furioso de ponerlas
en una jaula de oro y darles cada
día alpiste y pulpa de melón rosado.

Como descubridores que en la selva
entregan el rarísimo venado verde
al asador y se lo comen con remordimiento,
estiré los pies y me enfundé
los bellos calcetines, y luego los zapatos.
Y es esta la moral de mi Oda:
Dos veces es belleza la belleza,
y lo que es bueno es doblemente bueno,
cuando se trata de dos calcetines
de lana en el invierno.

==================================
Ode To My Socks
Pablo Neruda

Maru Mori brought me a
pair of socks that she knit
with her shepherd's hands.
Two socks as soft as rabbit fur.
I thrust my feet inside them
as if they were two little boxes
knit from threads of sunset and sheepskin.

My feet were two woollen fish
in those outrageous socks,
two gangly, navy-blue sharks
impaled on a golden thread,
two giant blackbirds, two cannons:
thus were my feet honored
by those heavenly socks.

They were so beautiful,
I found my feet unacceptable
for the very first time,
like two crusty old firemen,
firemen unworthy of
that embroidered fire,
those incandescent socks.

Nevertheless I fought
the sharp temptation to put them away
the way schoolboys put
fireflies in a bottle,
the way scholars hoard holy writ.

I fought the mad urge
to lock them in a golden cage
and feed them birdseed
and morsels of pink melon every day.

Like jungle explorers who deliver
a young deer of the rarest species
to the roasting spit
then wolf it down in shame,
I stretched my feet forward
and pulled on those gorgeous socks,
and over them my shoes.

So this is the moral of my ode:
beauty is beauty twice over
and good things are doubly good
when you're talking about
a pair of wool socks
in the dead of winter.
Posted by: JM / 8:16 PM

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