celebrating wine – neruda (to ajata), part i


“On our earth, before writing was invented, before the printing press was invented, poetry flourished.

That is why we know that poetry is like bread; it should be shared by all, by scholars and by peasants,

by all our vast, incredible, extraordinary family of humanity.”

-Pablo Neruda

 

ODA A VINO, Part I

(English Translation Below)

 

Vino color de dia,

Vino color de noche,

Cino con pies de púrpura

o sangre de topacio,

vino,

estrellado hijo

de la tierra,

vino, liso

como una espada de oro,

suave

como un desordenado teriopelo,

vino encaracolado

amoroso,

marino,

nunca has cabido en una copa,

en un canto, en un hombre,

coral, gregario eres,

y cuando menos, mutuo,

A veces

te nutres de recuerdos

mortals,

en tu ola

vamos de tumba en tumba,

picapedrero de sepulcro helado,

y lloramos

lágrimas transitorias,

pero

tu hermoso

traje de primavera

es diferente,

el corazón sube a las ramas,

el viento mueve el dia,

nada queda

dentro la tu alma inmóvil.

El vino

mueve la primavera

crece como una planta la alegria

caen muros,

penascos,

se cierran los abismos,

nacw el canto.

Oh tú, jarra de vino, en el desierto

Con la savrosa que amo,

Dijo el viejo poeta.

Que el cántaro de vino

Al beso del amor sume su beo.

-Pablo Neruda

dickenson2

ode to wine, part i

(to ajata)

wine color of day

wine color of night

wine with your feet of purple

or topaz blood

wine

starry child

of the earth

wine smooth

as a golden sword

soft

as ruffled velvet

wine spiraling shell

and suspending

loving

and marine

you have never been contained in one glass

in one song in one man

as choral so you are gregarious

and at least mutual

sometimes

you feed on mortal

memories

on your wave

we go from tomb to tomb

stonecutter of icy graves

and we weep

transitory tears but

your beautiful

spring suit

is different

the hart climbing in your branches

your wind moves the day

nothing remains

in your motionless soul

wine

stirs the spring

joy growing like a plant

walls boulders

falling

abysses closing up

song is born

oh thou jug of wine in the desert

with the delightful woman i love

said the old poet

let the pitcher of wine

add its kiss to the kiss of love

rodinkissing

(translated by chétien marc valentin)

(part ii follows tomorrow)

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s