في الليلة نفسها التي تبيَضُّ فيها الأشجار نفسها،
نحن، اللذَيْن كنّا آنذاك، لم نعد كما كُنّا.
لم أعُدْ أُحبها، صحيحٌ، لكنْ كمْ أحببتها.
كان صوتي يبحث عن الريح كي يلامس سمعَها.
ستكون لآخَر. لآخَر. مثلما كانت من قبْل لقبلاتي.
صوتها، جسدها المضيء. عيناها اللا نهائيتان.
لم أعُد أُحبها، صحيح، لكنْ ربّما أحبها.
كم هو قصيرٌ الحب، وكم هو طويلٌ النسيان.
لأنّي في ليالٍ مثل هذه أخذتها بين ذراعيّ،
روحي ليست راضيةً بأنّي أضعتُها.
ولو أن هذا هو الألم الأخير الذي تُلحقه بي،
وهذه هي آخر الأشعار التي أكتبها لها.
Mostra la citazione in tedesco
Mostra la citazione in francese
Mostra la citazione in italiano
لماذا لا يدربون المروحيات على جني العسل من الشمس ؟
Pablo NerudaMostra la citazione in tedesco
Mostra la citazione in francese
Mostra la citazione in italiano
Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.
De pronto no puedo decirte
lo que yo te debo decir,
hombre,perdóname; sabrás
que aunque no escuches mis palabras
no me eché a llorar ni a dormir
y que contigo estoy sin verte
desde hace tiempo y hasta el fin.
I can't just suddenly tell you
what I should be telling you,
friend, forgive me; you know
that although you don't hear my words,
I wasn't asleep or in tears,
that I am with you without seeing you
for a good long time and until the end.
Tag: poetry
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation's
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
من أجل قلبي . .
من أجل قلبي يكفي صدرُكِ،
من أجل حريتِكِ تكفي أجنحتي.
من فمي سيصل حتى السماء
ما كان غافياً فوق روحِك.
فيكِ أملُ كلِّ يوم.
تأتين مثل الندى فوق تويجاتِ الزهر.
تُغرِقين الأفق عند غيابِك.
هاربةً دَوْماً كالموجة.
كنتِ تُغنّين في الرياح
مثل شجر الصنوبر
ومثل السواري.
مثلها أنت ساميةٌ وصامتة.
وفجأةً توقِعين الحزن،
مثل السفر.
مضيافةٌ مثل درب قديم.
تملؤكِ أصواتُ حنينٍ وأصداؤه.
وعصافيرُ كانت تنامُ في روحِك
أيقظتُها، وكم فرّتْ وهاجرتْ.
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 voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite 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 sould 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.
with your name on my mouth
and a kiss that never
broke away from yours.
Tag: letter-on-the-road
It is not so much light that falls
over the world
extended by your body
its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were
burning inside.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.
I was lone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and nigh swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.
But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the pubis! Oh your voice, slow and sad!
Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.
« prima precedente
Pagina 23 di 42.
prossimo ultimo »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.