Álvaro Cunqueiro / William Blake

 

Deiteime na herba da ribeira

Deiteime na herba da ribeira,
a carón do amor adormecido:
de entre as roseiras chegábanme
saloucos e saloucos.

E funme pola terra non labrada,
en precura das ortigas e das silveiras,
que me dixeron como as castigaron
e as botaron ó lonxe, forzándoas a ser castas.

Non son máis doces as ledicias da mañán

Non son máis doces as ledicias da mañán
que as da noite?
Poderán ter as ledicias da mocidade
vergoña da luz?

Que a vellice enferma vaia ás viñas
vendimiar en silencio, na noite,
pro que a vigorosa, a ardente mocidade
vendimie na luz!

Bulrádevos

Bulrádevos, bulrade, Voltaire, Rousseau,
perdéde-lo tempo
tirando area ao vento,
que a volve ao voso rostro.

Cada gran faise unha xema
que reflexa os divinos raios:
eles cegan os ollos do bulrador,
pro brillan nos camiños de Israel.

Os átomos de Demócrito,
as partículas de Newton,
con areas do Mar Roxo
no que brillan deica cegarnos as tendas de Israel.

Traduccións de Álvaro Cunqueiro publicadas orixinalmente no Faro de Vigo e despois no libro Flor de diversos, editado por Galaxia en 1991.
[I laid me down upon a bank // I laid me down upon a bank/ Where love lay sleeping./ I heard among the rushes dank/ Weeping, weeping.// Then I went to the heath and the wild,/ To the thistles and thorns of the waste,/ And they told me how they were beguiled,/ Driven out, and compelled to be chaste.
Are not the joys of morning sweeter // Are not the joys of morning sweeter/ than the joys of night,/ and are the vig'rous joys of youth/ ashamed of the light?/ Let age and sickness silent rob/ the vineyards in the night,/ but those who burn with vig'rous youth/ pluck fruits before the light.
Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau // Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;/ Mock on, Mock on, 'tis all in vain./ You throw the sand against the wind,/ And the wind blows it back again.// And every sand becomes a Gem/ Reflected in the beams divine;/ Blown back, they blind the mocking Eye,/ But still in Israel's paths they shine.// The Atoms of Democritus/ And Newton's Particles of light/ Are sands upon the Red sea shore/ Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.]

  Centenario Cunqueiro 1911·2011