12 Şubat 2015 Perşembe

Pablo Neruda - (No Hay Olvido)

NO HAY OLVIDO (SONATA)

Si me preguntáis en dónde he estado
debo decir "Sucede".
Debo de hablar del suelo que oscurecen las piedras,
del río que durando se destruye:
no sé sino las cosas que los pájaros pierden,
el mar dejado atrás, o mi hermana llorando.
Por qué tantas regiones, por qué un día
se junta con un día? Por qué una negra noche
se acumula en la boca? Por qué muertos?

Sí me preguntáis de dónde vengo, tengo que conversar con cosas rotas,
con utensilios demasiado amargos,
con grandes bestias a menudo podridas
y con mi acongojado corazón.

No son recuerdos los que se han cruzado
ni es la paloma amarillenta que duerme en el olvido,
sino caras con lágrimas,
dedos en la garganta,
y lo que se desploma de las hojas:
la oscuridad de un día transcurrido,
de un día alimentado con nuestra triste sangre.

He aquí violetas, golondrinas,
todo cuanto nos gusta y aparece
en las dulces tarjetas de larga cola
por donde se pasean el tiempo y la dulzura.

Pero no penetremos más allá de esos dientes,
no mordamos las cáscaras que el silencio acumula,
porque no sé qué contestar:
hay tantos muertos,
y tantos malecones que el sol rojo partía
y tantas cabezas que golpean los buques,
y tantas manos que han encerrado besos,
y tantas cosas que quiero olvidar.

Pablo Neruda - (Residencia en la tierra)





THERE'S NO FORGETTING (SONATA)

Ask me where I have been
and I'll tell you: "Things keep on happening."
I must talk of the rubble that darkens the stones;
of the river’s duration, destroying itself;
I know only the things that the birds have abandoned,
or the ocean behind me, or my sorrowing sister.
Why the distinctions of place? Why should day
follow day? Why must the blackness
collect in our mouths? Why the dead?

If you question me: where have you come from, I must talk with things falling away,
artifacts tart to the taste,
great, cankering beasts, as often as not,
and my own inconsolable heart.

Those who cross over with us are no keepsakes,
nor the yellowing pigeon who sleeps in forgetfulness:
only the face with its tears,
the hands at our throats,
whatever the leafage dissevers:
the dark of an obsolete day,
a day that has tasted the grief in our blood.

Here are violets, swallows —
all things that delight us, the delicate tallies
that show in the lengthening train
through which pleasure and transciency pass.

Here let us halt, in the teeth of a barrier:
useless to gnaw on the husks that the silence assembles.
For I come without answers:
see: the dying are legion,
legion, the breakwaters breached by the red of the sun,
the headpieces knocking the ship’s side,
the hands closing over their kisses,
and legion the things I would give to oblivion.

Pablo Neruda - (Residence On Earth)

© Translation: 1974, by Ben Belitt

From: Pablo Neruda, Five Decades: Poems 1925-1970

Publisher: Grove Press, New York, 1974





THERE'S NO FORGETTING (SONATA)

If you should ask me where I've been all this time
I have to say 'Things happen."
I have to dwell on stones darkening the earth,
on the river ruined in its own duration:
I know nothing save things the birds have lost,
the sea I left behind, or my sister crying.
Why this abundance of places? Why does day lock
with day? Why the dark night swilling round
in our mouths? And why the dead?

Should you ask me where I come from, I must talk, with broken things,
with fairly painful utensils,
with great beasts turned to dust as often as not
and my afflicted heart.

These are not memories that have passed each other
nor the yellowing pigeon asleep in our forgetting;
these are tearful faces
and fingers down our throats
and whatever among leaves falls to the ground:
the dark of a day gone by
grown fat on our grieving blood.

Here are violets, and here swallows,
all things we love and which inform
sweet messages seriatim
through which time passes and sweetness passes.

We don't get far, though, beyond these teeth:
Why waste time gnawing the husk of silence?
I know not what to answer:
there are so many dead,
and so many dikes the red sun breached,
and so many heads battering hulls
and so many hands that have closed over kisses
and so many things that I want to forget.

Pablo Neruda - (Residence On Earth)

Translated by Nathaniel Tarn

From: Pablo Neruda; Selected Poems. A bilingual edition, edited by Nathaniel Tarn (reprint 1982).






UNUTMAK YOK

Bunca zamandır nerede olduğumu soracak olursan
"Oldu bir şeyler" demeliyim
oturmalıyım bir taşa
kararan dünyada,
kendini yemiş bitirmiş bir nehirde.
Korumasını bilmiyorum yitirdiklerini kuşların
Geride bıraktığım denizi
ya da çığlığını kızkardeşimin.
Nedir bu toprağın zenginliği?
Gün neden günle kapanıyor?
Neden karanlık gece çalkalanıyor ağzımda?
Ve ölüm neden?

Nereden geldiğimi sormayacak mısın?
Anlatayım sana;
Kırık şeyleri
Acılı kapları
Sık sık tozlanan koca sığırları
ve tutulu kalbimi.

Bunlar ne belleğimizde uyanan sarı güvercinler,
ne de anılardır kuşaktan kuşağa akan.
Ağlayan yüzlerdir bunlar,
Parmaklardır gırtlağımızdaki,
ve toprağa düşen yapraklardır.
Yiten günün karanlığıdır.
Yeşertir kaleleri hüzünlü kanımızdaki.

İşte menekşeler ve işte kırlangıçlar,
Sevdiğim her şey
Tatlı mesajlar veren günbegün
aktıkça zaman
tatlılığı artan.
Kaçamayız biz; dişlerimizin arasından:
Neden kemiriyor boşa giden zaman
sessizlik kabuğunu?
Ne yanıt vereceğimi bilmiyorum.

O kadar çok ki ölümüz
Ve o kadar çok ki kızıl güneş önünde setler
Ve o kadar çok ki çarpık kabuklu başlar
Ve o kadar çok ki öpücüklerimizi engelleyenler
Ve o kadar çok ki unutmak istediklerim.

Pablo Neruda - (Yeryüzünde Konaklama)

Çeviren: Kenan Gülbağ


Chile. The "Isla Negra" house. 1957.
Photographs taken in the Valparaíso Region,
on the Pacific Coast, inside and around the house
 of the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda.
Photo by Sergio Larrain

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