𓂃 my attempt at translating again, or a rework of /Lorca.

An archive for (mostly) modern and classical Spanish poetry, translated over to English by hand! By the creator of /Lorca. I reached the character limit on there a while ago, but haven't stopped translating since, and I figured archiving what I've been doing would be nice. I am not a professional translator, this is merely for fun and due to my interest in Literature and Linguistics.

If you feel as if though a poem hasn't been appropriately translated or find any flaw within the archive, please contact me. If you have any suggestions or comments (or just simply wish to talk to me about Literature, Linguistics or related fields) feel free to contact me as well, either through my Atabook or my Discord. Or if you prefer e-mail, I can be found here.

In the interest of accesibility, this site is viewable on all devices and viewable in either dark or light mode. :) Please let me know if there is anything I can improve.

This website is a WIP! Thank you for visiting, and please be patient. Things to work on currently: • Finalising archiving past translations

Original archive/Sister website | Letter archive

General warning I translate a lot of more Surrealist poets, which is particularly hard and also oftentimes requires the reader to actually know previous context. I cannot physically provide you with a list of metaphors, style characteristics and meanings for every author's repertoir, but you can message me about it. I may not know everything about a particular poem/author, but I most likely have more professional sources than someone inexperienced. :)

Translations to English will be found beneath the original poem in Spanish. Anything I consider worth clarifying will be marked with a footnote in any given verse¹ and noted at the end of the translation. ¹ Like this!
Poem count: 6 Frequently Asked Questions

Federico García Lorca 1910 (Intermedio) | Canción tonta Miguel Hernández Llamo al toro de España | Para la libertad Mario Benedetti Conjugaciones: 1 — Álbum | Conjugaciones: 2 — Claves

1910 (Intermedio)

Federico García Lorca.

Aquellos ojos míos de mil novecientos diez
no vieron enterrar a los muertos,
ni la feria de ceniza del que llora por la madrugada,
ni el corazón que tiembla arrinconado como un caballito de mar.

Aquellos ojos míos de mil novecientos diez
vieron la blanca pared donde orinaban las niñas,
el hocico del toro, la seta venenosa
y una luna incomprensible que iluminaba por los rincones
los pedazos de limón seco bajo el negro duro de las botellas.

Aquellos ojos míos en el cuello de la jaca,
en el seno traspasado de Santa Rosa dormida,
en los tejados del amor, con gemidos y frescas manos,
en un jardín donde los gatos se comían a las ranas.

Desván donde el polvo viejo congrega estatuas y musgos,
cajas que guardan silencio de cangrejos devorados
en el sitio donde el sueño tropezaba con su realidad.
Allí mis pequeños ojos.

No preguntarme nada. He visto que las cosas
cuando buscan su curso encuentran su vacío.
Hay un dolor de huecos por el aire sin gente
y en mis ojos criaturas vestidas ¡sin desnudo!

1910 (Intermediate)

Those eyes of mine from ninety-ten
did not see the dead being buried,
nor the fair of ash from he who cries in the morning,
neither the heart that trembles, cornered like a seahorse.

Those eyes of mine from ninety-ten
saw the white wall wherein the girls urinated,
the bull's snout, the poisonous mushroom
and an incomprehensible moon that illuminated around the corners
the pieces of dry lemon from underneath the hard black of the bottles.

Those eyes of mine on the pony's neck,
on the tresspassed breasts of Saint Rose, asleep
on the roofs of love, with moans and fresh hands,
in a garden where the cats would eat the frogs.

Attic wherein the old dust congregates statues and moss,
boxes that hold the silence of devoured crabs
In the place wherein the dream tripped over its reality.
There, my small eyes.

Do not ask me anything. I have found that when things
search for their course, they find their emptiness.
There is a hollow pain in the uninhabited air¹
and in my eyes, dressed creatures, with no nudity!

¹ Literally "air without people".

Canción tonta

Federico García Lorca.

Mamá,
yo quiero ser de plata.
Hijo,
tendrás mucho frío.
Mamá.
Yo quiero ser de agua.
Hijo,
tendrás mucho frío.
Mamá.
Bórdarme en tu almohada.
¡Eso sí!
¡Ahora mismo!

Dumb Song

Mom.
I want to be made of silver.
Son,
you'll be very cold.
Mom.
I want to be made of water.
Son,
you'll be very cold.
Mom.
Embroider me in your pillow.
Yes indeed!
Right this moment!

Llamo al toro de España

Miguel Hernández.

Alza, toro de España: levántate, despierta.
Despiértate del todo, toro de negra espuma,
que respiras la luz y rezumas la sombra,
y concentras los mares bajo tu piel cerrada.

Despiértate.

Despiértate del todo, que te veo dormido,
un pedazo del pecho y otro de la cabeza:
que aún no te has despertado como despierta un toro
cuando se le acomete con traiciones lobunas.

Levántate.

Resopla tu poder, despliega tu esqueleto,
enarbola tu frente con las rotundas hachas,
con las dos herramientas de asustar a los astros,
de amenazar al cielo con astas de tragedia.

Esgrímete.

Toro en la primavera más toro que otras veces,
en España más toro, toro, que en otras partes.
Más cálido que nunca, más volcánico, toro,
que irradias, que iluminas al fuego, yérguete.

Desencadénate.

Desencadena el raudo corazón que te orienta
por las plazas de España, sobre su astral arena.
A desollarte vivo vienen lobos y águilas
que han envidiado siempre tu hermosura de pueblo.

Yérguete.

No te van a castrar: no dejarás que llegue
hasta tus atributos de varón abundante,
esa mano felina que pretende arrancártelos
de cuajo, impunemente: pataléalos, toro.

Víbrate.

No te van a absorber la sangre de riqueza,
no te arrebatarán los ojos minerales.
La piel donde recoge resplandor el lucero
no arrancarán del toro de torrencial mercurio.

Revuélvete.

Es como si quisieran arrancar la piel al sol,
al torrente la espuma con uña y picotazo.
No te van a castrar, poder tan masculino
que fecundas la piedra; no te van a castrar.

Truénate.

No retrocede el toro: no da un paso hacia atrás
si no es para escarbar sangre y furia en la arena,
unir todas sus fuerzas, y desde las pezuñas
abalanzarse luego con decisión de rayo.

Abalánzate.

Gran toro que en el bronce y en la piedra has mamado,
y en el granito fiero paciste la fiereza:
revuélvete en el alma de todos los que han visto
la luz primera en esta península ultrajada.

Revuélvete.

Partido en dos pedazos, este toro de siglos,
este toro que dentro de nosotros habita:
partido en dos mitades, con una mataría
y con la otra mitad moriría luchando.

Atorbellínate.

De la airada cabeza que fortalece el mundo,
del cuello como un bloque de titanes en marcha,
brotará la victoria como un ancho bramido
que hará sangrar al mármol y sonar a la arena.

Sálvate.

Despierta, toro: esgrime, desencadena, víbrate.
Levanta, toro: truena, toro, abalánzate.
Atorbellínate, toro: revuélvete.
Sálvate, denso toro de emoción y de España.

Sálvate.

I call for the bull from Spain

Rise, bull from Spain; get up, wake.
Awaken fully, bull of black foam,
that breathes light and oozes shadow,
and you concentrate the seas under your closed skin.

Awaken.

Awaken fully, for I notice you half-asleep,
a piece from the chest and another from the head:
for you have not yet woken like a bull wakes
when he is undertaken with wolfish betrayals.

Get up.

Sigh¹ your power, unfold your skeleton,
raise your forehead with the rotund axes,
like the two tools for scaring away the stars,
for threatening the sky with poles of tragedy

Yield yourself.

Bull in the spring, more of a bull than other times,
in Spain more of a bull, bull, than in other places.
Warmer than ever, more volcanic, bull,
that you irradiate, that you illuminate fire, straighten.

Unchain yourself.

Unchain the powerful heart which orientates you
across Spain's plazas, on their astral sand.
To skin you alive come wolves and eagles
that have always envied your rural beauty.

Straighten up.

They will not castrate you: you will not let arrive
to your attributes of abundant male,
that feline hand that wants to rip them out
from the root, unpunished: kick them, bull.

Vibrate.²

They will not absorb your rich blood,
they will not take your mineral eyes.
The skin wherein the light grows shinier³
they will not rip it out from the bull of torrential mercury.

Rebel.⁴

It's as if they wished to rid the sun of its skin,
the torrent, of its foam, with nail and peck.
They will not castrate you, such masculine power
that fertilises stone; they will not castrate you.

Thunder.²

The bull does not hesitate⁵: it does not take a step back
if not to scrabble up blood and fury in the sand,
gather all its might, and from its nails
pounce afterward with the decision of a lightning.

Pounce.

Great bull that in bronze and stone you have fed,⁶
and within the fierce granite you grazed fierceness:
stir in the soul of everyone that has seen
the first light in this outraged peninsula.

Rebel.⁴

Torn in two pieces, this bull of centuries,
that bull that inside us inhabits:
torn into two halves, with one it would kill
and with the other half it would die fighting.

Whirl.

From the irate head that strengthens the world,
from the neck like a marching block of titans,
victory will bloom like a wide bellow
that will make marble bleed and sand echo.

Save yourself.

Awaken, bull: yield, unchain, vibrate.²
Get up, bull: thunder, bull, pounce.
Whirl, bull: rebel.⁴
Save yourself, dense bull of emotion and Spain.

Save yourself.

¹ The original verb “resopla” is more like “blow”, or it could be otherwise translated as “sigh out” at the least.
² The verb is conjugated in imperative first person; literally, it would be “vibrate yourself” or “thunder yourself”.
³ Originally it wasn't “grows shinier”, but literally “picks up shine”.
⁴ More literally the physical action of “stirring” against something. “Rebel” is a more abstract translation. Has been translated as “stir” in some other occurrences.
⁵ Not literally “hesitate”, but rather “go back”.
⁶ Original verb “mamar” refers to suckling on a mother's breast to feed. (No such straightforward verb in English).

Para la libertad

Miguel Hernández.

Para la libertad sangro, lucho, pervivo.
Para la libertad, mis ojos y mis manos,
como un árbol carnal, generoso y cautivo,
doy a los cirujanos.

Para la libertad siento más corazones
que arenas en mi pecho: dan espumas mis venas,
y entro en los hospitales, y entro en los algodones
como en las azucenas.

Para la libertad me desprendo a balazos
de los que han revolcado su estatua por el lodo.
Y me desprendo a golpes de mis pies, de mis brazos,
de mi casa, de todo.

Porque donde unas cuencas vacías amanezcan,
ella pondrá dos piedras de futura mirada
y hará que nuevos brazos y nuevas piernas crezcan
en la carne talada.

Retoñarán aladas de savia sin otoño
reliquias de mi cuerpo que pierdo en cada herida.
Porque soy como el árbol talado, que retoño:
porque aún tengo la vida.

For liberty

For liberty I bleed, fight, live.¹
For liberty, my eyes and my hands,
like a carnal tree, generous and captive,
I give to the surgeons.

For liberty I feel more hearts
than sand in my chest: foam blooms from my veins,²
and I enter hospitals, and I enter cottons
like lilies.

For liberty I unfold in bullets³
of those that have dragged their statue across the mud.
And I unfold in punches³ from my feet, from my arms,
from my house, from everything.

Because where empty sockets awaken⁴,
she will place two stones of future gaze
and make new arms and new legs grow
in the cut-down flesh.

Autumnless wings of sap will sprout
relics from my body that I lose in each wound.
Because I am like the cut-down tree, for I sprout:
because I still have life.

¹Original verb ("pervivo") refers more so to keep living beyond or despite something (time, etc).
²I reworked the phrase. Directly it would be something like "my veins give foams".
³"Unfold into" was one of many expressive choices that could have been made. The original verb "desprender" is more like "detach".
⁴Original verb "amanecer" is basically the verb form of "sunrise", but that doesn't exist in English so I chose "awaken".

Conjugaciones: 1 — Álbum

Mario Benedetti.

Cómo quisiera fotografiar
minucia por minucia
pedazos de futuro
y colocar las instantáneas
en un álbum
para poder hojearlo
lenta morosamente
en un manso remanso
del pasado

Conjugations: 1 — Album

How I wish I could photograph
trifle by trifle
little pieces of the future
and place the snapshots
in an album
to be able to skim through it
slow, gradually
in a docile backwater
from the past

Conjugaciones: 2 — Claves

Mario Benedetti.

Algunas claves
del futuro
no están en el presente
ni en el pasado
están
extrañamente
en el futuro

Conjugations: 2 — Keys

Some keys
for the future
are not in the present
nor in the past
they are
strangely
in the future

FAQ

Q: Are you /Lorca's owner?
A: Yes! This is a continuation of it.

Q: Why did you make this?
A: I really enjoyed working on /Lorca back then, and I wanted it back. I'm busier now, but I'll still do my best to update this. Also, I have dozens of unarchived poems I've translated since /Lorca's tragic end, and a new array of literary and interpretative knowledge!

Q: I know you from somewhere else, may I reach out?
A: Yes! Reach out, but please don't tell people who I am. It's not that I mean to hide myself, but I'm taking this archive as a more impersonal and relaxed form of work this time around.

Q: Are you Spanish? Do you live in Spain? Is Spanish your first language?
A: Yes, yes, and yes! I'm born and raised in Northern Spain. I'm very passionate about my country in general.

Q: How come you feel qualified to translate these poems?
A: I've translated as a hobby for a good chunk of my life + I have an official C2 in English. Also, I just like Literature and Linguistics. That's all a translator really has to have.

Q: Are these translations done by hand?
A: Yes. Obviously, I'm not a machine, so sometimes I will aid myself via translators, dictionaries or even the occassional thesaurus. But I (mostly) translate everything by real hand—by that I mean pen and paper—so if you ever doubt me, ask me and I'll gladly show you my translation drafts in my truly horrible, truly human handwriting!

Q: Why don't you have sources for the poems linked?
A: It's a tedious process, and I'm a single person working on this with not much free time. If you wish to know where a poem came from, please search it up or ask me privately. I'm more than happy to provide answers!

Q: I have more questions.
A: Message meeeee Message meeee oooh you want to message me your questions so baddddd. No, but actually. Do message me. I can be found in many forms. Send me one of those pigeons, won't you? I really like solving people's queries.