Pablo Neruda

[bebivogel]

Re: Pablo Neruda

You will remember...
by Pablo Neruda

You will remember that leaping stream
where sweet aromas rose and trembled,
and sometimes a bird, wearing water
and slowness, its winter feathers.

You will remember those gifts from the earth:
indelible scents, gold clay,
weeds in the thicket and crazy roots,
magical thorns like swords.

You'll remember the bouquet you picked,
shadows and silent water,
bouquet like a foam-covered stone.

That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there.

 

[bebivogel]

Re: Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth...
by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

 

[bebivogel]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off...
by Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

 

[bebivogel]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Maybe you'll remember...
by Pablo Neruda

Maybe you'll remember that razor-faced man
who slipped out from the dark like a blade
and -- before we realized -- knew what was there:
he saw the smoke and concluded fire.

The pallid woman with black hair
rose like a fish from the abyss,
and the two of them built up a contraption,
armed to the teeth, against love.

Man and woman, they felled mountains and gardens,
they went down to the river, they scaled the walls,
they hoisted their atrocious artillery up the hill.

Then love knew it was called love.
And when I lifted my eyes to your name,
suddenly your heart showed me my way.

 

[Ema]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Love

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

 

[Ema]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Veinte poemas de amor y una
canción desesperada

XX
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.


Twenty Love Poems and a
Song of Despair
XX
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

XX

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 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 immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a 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 voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul 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.

 

[Ema]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Kjo eshte e preferuara ime /pf/images/graemlins/frown.gif :

CLENCHED SOUL
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

 

[grace]

Re: Pablo Neruda

http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Arc/9906/pablo.htm

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~agreene/Neruda.html

http://www.geocities.com/jardindesmuses/neruda2.htm

En muchas idiomas también. Ninguna necesidad de "la copia y de la goma"! /pf/images/graemlins/tongue.gif

 

[Ema]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Po ti perton me i qit ene me i shkru i ka i?

Hajt aty,kalamo i flliq! :smash: :smash:

 

[bebivogel]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Morning ( cien sonetos de amor)

XXVII.

Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat

Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in you hair;
naked, you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.

Naked, you are tiny as one for your nails-
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the uderground world,

as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
you clear light dims, get dressed- drop its leaves-
and becomes naked hand again.

Ps: ket e mora drejt e nga libri /pf/images/graemlins/tongue.gif

 

[TEA]

Re: Pablo Neruda

E marr nga Cento sonetti d'amore

XXIV.

Amore , amore , le nubi sulla torre del cielo
salirono come trionfanti lavandaie,
e tutto arse d'azzurro, tutto fu stella:
il mare, la nave, il giorno s'esiliarono uniti.

Vieni a vedere i ciliegi dell'acqua costellata
e la chiave rotinda del rapido universo,
vieni a toccare il fuoco dell'azzurro istantaneo,
vieni prima che i suoi petali si consumino

Altro non v'è qui che la luce, quantità, grappoli,
spazio aperto dalle virtu del vento
fino a consegnare gli ultimisegreti della schiuma.

E tra tanti azzurri celesti, sommersi,
si perdono i nostri occhi indovinando appena
i poteri dell'aria, le chiavi sottomarine.

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Ode kumbulles.

..Qe nga ajo kohe
toka, dielli, bora,
rrebeshi ne tetor,
te derdhura neper rruge,
gjithcka,
drita , uji,
lane
ne kujtesen time
kundermimin
dhe tejdukshmerine
e kumbulles:
jeta
ovalezoi ne nje kupe
rrezellimin, hijet,
freskin e saj.
Oh puthje
e gojes
pas asaj kumbulle,
dhembe
dhe buze
mbushur
me ambren eremire
te drites
se lengshme te kumbulles!

PABLO NERRUDA

 

[Ema]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Shqip me ne fund!

Kuklla si t'kam? /pf/images/graemlins/laugh.gif

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Pablo Neruda

E HUMBEM EDHE KETE MBREMJE

E humbem edhe kete mbremje
Askush nuk na pa te zene per dore,
kur muzgu i kalter binte mbi bote.

Nga dritarja une pash’
lodrimin e perendimit mbi kodrat e largta.

E pastaj, si nje monedhe,
nje copez dielli u perndez ne duart e mia.

Te kujtova ty me shpirtin e ndrydhur,
me ate trishtimin qe ti ke njohur tek une.

Ku ishe tin e ate kohe?
Me c’njerez?
Cfare fjalesh u thoshe?
Oh, pse me ndodh keshtu: dashuria shperthen pernjeheresh,
kur jam I trishtuar dhe kur ti je larg?

Libri qe mar rte lexoj mbremjeve, me ra nga duart,
dhe te kembet e mia, si nje qen I plagosur u rrotullua perendia.

Gjithnje, gjithnje sapo vjen mbremja ti iken,
Deri ku muzgu bredh duke tretur statujat.

PABLO NERUDA

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Pablo Neruda

TRUPI I GRUAS

Trupi i gruas, kodra te bardha, kofshe te bardha,
i shfaqesh ne bote ne castin qe jepesh,
Trupi im prej fshatari te plugon
dhe ben qe djali te dale nga thellesite e tokes.

Isha i shkrete si nje tunnel.Prej meje iknin zogjte,
Dhe nata hynte me pushtetin e saj te fuqishem.
Qe te mbetem gjalle te farketova ty si nje arme
shigjete per harkun, gur per hobene.

Por vjen ore e hakmarrje dhe te dua.
Shtat lekure e myshku, prej qumeshti te etshem.
Ah, kupe e gjive! Ah, sy te murgeshes!
Trendafil pushor! Ah, zeri yt i ngadalte e i trashe!

Trup i gruas sime, do te qendroj ne hirin tend.
Etja ime, ankthi im i pafund, udhetimi im i luhatshem!
Shtrat i erret lumi ku lind etje e perjetshme.
Dhe lodhja lind, dhe dhimbja qe kufi nuk njeh.

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Pablo Neruda

MUND TE SHKRUAJ VARGJE………

Kesaj nate mnd te shkruaj vetem vargje te trishtuara.

Te shkruaj pershembull: “pikelohet nata prej yjeve
e trupat e kalter qiellore rreqethen ne largesi”

Ne zemren e qiellit era e nates ben qerthuj, kendon.

Sonte vargjet jane tmerresisht te trishtuara:
e doja dhe here-here dhe ajo me dishi.

Neteve si kjo, nen krahet e mija e mbaja.
E perqafoja nen qiell…nen qiellin e hapur.

Me deshi.Kohe-pas-kohe e pata dashur dhe ne.
Si te mos dashuroja syte e medhenj qe aq thelle me shikonin?

Kesaj nate mund te shkruaj vargje nga me te trishtuarat.
Kur mendoj qe nuk e kam me.E kuptoj qe e humba.

Kjo nate e pafundme behet me e madhe pa te…
Dhe vargjet bien ne shpirt si vesa mbi bar….

P.S.....Kjo eshte vetem per EMEN...............shijoje.

 

[bebivogel]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Kordelja me thuaj kush i ka perkthyer keto te lutem ... /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif flm!

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Te gjitha perkthimet jane marre nga nje liber me titull "Poezi te zgjedhura" Pablo Nerruda, qe eshte nje permbledhje e te gjitha ndijimeve me te mira te poetit dhe nobelistit te mrekullueshem, te perkthyera me shume mjeshteri nga Fatos Arapi.

 

[Ema]

Re: Pablo Neruda

Kordele don't make me sad,me mjes /pf/images/graemlins/frown.gif !

Flm shume,i adhuroj te treja....

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Pablo Neruda

KENGE E DESHPERUAR

Kujtimi yt shfaqet papritur ne naten ku jam.
Lumi lidh me detin vajtimin qe s’pushon.

I braktisur si limanet ne agim.
Erdhi koha qe te nisesh.Oh, i braktisur!

Mbi zemren time rigojne pikela te ftohta.
Oh, pirg germadhash, varreze e frikshme anijesh!

Ne ty jane rrasur betejat dhe fluturimet.
Nga ti ngriten flatrat zogjte kengetare.

Ti c’so gje ke perpire, si largesia.
Si deti, si koha.Dhe gjithcka ne ty qe permbytje!

Ishte ore e gezueshme e sulmeve dhe puthjeve,
ore e habitjes qe ndrinte si nje far.

Ankthi I timonierit dhe furia e zhytesit te verber,
dehja e turbullt e dashurise, - e tera ne ty ishte permbytje!

Nje femijeri mjegulle shpirti im me krahe te plagosur.
Shpikes humbur, gjithcka te ti ishte permbytje!

Ti ngjeshe dhimbjen, dhe rroke deshiren.
Te rrezoi pikellimi, dhe cdo gje ne ty ishte permbytje!

Une e zmbrapsa murin e hijes,
kaperceva pertej deshires dhe veprimit.

Oh mish, mishi im – grua, qe te desha dhe te humba,
te kujtoj ty dhe ne kete ore te qullte kendoj.

Si nje vazo, ne veten tende bujte, butesine e pafund,
dhe harrimi i pafund si nje vazo te theu.

Ishte e zeze, vetmia e zeze e ishujve, -
dhe atje, - o grua e dashurise- me pranuan krahet e tu.

Ishte etja dhe uria, dhe ti ishe frut.
Ishte dhimbje, rdhe ti ishe mrekullia.

Ah, grua, si munde ti te me mbertheje
ne token e shpirtit tend, ne kryqin e kraheve te tu.

Deshira ime per ty ishe me mizorja dhe me e shkurtra,
me e stuhishme dhe e dehur, me e ndere dhe e pangopur.

Varreze te puthuras, ede ka zjarr ne varrin tend,
ende digjeshin veshulet e rrushit qe zogjte i hane.

Oh, goje e kafshuar, oh, gjymtyre te puthura,
Oh, dembe te uritur, o trupa te perqafuar.

Oh, ciftezim i furishem shprese e mundimi,
ne te cilin u shkrime e deshperuam.

Dhembshuria, e lehte si uji dhe mielli.
Dhe fjala e saponisur ne buze.

Ai ishte shorti im, dhe mbi te kaloi deshira,
dhe kur deshira ime u permbys, - gjithcka te ti qe permbytje.

Oh, vend ermadhash, net y cdo gje shebej, -
c’dhimbje s’e the, c’dhimbje s’ta mori frymen.

Nga varri ne var ti digjeshe e kendoje.
Ne kembe porsi detari ne bashin e anijes.

Dhe ti lulezohe ne kenge, therrmoheshe ne rrymat e ujit.
Oh, grumbull germadhash, pus i hapur pikellimi.

Zhytes i zbehte i verber, krdhetar i pafat,
shpikes i humbur, - gjithcka te ti qe permbytje!

Eshte ora e nisjes, ore e eger e ftohte,
qe nata e nguros ne ecjen e oreve.

Brezi shkembor i detit e shtrengon bregun.
Ndrijne yje te reja, shtegtojne zogj te zinj.

I braktisur jam, si limanet ne agim.
Dhe ne duart e mia perpelitet vetem hija qe dridhet.

Ah, sa me larg nga te gjitha! Sa me arg nga te gjitha….
Eshte ora e nisjes.Oh, ti i braktisur!

Keto poezi nga me te bukurat e nerudes jane per Emen, Beba, Ofelia, Atena, Fallen Angel,Atena dhe te gjithe te dashuruarit pas stilit dhe vargjeve te tij.............