Question

necesito un poema traducido usando There + Be
solo tengo una hora para entregar

Answer 1

Respuesta:

Explicación:

A Greek Verse for Ophelia

The afternoon I knew your death–

the summer’s purest, the almonds

had grown up to the sky,

and the loom halted in the rainbow’s

ninth colour. How, by the white rim, did

her movement go?

How was your flight by that thread woven

which gave almost the name of destiny?

Only the clouds uplifted in the light

told everybody’s writing, the ballad

of who has seen a kingdom and

another kingdom and remains

within the fable. They carried

your body, snow between dust branches

that have already heard the song and keep

peace of the nightingale among the tombs.

I shut the garden gates, the

castle’s high windows. Indeed I grudged

the troubadour, transmuting wood

to water, flower and lute, entry.

He sang his song; time has unravelled what

the Lord has ravelled, silver tapestry

already happening, moonlit wandering,

yet returning to the skein.  Alone

you may find the shape that awaits you.

I don’t know what blue was, there and then, lonely,

I don’t know what forest imparted to

the bitter moon its enchantment, the sunflower found

under the ship on voyages that recall

the Mediterranean clear waters.

The afternoon I knew you

were leaving was death’s purest: you

were in my memory talking to me

among the lilies, in some lines by

Saint John of the Cross. What sky was there,

what hand knit slowly, what songs

brought the pain, the marvel

that is awed of being at that hour

in which the moon burst on the almonds

and burned down the jasmines.  You came

by the side of the sea from where a song

is heard, perhaps from a drowning

virgin, as your steps on the land.

Then you departed through my soul, you queen

of ancient fables, dust kindred to those ships

that once seeded  from sandal-

-wood and cedar the wine sea.

Alone you travelled, beautiful, in silence,

stone-beautiful; in your shoulder

a violin stopped in its tracks. The almonds in

the courtyard and the jasmines announced

a summer storm. The sky

shattered my house’s mirror, death

resounded deep in the cistern. I was

thus lost in that fiery bramble, in which

our memory conceals our loved ones.

I wore blue mourning and remained alone

“on the eve of the longest day”.