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The Nymph
by Luis de Góngora y Argote (1561-1627)
translated by Alan Steinle
As morning sunlight first began to show,
a nymph went out to tread the verdant plain.
Although she plucked some flowers for a chain,
her feet inspired many more to grow.
The air began to warm and winds to blow.
They rippled through her shiny golden mane,
as when the southern winds at dawn sustain
the rustling of the foliage to and fro.
But when upon her head she placed the braid
and formed a boundary of greenish bars
between her hair of gold and face of white,
I swear her garland, though of flowers made,
shone brighter than that other one of stars
that decks the sky with seven points of light.
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*points of light: The constellation known as Ariadne’s Crown, Corona Borealis, or the Northern Crown.
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Original Spanish
«Al tramontar del sol, la ninfa mía»
Al tramontar del sol, la ninfa mía
de flores despojando el verde llano,
cuantas troncaba la hermosa mano
tantas el blanco pie crecer hacía.
Ondeábale el viento que corría
el oro fino con error Galeano,
cual verde hoja de álamo lozano
se mueve al rojo despuntar de día.
Mas luego que ciñó sus sienes bellas
de los varios despojos de su falda,
término puesto al oro y la nieve,
juraré que lució más su guirnalda
con ser de flores, la otra ser de estrellas
que la que ilustra el cielo en luces nueve.
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Translator’s Note: Luis de Góngora y Argote was born in Córdoba and became a prebendary at Córdoba Cathedral. He was a baroque poet in the Golden Age of Spanish literature (1500-1681), and he is considered to be one of the greatest poets of the Spanish language. The style of Góngora’s poetry came to be labeled as “culturismo” by his detractors, who thought that his poetry was too hard to understand. Specifically, they didn’t like his use of Latin words in Spanish poems, his overuse of invented and archaic words, his obscure allusions, and his nonstandard word order. The last item, called hyperbaton, can be revealed by a literal translation of the first stanza of the sonnet included here: “Upon the rising-over-the-mountains of the sun, the nymph of mine / of flowers despoiling the green plain / as many as plucked her beautiful hand / that many her white foot to grow made.”
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At Peace
by Amado Nervo (1870-1919)
translated by Alan Steinle
I bless you, Life, as twilight quickly nears,
because you gave no hope that disappears,
nor work unjust, nor undeservéd tears.
Now, from the end of rocky paths, I see
that I designed my own fair destiny,
for when in honey or in bile steeped,
it meant that flavor on myself I’d heaped,
and when I planted roses, those I reaped.
Although my strength will fall to winter’s blast,
you never said that spring would always last!
Although I have endured some bitter nights,
you did not promise only joyful heights,
and, for my part, I’ve known some true delights.
I loved… was loved… light shone upon my lease.
You owe me nothing, Life! We are at peace!
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Translator’s Note: Amado Nervo was born in Tepic, Nayarit, Mexico. His studies to become a priest were cut short by financial necessity, and he began to work as a journalist. In 1900, he was sent by the newspaper El Imparcial to report on the World’s Fair in Paris. While in Paris, he spent time with Rubén Darío and met the woman he would marry. In 1905, he became a Mexican diplomat and served in several countries. The poem translated here is one of his most famous poems.
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Original Spanish
En paz
Artifex vitae artifex sui
Muy cerca de mi ocaso, yo te bendigo, Vida,
porque nunca me diste ni esperanza fallida,
ni trabajos injustos, ni pena inmerecida;
Porque veo al final de mi rudo camino
que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino;
que si extraje la mieles o la hiel de las cosas,
fue porque en ellas puse hiel o mieles sabrosas:
cuando planté rosales coseché siempre rosas.
…Cierto, a mis lozanías va a seguir el invierno:
¡mas tú no me dijiste que mayo fuese eterno!
Hallé sin duda largas las noches de mis penas;
mas no me prometiste tan sólo noches buenas;
y en cambio tuve algunas santamente serenas…
Amé, fui amado, el sol acarició mi faz.
¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!
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Tomorrow!
by Lope de Vega Carpio (1562-1635)
translated by Alan Steinle
How could my friendship give my Lord delight?
What would you gain from me that you pursue
my soul while you are drenched in wintry dew
outside my shut and bolted door tonight?
My hard and thankless heart was not contrite,
and I did not unlock the door for you.
How crazy that you still could not get through!
Outside, your wounds had frozen, red on white.
So many times an angel said to me,
“He’s calling you and will not go away.
Look out the window, now, and you will see!”
So many times did I, dear angel, say,
“Tomorrow, he may enter, certainly,”
a statement I repeated the next day!
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Translator’s Note: Lope de Vega Carpio was born in Madrid. He was a child prodigy and an ultra-prolific writer of plays, poems, novels, letters, and so on. Lope himself claimed that each of more than 100 of his plays had been written within a single day and that he had written over 1500 plays. (About 500 of his plays are still extant.) A veritable whirlwind, he married several times, had numerous affairs, and served in the Invincible Armada. These adventures and others were incorporated into his numerous writings.
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Original Spanish
«¿Qué tengo yo, que mi amistad procuras?»
¿Qué tengo yo, que mi amistad procuras?
¿Qué interés se te sigue, Jesús mío,
que a mí puerta, cubierto de rocío,
pasas las noches del invierno escuras?
¡Oh, cuánto fueron mis entrañas duras
pues no te abrí! ¡Qué extraño desvarío
si de mi ingratitud el yelo frío
secó las llagas de tus plantas puras!
¡Cuántas veces el ángel me decía:
Alma, asómate agora a la ventana,
verás con cuánto amor llamar porfía!
¡Y cuántas, hermosura soberana,
“Mañana le abriremos” respondía,
para lo mismo responder mañana!
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Alan Steinle, originally from Oklahoma, is a writer, editor, and translator. You can find many of his Spanish translations here.
I really like The Nymph. It’s very ethereal, especially the introductory stanza which I found faultless and other worldly.
Looking back on life in At Peace, it’s that final couplet that sums it all up so well – as it should do.
If I read Tomorrow right, his lordship’s soul is delaying entering the afterlife because the person who killed him can’t bear to see him go, despite the nightly visit of angels. I may be wrong, though.
Thanks for the reads, Alan.
Thanks for the comments. If I’m not mistaken, “Tomorrow!” alludes to this verse:
Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.
(Revelation 3:20 NASB1995)
The Lord in the poem refers to Jesus, and the author of the poem is delaying in letting him in.
I’ve yet to study all in greater detail, but after an initial reading of the first poem, I’m curious as to why you end with “seven points of light”, whereas the original says “en luces nueve” – “nueve” meaning nine. Thanks, Adam.
That struck me as well, but I think Mr. Steinle needed a trochaic word to make meter in that line, and therefore took a poetic liberty.
He might have written “with nine bright points of light” to solve the problem, but a poet’s choices are his alone.
I looked up the constellation on Wikipedia, which says there are seven main stars in it. Seven fit better in the meter, too.
Thank you, Alan. There are entire planets of poetry out there that are inaccessible to us because of language barriers and poor translators who do not respect the canon’s metre and rhyme. I realised this myself when I read some poetry of Gjergj Fishta in the original Albanian and when I tried to find translations of his work — poor imitations would be an undeserved espousal of the trash I found. The translators, who apparently are professors in universities, thought that his poetry was “octo-syllabic” when that is patently untrue: he wrote in iambic pentametre. Even with my novice ear to metre, it’s quite clear. Oh and they didn’t think to add rhymes even though he wrote in couplets.
One day, I will do justice to the Bard of Albania and open up that planet for others, as you have done for these Spanish poets, who without you, we would never have read.
Alan, these are fine translations faithful to the Spanish content, but smoothing it into excellent English syntax while preserving the lyric form. And with an introduction to each poet!
The devotional piece by Lope de Vega has a Baroque quality of extreme images, and I wonder if you consider it typical of the poet or the age, or whether you chose this because it is exceptional. I have translated an anonymous Spanish sonnet that is probably a little earlier, which had similar emotion, but used extraordinary logic rather than images to force its point.
Nervo’s contrasting poem certainly owes its popularity to strong forthright expression that rejects lament or complaint, and thus would attract many who live and think in similar style. I wonder if you know any name for the lyric form with rhyme scheme aaa bbccc ddeee ff.
In the Gongora poem, I’m interested by “error Galeano.” You translate “error” as “rippling” but (probably wisely) seem to say nothing of Galeano. Is this a surname of some person or family who might have had “errant” ways? I’m glad you’ve already given your reason for changing the number of stars, but in that final line I think you missed an opportunity to say “crowns the sky” instead of “decks.” But maybe the constellation’s position fails to warrant that.
“Galeano” is my typo. It should be “error galano.”
Ondeábale el viento que corría
el oro fino con error galano,
The passage above could be translated as, “The wind that ran through her golden tresses tossed them into elegant disarray.”
It is probable that the poem by Amado Nervo above was written as a nonce form, but I am not sure.
I chose the poem by Vega simply because it was in a book that I own.
I chose the word “decks,” which means “decorates.” In my opinion, the sky is not crowned with the constellation. The constellation was named after Ariadne’s crown, which is a symbol from Greek mythology.