[2] ARCHIVOS 1ª, 2ª, 3ª, 4ª, 5ª 6ª 7ª 8ª 9ª 10ª 11ª 12ª 13ª 14ª 15ª 16ª 17ª 18ª 19ª 20ª y 21ª BLOQUES

SUGERENCIA: Buscar poetas antologados fácilmente:
Escribir en Google: "Nombre del poeta" + Fernando Sabido
Si está antologado, aparecerá en las primeras referencias de Google

martes, 19 de febrero de 2013


(Nació el 27 de marzo de 1883 en Tallinn, Estonia - Murió el 25 de septiembre de 1980 en Estocolmo, Suecia ), fue una de las más grandes poetas de Estonia.


Los haces de centeno están apilados.
Todo el mundo se está yendo.
El techo del carruaje está levantado.
El viajero de atrás
igual que el cochero de adelante
está pensativo, silencioso.

Nadie se demora en la orilla,
ni un alma.
Es mejor de esa manera.
Sólo las rocas y el agua,
las únicas huellas las hacen mis zapatos.

La gaviota llama.
Es duro. Sé porqué.
El viento rasga el agua.
Y la abeja toma de la última flor,
que se hamaca en una rendija,
la miel final.

Así camino lejos
a lo largo de la orilla blanca
hasta que de pronto veo
a mis solitarios exploradores pies
en el océano infinito. Me paralizo como una piedra.
Y me detengo, como si estuviese cara a cara con Dios.


We saw those berries, overripe and glowing, 
in weak and tepid light of the October sun 
persisting red as blood, in right full-growing, 
without much inkling of the winter clouds to come. 

And then a wind-gust brushed those heavy bunches: 
and some of them burst, falling to the ground 
on wilted grass, soon after, under branches 
gold leaves with purple berries lay around. 

And hand in hand we walked uphill together 
and pushed by the capricious wind's bad weather, 
eye to eye, as in anxiety, we asked: 

our love's moist, joyful red in present flowering, 
will life's wind carry it away, devouring, 
or will it fall to the grave's soil, and last? 


I walk the silent, Christmas-snowy path 
that goes across the homeland in its suffering. 
At each doorstep I would like to bend my knee: 
there is no house that knows not mourning's sting. 

The spark of anger flickers in sorrow's ashes, 
the mind is hard with anger, soft with pain: 
there is no way of being pure as Christmas 
on this white, pure-as-Christmas lane. 

Alas, to have to live such stony instants, 
to carry on one's heart a coffin lid! 
Not even tears will come now any more - 
that gift of mercy also died and hid. 

I'm like someone rowing backwards: 
eyes permanently set on past - 
backwards, yes - yet reaching home at last ... 
my kinsmen, though, are left without a home... 

I always think of those who were torn from here... 
The heavens echo with the cries of their distress. 
I think that we are all to blame 
for what they lack - for we have food and bed! 

Shyly, almost as in figurative language, 
I ask without believing it can come to pass: 
Can we, I wonder, ever use our minds again 
for sake of joy and happiness? 

Now light and darkness join each other, 
towards the stars the parting day ascends. 
The sunset holds the first sign of the daybreak - 
It is as if, abruptly, night expands. 

All things are ardent, serious and sacred, 
snow's silver leaf melts on my lashes' flame, 
I feel as though I'm rising ever further: 
that star there, is it calling me by name? 

And then I sense that on this day they also 
are raising eyes to stars, from where I hear 
a greeting from my kinsfolk, sisters, brothers, 
in pain and yearning from their prison's fear. 

This is our talk and dialogue, this only, 
a shining signal - oh, read, and read! - 
with thousand mouths - as if within their glitter 
the stars still held some warmth of breath inside. 

The field of snow dividing us grows smaller: 
of stars our common language is composed.... 
It is as if we d started out for one another, 
were walking, and would soon meet on the road. 

For an instant it will die away, that 'When? When?' 
forever pulsing in you in your penal plight, 
and we shall meet there on that bridge in heaven, 
face to face we'll meet, this Christmas night. 

translated from Estonian by Leopoldo Niilus and David McDuff


I cry aloud with all my people's mouths, 
our land is smitten by a plague of fear and lead, 
our land is shadowed by the gallows tree 
our land a common graveyard, huge with dead. 

Who'll come to help? Right here, at present, now! 
Because the patient's weak, has lost his hold. 
But, like the call of birds, my shouting fades 
in emptiness: the world is arrogant and cold. 

The sighing of the old, the baby's cry — 
do they all run to sand, illusion, fail? 
Men, women groan like wounded deer 
to those in power all this is just a fairy-tale. 

Dark is the world's eye, its ear is deaf, 
the powerful lost in madness or stupidity. 
Compassion's only felt by those whom suffering breaks, 
and sufferers alone have hearts like you and me 

No hay comentarios: