Category: Spanish

Posted on

Don Quixote: In a village of La Mancha, whose name I do not wish to recall….

<em>Don Quixote reading on his horse</em>
Don Quixote and his servant Sancho Panza

Not long ago, in a place in La Mancha whose name I do not want to remember, there lived a nobleman who was one of those who kept a lance in a rack, an ancient shield, a skinny nag, and a racing greyhound.

—Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616), in Don Quixote: the famous first lines of the book. A nobleman who did not keep a horse and a lance was no longer considered a nobleman.

En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no hace mucho tiempo que vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor.

Posted on

Guillén: The names endure

Dawn. The horizon
opens its lashes half way,
and begins to see. What? Names.
They lie over the surface

of things. The rose
is still called
a rose today, and the memory
of its transit, a rush,

rush to live longer.
To a long love it lifts us,
that unripe power
of the Instant, so lithe

that arriving at the finish line
it runs to take over             Then!
Watch out, watch out, watch out!
I will be, I will be!

And the roses? Eyelashes
lowered: the final
horizon. Maybe nothingness?
But the names last.

—Jorge Guillén (1893-1984)

Albor. El horizonte
entreabre sus pestañas,
y empieza a ver. ¿Qué? Nombres.
Están sobre la pátina

de las cosas. La rosa
se llama todavía
hoy rosa, y la memoria
de su tránsito, prisa,

Prisa de vivir más.
A lo largo amor nos alce
esa pujanza agraz
del Instante, tan ágil

que en llegando a su meta
corre a imponer Después.
Alerta, alerta, alerta,
yo seré, yo seré.

¿Y las rosas? Pestañas
cerradas: horizonte
final. ¿Acaso nada?
Pero quedan los nombres.