Poetry & HTML

I’m quite proud of myself for having translated the Pablo Neruda poem you’ll shortly see below, because I hadn’t found an adequate version of it anywhere online. The problem I encountered after translating it was an issue of wanting to display the translation and the original side-by-side, because in my head that’s how they visually ought to be displayed because it’s how both languages live inside my mind. I’m even more pleased with myself that I was able to find a way to get them to display as I wanted with a little help from HTML. Keep in mind that I have no real technical background and yet I was able to more or less play around with some tutorials and figure out a solution to my problem. It may not be the most elegant solution, and I’m sure there are likely quicker and better ways of accomplishing the side-by-side display that I just don’t know about, but it still doesn’t detract from my overall sense of accomplishment given that I did not know what I was doing, I had no clue how to do what I did, and yet I somehow pulled it off with my usual mix of stubborn determination and a little reading. Which ultimately lends support to something I’ve suspected may be true and I want to assert whenever I’m asked about how it was I managed to do work in QA with a Philosophy/Political Science background: it’s mainly because I somehow learned how to think, and that’s a skill that’s valuable wherever I go.

Now without further ado, some poetry for you:

Oda a la luna del mar / Ode to the ocean moon
Spanish English
Luna
de la ciudad,
me pareces
cansada,
oscura
me pareces
o amarilla,
con algo
de uña desgastada
o gancho de candado,
cadavérica,
vieja,
borrascosa,
tambaleante
como una
religiosa oxidada
en el transcurso
de las metálicas
revoluciones:
luna
transmigratoria,
respetable,
impasible:
tu
palidez
ha visto
barricadas
sangrientas,
motines
del pueblo que sacude
sus cadenas,
amapolas
abiertas
sobre
la guerra
y sus
exterminados
y allí, cansada, arriba,
con tus párpados viejos
cada vez
más cansada,
más
triste,
más rellena de humo,
con sangre, con tabaco,
con infinitas interrogaciones,
con el sudor nocturno
de las panaderías,
luna
gastada
como
la única muela
del cielo
de la noche
desdentada.

De pronto
llego al mar
y otra luna
me pareces,
blanca,
mojada
y fresca
como
yegua
reciente
que corre
en el rocío,
joven
como una perla,
diáfana
como frente
de sirena.

Luna
del mar,
te lavas
cada noche
y amaneces
mojada
por una aurora eterna,
desposándote
sin cesar con el cielo, con el aire,
con el viento marino,
desarrollado cada
nueva hora
por el interno impulso
vital de la marea,
limpia como las uñas
en la sal
del oceáno.

Oh, luna de los mares,
luna
mía,
cuando
de las calles regreso,
de mi número
vuelvo,
tú me lavas
el polvo,
el sudor
y las manchas
del camino,
lavandera
marina,
lavas
mi corazón cansado,
mi camisa.

En la noche
te miro,
pura,
encendida
lámpara
del cielo,
fresca, recién nacida
entre las olas,
y me duermo
bajo tu esfera limpia,
reluciente,
de universal reloj,
de rosa blanca.

Amanezco
nuevo, recién vestido,
lavado por tus manos,
lavandera,
buena para el trabajo
y la batalla.

Tal vez tu paz, tu nimbo
nacarado,
tu nave
entre las olas,
eterna, renaciendo
con la sombra,
tienen que ver conmigo
y a tu fresca
eternidad de plata
y de marea
debe mi corazón
su levadura.

—————————

PABLO NERUDA

Moon
of the city,
you seem to me
tired,
darkened
you seem to me
or yellow,
with something like
a worn nail
or keyhole,
cadaverous
old,
flimsy,
shaky
like an
oxidized religion
on the course
of the metallic
revolutions:
moon
transmigratory
respectable,
impassive:
your
pallidness
has seen
bloody
barricades,
riots
of the people shaking
their chains,
poppies
open
over
the war
and their
exterminations
and there, tired, overhead,
with your ancient eyelids
every time
more tired
more
depressed
more full of smoke,
with blood, with tobacco,
with infinte interrogations,
with the night sweat
of the bakeries,
moon
worn out
like
the only tooth
of the sky
of the toothless
night.

Suddenly
I reach the ocean
and you seem to me
another moon,
white
wet
and fresh
like
a mare
that recently
ran through
the dew,
young
like a pearl,
diaphanous
like facing
a mermaid.

Moon
of the ocean,
you wash
every night
and awaken
wet
with an eternal aurora
espousing
without stopping with the sky, the air,
with the maritime wind,
developing every
new hour
with the internal heartbeat
of the tide,
clean like claws
in the salt
of the ocean.

Oh, moon of the sea,
my
moon,
when
I return from the streets,
back to my abode,
I return,
you wash me
the powder,
the sweat,
and the stains
of the road,
ocean
washingwoman,
you wash
my tired heart,
my shirt.

At night
I see you,
pure,
glowing
lamp
of the sky
fresh, newly born
in between the waves,
and I sleep
beneath your clean face,
glowing,
a universal clock,
a white rose.

I awaken
new, freshly dressed,
cleaned by your hands,
washingwoman,
ready for work
and the battle.

Maybe it’s your peace, your pearly
halo,
your ship
amongst the waves,
eternal, renewing
with shade,
have something to do with me
and your cool
silver eternity
and tides
and to which my heart owes
its lightness.

—————————

PABLO NERUDA (via my translation)

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