Here is an airy, early poem by the great Mexican poet Octavio Paz (and he is truly a great, not just as in "yeah, he's great"). I just realized that every year, I pick up the big white bilingual paperback collection of his poems (edited by Eliot Weinberger) when it starts to get hot again, I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's that airiness in his work, I mean both physically, the way the poems take shape on the page, and in the way his language breathes. He manages to be philosophical yet retain something elemental, the stuff of this world, elemental things--water, air, stones, sun. I always find the poems calming, not overwhelming, although they are full of ideas. Maybe that's what makes him a summer poet, he can be read in the sun.
This is a Weinberger translation. On the whole it's lovely, though I do have a couple of differences of opinion on some of his choices (collegial differences!), comments follow, then the full Spanish version in case anyone cares to take a look. The poem is from one of his first books, Salamander, written in 1958-1961, a sensual poem.
Odd or Even
A weightless word
to greet the day
a word for setting sail
Ah!
*
Rings under your eyes
in your face it still is night
*
An invisible chain of glances
fastened around your throat
*
While the newspapers
pontificate
you surround yourself with birds
*
We are like water in water
like the water that keeps the secret
*
A glance ties
and another unties you
scattered by transparency
*
Your breasts between my hands
water again rushes down
*
From one balcony
(The fan)
to another
(opens)
the sun leaps
(and closes)
Regarding the translation, my major difference of opinion is in the stanza: While the newspapers / pontificate / you surround yourself with birds.
In Spanish: Mientras los periódicos / se deshojan / tú te cubres de pájaros
The two verbs he chooses alter the physicality of what's happening. The newspapers in Spanish are coming apart, while "you" is covering herself with birds.
There's no English equivalent for the verb deshojar, it means literally something to the effect of "to strip the leaves from", or it could be petals ("he loves me, he loves me not"), it could also mean "to tear the pages out of", as hoja means both leaf and page in Spanish. I can understand Weinberger's choice. It's an interpretation that contrasts the beloved, the kind of freshness about her, just waking up ("Ah!), with the news tearing itself apart with words. But "pontificate" is a bit passive, a slow verb to me.
I get an image of a newspaper coming apart into its individual pages. Maybe in a breeze, or maybe people reading it taking it apart over morning coffee in the city surrounding, or maybe it was on the bed and they destroyed it with lovemaking. I should note that the form of the verb in the line is reflexive, meaning that the newspapers are stripping themselves (not someone else doing it).
So what about something like:
While the newspapers
scatter
you take cover under birds
"Disperse" could also work, I like "scatter" because it hints at scattered thoughts, too. I also prefer "take cover" to "surround yourself" because it keeps the early morning bed feeling of the poem...
The other stanza I would change is: A glance ties / and another unties you / scattered by transparency.
In Spanish: Una mirada te enlaza / otra te desenlaza / La transparencia te desvanece.
Mainly it's the pacing that's lost, it goes a little slower in Spanish, and I don't see a reason to tighten it up. Also, the verb again, desvanecer, I think of it meaning something that melts away, dissipates like smoke (rather than scatter.).
So how about:
One look ties you
another unties you
Transparency dissolves you
There's my two pesos, I will sign off with the whole thing en español.
Pares y nones
Una palabra de poco peso
para saludar al día
una palabra de vuelo a vela
Ah!
*
Grandes ojeras
en tu cara todavía es de noche
*
Invisible collar de miradas
a tu garganta encadenadas
*
Mientras los periódicos
se deshojan
tú te cubres de pájaros
*
Estamos como el agua en el agua
como el agua que guarda el secreto
*
Una mirada te enlaza
otra te desenlaza
La transparencia te desvanece
*
Tus dos pechos entre mis manos
agua otra vez despeñada
*
De un balcón
(El abanico)
a otro balcón
(se abre)
salta el sol
(y se cierra)
