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Author: Bartleby

The Greatest Palindrome Ever

The Greatest Palindrome Ever

How often do I awake to the rising sun with it burning like a salty-sultry flare at the base of my skull?
How often do I, seated at a fine table–in a luxurious fog of elegant conversation, tuxedos, satin dresses, and a downpour of freeze-frame-perfect dishes–retreat into myself for a roll about with it (like young lovers in the summer grass)?
How often do I turn to it?
And yet every time is new, every time impossible; every time I feel the flutter of, “lt can’t be! too perfect! there’s not enough serendipity in all the worlds in all the universes in all the Eyeblinks of all the gods! It just can’t be!”
But there it is, every time, existing. I trace each word from every angle as if it were a holy mountain range and I the most devout of cartographers. But that’s no simile, that’s apt description, that’s what’s going on, that’s the only possible explanation.

a man a plan a canal panama

HOW???!!!

Why was the panama canal built?
I submit to you that, in an infinitely deep and wide linguistic, logical, metaphysical, and mind/matter coordination, the perfection inherent in that palindrome demanded a physical incarnation, demanded a referent, demanded a gash through two oceans through which ships could travel and oceans could slosh–forwards or backwards–!

I go too far?
Spend a few years with the beauty of the words and their diabolical tug on human history, on the Fates, on us humans, our ambitions, our hopes, our fears, our momentary rises and falls, our certainties and errors, or uncertainties and salvations, our blood and water lost in the gauzy-thick tropical night. Spend a little while working on the palindrome, letting it work on you, and I’m sure you find that I

that I don’t go far enough,

that no one can erect a monument to fit this amazing set of letters, meaning, and historical evolution.

The world soul slumps heavy and stolid, its actions too powerful, too sure, too subtle, too definite.

What is a human but a bit of mind/matter flotsam-jetsam upon the white-curdling cottage-cheese caps of heaven’s indifferently burbling seasong? Does a man a plan a canal panama not clearly demonstrate God’s gratuitous power, God’s indifferent hilarity, humanity’s sheepish silliness???

No, there’ll never be another like it
one is already too much
one already gives away the whole game
tells the whole story too clearly
one already makes mystics moot and science de trop
one already reduces us all to ashes poked about and doodled within by the lazy-Sunday fingertip of an infinite child who does and does not mind the appellation Zeus

Author: Sir Wilshire Willit
Directors/Producers: BW/AW
copyright: AMW

The Hurt

The Hurt

I know in the dark corner
stuck there with your pudding
on your nose now and sugar powder on your royal-purple button-up
I see in the cool hollow
wedged there as a matted squirrel
with your bushy tail tucked deftly back but your poor little leg crushed beneath a sharp fallen stone
I miss me in the cold water
with my fingers numb and blue
while the ancient decree spreads

We built this city on Rock N Roll

We built this city on Rock N Roll

I have to tell you this
’cause you weren’t there
it was just me
and a square plastic radio
sitting on the quilted top cover
of my parents wood-framed bed
inside the brick row-house
built early 1900s by Edison
for families of stout worthy men hired to build his trains

“We built this city on rock ‘n roll”
Amazing!
Hold a little gray radio; bring it onto the center of the bed; stop and listen to this wisdom; what can it mean?
To build something concrete like a city out of something incorporeal like rock n roll–!?
What is this rock n roll?
Surely more than mere music
Some kind of magic
More than mere attitude
Some kind of Knowledge

Where are you Rock n Roll?
It’s more than 30 years gone, and I can’t find you now
It’s more than 30 years gone, and the bed still feels soft and the music still encloses
Have I done something wrong?
What is going on?

The Cruelty Collector

The Cruelty Collector

I wander the wide world
leather satchel at my thorny side
I push and pull the gawking faces,
sowing Hurt, laughing low.

I cluck my tongue and shake my head,
disapproving their weak slipperyness.
If only I could rule every mind/body!
Then the world’d be steered right!

But for now I must sate myself on small details
I raise the brick; it feels heavy, sharp and powdery in my long-launching fingers.
Let me who is without an appreciable amount of sin raise the first brick!
Here I come! Watch out! I’m stripped to my waist
I’m running on giant dinosaur legs
I’m taking over this pea-pod world
I’m making things right
I’m sorting it out
I’m burning out the errors
with my red hot hands

BW/AW

Beyond Mortal Ken

Beyond Mortal Ken

We poor lonely lost mortals
We poor lame ducks, flippering ourselves
round and round
Making circles in the dark green pond

I’m sorry for what Loosed
from my bow
long bent without cause
long drawn without aim
long ready, lacking friendship

We’re sorry for the strange crimes
twisting winding tunneling
beneath the rigid crumbly clay
Sorry for the mysteries
we turned our backs on.

God, how little we mortals know!
God, how short we mortals see!
God, how long we mortals live!
I can’t straighten this out
I can’t stand up straight enough
within my shadow-heavy bodysuit

AMW/BW

The Task of the Author & Thinker

The Task of the Author & Thinker

[Something Deeperism Institute]

[Editor’s Note: “First Essays” has a slightly altered version of this essay. “First Essays” is available for sale (or free — write us at Editor@PureLoveShop.com and we’ll email you a copy) on the Buy Our Books! tab of this blog.]

At what, besides quitting this pointless drinking, should we would-be authors and public thinkers aim?

To answer that question, one needs to first explain what a human conscious moment is, and how we humans should think and act.

A human conscious moment consists of the Light shining through all things & feelings/perceptions/vague-notions/ideas/words/actions.
I guess everything slides together, so maybe it is best to say a human conscious moment is Light/feelings/perceptions/vague-notions/ideas/words/actions.
In any case, the only way forward for human beings is to organize themselves so that their whole conscious moment is guided by the Light, which alone knows what is really going on, what really matters, and how best to steer the other aspects of conscious thought.
And so the only way forward is to let the Light pull you to Itself through the goods it demands of you: as much (ever-growing) awareness, clarity, honesty, accuracy, competence, kindness, and shared generous joy as you can muster.
Though we need some intellectual/emotional principles/standards to ground our intellectual/emotional/spiritual searching, the way forward is more about organizing our ideas and feelings around the ultimately-ineffable Light than about the ideas and feelings we have about the Light and our relationship to It. Because, after all, an idea/feeling about the Light is not the Light, and when we pretend our ideas/feelings are the Light, we misdirect our focuses.
The way forward for a human conscious moment is to better and better follow the Light within, a path which includes the understanding that the Light can only be approximated by human ideas and feelings, meaning the way forward is a way of humility, caution, and constant self-reassessment (based on the inborn standards of awareness, …. shared joy) and -revision.

Given this state-of-affairs—which is True or else life has no meaning that any human can understand/care-about/bear, which is intellectually provable as any other notion about how one should think and act, and which we know at a level deeper and wider than our intellectual and emotional notions—what is the role of the public author and thinker?

Is it to get himself all riled up every weekend, drunk off of alcohol and his own genius?
No.
It really isn’t.
It is to meditate upon the whole human moment—from the Light through feelings and vague notions out into ideas, actions, interactions, and feedback—and sketch such meditations in art and thought.

It is not for an artist or a thinker to say, “Listen to me: I know the Truth.” But it is for such attempters to say, “Read me: I’m worth reading.” And what is worth reading but relentless, whole-being honesty? Actually, you need that, but you also need a light touch, otherwise the honesty gets obsessed with nonessential details, you lose the sparkle of the essential moment and the frolicking fun of creation, and your art and thought fizzle.

And now, alone here with his task, the nightwatchman runs over a few lines he heard at least week from the raucous, smelly, smushed-together standing- & looking-up center floor of the Globe Theater. He recombines them in his own mind, strikes a version he finds pleasant, imagines life upon and/or behind the stage. But then a higher-up walks by tall and demanding, and so he hops to and those silly daydreams scatter. He is, after all, a grown married man with a real job to do, namely to pace all night every night over these smooth stones and beside these rougher ones, lantern held high, demanding “who goes there!” of anyone he doesn’t immediately recognize. That is what he must do with all his power until death slumbers him out.

[Editor’s Note: “First Essays” has a slightly altered version of this essay. “First Essays” is available for sale (or free — write us at Editor@PureLoveShop.com and we’ll email you a copy) on the Buy Our Books! tab of this blog.]

[Something Deeperism Institute]

Los Ojos Verdes: Part III

Los Ojos Verdes: Part III

[We are smashing together “Los Ojos Verdes” by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870) and a 199 translation from Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates. For practicing Spanish while reading great literature.]

[Here is the page with all the story’s sections: Los Ojos Verdes]

III

—¿Quién eres tú? ¿Cuál es tu patria? ¿En dónde habitas?
“Who art thou? What is thy fatherland? Where dost thou dwell?
Yo vengo un día y otro en tu busca, y ni veo el corcel que te trae á estos lugares, ni á los servidores que conducen tu litera.
Day after day I come seeking thee, and see neither the palfrey that brings thee hither, nor the servants who bear thy litter.
Rompe de una vez el misterioso velo en que te envuelves como en una noche profunda, yo te amo, y, noble ó villana, seré tuyo, tuyo siempre….
Rend once for all the veil of mystery in which thou dost enfold thyself as in the heart of night. I love thee and, highborn or lowly, I will be thine, thine forever.”

El sol había traspuesto la cumbre del monte; las sombras bajaban á grandes pasos, por su falda;
The sun had crossed the crest of the mountain. The shadows were descending its slope with giant strides.
la brisa gemía entre los álamos de la fuente, y la niebla, elevándose poco á poco de la superficie del lago, comenzaba á envolver las rocas de su margen.
The breeze sighed amid the poplars of the fountain. The mist, rising little by little from the surface of the lake, began to envelop the rocks of its margin.

Sobre una de estas rocas, sobre una que parecía próxima á desplomarse en el fondo de las aguas, en cuya superficie se retrataba temblando el primogénito de Almenar,
Upon one of these rocks, on one which seemed ready to topple over into the depths of the waters on whose surface was pictured its wavering image, the heir of Almenar,
de rodillas á los pies de su misteriosa amante, procuraba en vano arrancarle el secreto de su existencia.
on his knees at the feet of his mysterious beloved, sought in vain to draw from her the secret of her existence.

Ella era hermosa, hermosa y pálida, como una estatua de alabastro.
She was beautiful, beautiful and pallid as an alabaster statue.
Uno de sus rizos caía sobre sus hombros, deslizándose entre los pliegues del velo como un rayo de sol que atraviesa las nubes,
One of her tresses fell over her shoulders, entangling itself in the folds of her veil like a ray of sunlight passing through clouds;
y en el cerco de sus pestañas rubias brillaban sus pupilas como dos esmeraldas sujetas en una joya de oro.
and her eyes, within the circle of her amber-colored lashes, gleamed like emeralds set in fretted gold.

Cuando el joven acabó de hablarle, sus labios se removieron como para pronunciar algunas palabras, pero sólo exhalaron un suspiro,
When the youth ceased speaking, her lips moved as for utterance, but only exhaled a sigh,
un suspiro débil, doliente, como el de la ligera onda que empuja una brisa al morir entre los juncos.
a sigh soft and sorrowful like that of the gentle wave which a dying breeze drives among the rushes.

—¡No me respondes! exclamó Fernando al ver burlada su esperanza; ¿querrás que dé crédito á lo que de tí me han dicho?
“Thou answerest not,” exclaimed Fernando, seeing his hope mocked. “Wouldst thou have me credit what they have told me of thee?
¡Oh! No…. Háblame: yo quiero saber si me amas; yo quiero saber si puedo amarte, si eres una mujer…
Oh, no! Speak to me. I long to know if thou lovest me; I long to know if I may love thee, if thou art a woman——”

—Ó un demonio…. ¿Y si lo fuese?
—“Or a demon. And if I were?”

El joven vaciló un instante; un sudor frió corrió por sus miembros; sus pupilas se dilataron al fijarse con más intensidad en las de aquella mujer,
The youth hesitated a moment; a cold sweat ran through his limbs; the pupils of his eyes dilated, fixing themselves with more intensity upon those of that woman
y fascinado por su brillo fosfórico, demente casí, exclamó en un arrebato de amor:
and, fascinated by their phosphoric brilliance, as though demented he exclaimed in a burst of passion:

—Si lo fueses … fe amaría … te amaría como te amo ahora, como es mi destino amarte, hasta más allá de esta vida, si hay algo más allá de ella.
“If thou wert, I should love thee. I should love thee as I love thee now, as it is my destiny to love thee even beyond this life, if there be any life beyond.”

—Fernando, dijo la hermosa entonces con una voz semejante á una música: yo te amo más aún que tu me amas; yo, que desciendo hasta un mortal, siendo un espíritu puro.
“Fernando,” said the beautiful being then, in a voice like music: “I love thee even more than thou lovest me; in that I, who am pure spirit, stoop to a mortal.
No soy una mujer como las que existen en la tierra; soy una mujer digna de tí, que eres superior á los demás hombres.
I am not a woman like those that live on earth. I am a woman worthy of thee who art superior to the rest of humankind.
Yo vivo en el fondo de estas aguas; incorpórea como ellas, fugaz y trasparente, hablo con sus rumores y ondulo con sus pliegues.
I dwell in the depths of these waters, incorporeal like them, fugitive and transparent; I speak with their murmurs and move with their undulations.
Yo no castigo al que osa turbar la fuente donde moro; antes le premio con mi amor …
I do not punish him who dares disturb the fountain where I live; rather I reward him with my love,
como á un mortal superior á las supersticiones del vulgo, como á un amante capaz de comprender mi cariño extraño y misterioso.
as a mortal superior to the superstitions of the common herd, as a lover capable of responding to my strange and mysterious embrace.”

Mientras ella hablaba así, el joven, absorto en la contemplación de su fantástica hermosura, atraído como por una fuerza desconocida,
While she was speaking, the youth, absorbed in the contemplation of her fantastic beauty, drawn on as by an unknown force,
se aproximaba más y más al borde de la roca. La mujer de los ojos verdes prosiguió así:
approached nearer and nearer the edge of the rock. The woman of the emerald eyes continued thus:

—¿Ves, ves el limpido fondo de ese lago, ves esas plantas de largas y verdes hojas que se agitan en su fondo?…
“Dost thou behold, behold the limpid depths of this lake, behold these plants with large, green leaves which wave in its bosom?
Ellas nos darán un lecho de esmeraldas y corales … y yo …
They will give us a couch of emeralds and corals and I—
yo te daré una felicidad sin nombre, esa felicidad que has soñado en tus horas de delirio, y que no puede ofrecerte nadie….
I will give thee a bliss unnamable, that bliss which thou hast dreamed of in thine hours of delirium, and which no other can bestow.—
Ven, la niebla del lago flota sobre nuestras frentes como un pabellón de lino …
Come! the mists of the lake float over our brows like a pavilion of lawn,
las ondas nos llaman con sus voces incomprensibles, el viento empieza entre los álamos sus himnos de amor; ven … ven …
the waves call us with their incomprehensible voices, the wind sings among the poplars hymns of love; come—come!”

La noche comenzaba á extender sus sombras, la luna rielaba en la superficie del lago, la niebla se arremolinaba al soplo del aire,
Night began to cast her shadows, the moon shimmered on the surface of the pool, the mist was driven before the rising breeze,
y los ojos verdes brillaban en la obscuridad como los fuegos fatuos que corren sobre el haz de las aguas infectas….
the green eyes glittered in the dusk like the will-o’-the-wisps that run over the surface of impure waters.
Ven … ven … estas palabras zumbaban en los oídos de Fernando como un conjuro. Ven …
“Come, come!” these words were murmuring in the ears of Fernando like an incantation,—“Come!”
y la mujer misteriosa le llamaba al borde del abismo, donde estaba suspendida, y parecía ofrecerle un beso … un beso …
and the mysterious woman called him to the brink of the abyss where she was poised, and seemed to offer him a kiss—a kiss——

Fernando dió un paso hacia ella … otro … y sintió unos brazos delgados y flexibles que se liaban á su cuello, y una sensación fría en sus labios ardorosos, un beso de nieve …
Fernando took one step toward her—another—and felt arms slender and flexible twining about his neck and a cold sensation on his burning lips, a kiss of snow—
y vaciló … y perdió pie, y cayó al agua con un rumor sordo y lúgubre.
wavered, lost his footing and fell, striking the water with a dull and mournful sound.

The waves leaped in sparks of light, and closed over his body, and their silvery circles went widening, widening until they died away on the banks.
Las aguas saltaron en chispas de luz, y se cerraron sobre su cuerpo, y sus círculos de plata fueron ensanchándose, ensanchándose hasta expirar[1] en las orillas.[2]

[Footnote 1: expirar. Becquer uses incorrectly the form espirar.]
[Footnote 2: “It was a maxim both in ancient India and ancient Greece not to look at one’s reflection in water…. They feared that the water-spirits would drag the person’s reflection or soul under water, leaving him soulless to die. This was probably the origin of the classical story of Narcissus…. The same ancient belief lingers, in a faded form, in the English superstition that whoever sees a water-fairy must pine and die.
‘Alas, the moon should ever beam
To show what man should never see!—
I saw a maiden on a stream,
And fair was she!

I staid to watch, a little space,
Her parted lips if she would sing;
The waters closed above her face
With many a ring.

I know my life will fade away,
I know that I must vainly pine,
For I am made of mortal clay.
But she’s divine!'”

Fraser, The Golden Bough, London, Macmillan & Co., 1900, vol. i, pp. 293–294. The object of Fernando’s love was evidently an undine (see p. 43, note 1, and p. 47, note 1).]

Credits:
Author: Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870)
Translators: Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates
Smusher-Togetherer: AMW

Los Ojos Verdes – Part II

Los Ojos Verdes – Part II

[We are smashing together “Los Ojos Verdes” by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870) and a 199 translation from Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates. For practicing Spanish while reading great literature.]

[Here is the page with all the story’s sections: Los Ojos Verdes]

II

—Tenéis la color quebrada; andáis mustio, y sombrío; ¿qué os sucede?
“You are pale; you go about sad and gloomy. What afflicts you?
Desde el día, que yo siempre tendré por funesto, en que llegásteis á la fuente de los Álamos en pos de la res herida, diríase que una mala bruja os ha encanijado con sus hechizos.
From the day, which I shall ever hold in hate, on which you went to the fountain of the Poplars in chase of the wounded deer, I should say an evil sorceress had bewitched you with her enchantments.
Ya no vais á los montes precedido de la ruidosa jauría, ni el clamor de vuestras trompas despierta sus ecos.
“You do not go to the mountains now preceded by the clamorous pack of hounds, nor does the blare of your horns awake the echoes.
Sólo con esas cavilaciones que os persiguen, todas las mañanas tomáis la ballesta para enderezaros á la espesura y permanecer en ella hasta que el sol se esconde.
Alone with these brooding fancies which beset you, every morning you take your crossbow only to plunge into the thickets and remain there until the sun goes down.
Y cuando la noche obscurece y voivéis pálido y fatigado al castillo, en balde busco en la bandolera los despojos de la caza.
And when night darkens and you return to the castle, white and weary, in vain I seek in the game-bag the spoils of the chase.
¿Qué os ocupa tan largas horas lejos de los que más os quieren?
What detains you so long far from those who love you most?”

Mientras Iñigo hablaba, Fernando, absorto en sus ideas, sacaba maquinalmente astillas de su escaño de ébano con el cuchillo de monte.
While Iñigo was speaking, Fernando, absorbed in his thoughts, mechanically cut splinters from the ebony bench with his hunting knife.

Después de un largo silencio, que solo interrumpia el chirrido de la hoja al resbalarse sobre la pulimentada madera,
After a long silence, which was interrupted only by the click of the blade as it slipped over the polished wood,
el joven exclamó dirigiéndose á su servidor, como si no hubiera escuchado una sola de sus palabras:
the young man, addressing his servant as if he had not heard a single word, exclaimed:

—Iñigo, tú que eres viejo, tú que conoces todas las guaridas del Moncayo, que has vivido en sus faldas persiguiendo á las fieras, y en tus errantes excursiones de cazador subiste más de una vez á su cumbre,
“Iñigo, you who are an old man, you who know all the haunts of the Moncayo, who have lived on its slopes pursuing wild beasts and in your wandering hunting trips have more than once stood on its summit,
dime, ¿has encontrado por acaso una mujer que vive entre sus rocas?
tell me, have you ever by chance met a woman who dwells among its rocks?”

—¡Una mujer! exclamó el montero con asombro y mirándole de hito en hito.
“A woman!” exclaimed the huntsman with astonishment, looking closely at him.

—Sí, dijo el joven; es una cosa extraña lo que me sucede, muy extraña….
“Yes,” said the youth. “It is a strange thing that has happened to me, very strange.
Creí poder guardar ese secreto eternamente, pero no es ya posible;
I thought I could keep this secret always; but it is no longer possible.
rebosa en mi corazón y asoma á mi semblante.
It overflows my heart and begins to reveal itself in my face.
Voy, pues, á revelártelo….
Therefore I am going to tell it to you.
Tú me ayudarás á desvanecer el misterio que envuelve á esa criatura, que al parecer solo para mí existe, pues nadie la conoce, ni la ha visto, ni puede darme razón de ella.
You will help me solve the mystery which enfolds this being who seems to exist only for me, since no one knows her or has seen her, or can give me any account of her.”

El montero, sin despegar los labios, arrastró su banquillo hasta colocarlo junto al escaño de su señor, del que no apartaba un punto los espantados ojos.
The huntsman, without opening his lips, drew forward his stool to place it near the ebony bench of his lord from whom he did not once remove his affrighted eyes.
Éste, después de coordinar sus ideas, prosiguió así:
The youth, after arranging his thoughts, continued thus:

—Desde el día en que á pesar de tus funestas predicciones llegué á la fuente de los Álamos,
“From the day on which, notwithstanding your gloomy predictions, I went to the fountain of the Poplars,
y atravesando sus aguas recobré el ciervo que vuestra superstición hubiera dejado huir, se llenó mi alma del deseo de la soledad.
and crossing its waters recovered the stag which your superstition would have let escape, my soul has been filled with a desire for solitude.
Tú no conoces aquel sitio.
“You do not know that place.
Mira, la fuente brota escondida en el seno de una peña, y cae resbalándose gota á gota por entre las verdes y flotantes hojas de las plantas que crecen al borde de su cuna.
See, the fountain springs from a hidden source in the cavity of a rock, and falls in trickling drops through the green, floating leaves of the plants that grow on the border of its cradle.
Aquellas gotas que al desprenderse brillan como puntos de oro y suenan como las notas de un instrumento, se reunen entre los céspedes, y susurrando,
These drops, which on falling glisten like points of gold and sound like the notes of a musical instrument, unite on the turf and murmuring,
susurrando con un ruido semejante al de las abejas que zumban en torno de las flores, se alejan por entre las arenas,
murmuring with a sound like that of bees humming about the flowers, glide on through the gravel,
y forman un cauce, y luchan con los obstáculos que se oponen á su camino, y se repliegan sobre sí mismas, y saltan, y huyen, y corren,
and form a rill and contend with the obstacles in their way, and gather volume and leap and flee and run,
unas veces con risa, otras con suspires, hasta caer en un lago. En el lago caen con un rumor indescriptible.
sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with sighs, until they fall into a lake. Into the lake they fall with an indescribable sound.
Lamentos, palabras, nombres, cantares, yo no sé lo que he oído en aquel rumor cuando me he sentado solo y febril
Laments, words, names, songs, I know not what I have heard in that sound when I have sat, alone and fevered,
sobre el peñasco, á cuyos pies saltan las aguas de la fuente misteriosa para estancarse en una balsa profunda, cuya inmóvil superficie apenas riza el viento de la tarde.
upon the huge rock at whose feet the waters of that mysterious fountain leap to bury themselves in a deep pool whose still surface is scarcely rippled by the evening wind.
Todo es allí grande.
“Everything there is grand.
La soledad con sus mil rumores desconocidos, vive en aquellos lugares y embriaga el espíritu en su inefable melancolía.
Solitude with its thousand vague murmurs dwells in those places and transports the mind with an ineffable [2018 update: replaced “profound” with “ineffable”] melancholy.
En las plateadas hojas de los álamos, en los huecos de las peñas, en las ondas del agua,
In the silvered leaves of the poplars, in the hollows of the rocks, in the waves of the water
parece que nos hablan los invisibles espíritus de la naturaleza, que reconocen un hermano en el inmortal espíritu del hombre.
it seems that the invisible spirits of nature talk with us, that they recognize a brother in the immortal soul of man.

Cuando al despuntar la mañana me veías tomar la ballesta y dirigirme al monte, no fué nunca para perderme entre sus matorrales en pos de la caza,
“When at break of dawn you would see me take my crossbow and go toward the mountain, it was never to lose myself among the thickets in pursuit of game.
no; iba á sentarme al borde de la fuente, á buscar en sus ondas … no sé qué, ¡una locura!
No, I went to sit on the rim of the fountain, to seek in its waves—I know not what—an absurdity!
El día en que salté sobre ella con mi Relámpago[1] creí haber visto brillar en su fondo una cosa extraña … muy extraña … los ojos de una mujer.
The day I leaped over it on my Lightning, I believed I saw glittering in its depths a marvel—truly a marvel—the eyes of a woman!

[Footnote 1: Relámpago. The name of his horse, mentioned p. 17.]

Tal vez sería un rayo de sol que serpeó fugitive entre su espuma;
“Perhaps it may have been a ray of sunshine that wound fugitive [2018 update: moved “fugitive from “of fugitive sunshine” to here], serpent like, through the foam;
tal vez una de esas flores que flotan entre las algas de su seno, y cuyos cálices parecen esmeraldas … no sé:
perhaps one of those flowers which float among the weeds of its bosom, flowers whose calyxes seem to be emeralds—I do not know.
yo creí ver una mirada que se clavó en la mía; una mirada que encendió en mi pecho un deseo absurdo, irrealizable:
I thought I saw a gaze which fixed itself on mine, a look which kindled in my breast a desire absurd, impossible of realization,
el de encontrar una persona con unos ojos como aquellos.
En su busca fuí un día y otro á aquel sitio:
that of meeting a person with eyes like those.
“In my search, I went to that place day after day.

Por último, una tarde … yo me creí juguete de un sueño … pero no, es verdad, la[1]
“At last, one afternoon—I thought myself the plaything of a dream—but no, it is the truth;

[Footnote 1: la. The Spanish Academy condemns the use of la instead of le as a feminine dative. Spanish writers, however, frequently so employ it.]

he hablado ya muchas veces, como te hablo á tí ahora …
I have spoken with her many times as I am now speaking with you—
una tarde encontré sentada en mi puesto, y vestida con unas ropas que llegaban hasta las aguas y flotaban sobre su haz, una mujer hermosa sobre toda ponderación.
one afternoon I found, sitting where I had sat, clothed in a robe which reached to the waters and floated on their surface, a woman beautiful beyond all exaggeration.
Sus cabellos eran como el oro; sus pestañas brillaban como hilos de luz, y entre las pestañas volteaban inquietas unas pupilas que yo había visto…
Her hair was like gold; her eyelashes shone like threads of light, and between the lashes flashed the restless eyes that I had seen—
sí; porque los ojos de aquella mujer eran los ojos que yo tenía clavados en la mente; unos ojos de un color imposible; unos ojos …
yes; for the eyes of that woman were the eyes which I bore stamped upon my mind, eyes of an impossible color, the color——”

—¡Verdes! exclamó Iñigo con un acento de profundo terror, é incorporándose de un salto en su asiento.
“Green!” exclaimed Iñigo, in accents of profound terror, starting with a bound from his seat.

Fernando le miró á su vez como asombrado de que concluyese lo que iba á decir, y le pregunto con una mezcla de ansiedad y de alegría:
Fernando, in turn, looked at him as if astonished that Iñigo should supply what he was about to say, and asked him with mingled anxiety and joy:

“Do you know her?”
—¿La conoces?

—¡Oh, no! dijo el montero. ¡Líbreme Dios de conocerla!
“Oh, no!” said the huntsman. “God save me from knowing her!
Pero mis padres, al prohibirme llegar hasta esos lugares, me dijeron mil veces que el espíritu, trasgo, demonio ó mujer que habita en sus aguas, tiene los ojos de ese color.
But my parents, on forbidding me to go toward those places, told me a thousand times that the spirit, goblin, demon or woman, who dwells in those waters, has eyes of that color.
Yo os conjuro, por lo que más améis en la tierra, á no volver á la fuente de los Álamos.
I conjure you by that which you love most on earth not to return to the fountain of the Poplars.
Un día ú otro-os alcanzará su venganza, y expiaréis, muriendo, el delito de haber encenagado sus ondas.
One day or another her vengeance will overtake you, and you will expiate in death the crime of having stained her waters.”

—¡Por los que más amo!… murmuró el joven con una triste sonrisa.
“By what I love most!” murmured the young man with a sad smile.

—¡Sí!, prosiguió el anciano; por vuestros padres, por vuestros deudos, por las lágrimas de la que el cielo destina para vuestra esposa, por las de un servidor que os ha visto nacer …
“Yes,” continued the elder. “By your parents, by your kindred, by the tears of her whom heaven destines for your wife, by those of a servant who watched beside your cradle.”

—¿Sabes tú lo que más amo en este mundo?
“Do you know what I love most in this world?
Sabes tú por qué daría yo el amor de mi padre, los besos de la que me dió la vida, y todo el cariño que pueden atesorar todas las mujeres de la tierra?
Do you know for what I would give the love of my father, the kisses of her who gave me life, and all the affection which all the women on earth can hold in store?
Por una mirada, por una sola mirada de esos ojos … ¡Cómo podré yo dejar de buscarlos!
For one look, for only one look of those eyes! How can I leave off seeking them?”

Dijo Fernando estas palabras con tal acento, que la lágrima que temblaba en los párpados de Iñigo se resbaló silenciosa por su mejilla, mientras exclamó con acento sombrío:
Fernando said these words in such a tone that the tear which trembled on the eyelids of Iñigo fell silently down his cheek, while he exclaimed with a mournful accent:

¡Cúmplase la voluntad del cielo!
“The will of Heaven be done!”

Part III

Credits:
Author: Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870)
Translators: Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates
Smusher-Togetherer: AMW

Los Ojos Verdes / Emerald Eyes – Part I

Los Ojos Verdes / Emerald Eyes – Part I

[We are smashing together “Los Ojos Verdes” by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870) and a 1909 translation by Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates. For practicing Spanish while reading great literature.]

[Here is the page with all the story’s sections: Los Ojos Verdes]

I

—Herido va el ciervo, herido va; no hay duda. Se ve el rastro de la sangre entre las zarzas del monte, y al saltar uno de esos lentiscos han flaqueado sus piernas…. Nuestro joven señor comienza por donde otros acaban.
“The stag is wounded—he is wounded; no doubt of it. There are traces of his blood on the mountain shrubs, and in trying to leap one of those mastic trees his legs failed him. Our young lord begins where others end.

… en cuarenta años de montero no he visto mejor golpe.
In my forty years as huntsman I have not seen a better shot.

… ¡Pero por San Saturio,[1] patrón de Soria![2] cortadle el paso por esas carrascas, azuzad los perros, soplad en esas trompas hasta echar los hígados, y hundidle á los corceles una cuarta de hierro en los ijares:
But by Saint Saturio, patron of Soria, cut him off at these hollies, urge on the dogs, blow the horns till your lungs are empty, and bury your spurs in the flanks of the horses.

¿no véis que se dirige hacia la fuente de los Álamos,[3] y si la salva antes de morir podemos darle por perdido?
Do you not see that he is going toward the fountain of the Poplars, and if he lives to reach it we must give him up for lost?”

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FEEL FREE TO SCROLL PAST THESE LONG-WINDED FOOTNOTES THAT I FELT OBLIGED TO COPY (FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOLARS).

[Footnote 1: San Saturio. Saint Saturius was born, according to Tamayo, in 493. In 532 he withdrew from the world into a cave at the foot of a mountain bathed by the river Duero, near where now stands the town of Soria. There he lived about thirty-six years, or until 568, when he died and was buried by his faithful disciple St. Prudentius, later bishop of Tarazona, who had been a companion of the hermit during the last seven years of his life. His cave is still an object of pilgrimage, and a church has been built on the spot to the memory of the saint. See Florez, España Sagrada, Madrid, 1766, tomo vii, pp. 293–294.]

[Footnote 2: Soria. A mediaeval-looking town of 7296 inhabitants {2018 update: close to 40,000 inhabitants} situated on a bleak plateau on the right bank of the Duero. It is the capital of a province of the same name. The old town of Numantia (captured by the Romans under P. Cornelius Scipio AEmilianus, 133 B.C.) lay about three miles to the north of the present site of Soria.]

[Footnote 3: Álamos. The choice of a grove of poplars as setting to the enchanted fount is peculiarly appropriate, as this tree belongs to the large list of those believed to have magical properties. In the south of Europe the poplar seems to have held sometimes the mythological place reserved in the north for the birch, and the people of Andalusia believe that the poplar is the most ancient of trees. (See de Gubernatis, Za Mythologie des plantes, Paris, Reinwald, 1882, p. 285.) In classical superstition the black poplar was consecrated to the goddess Proserpine, and the white poplar to Hercules. “The White Poplar was also dedicated to Time, because its leaves were constantly in motion, and, being dark on one side and light on the other, they were emblematic of night and day…. There is a tradition that the Cross of Christ was made of the wood of the White Poplar, and throughout Christendom there is a belief that the tree trembles and shivers mystically in sympathy with the ancestral tree which became accursed…. Mrs. Hemans, in her ‘Wood Walk,’ thus alludes to one of these old traditions:
FATHER.—Hast thou heard, my boy,
The peasant’s legend of that quivering tree?

CHILD.—No, father; doth he say the fairies dance
Amidst its branches?

FATHER.—Oh! a cause more deep,
More solemn far, the rustic doth assign
To the strange restlessness of those wan leaves.
The Cross he deems—the blessed Cross, whereon
The meek Redeemer bow’d His head to death—
Was formed of Aspen wood; and since that hour
Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down
A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe
Making them tremulous, when not a breeze
Disturbs the airy Thistle-down, or shakes
The light lines from the shining gossamer.”

Richard Folkard, Plant Lore, London, 1892, p. 503.]

END OF THOSE FOOTNOTES

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Las cuencas del Moncayo[1] repitieron de eco en eco el bramido de las trompas, el latir de la jauría desencadenada y las voces de los pajes resonaron con nueva furia,
The glens of the Moncayo flung from echo to echo the braying of the horns and barking of the unleashed pack of hounds; the shouts of the pages resounded with new vigor,
y el confuso tropel de hombres, caballos y perros se dirigió al punto que Iñigo, el montero mayor de los marqueses de Almenar,[2] señalara,[3] como el más á propósito para cortarle el paso á la res.
while the confused throng of men, dogs and horses rushed toward the point which Iñigo, the head huntsman of the Marquises of Almenar, indicated as the one most favorable for intercepting the quarry.

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FEEL FREE TO SCROLL PAST THESE FOOTNOTES THAT I FELT OBLIGED TO COPY (FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOLARS).

[Footnote 1: El Moncayo. See p. 8, note 1. {2018: OK, I’ll look for that and put it here}]
[Footnote 2: Marqueses de Almenar. A title taken doubtless from the little town of Almenar (650 inhabitants) situated in the province of Soria near the right bank of the Rituerto river, southwest of the Moncayo, and not far from that mountain.]
[Footnote 3: señalara. A relic of the Latin pluperfect (in -aram, -eram), popularly confounded with the imperfect subjunctive. Its use is now somewhat archaic, and is restricted to relative clauses. See Ramsey’sSpanish Grammar, H. Holt & Co., 1902, § 944.]

END OF THOSE FOOTNOTES

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Pero todo fué inútil.
But all was of no avail.

Cuando el más ágil de los lebreles llegó á las carrascas jadeante y cubiertas las fauces de espuma, ya el ciervo, rápido como una saeta, las había salvado de un solo brinco, perdiéndose entre los matorrales de una trocha, que conducía á la fuente.
When the fleetest of the greyhounds reached the hollies, panting, its jaws covered with foam, already the deer, swift as an arrow, had cleared them at a single bound, disappearing among the thickets of a narrow path which led to the fountain.

—¡Alto!… ¡Alto todo el mundo! gritó Iñigo entonces; estaba de Dios que había de marcharse.
“Draw rein! draw rein, every man!” then cried Iñigo. “It was the will of God that he should escape.”

Y la cabalgata se detuvo, y enmudecieron las trompas, y los lebreles dejaron refunfuñando la pista á la voz de los cazadores.
And the troop halted, the horns fell silent and the hounds, at the call of the hunters, abandoned, snarling, the trail.

En aquel momento se reunía á la comitiva el héroe de la fiesta, Fernando de Argensola,[1] el primogénito de Almenar.
At that moment, the lord of the festival, Fernando de Argensola, the heir of Almenar, came up with the company.

BY ALL MEANS, HOP OVER THIS FOOTNOTE, IF YOU WISH!
—-

[Footnote 1: Argensola. A name familiar to students of Spanish literature from the writings of the illustrious brothers Bartolomé and Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola (sixteenth century). It is also the name of a small town of some 560 inhabitants in the province of Barcelona.]

—-

—¿Qué haces? exclamó dirigiéndose á su montero, y en tanto, ya se pintaba el asombro en sus facciones, ya ardía la cólera en sus ojos.
“What are you doing?” he exclaimed, addressing his huntsman, astonishment depicted on his features, anger burning in his eyes.
¿Qué haces, imbécil? ¡Ves que la pieza está herida, que es la primera que cae por mi mano, y abandonas el rastro y la dejas perder para que vaya á morir en el fondo del bosque!
“What are you doing, idiot? Do you see that the creature is wounded, that it is the first to fall by my hand, and yet you abandon the pursuit and let it give you the slip to die in the depths of the forest?
¿Crees acaso que he venido á matar ciervos para festines de lobos?
Do you think perchance that I have come to kill deer for the banquets of wolves?”

—Señor, murmuró, Iñigo entre dientes, es imposible pasar de este punto.
“Señor,” murmured Iñigo between his teeth, “it is impossible to pass this point.”

—¡Imposible! ¿y por qué?
“Impossible! And why?”

—Porque esa trocha, prosiguió el montero, conduce á la fuente de los Alamos; la fuente de los Álamos, en cuyas aguas habita un espíritu del mal.
“Because this path,” continued the huntsman, “leads to the fountain of the Poplars, the fountain of the Poplars in whose waters dwells an evil spirit.
El que osa enturbiar su corriente, paga caro su atrevimiento. Ya la res habrá salvado sus márgenes; ¿como la salvaréis vos sin atraer sobre vuestra cabeza alguna calamidad horrible?
He who dares trouble its flow pays dear for his rashness. Already the deer will have reached its borders; how will you take it without drawing on your head some fearful calamity?
Los cazadores somos reyes del Moncayo, pero reyes que pagan un tributo. Pieza que se refugia en esa fuente misteriosa, pieza perdida.
We hunters are kings of the Moncayo, but kings that pay a tribute. A quarry which takes refuge at this mysterious fountain is a quarry lost.”

—¡Pieza perdida! Primero perderé yo el señorío de mis padres, y primero perderé el ánima en manos de Satanás, que permitir que se me escape ese ciervo, el único que ha herido mi venablo, la primicia de mis excursiones de cazador….
“Lost! Sooner will I lose the seigniory of my fathers, sooner will I lose my soul into the hands of Satan than permit this stag to escape me, the only one my spear has wounded, the first fruits of my hunting.
¿Lo ves?… ¿lo ves?… Aún se distingue á intervalos desde aquí … las piernas le faltan, su carrera se acorta; déjame… déjame… suelta esa brida, o te revuelco en el polvo….
Do you see him? Do you see him? He can still at intervals be made out from here. His legs falter, his speed slackens; let me go, let me go! Drop this bridle or I roll you in the dust!
¿Quién sabe si no le daré lugar para que llegue á la fuente? y si llegase, al diablo ella, su limpidez y sus habitadores.
Who knows if I will not run him down before he reaches the fountain? And if he should reach it, to the devil with it, its untroubled waters and its inhabitants!
¡Sus! ¡Relámpago! sus, caballo mío! si lo alcanzas, mando engarzar los diamantes de mi joyel en tu serreta de oro.
On, Lightning! on, my steed! If you overtake him, I will have the diamonds of my coronet set in a headstall all of gold for you.”

Caballo y jinete partieron como un huracán.
Horse and rider departed like a hurricane.

Iñigo los siguió con la vista hasta que se perdieron en la maleza; después volvió los ojos en derredor suyo; todos, como el, permanecían inmóviles y consternados.
Iñigo followed them with his eyes till they disappeared in the brush. Then he looked about him: all like himself remained motionless, in consternation.

El montero exclamó al fin:
The huntsman exclaimed at last:
—Señores, vosotros lo habéis visto; me he expuesto á morir entre los pies de su caballo por detenerle. Yo he cumplido con mi deber.
“Señores, you are my witnesses. I exposed myself to death under his horse’s hoofs to hold him back. I have fulfilled my duty.
Con el diablo no sirven valentías. Hasta aquí llega el montero con su ballesta; de aquí adelante, que pruebe á pasar el capellán con su hisopo.[1]
Against the devil heroism does not avail. To this point comes the huntsman with his crossbow; beyond this, it is for the chaplain with his holy water to attempt to pass.”

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FEEL FREE TO SCROLL PAST THESE FOOTNOTES THAT I FELT OBLIGED TO COPY (FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOLARS).

[Footnote 1: Argensola. A name familiar to students of Spanish literature from the writings of the illustrious brothers Bartolomé and Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola (sixteenth century). It is also the name of a small town of some 560 inhabitants in the province of Barcelona.]

END OF THAT FOOTNOTE

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Part II

Credits:
Author: Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870)
Translators: Cornelia Frances Bates & Katherine Lee Bates
Smusher-Togetherer: AMW