De su primer libro El ser no es una fábula (Being is not a fable) de 1968.
Nosotros esperamos
envueltos por los hojas doradas.
El mundo no acaba en el atardecer,
y solamente los sueños
tienen su límite en las cosas.
El tiempo nos conduce
por su laberinto de horas en blanco
mientras cae el otoño
al patio de nuestra casa.
Envueltos por la niebla incesante
seguimos esperando:
La nostalgia es vivir sin recordar
de qué palabra fuimos inventados.
Shrouded in golden leaves,
we wait.
The world doesn’t end at sunset
and only dreams
limit themselves to things.
Through a labyrinth of blank hours
time leads us on
as autumn falls
over our house, our patio.
Shrouded in a relentless fog
we wait, we wait:
nostalgia means to live without remembering
the word we are made of.
De su quinto libro Preludios (Preludes) de 1980.
Necesitas de todo, de los caminos grises,
de las hondas penumbras
o las luces del alba,
de pájaros que cantan aún en el silencio;
necesitas del cielo
y la hoja de otoño,
de unas manos vacías o el amor que no vuelve,
de la blancura de la nieve;
necesitas de todo para el sueño,
para hacerte a la música de los azules más distantes,
para que al fin tu alma
tenga confianza en la muerte.
You are in need of everything:
grey roads,
deep glooms,
birds that sing even in silence;
the sky,
an autumn leaf,
hands empty,
love unreturning,
snow’s whiteness;
dawn lights,
you are in need of everything the dream requires,
to become one with the music
of the most faraway blues
so that eventually your soul
will have confidence in death.
De su sexto libro Muerte de Merlín (Death of Merlin) de 1985.
Si eres tú la que busco
ven en la noche de perdidos reflejos,
si eres el cuerpo amado
ven entre árboles, entre canciones.
Aquí te espera un tiempo
desposeído de sus fábulas,
un cuerpo castigado por la vida
y las zarzas de los caminos.
Si eres tú la que viene
déjame una señal entre los árboles:
un velo blanco, una huella en el polvo
me bastarán en mi miseria.
Ven que la muerte espera,
como floresta magnífica espera la muerte;
si eres tú la que busco
ven protegida por un cielo.
If you are who I look for, come
in the night of lost reflections,
if you are the beloved body,
come in between trees, in between songs.
Here awaits you a time
dispossessed of fables,
a body punished by life
and the roads’ brambles.
If you are she who comes,
leave me a sign in between trees:
a white veil, a trace in the dust
will suffice in my wretchedness.
Come now that death awaits
as marvellous forest awaits death;
if you are who I look for,
come under the sky’s protection.
De su séptimo libro, Un jardín y un desierto /A garden and a desert) de 1993.
La tarde en que supe de tu muerte
fue la más pura del verano, estaban
los almendros crecidos hasta el cielo,
y el telar se detuvo en el noveno
color del arco iris. ¿Cómo era
su movimiento por la blanca orilla?
¿Cómo tejió tu vuelo de ese hilo
que daba casi el nombre del destino?
Sólo las nubes en la luz decían
la escritura de todos, la balada
de quien ha visto un reino y otro reino
y se queda en la fábula. Llevaron
tu cuerpo como nieve entre la rama
del polvo que ya ha oído el canto y guarda
la paz del ruiseñor de los sepulcros.
Cerré la verja del jardín, las altas
ventanas del castillo. Apenas quise
dejar que entrara el trovador que hacía
agua y laúd y flor de la madera.
Dijo su canto: el tiempo ha destejido
lo que tejió el Señor, tapiz de plata
que ya sucede y anda por la luna,
tapiz que a la madeja vuelve. Sola
podrás hallar la forma que te espera.
No sé que azul de pronto estuvo solo,
no sé cuál bosque dio a la luna amarga
su sortilegio, el girasol hallado
bajo la nave en viajes que recuerdan
las claras aguas del Mediterráneo.
La tarde en que yo supe que te ibas
fue la más pura de la muerte: estabas
en mi memoria hablándome, olvidada
entre las azucenas y en un verso
de san Juan de la Cruz. Qué cielo había
qué mano hilaba lenta, qué canciones
traían el dolor, la maravilla
que se asombra de ser en esa hora
en que estalló la luna en los almendros
y quemó los jazmines. Tú venías
por el lado del mar donde se oye
una canción, tal vez de alguna ahogada
virgen como tus pasos en la tierra.
Luego te fuiste por mi alma, reina
de fábulas antiguas y de polvo
semejante a las naves que sembraron
de sándalo y de cedro el mar de vino.
Solo te ibas, bella y en silencio,
bella como la piedra; había en hombro
un violín apagado. Los almendros
del patio y los jazmines anunciaban
una tormenta de verano. El cielo
quebró el espejo de mi casa y honda
sonó la muerte en el aljibe. Estuve
así, perdido en esa zarza ardiente
que en la memoria oculta a los que amamos.
Vestí de luto azul y quedé solo
“en vísperas del día más extenso”.
The afternoon I knew your death–
the summer’s purest, the almonds
had grown up to the sky,
and the loom halted in the rainbow’s
ninth colour. How, by the white rim, did
her movement go?
How was your flight by that thread woven
which gave almost the name of destiny?
Only the clouds uplifted in the light
told everybody’s writing, the ballad
of who has seen a kingdom and
another kingdom and remains
within the fable. They carried
your body, snow between dust branches
that have already heard the song and keep
peace of the nightingale among the tombs.
I shut the garden gates, the
castle’s high windows. Indeed I grudged
the troubadour, transmuting wood
to water, flower and lute, entry.
He sang his song; time has unravelled what
the Lord has ravelled, silver tapestry
already happening, moonlit wandering,
yet returning to the skein. Alone
you may find the shape that awaits you.
I don’t know what blue was, there and then, lonely,
I don’t know what forest imparted to
the bitter moon its enchantment, the sunflower found
under the ship on voyages that recall
the Mediterranean clear waters.
The afternoon I knew you
were leaving was death’s purest: you
were in my memory talking to me
among the lilies, in some lines by
Saint John of the Cross. What sky was there,
what hand knit slowly, what songs
brought the pain, the marvel
that is awed of being at that hour
in which the moon burst on the almonds
and burned down the jasmines. You came
by the side of the sea from where a song
is heard, perhaps from a drowning
virgin, as your steps on the land.
Then you departed through my soul, you queen
of ancient fables, dust kindred to those ships
that once seeded from sandal-
-wood and cedar the wine sea.
Alone you travelled, beautiful, in silence,
stone-beautiful; in your shoulder
a violin stopped in its tracks. The almonds in
the courtyard and the jasmines announced
a summer storm. The sky
shattered my house’s mirror, death
resounded deep in the cistern. I was
thus lost in that fiery bramble, in which
our memory conceals our loved ones.
I wore blue mourning and remained alone
“on the eve of the longest day”.
De su decimosegundo libro, El artista del silencio (The artist of silence) del 2012
¿Habría de negarlo?
Si soy el último hombre que camina sobre la tierra
y habría de negarlo si no hay pájaros
que canten una canción en el otoño
si no hay otoños si ya ha pasado el tiempo de las estaciones
y habría de negarlo
si no hay azul a quien decirle mi desconcierto
si estoy donde los colores no tienen nombre
en el juicio final incesante de los jardines
Soy el último hombre que grita sobre la tierra
que grita al cielo que se ha ocultado para siempre
y habría de negarlo a quién ¿a Dios?
acaso Dios es el artista del silencio
de tantas hojas que no son o siguen cayendo al abismo
y estallan en el aire sucio pero en qué aire.
Should it be denied?
If I am the last man walking on the earth
I would have to deny it
if there are no birds to sing an autumn song
if there is no autumn if the time of the seasons has already passed
I would have to deny it
if there is no blue for me to tell my bewilderment
if I am where the colours have no name
in the gardens’ incessant final judgement
I am the last man shouting on the earth
who shouts to the sky that has hidden itself forever
and I would have to deny it to whom, to God?
God is perchance the artist of silence
for there are so many leaves that are not or keep falling into the abyss
and explode in the squalid air but what air.
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Desarrollar las habilidades de lecto-escritura cuando se aprende un nuevo idioma puede ser un reto para algunos.
Sin embargo, siempre que encontremos algo que nos atrape y nos haga interesarnos en seguir leyendo, todo estará bien. Es por eso que queremos mostrarte esta selección de poemas cortos en inglés para despertar tu interés en la lectura.
Todos disfrutamos un poco de poesía de vez en cuando. La poesía puede ser tan hermosa, rítmica y significativa que diga todo lo que queremos expresar en pocas palabas; por esto no es de extrañar que la poesía haya tenido una larga historia que se remonta a tiempos prehistóricos.
Índice
John Donne
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Los poemas cortos en inglés, aunque lo sean en longitud, pueden transmitir una infinidad de sentimientos y despertar innumerables emociones con pocas palabras.
Además de esto, son una excelente fuente de estudio para los estudiantes que buscan ampliar su vocabulario, mejorar su lectura o incluso aprender cómo escribir este género en un nuevo idioma.
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose –
But were always a rose.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
It’s all I have to bring today—
This, and my heart beside—
This, and my heart, and all the fields—
And all the meadows wide—
Be sure you count—should I forget
Some one the sum could tell—
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –
With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I’m as clever as clever,
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
A glimpse through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here.
Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —
And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —
I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.
Aquí los tienes, 15 poemas cortos en inglés para leer y disfrutar que serán de gran ayuda en tu aprendizaje de este nuevo idioma.
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English poetry is a good way to learn a language. They will introduce you to new vocabulary, and thanks to their beautiful sound and sometimes very deep meaning, they will become a portion of inspiration and motivation if the usual language practice no longer brings joy.
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What are the advantages of English poetry?
You memorize new words faster thanks to rhyme and precise time signature.
You will learn how sentences are built in English — this will help improve your writing and speaking skills.
You get food for thought and find answers to many life questions.
You get to know a new poet, creativity and culture and broaden your horizons. nine0003
You can entertain any audience and impress your family and friends with your talent.
We have made for you a selection of short and easy poems in English with translation into Russian, which are suitable for both adults and children to study. For convenience, the poems were divided into themes.
Mood to reflect on the meaning of life? It is better to read poetry in English — and you will improve your language, and new thoughts will appear. nine0003
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Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! Sogleams the past, the light of other days, George Gordon Byron |
Sleepless sun! Sad star! So the past shines on us in the night of life, nine0012 George Gordon Byron |
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Original |
Literal translation |
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What is this life if, full of care, No time to stand beneath the boughs No time to see, when woods we pass, No time to see, in broad daylight, No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, No time to wait till her mouth can A poor life this if, full of care, William Henry Davies |
What is our life if, full of worries, No time to stop under the branches No time to look around when we walk through the forest, There is no time to see streams in the light of day, There is no time to turn around at the gaze of Beauty herself There is no time to wait until her lips Such a life is poor if, full of worries, William Henry Davis |
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Original |
Free translation |
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Life, believe, is not a dream Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, Rapidly, merrily, What though Death at times steps in Yet Hope again elastic springs, Manfully, fearlessly, Charlotte Brontë |
Believe that life is not a game, Let the sky look gloomy — Crazy, irrevocable, So what if death is always Hope for difficulties in spite of Let us meet many and difficult Charlotte Brontë nine0070 |
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When it is difficult to express your feelings to a loved one, a love poem will save the situation.
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If I had two nickels to rub together, Kevin Varrone nine0070 |
If I could rub two nickels together, Kevin Varron |
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When you are old and gray and full of sleep, How many loved your moments of glad grace, And bending down beside the glowing bars, William Butler Yeats |
When you are middle-aged, gray-haired and full of sleep How many loved your moments of happy grace And, bending over the red-hot grate, William Butler Yeats |
As they say, strong friendship will not break, but with poems it will become even stronger! Tell a friend a poem in English to show how much he means to you.
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Original |
Literal translation |
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nine0012 I cannot ease your aching heart, Nor take your pain away, But let me stay and take your hand And walk with you today! I’ll listen when you need to talk, I’m here, and I will stand by you You’re not alone, for I’m still here. nine0057 I’ll go that extra mile. Unknown author |
I can’t heal your aching heart, I will listen when you need to talk, I am here and I will be by your side You are not alone because I am still here. Unknown author |
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Original |
nine0012 Literal translation |
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I have a friend Unknown author |
I have a friend, Unknown author |
Do you want to impress the birthday man with an unusual congratulation? Learn a holiday poem for him in English!
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Original |
Free translation |
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Have an amazing birthday, Save problems with the «cold» reaction, Unknown author |
May your birthday be amazing, Take a calm look at all problems Unknown author |
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I wish you wisdom for right decisions, Be strong and healthy, don’t ever change, Unknown author |
I wish you wisdom for the right decisions, I also wish you strength and health, Unknown author |
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Birthday girl, today’s your day! Unknown author |
Birthday girl, today is your day! nine0057 Time to eat cake, sing songs and play. Unknown author |
Don’t know what toast to say at the New Year’s table? Turn on your creativity — tell a poem in English!
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Literal translation |
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New Year’s Day, a happy day! Unknown author |
New Year’s Day, happy day! Unknown author |
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Come, children, gather round my knee, Tonight’s December thirty-first, Hark! It’s midnight, dear children. Ogden Nash |
Come on, children, all to me, This evening, December 31st, Chu! It’s midnight, dear children. Ogden Nash |
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Do you know any poems in English? Perhaps more than you think. In different languages there are verses, the lines of which literally everyone knows. And English is no exception. However, the rating of the best poems is an extremely subjective thing, because each of us has our own preferences.
But some lines have stood the test of time, and it is these works that we will talk about today. nine0003
It’s okay, you’ve been spelling tiger correctly all this time. But we are in the 18th century, and the spelling rules here are slightly different. William Blake is considered one of the representatives of the romantic era in England. But this does not mean that all the poems were about love! Rather, they were imbued with emotion, description of nature and the spirit of individualism. Tiger is one of his most famous pieces and is played in schools as children love the rhythm and the words. The most famous lines are the beginning of the poem:
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night…
How to improve your memory by learning foreign languages
Rudyard Kipling is world famous for The Jungle Book, but «If» is considered his most famous poem. Kipling is a controversial figure in literature for his support of 19th century imperialism.
But «If» remains a motivational mantra about how to survive adulthood. Two lines of a poem are written at the players’ entrance to Wimbledon’s center court, which teaches that victories and defeats are the same:
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same…
Ozymandias is another work of the era of romanticism known all over the world with these lines:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
I am Ozymandias, I am the mighty king of kings! nine0057 Look at my great deeds…
Ozymandias is the Greek name of Ramses II. The sonnet tells of the inevitable decline of great rulers. One of the best episodes of Breaking Bad was called «Ozymandias» and *spoiler alert! * it showed the decline of a powerful man watching his empire crumble.
Language Learning: A Beginner’s Guide
How can you rank the best English poetry without including Shakespeare? His most famous sonnet is famous for these lines:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate…
Can I compare your features with a summer day?
But you are sweeter, more moderate and more beautiful.
This poem is often used in wedding vows and frilly romantic films when characters confess their love to each other. The poet describes the beauty of the beloved and compares it with a summer day.
Robert Frost is an American poet and The Road Not Taken is his most iconic work. These lines are often read at high school and university graduation ceremonies, encouraging young people to choose their own path into adulthood. nine0003
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Now I would say, leaving sorrow:
I chose the road that was less trampled —
All the difference in this between them was.
6 emotions that differ in different cultures
I wandered like a cloud in the spring (I wandered lonely as a cloud) … a line that both adults and children know in England.
Wordsworth, a poet of the Romantic era, is known for his love of nature, and «Daffodils» is proof of this. This is a simple and sweet poem about nature and the countryside. After its release, the poem was heavily criticized, but now it is one of the most beloved poems in all of Britain. nine0003
It will be difficult for non-Americans to understand the title of this sonnet, but most of us know the image the verse is dedicated to. The sonnet, written in 1883, is dedicated to the Statue of Liberty and is on a plaque inside the statue’s pedestal. The Sonnet has turned the Statue of Liberty into a symbol of immigration and the welcome the US is ready to give to newcomers. The two most famous lines are:
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…
And give me your unfortunate, your poor,
Your downtrodden masses dreaming of breathing freely
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