Preciosa y el aire – Primer romancero gitano – Federico García Lorca – 1924 – with translation into English 🏴 and Italian 🇮🇹 by Enzo Martinelli
© 2020 Enzo Martinelli
🇪🇸 Preciosa y el aire, de Federico García Lorca
A Dámaso Alonso
Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene,
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas,
huyendo del sonsonete,
cae donde el mar bate y canta
su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra
los carabineros duermen
guardando las blancas torres
donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua
levantan por distraerse,
glorietas de caracolas
y ramas de pino verde.
Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado
el viento, que nunca duerme.
San Cristobalón desnudo,
lleno de lenguas celestes,
mira a la niña tocando
una dulce gaita ausente.
Niña, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mis dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.
Preciosa tira el pandero
y corre sin detenerse.
El viento-hombrón la persigue
con una espada caliente.
Frunce su rumor el mar.
Los olivos palidecen.
Cantan las flautas de umbría
y el liso gong de la nieve.
¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,
que te coge el viento verde!
¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!
¡Míralo por dónde viene!
Sátiro de estrellas bajas
con sus lenguas relucientes.
Preciosa, llena de miedo,
entra en la casa que tiene
más arriba de los pinos,
el cónsul de los ingleses.
Asustados por los gritos
tres carabineros vienen,
sus negras capas ceñidas
y los gorros en las sienes.
El inglés da a la gitana
un vaso de tibia leche,
y una copa de ginebra
que Preciosa no se bebe.
Y mientras cuenta, llorando,
su aventura a aquella gente,
en las tejas de pizarra
el viento, furioso, muerde.
🇬🇧 Preciosa and the air
To Dámaso Alonso
Your parchment moon
Lovely playing comes,
Along an amphibious path
Of crystals and laurels.
Silence without stars,
Fleeing from the sonsonete,
It falls where the sea beats and sings
His night full of fish.
In the peaks of the mountains
The carabineros sleep
Guarding the white towers
Where the English live.
And the gypsies of the water
They get up for being distracted,
Conch shell roundabouts
And green pine branches.
Your parchment moon
Lovely playing comes.
When she saw her, she got up
The wind, which never sleeps.
San Cristobalón naked,
Full of heavenly tongues,
Look at the girl touching
A sweet bagpipe absent.
Girl, let me lift
Your dress to see you.
Open on my old fingers
The blue rose of your belly.
Beautiful throws the tambourine
And run without stopping.
The light-wind chases her
With a hot sword.
The sea gathers its rumour.
The olive trees pale.
Shady flutes sing
And the smooth snow gong.
Preciosa, run, Preciosa,
That the green wind catches you!
Preciosa, run, Lovely!
Look at it where it comes from!
Low-stars satyr
With their shiny tongues.
Preciosa, full of fear,
Enters the house,
Above the pine trees,
Belonging to the English consul.
Scared by screams
Three carabineros are coming,
Her black tight layers
And the hats on the temples.
English gives the gypsy
A glass of warm milk,
And a glass of gin
Preciosa doesn’t drink.
And as he counts, crying,
His adventure to those people,
On the slate tiles
The wind, furious, bites.
This ebook edition not only celebrates Lorca’s poetic mastery but also showcases the potential of AI in creative collaboration. It’s a convergence of tradition and innovation, where the timeless beauty of Lorca’s sonnets meets the cutting-edge capabilities of AI-generated imagery. As you embark on this literary journey, prepare to be captivated anew by the haunting allure of “Sonnets of Dark Love,” now presented in a form that seamlessly blends the literary and visual arts for a truly immersive encounter.
Introducing a groundbreaking release: the new English translation of Federico García Lorca’s “Sonnets of Dark Love.” This digital edition, presented as an ebook, offers readers a fresh perspective on Lorca’s timeless work, capturing the depth of his emotions and the nuances of his language in a way that resonates with contemporary sensibilities.
Lorca’s “Sonnets of Dark Love” have long held a fascination for scholars and poetry enthusiasts alike, offering a glimpse into the poet’s innermost thoughts and intense emotional experiences. In this new translation, every effort has been made to preserve the original cadence and intensity of Lorca’s words, while also infusing them with a modern English sensibility that makes the verses accessible to today’s readers.
What sets this edition apart is the seamless integration of AI-generated imagery that complements Lorca’s words. These visuals, carefully crafted by artificial intelligence, offer a visual counterpart to the emotions and themes present in the sonnets. They provide an intriguing visual narrative that resonates with the essence of Lorca’s poetry, enhancing the overall reading experience and inviting readers to explore the intersections between language, art, and technology.
🇮🇹 Preciosa e l’aria, di Federico García Lorca
A Dámaso Alonso
La tua luna di pergamena
Il bel gioco sta arrivando,
Su un sentiero anfibio
Cristalli e allori.
Silenzio senza stelle,
Fuggendo dal figlio,
Cade dove il mare batte e canta.
La sua notte è piena di pesci.
Sulle cime delle montagne
I carabinieri dormono
A guardia delle torri bianche
Dove vivono gli inglesi?
E gli zingari dell’acqua
Si alzano per essere distratti,
Gazebo conchiglia E rami di pino verde.
La tua luna di pergamena
Sta arrivando un bel gioco.
Quando l’ha vista, si è alzata
Il vento, che non dorme mai.
San Cristobalón nudo,
Pieno di lingue celesti,
Guarda la ragazza giocare
Una cornamusa dolce assente.
Ragazza, lasciami sollevare.
Il tuo vestito per vederti.
Apri sulle mie vecchie dita
La rosa blu sulla pancia.
Preciosa butta via il tamburello
E corri senza fermarti.
Il vento leggero la insegue
Con una spada calda.
Si dice che il mare.
Gli ulivi pallidi.
Cantano gli ombrosi flauti
E il gong liscio della neve.
Preciosa, corri, Preciosa,
Lascia che il vento verde ti catturi!
Preciosa, corri, Preciosa!
Guarda da dove viene!
Satiro delle stelle basse
Con le loro lingue lucide.
Preciosa, piena di paura,
Entra nella casa che ha
Sopra i pini,
Il console degli inglesi.
Spaventati dalle urla
Stanno arrivando tre carabinieri,
Stretti nelle loro cappe nere,
E i cappelli sulle tempie.
L’inglese dà alla gitana
Un bicchiere di latte caldo,
E un bicchiere di gin
Che Preciosa non beve.
E mentre racconta, piangendo,
La sua avventura a quelle persone,
Sulle piastrelle di ardesia
Il vento, furioso, morde.
🇫🇷 Preciosa et l’air, de Federico García Lorca
A Dámaso Alonso
Sa lune de parchemin
Le toucher précieux vient,
le long d'un chemin amphibie
de cristaux et de lauriers.
Le silence sans étoiles,
fuyant le bruit sonore,
tombe là où la mer bat et chante
sa nuit pleine de poissons.
Sur les sommets de la sierra,
les carabiniers dorment
en gardant les tours blanches
où vivent les Anglais.
Et les gitans de l'eau élèvent,
pour se distraire,
des tonnelles de conques
et de branches de pin vert.
Sa lune de parchemin
Le précieux attouchement arrive.
A sa vue s'est levé le vent
qui ne dort jamais.
Saint Christophe nu,
plein de langues célestes,
regarde la jeune fille
qui joue d'une cornemuse douce et absente.
Mon enfant, laisse-moi soulever
ta robe pour te voir.
Ouvre dans mes doigts anciens
la rose bleue de ton ventre.
Preciosa lance le tambourin
et court sans s'arrêter.
L'épaule du vent la poursuit
avec une épée brûlante.
La mer bruisse de son murmure.
Les oliviers pâlissent.
Les flûtes ombreuses et le gong
lisse de la neige chantent.
Preciosa, cours,
Preciosa, le vent vert t'attrape
Preciosa, cours, Preciosa
Regarde d'où il vient!
Satyre des étoiles basses aux langues scintillantes.
Preciosa, plein de peur,
entre dans la maison au-dessus des pins,
le consul anglais.
Effrayés par les cris,
trois carabiniers arrivent,
leurs manteaux noirs bien enveloppés
et leurs casquettes sur les tempes.
L'Anglais donne à la gitane
un verre de lait chaud
et un verre de gin,
que Preciosa ne boit pas.
Et tandis qu'elle raconte
en larmes son aventure au peuple,
le vent mord furieusement
sur les toits d'ardoise.
Discover more from Words, Colours and Notes
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
27 thoughts on “Preciosa y el aire, de García Lorca ✒️📃🇪🇸”