This is a bizarro episode! Today we read a poem in English, and discuss it in Spanish.

Here's Stevens' original poem:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/248826

And here's our translation into Spanish:

El poema que tomó el lugar de una montaña

Ahí estaba, palabra por palabra,
el poema que tomó el lugar de una montaña.

Él respiraba su oxígeno,
Aun mientras el libro se acostaba en el polvo de la mesa.

Le recordaba como había necesitado
un lugar para ir en su propia dirección,

Como había recompuesto los pinos,
Desplazado las piedras y hecho su camino por las nubes,

Para la vista que sería correcta,
Donde estaría completo en una completud sin explicación:

La piedra exacta en donde su inexactitud
descubriría, por fin, la vista a donde había avanzado,

Donde podría acostarse y, contemplando el mar abajo,
reconocer su hogar, único y solitario.

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In this episode, we read Neruda's "A mis obligaciones."

Original text: http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/pablo-neruda-a-mis-obligaciones.htm

Translation:

To my obligations

Doing my job
stone by stone, feather by feather,
winter ends and leaves
abandoned sites,
dead rooms:
I work and work,
I ought to replace
all this neglect,
fill the darkness with bread,
replant hope.

It's not for me but the dust,
the season's nasty rain,
I hold nothing back
but all of space
and there I work, and work,
manifesting spring.

I have to give everything to everyone
every week and every day,
a blue gift,
a cold leaf from the forest,
and come tomorrow I'm already alive
while the others immerse themselves
in sloth, in love,
I'm cleaning my bell,
my heart, my tools.

I've got dew for everyone.

==EPISODE NOTES==

"Tinieblas" derives from the Latin "tenebrae," which also means darkness. The root, "teme-," produces two almost-antonyms: "temeriario," which means acting rashly, audaciously, imprudently (see "temerity" in English), and "temeroso," which means scared. We can think of these as two possible human reactions to darkness.

After recording this episode, I found another English translation, which you can find here: https://poetrydispatch.wordpress.com/2007/12/02/pablo-neruda-two-poems/. While my translation has its moments, I find this one to be way better. My one bone to pick is the line "bearing witness to spring," which eradicates the narrator's agency that I consider so central to the poem.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit polytrope.substack.com

In Episode 2, we read the fable "La oveja negra" by Guatemalan writer Augusto Monterroso.

It's super short, so we also provide an English translation, reproduced below.

Original text: http://www.ciudadseva.com/textos/cuentos/esp/monte/la_oveja_negra.htm

Translation:

Long ago in a faraway land there was once a Black Sheep. He was shot and killed.

A century later, the repentant flock erected an equestrian statue that looked very nice in the park.

And so from then on, any time that black sheep showed up they were promptly executed, so that future generations of common, ordinary sheep would be able to practice sculpture as well.

==EPISODE NOTES==

In the episode I wrongly say that this story comes from the book "La oveja negra y otros cuentos" — I conflated 2 books of Monterroso's: "Obras completas y otros cuentos," and "La oveja negra y demás fábulas."

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Episode 1! This is where it all begins.

We stumble our way through a thorny passage early in Cien Años de Soledad, by Gabriel García Márquez.

If you'd like to read along at home, the passage beings at the bottom of page 6 on this site: http://www.quieroleer.com.ar/libros/soledad/6.html

==EPISODE NOTES==

In the episode we describe "lirio" as an iris, but after some digging it seems like "lily" is the better translation.

This confusion shows up in taxonomy; for example, the iris domestica is commonly called the leopard lily.

It's tempting to think the word "lirio" might be a common ancestor for the lily and the iris, but this isn't the case. "Lily" and "lirio" derive from the Latin "lilium," while "iris" is "iris" all the way back to Ancient Greek, where it was the name of the goddess of the rainbow.

The word for rainbow in Spanish is arco iris.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit polytrope.substack.com