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123 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1891
The word “sencillo” is an especially difficult one to convey in English, since there is not really a good equivalent.Versos Sencillos consists of 46 poems written by Martí in his late 30s in 1890 in the town of Haines Falls, in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Martí spend most of his life in exile from Cuba because of his opposition to the Spanish rulers of Cuba. Indeed, he died not long after the publication of Versos Sencillos, when he returned to Cuba and was killed in an uprising.
Mi verso es de un verde claroMy literal translation (with no attempt at rhythm or rhyme)
Y de un carmín encendido:
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo.
My verse is light greenMost of Martí's poems trace a common theme: that he is a simple and honest man, who loves life in the small. For instance, he writes, "El arroyo de la sierra/Me complace más que el mar." -- "The mountain stream pleases me more than the sea.", and "Con los pobres de la tierra/Quiero yo mi suerte echar" -- "I want to cast my fate with the Earth's poor".
and flaming crimson:
My verse is a wounded deer
that seeks sanctuary on the mountain.
My goal has been to convey Martí’s meaning while keeping consistent rhyme and to create verses that have a natural rhythm when read aloud. I have followed the original rhyme scheme (abba, abab, etc.) where feasible but have tried not to force meaning to preserve form. Likewise the maintenance of a meter that flows well in English—whether it exactly replicates Martí’s or not—has been my priority. Above all, I have seen the work as a whole and within each poem sought to present verses which represent Martí’s message or mood in English.Translating poetry is HARD. The task Fountain sets herself of preserving meter, rhyme, and meaning in an English translation is nearly impossible, and to be completely honest, I don't think she succeeds.
Duermo en mi cama de roca
Mi sueño dulce y profundo:
Roza una abeja mi boca
Y crece en mi cuerpo el mundo.
Brillan las grandes molduras
Al fuego de la mañana,
Que tiñe las colgaduras
de rosa, violeta y grana.
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar:
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace más que el mar