Vicent Andrés i Estellés: Lovers. Translated by Jack H. Smith, Professor Emeritus at the University at Albany, NY
This time we chose to publish a translation by someone else, stunned by its uncanny beauty and natural, unaffected flow. Two wings by two different artists -- Wing of a Blue Roller by German master Albrecht Dürer and Wing by Ana Ribó, a beautiful gift to her brother Juan -- are accompanying this jewel of Valencian poetry.
Vicent Andrés i Estellés (1924-1993)
Lovers
Translation by Jack H. Smith, Professor Emeritus at the University at Albany, NY
Flesh craves flesh (Ausiàs March)
Never were there in València two lovers like us.
We loved ferociously, from morn 'til night.
I recall everything, as you hang out the clothes.
Years have passed, many years: many things have happened.
Suddenly that wind, or love, seizes me still
And we roll on the ground amidst embraces and kisses.
We do not know love as a loving custom,
As a quiet custom of politeness and finery
(And may the chaste López-Picó pardon us).
Love, it awakens suddenly, like an old hurricane,
It throws us to the ground, it joins us together,
Squeezing us tightly.
Sometimes I desired a courteous love,
With the gramophone on, kissing you idly,
Now a shoulder, next an ear lobe.
Our love is a brusque and savage love
And we feel a bitter yearning for the earth,
Of rolling upside down amidst kisses and clutches.
I'll say it clear. Primal, ... I know it.
We ignore Petrarch's work, we ignore many things.
The stanzas of Riba, the rhymes of Bécquer.
Afterwards, lying somehow on the ground,
We realise that we are barbarous, that this may not be,
We are not in the right age, and this and that.
Never were there in València two lovers like us,
Lovers like us are just not born!
Albrecht Dürer. Wing of a Blue Roller
Vicent Andrés i Estellés (1924-1993)
No hi havia a València dos amants...
La carn vol carn (Ausiàs March)
No hi havia a València dos amants com nosaltres.
Feroçment ens amàvem del matí a la nit.
Tot ho recorde mentre vas estenent la roba.
Han passat anys, molt anys; han passat moltes coses.
De sobte encara em pren aquell vent o l'amor
i rodolem per terra entre abraços i besos.
No comprenem l'amor com un costum amable,
com un costum pacífic de compliment i teles
(i que ens perdone el cast senyor López-Picó).
Es desperta, de sobte, com un vell huracà,
i ens tomba en terra els dos, ens ajunta, ens empeny.
Jo desitjava, a voltes, un amor educat
i en marxa el tocadiscos, negligentment besant-te,
ara un muscle i després el peço d'una orella.
El nostre amor es un amor brusc i salvatge
i tenim l'enyorança amarga de la terra,
d'anar a rebolcons entre besos i arraps.
Què voleu que hi faça! Elemental, ja ho sé.
Ignorem el Petrarca i ignorem moltes coses.
Les Estances de Riba i les Rimas de Bécquer.
Després, tombats en terra de qualsevol manera,
comprenem que som bàrbars, i que això no deu ser,
que no estem en l'edat, i tot això i allò.
No hi havia a València dos amants com nosaltres,
car d'amants com nosaltres en son parits ben pocs.
