Me gustas cuando callas, por Pablo Neruda
It's time for a poem in Spanish, followed by my translation of it. When I translate poetry, I try to go for the literal meaning over the grace of a phrase. There is often no way to do some of these things in a very graceful way, and when people try, it makes the meaning thoroughly different.


Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.



You please me when you are quiet because it is as if you are absent,
and you hear me from a distance, and my voice does not touch you.
It seems that your eyes have flown away from you
and that a kiss might close your mouth.

As all things are full of my soul
you emerge from the things, full of soul that is mine.
Butterfly of dream, you seem like my soul
and you seem like the word Melancholy.

You please me when you are quiet and it is as if you are distant
and it is as if you are complaining, butterfly of lullaby.
And you hear me from a distance, and my voice does not reach you:
let me be silent with your silence.

Let me speak to your silence, too,
clear like a lamp, simple like a ring.
You are like the night, quiet and constellated.
Your silence is of the stars, so distant and simple.

You please me when you are silent because it is as if you are absent.
Distant and pained as if you were dead.
One word then, one smile, they are enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.


I also translated Rubén Darío's Sonatina a while back.