Thơ

Flamenco Dance

A juerga with flamenco guitars,
With fires blooming like red flowers,
Corpses dancing in moonlight
The dance of wounded souls,
Vibrant red dresses
White shirts like birds,
Falling shawls,
Dancers,
Sky,

Claps,
Cubic
Movements of
Color, music’s
Seeds, hands being wings
Shadows on the white wall,
From soul detaching passion’s
Lights, motion vibrating the string,
Resonance for a new dimension.

Marieta Maglas

Dịch thơ:

Vũ điệu Flamenco

Vũ điệu Flamenco

Cơn túy lúy với đàn guitar flamenco
Với đám lửa nở bung như hoa đỏ
Xác thây nhảy múa dưới trăng
Vũ điệu hồn thương đau
Váy rừng rực đỏ
Áo trắng như cò
Khăn choàng rơi
Vũ công
Trời
Vỗ tay
Động tác xoay
Của màu sắc, hạt
Của âm nhạc, cánh tay
Trở thành những cặp cánh bay
Bóng đổ trên bức tường màu trắng
Ánh sáng đam mê tách khỏi tâm hồn
Dây đàn rung ngân cho một nơi cõi mới.

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(Bản tiếng Anh của bài thơ “Hàng Mã, ngày 30 Tết“, mình dịch cách đây đã lâu, nay đưa lên để phục vụ công việc.)

Street on the last day of year was packed to capacity
There were few hours left until New Year Eve
The lights were turned on sporadically
There still was something to buy.

A child was clinging to his mother’s hand
He asked her to buy him coats and pants
This street was not a good place for fashion shopping
His mother glared at him and ordered him to keep waiting.

The child stamped his feet and cried
“You lied, you lied, you lied, you lied, you lied!
I’ve just seen they sold the children’s clothes overthere”

At the place where he pointed
There was a man who used to be a father
Carrying some joss clothes made from paper
He was going home, quietly.

Street on the last day of year was packed to capacity
There were few hours left until New Year Eve
The lights were turned on sporadically
There still was something to buy…

* Hang Ma street is located in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. It is well-known for selling paper replicas of money and clothing that are burned in the worship ceremonies during special holidays. “Hang Ma” means Paper Votive Offerings.

Ảnh: Gutenberg.org

Three seasons

“A cup for hope!” she said,
In springtime ere the bloom was old:
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth’s richer red.

“A cup for love!” how low,
How soft the words; and all the while
Her blush was rippling with a smile
Like summer after snow.

“A cup for memory!”
Cold cup that one must drain alone:
While autumn winds are up and moan
Across the barren sea.

Hope, memory, love:
Hope for fair morn, and love for day,
And memory for the evening gray
And solitary dove.

Christina Rossetti (1830 – 1894)

Dịch thơ:

Ba mùa

“Một chén cho hy vọng!”
Nàng nói trong ngày xuân
Trước lúc hoa úa tàn
Rượu vang đỏ loãng, nhạt
Trong sắc thắm miệng nàng.

“Một chén cho tình yêu!”
Những lời trầm mềm dịu
Ánh nhìn gợn nét cười
Như mùa hè sau khi tuyết thôi rơi.

“Một chén cho hoài niệm!”
Chén lạnh người cạn riêng
Khi gió thu nổi lên rền rĩ
Ngang qua biển cạn muộn phiền.

Hy vọng, hoài niệm, tình yêu
Hy vọng cho sớm mai tươi đẹp
Tình yêu cho cả ngày
Còn hoài niệm cho bóng mờ đêm tối
Và con bồ câu đơn côi.

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