GARCILASO DE LA VEGA

                  

Soneto X


        ¡Oh dulces prendas, por mi mal halladas,

dulces y alegres cuando Dios queria!

Juntas estais en la memoria mia,

y con ella en mi muerte conjuradas.

    ¿Quien me dijera, cuando en las pasadas

horas en tanto bien por vos me via,

que me habiades de ser en algun dia

con tan grave dolor representadas?

   Pues en un hora junto me llevastes

todo el bien que por terminos me distes,

llevadme junto el mal que me dejastes;

   si no, sospechare que me pusistes

en tantos bienes porque deseastes

verme morir entre memorias tristes.


GARCILASO DE LA VEGA

 

Sonnet X


   Oh, sweet tokens, sadly found by me,

sweet and happy when God willed it so!

Together with my memory you go,

making my death your conspiracy.

   Whoever could have told me, having seen

the joy you brought to me not long ago,

that, in time, I would come to know

you as the source of my great suffering?

   As in one hour you have laid to waste

all the good you gave me by degrees,

so take away the ill you left, with haste;

    if not, I will suspect that it would please

you to let me know your bounty’s taste

then watch me die among sad memories.


                                               translated by Mary Rae


GARCILASO DE LA VEGA


Soneto XI


   Hermosas ninfas que, en el rio metidas,

contentas habitais en las moradas

de relucientes piedras fabricadas

y en colunas de vidrio sostenidas:

   Agora esteis labrando embebecidas,

o tejiendo las telas delicadas;

agora unas con otras apartadas,

contandoos los amores y las vidas;

   dejad un rato la labor, alzando

vuestras rubias cabezas a mirarme,

y no os detendreis muchos, segun ando;

   que o no podreis de lastima escucharme,

o convertido en agua aqui llorando,

podreis alla de espacio consolarme.


GARCILASO DE LA VEGA

     

Soneto XXIII


   En tanto que de rosa y azucena

se muestra la color en vuestro gesto,

y en vuestro mirar ardiente, honesto,

enciende al corazon y lo refrena;

   y en tanto que el cabello, que en la vena

del oro se escogio, con vuelo presto,

por el hermoso cuello blanco, enhiesto,

el viento mueve, esparce y desordena:

   coged de vuestra alegre primavera

el dulce fruto, antes que el tiempo airado

cubra de nieve la hermosa cumbre.

   Marchitara la rosa el viento helado,

todo lo mudara la edad ligera

por no hacer mudanza en su costumbre.



GARCILASO DE LA VEGA


 Sonnet XI


   Beautiful nymphs who through the river pass,

living in contentment on your own

in your mansions built of shimmering stone

and upheld by columns made of glass:

   now, one embroiders lovely trifles as

another weaves a cloth of delicate tone;

and now, a few of you go off alone,

each telling of the life and loves she has;

   for a while, put your work aside

and lift your golden heads to look at me,

and I won’t keep you long, I confide;

   you’ll be too sad to listen, or I’ll be

changed to water crying at your side,

and then there will be time for sympathy.

translated by Mary Rae

     GARCILASO DE LA VEGA

    Garcilaso de la Vega, one of the premier poets of Spains Golden Age, was, along with Juan Boscán,

    among the first to introduce Italianate forms into Spanish poetry. He adapted Petrarchan sonnets

    using eleven syllables, and the result was a sonnet form that was flowing and malleable. His work is

    known for its rich imagery and musicality and an underlying sense of sadness and loss. Many poets

    were influenced by Garcilaso's elegance, and San Juan de la Cruz (St. John of the Cross) was almost

     certainly among them. Below you will find three of his best known poems with English translations.

      ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS   


GARCILASO DE LA VEGA


  Sonnet XXIII


   As long as the colors of the rose

and the lily play across your face,

and as long as your ardent gaze

ignites the heart that it reins and slows;

   as long as the breeze lightly blows

through your hair, where gold seams interlace,

and moves, flutters and tangles it with grace

as round your pretty, long white neck it goes;

   gather the sweet fruit of happy Spring,

before wrathful age has overlaid

all your beauty’s pinnacles with snow.

   Icy wind will cause the rose to fade,

and fleeting time will transform everything

just to maintain its accustomed flow.


                                translated by Mary Rae