“Traduttore, traditore” is an Italian saying reflecting a common view of translation, especially of translating poetry: a translator is a traitor. For me this attempt seems very midsummer madness, yet here is my halting homage to both those beautiful poems.
GATHER YOUR ROSES
Translated from Ronsard’s “Quand vous serez bien vieille”
When you are very old, in a candle-lit eve
As, seated by the fire, yarns you sort and weave,
Recite my verse and marvel: With such praise
Of my beauty Ronsard spoke, in those days.
Never a maid of yours, nodding at her labour,
But will waken with a start as you murmur
My name, who on your name did bestow
Through my verses such immortal glow.
Buried in earth, a boneless ghost I shall be,
Taking my repose in the shade of a myrtle tree:
By a hearth you will crouch, old, bent and grey,
My love you will miss, your proud disdain regret.
Live, then, believe me; tomorrow forget;
Haste to gather roses life offers you today.
Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.