Bendita alegría - a poem by Raquel Lanseros, in translation

A few days ago, I posted a translation into Norwegian of a poem by the Spanish poem Raquel Lanseros, whose works have been a source of much delight and happiness in the ongoing self-isolation. In addition to providing a range of beautiful mental images conjured up by her mastery of words, these poems also serve as an opportunity for me to improve my Spanish, which I do in part by translating some of them into my own language.

Raquel Lanseros herself has very graciously permitted me to publish these translations, their roughness and uneven quality notwithstanding.

This time, I have published the poem "Bendita alegría", the original text of which can be found on this website. An English translation of this poem can be found here.

Following my own translation into Norwegian, I will provide a rendition into English - not of the original poem, but of my translation so that it will be possible to see the choices I have made to adjust the original text to a very different language.




Velsigna glede          

(Bendita alegria)  

Dei forvekslar deg med andre, glede:
naivitet, enkelheit,
forenkling,
uskuld.
Dei undervurderer deg gjennom diminutivar
du erstatning for lukka,
du euforien si stakkars syster

Dei verkar for å ha gløymt den tilfrosne rutinen
når det innstendige vert blodfattig
og frykta fangar som ein klippevegg

Eg ber deg: plukk ikkje opp den kasta hansken,
gløym utfordringa som kjem frå vankunne.
Lat oss ikkje verte fortapte på eitt eller anna hav,
utan ditt ljos, glede,
det som kjem frå dine romslege hender,
det som forvandlar sjela til ein plass å bu.

Sjå vekk frå skyttargravene si mumling,
frå opportunistane sin tomme retorikk.
Du er den som utskil den reinaste fridomen,
som er anden sin spontane orgasme.

Velgjerande glede,
den reine av smak,
den velviljuge,
du som lever og råder i den reine margen,
no – og i gryinga av kvar einaste time –
ver hjå oss. 




Blessed joy

They confuse you with others, joy: 
naivete, simpleness, simplicity,
innocence.
They underestimate you through diminutives
you substitute for happiness, 
you poor sister of euphoria.

They appear to have forgotten the frozen routine
when the insisting becomes blood-drained
and fear catches you like the face of a cliff.

I beg you: do not pick up the thrown gauntlet,
forget the challenge posed by ignorance.
Let us not be lost on some sea or another
without your light, joy, 
that which comes from your spacious hands,
that which transforms the soul to an inhabitable space.

Look away from the mumbling of the trenches, 
from the empty rhetoric of the opportunists.
You are the one that exudes the purest freedom,
which is the spontaneous orgasm of the spirit.

Well-met joy,
the pure of taste,
the well-willing,
you who lives and reigns in the pure marrow,
now - and in the dawning of each single hour -
stay with us.