«Adiós al amor»: John Donne; poema y análisis.
Adios al amor (Farewell to Love) es un poema de amor del escritor inglés John Donne (1572-1631), publicado de manera póstuma en la antología de 1633: Poemas (Poems).
Adiós al amor, uno de los mejores poemas de John Donne, versifica sobre uno de los aspectos menos... poéticos, digamos, del amor: la fatiga del deseo cuando finaliza el encuentro entre dos amantes, contrario a las urgencias de los instantes previos.
En este sentido, Adiós al amor de John Donne analiza esa sensación de tristeza, de agotamiento, tanto físico como emocional, a través de la metafísica, y se lamenta amargamente de que la pasión pueda atemperarse de un modo tan abrupto.
Adiós al amor.
Farewell to Love, John Donne (1572-1631)
Aunque no me fundaba en prueba alguna,
pensé que había un dios del amor,
por eso le rendía honores y tributos;
como hacen los ateos en el último trance
invocando un poder desconocido
cuyo nombre no saben,
con la misma ignorancia yo imploraba:
así, cuando los hombres apetecen
algo que no conocen todavía,
sus deseos se encargan de fraguarlo,
y según sean éstos, aquel aumenta o mengua.
Del mismo modo que ya no le atrae el niño
la figura de yeso ganada en la feria
—su alteza serenísima en un trono de oro—
y al tercer día lo sume en el tedio,
tampoco el amante admira aquello
que durante el cortejo, rendido, idolatraba.
Una vez que lo alcanza, su deleite declina
y lo que arrebataba todos sus sentidos,
ahora nada más que a uno embelesa;
placer efímero que deja por estela
un triste embotamiento del espíritu.
¿Por qué no se encuentra a nuestro alcance
seguir plenos como el león y los gallos
después de esos deleites? Excepto que la Naturaleza
sabia así lo haya decretado (pues se dice
que tal acto la vida nos reduce en un día),
como si así buscase que el hombre desdeñara
el juego del amor, pues otra maldición,
la de ser breve (dura nada más un instante),
estimula el deseo de tener descendencia.
Y siendo así las cosas,
no pretendo lograr nada inhumano:
¡basta de devaneos, de carreras en pos
de eso que, ya en las manos, me habría lastimado!
Y cuando vaya allá donde están las bellezas,
haré lo que los hombres hacen
cuando el sol del verano nos abrasa:
admirar su estallido, pero evitar su lumbre.
Todo rincón su sombra dispensa. Si algo falla,
no queda más que untarse ortiga en el culo.
Whilst yet to prove
I thought there was some deity in love,
So did I reverence, and gave
Worship; as atheists at their dying hour
Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power,
As ignorantly did I crave.
Thus when
Things not yet known are coveted by men,
Our desires give them fashion, and so
As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.
But, from late fair,
His highness sitting in a golden chair,
Is not less cared for after three days
By children, than the thing which lovers so
Blindly admire, and with such worship woo;
Being had, enjoying it decays;
And thence,
What before pleased them all, takes but one sense,
And that so lamely, as it leaves behind
A kind of sorrowing dulness to the mind.
Ah cannot we,
As well as cocks and lions, jocund be
After such pleasures, unless wise
Nature decreed—since each such act, they say,
Diminisheth the length of life a day—
This; as she would man should despise
The sport,
Because that other curse of being short,
And only for a minute made to be
Eager, desires to raise posterity.
Since so, my mind
Shall not desire what no man else can find;
I'll no more dote and run
To pursue things which had endamaged me;
And when I come where moving beauties be,
As men do when the summer's sun
Grows great,
Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat.
Each place can afford shadows; if all fail,
'Tis but applying worm-seed to the tail.
John Donne (1572-1631)
I thought there was some deity in love,
So did I reverence, and gave
Worship; as atheists at their dying hour
Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power,
As ignorantly did I crave.
Thus when
Things not yet known are coveted by men,
Our desires give them fashion, and so
As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.
But, from late fair,
His highness sitting in a golden chair,
Is not less cared for after three days
By children, than the thing which lovers so
Blindly admire, and with such worship woo;
Being had, enjoying it decays;
And thence,
What before pleased them all, takes but one sense,
And that so lamely, as it leaves behind
A kind of sorrowing dulness to the mind.
Ah cannot we,
As well as cocks and lions, jocund be
After such pleasures, unless wise
Nature decreed—since each such act, they say,
Diminisheth the length of life a day—
This; as she would man should despise
The sport,
Because that other curse of being short,
And only for a minute made to be
Eager, desires to raise posterity.
Since so, my mind
Shall not desire what no man else can find;
I'll no more dote and run
To pursue things which had endamaged me;
And when I come where moving beauties be,
As men do when the summer's sun
Grows great,
Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat.
Each place can afford shadows; if all fail,
'Tis but applying worm-seed to the tail.
John Donne (1572-1631)
Poemas góticos. I Poemas de John Donne.
Más literatura gótica:
El análisis, traducción al español y resumen del poema de John Donne: Adiós al amor (Farewell to Love), fueron realizados por El Espejo Gótico. Para su reproducción escríbenos a elespejogotico@gmail.com
