Miracles (Walt Whitman)
Thread poster: Aurora Humarán
Aurora Humarán  Identity Verified
Argentina
Local time: 10:05
English to Spanish
+ ...
May 31, 2005




Walt Whitman was born on May 31, 1819 in Long Island, New York. Let's celebrate his 'anniversary' with this jewel, one of his most beautiful poems.

Whitman was brilliantly translated into Spanish by Jorge Luis Borges (who admired Whitman, as did Pablo Neruda and other great writers who were inspired by him) and was brilliantly translated into Portuguese by Vinicius de Moraes.


Miracles

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with the men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?



[Edited at 2005-05-31 02:34]


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Kim Metzger  Identity Verified
Mexico
Local time: 08:05
German to English
Walt Whitman May 31, 2005

Aurora Humarán wrote:

Walt Whitman was born on May 31, 1819 in Long Island, New York. Let's celebrate his 'anniversary' with this jewel, one of his most beautiful poems.



Yes, Aurora, let's celebrate this great man. Your beloved Jorge and Pablo had good taste. Walt Whitman loved humankind.

Reconciliation

Word over all, beautiful as the sky,
Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost,
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again,
and ever again, this soil'd world;
For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead,
I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin - I draw near,
Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.

1865-66


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Aurora Humarán  Identity Verified
Argentina
Local time: 10:05
English to Spanish
+ ...
TOPIC STARTER
Thank you, Kim May 31, 2005

Kim Metzger wrote:

For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead,



Food for thought...


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Miracles (Walt Whitman)

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