Pues no es tan tonto como parecía...
Con curiosidad por la reciente entrada de Juan Manuel Macías en su blog, he probado con el traductor de Google, y he hecho que traduzca (que retraduzca) el primero de los Sonetos de Shakespeare a partir de la traducción que el mismo traductor virtual había hecho previamente al español. Y cuál no es mi sorpresa cuando veo que tiene en cuenta el carácter literario del texto y que puede que hasta "le suene" el soneto. Me emociona ese art, y ese thou, palabras arcaicas que maneja con desparpajo el ingenio cibernético. Merece la pena hacer una lectura detenida.
He aquí el soneto de Shakespeare tras ser traducido automáticamente al español, y de nuestro idioma nuevamente al inglés.
From fairest creatures we want to increase
What increases the beauty can never die,
But as more mature than death time
His tender heir might have his memory:
But you hired for your own bright eyes,
Feed'st lighting of the flame of your car with substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Your enemy of yourself to your own sweet too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And just to announce the gaudy spring,
Within your own cocoon buriest your content,
And villain tender mak'st waste in niggarding:
Too bad the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world because, by the grave and thee.
What increases the beauty can never die,
But as more mature than death time
His tender heir might have his memory:
But you hired for your own bright eyes,
Feed'st lighting of the flame of your car with substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Your enemy of yourself to your own sweet too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And just to announce the gaudy spring,
Within your own cocoon buriest your content,
And villain tender mak'st waste in niggarding:
Too bad the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world because, by the grave and thee.
Esto es lo que escribió Will:
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
Comentarios
Groussac o Borges, mira a este bebé.
El mundo está distorsionado y fuera de
ceniza de luz ambigua.
Parece que este sueño y el pueblo quen Khong
Abrazos.
Pero bueno, la sonrisa es también inevitable. Quedémonos con eso;-)
Abrazos
Un saludo Antonio