Hi, Hiveans!
If you've visited me before, you probably know I enjoy writing sonnets.Well, I also enjoy translating them (and poetry in general); translating your literary work is about the language, sure, but it's also about the rhythm and the feelings you want to convey; and when it comes to sonnets, for example, it is also about structure and meter. For the Spanish version I've used hendecasyllabic verses--like you do it in Spanish--, and tried using assonant rhyme. I think the result is interesting. I particularly liked this exercise. I hope you can read it, and better, enjoy it.
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Before you read the sonnet, perhaps you'd like to read this:
When somebody has occasional self-defeating behaviors it is disquieting for family and friends, but having a self-defeating personality is a lot worst. It means you definitely need professional help.
In general, a self-defeating personality disorder is like an addiction to unhappiness. Whether you unconsciously put yourself in unhappy situations, or you find reasons not to enjoy happiness if it ever finds you. All of us have one or more relatives, friends or acquaintances who suffer from this, but have not been diagnosed by a professional.
Well, I met this person some days ago. At first, right after he said hello, I didn’t remember why I had stopped visiting him. Then it all came to me. I looked at his wife and his two kids; they’d gone out for an ice cream, but the ice cream shop was closed. They all looked gloomy, but I could tell by their countenances it wasn’t just a consequence of their little misfortune. And I am sure my good friend was happy enough to have a reason for unhappiness.
People with this kind of disorder love and constantly seek commiseration. It is exhausting for us who try to keep close, and so often we just walk away from them and the toil.
My writing this sonnet is my way to come back to them.
Pixabay
Saludos, habitantes de Hive!
Cuando alguien tiene conductas autodestructivas es perturbador para la familia y los amigos, pero cuando no se trata ya de conductas aisladas sino de un desorden de personalidad, el asunto es realmente grave y significa que debes buscar ayuda profesional.
En general, el desorden de personalidad autodestructiva es una especie de adicción a la infelicidad, ya sea porque busquemos ponernos en situaciones desafortunadas, o porque encontremos razones para no disfrutar la felicidad una vez que ésta nos encuentra. Todos tenemos uno o más familiares, amigos o conocidos que sufren de este desorden de la personalidad, pero que no han sido diagnosticados por un profesional.
Hace poco me encontré a un amigo. Tardé un poco en recordar porqué había dejado de visitarlo. Miré a su esposa y a sus dos niños; habían salido por helados, pero la heladería estaba cerrada. Se veían realmente desolados, pero por la expresión de sus caras yo supe que no se trataba simplemente de la pequeña decepción de esa tarde. Y constaté una vez más que mi buen amigo estaba más que feliz de haber encontrado una justificación para la infelicidad.
Las personas con este tipo de desorden aman la constante conmiseración. Es extenuante para quienes tratamos de mantenernos cerca y con frecuencia terminamos alejándonos.
Al escribir este soneto yo regreso a ellos.
Self-Defeating
Again, I come with only pain to give,
hurt in my head, my hands, my back, my dreams;
hurts of the past, though old, my dearest themes;
I ruminate since that’s my way to live.
Some grim and gray make my misery great;
I relish it and cry a little, too,
so there’s no doubt my taste is deepest blue;
I gloat over my miserable state.
And yet when I complain my spirit’s glad
to entertain my audience with my plight.
(This is as close as we should be from right,
we broken souls who happen to be mad.)
I’ll make the world my shoulder to cry on.
Until it smiles at me, then I'll be gone.
Aquí voy otra vez con mis dolores,
dolor en la cabeza, cuerpo y sueños;
dolores del pasado traigo frescos;
yo rumio este vivir de mis temores.
Es grimosa y gris mi gran miseria;
me gusta saborearla y llorar.
Y qué nadie refute mi pesar;
me gusta regodearme en esta histeria.
Y aun cuando me quejo mi alma ríe,
deleitando a la audiencia con mi angustia
(Es mío este bien que me fustiga,
una locura rota que divierte.)
Quiero llorar en tu hombro mi desquicio;
marcharé si al mirarte siento alivio.
Thanks for reading. /Gracias por leer.
Soy miembro de 
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