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Sisyphus. Two poems

Ibycus
s. VI BC-one of the nine lyric poets of Alexandria

-----------------------------------
----------------------------- Love burns me

In the spring, quince

watered by streams of rivers where the garden
intact, and the Virgin
vines growing in the shade of the branches
bloom, but love does not sleep
for me in any season,
but, like the Thracian Boreas by lightning on,
rushing, sent by cyprid,
amid withering fury that all
dark and bold, powerfully from the bottom
stirred my senses. L'


love em cream

A spring els pels codonyers
regats corrents
dels rius-on hi ha a les Verges
jardí of trepitjat no-i sota els dels raïms
creixent Pampols ombrívols
floreixen; per month to me
love tea bo l'temps cap off, but
, com pel the Thracian Boreas encès llamp, precipitating
house-cypris is
amb Abrus Follies, dark, bold,
poderosament, des dels fons (waves)
els meus sentits.

------------------------------------------------ -------------------

too old to love again

Eros, looking languidly
under eyelids with blue eyes, a thousand seductions
me
pushed into inextricable network of cyprid.

I fear when I see it as a horse approaching
yoke sufferer, the winner of the Games
at its vejez, Grado bad foot, with a car entering veloz career.


Too old for love

Eros, again, looking at me under her eyelids with blue eyes
languid,
seductions of all sorts with my launches
the uncertain Cipri networks.

Indeed I tremble to see it approaching, like a horse
carrier yoke, award winning, when
old walks reluctantly, with the fastest car in the competition.