PUSTEBLUME
JOURNAL OF TRANSLATION
Editor: Matthew Kelsey
Editorial Board: Grecia Alvarez,
Laura Hayner, Claudia Huang, Laura Manuel,
James Riggan, Mike Russoniello, Dygo Tosa
Managing Editor: Zachary Bos
Advisor: Christopher Maurer
Copyright © MMVI the Trustees of Boston University and the
Department of Modern Languages and Comparative Literature.
All rights reserved. Reproduction of material contained herein without the
consent of the authors, or editors in the case of unattributed editorial text, is forbidden.
Printed by Offset Prep, Inc. of North Quincy, Massachusetts.
PUSTEBLUME
About Pusteblume
Though this is the debut issue of Pusteblume, subsequent volumes will comprise two issues, published in the fall and spring
semesters of each academic year.
Pusteblume, like the dandelion, is capable of wide transmission;
in this case, a wealth of ideas and customs taken from a generous
variety of source languages. It is our wish that the global audience
will be, in the most literal sense, inspired, and that its collective
breath, in cooperation with these translations, will carry the love of
language as far as possible.
This journal is published under the supervision of the
Department of Modern Languages and Comparative Literature at
Boston University. Potential contributors are invited to submit
translations from fiction and non-fiction prose, as well as poetry.
Essays in English on the topic of translation are welcome, as well as
any photos and artwork that pertain.
Submissions are accepted year-round. E-mail submissions
should be sent to [email protected].
Manuscripts, subscription inquires and requests for reprints should
be sent to:
PUSTEBLUME c/o MLCL
718 Commonwealth Avenue
Boston, Massachusetts 02215
More information about the journal, as well as electronic versions
of our published texts and online-only content, can be found at our
website, H T T P : / / B U . E D U / P U S T E B L U M E .
i
ILLUSTRATION INDEX
Illustration Index
Solitary Hiker Mark Steuer....................................................... xi
Snail Lauren O’Donnell.......................................................... 3
Matterhorn Matthew Kelsey..................................................... 9
French Pathway Laura Manuel.................................................. 22
Paris Laura Manuel................................................................... 23
Graffiti Laura Manuel............................................................... 23
Culture.com Poster Zachary Bos (digital)................................. 25
Chinatown Employee Jonathan Buffard.................................... 36
Hanging Fowl Jonathan Buffard................................................ 37
Chinatown Food Jonathan Buffard............................................ 37
Pyrenees Ridge Alison Dembe................................................... 50
Brecha Refuge Alison Dembe.................................................... 51
Refuge Community Mark Steuer................................................ 51
Mountain Village Christian Buhl.............................................. 69
Los Pirineos Alsion Dembe....................................................... 71
La Plaza de Torros Mark Steuer................................................ 76
Kurdish Man Christian Buhl.................................................... 94
Shovelmen Christian Buhl......................................................... 95
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Table of Contents
Osip Mandelstam/Anastasia Skoybedo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4
“For the thundering valor . . . .” (Russian)
“Only children’s books . . . .” (Russian)
Meng Haoran/Claudia Hang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10
“Last Night” (Chinese)
Mahmoud Darwish/James Riggan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14
“The Express Train” (Arabic)
Guila Clara Kessous/Grace Smith and Debbie Wiess . . . . . .26
from Culture.com (French)
Unattributed/Emily Nagle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .40
from “The Wanderer” (Anglo-Saxon)
Virgilio Piñera/Grecia Alvarez . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42
“The Meat” (Spanish)
Yehuda Amichai/Micah Shapiro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .54
“Jerusalem” (Hebrew)
Sappho/Jesus Kalergis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .60
“Sappho to her female companions” (Ancient Greek)
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TABLE
OF
CONTENTS
Dygo Tosa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .62
from “On Petrarch’s Canzoniere in English”
Abdullah Jafar Ibne Mohammed Rudaki/Sassan Tabatabai . .66
“The Beloved’s Beauty” (Persian)
Constantine Cavafy/Doug Herman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .72
“Ithaka” (Greek)
Octavio Paz/Stephanie Shih . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .78
“Between leaving and staying” (Spanish)
Heinrich Böll/Ben West . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .82
“Something Will Happen” (German)
Antonio Machado/George Kalogeris & Gláucia Rezende . . . .96
“Last Night” (Spanish)
“The Waterwheel” (Spanish)
Megan Natt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .104
Ending Note
Paul Valéry/Rainer Marie Rilke/James Merrill . . . . . . . rear cover
Merrill uses Rilke’s German translation of Valéry’s “Palme” as a four-line
epigraph to “Lost in Translation” (Divine Comedies, 1976). The English
translation by Merrill appears in “Paul Valéry: Palme” (Late Settings,
1985). The original French, from La Nouvelle Review Française, 1919, is:
“Ces jours qui te semblent vides / Et perdus pour l’univers / Ont des racines
avides / Qui travaillent les déserts.”
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Editorial Note
“No matter how flawless the translation, something, be it
nuance, structure, allusion or context, is inevitably lost.”
–Megan Natt
Advances in communications technology continue to draw the
four corners of the world together. Our global population is becoming increasingly multilingual, thus adding importance to the act of
translation on a daily basis. The Boston University campus is a natural location for this relevance to be recognized. Ten percent of its
student body is composed of international students, which makes
for a substantial target audience. Due to its urban setting, there is
also a prominent reading base to be reached off campus, where an
enthusiastic, intellectual community holds linguistics in high
esteem.
Pusteblume was created in an effort to stoke the fire of interest
and relevance of translation. It is an attempt to unite teachers, students, and residents in their ability to use translation as a connective tissue between cultures. It is true that translations can fall short
in as many ways as Megan Natt suggests. However, the goal is not
to mirror a piece of writing into another language, but to double
the text’s potential audience – to share the text. The focus should
be on what can be gained from translation, and not on what is
inevitably lost.
To the advisors and contributors, our thanks cannot be
expressed emphatically enough. Professor Christopher Maurer,
chairman of Boston University’s Department of Modern Languages
and Comparative Literature, has been kind enough to sponsor our
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EDITORIAL NOTE
first issue. Professor Christopher Martin also deserves specific mention, as he generously funded this inaugural issue through the
Distinguished Teaching Professorship. As with every “first,” there
must be a vision that is believed in, and it has been immensely satisfying to see a community come together to witness a dream reach
fruition.
I extend my most heartfelt gratitude and congratulations to the
editorial staff, which battled the onslaught of their own University
assignments, an often-crowded office space, and my lack of experience as a manager to produce something we can all be proud of.
Zachary Bos, specifically, deserves praise for the absurd amount of
time he devoted to the production of this journal. He is the man
who finally lit the match that had been idly pinched in our fingers.
Vielen dank.
On a much more personal note, I thank Amanda Cardenas for
her patience, love, and friendship, all of which have saturated this
journal, front cover to back.
Finally, to our readers: not only do you validate our efforts, but
you are, along with the love for language itself, the motivation
behind our journal. Thank you, and enjoy.
Matthew I. Kelsey
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
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Contributors
G R E C I A A L V A R E Z once read a dissatisfying translation, and felt
she could do a better job. She ended up getting hooked on the
process, and took it up as a hobby. She hopes to become a librarian in a Spanish speaking country – perhaps Cuba. She is a junior at
Boston University.
Z A C H A R Y B O S is the Deputy Editor of The Republic of Letters.
His poetry has appeared in Fulcrum and The Christian Science
Monitor, as well as numerous campus publications.
J O N A T H A N B U F F A R D is a 2006 graduate from Boston
University. He was born in Merida, Venezuela, and grew up in
Como, Italy. He is half-French and half-Italian, and speaks
Spanish. He has obtained degrees in both International Relations
and Public Relations.
C H R I S T I A N B U H L graduated from Boston University in 1988.
He is a freelance photographer.
A L I S O N D E M B E uses her photos as inspiration for her prose, and
hopes the combination will lead her to the world of photojournalism. She is a student at Eugene Lang College of the New School of
Liberal Arts, concentrating in Photography and Psychology.
L A U R A H A Y N E R is a sophomore at Boston University, pursuing
degrees in English and Journalism. In high school, she worked with
the theatre program and for the Writing and English Resource
Center. She was a docent for the Deerfield Area Historical Society.
She is a member of the BU Writers’ Workshop, and a staff writer
for the Daily Free Press.
D O U G H E R M A N is a sophomore at Boston University, majoring
in Ancient Greek and Latin with a minor in Linguistics. In the
summer he will travel to Greece to study Modern Greek. Next
spring he intends to study in Grenoble.
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CONTRIBUTORS
C L A U D I A H U A N G is a sophomore in the University Professors
Program at Boston University. Though she was born and raised in
China, she has only recently taken an interest in Chinese translation. She is the editor of The Back Bay Review, a student journal of
criticism at BU’s University Professors program.
J E S U S K A L E R G I S is a freshman at Boston University, who studies International Relations and Economics. A descendant of the
Mycenaean civilization, he hopes to correct the widespread stereotype that Spartan culture was austere.
G E O R G E K A L O G E R I S is an adjunct professor in the Department
of Humanities and Modern Languages at Suffolk University. He is
also a professor of Humanities at Boston University. His poetry has
appeared in publications including Harvard Review, Ploughshares,
Partisan Review, The Journal of the Core Curriculum, and AGNI. His
book Camus:Carnets was recently published by Pressed Wafer.
M A T T H E W K E L S E Y is an English major at Boston University
who lives in Glens Falls, New York, during the summer. He f inds
inspiration in the poems and translations of David Ferry. He thanks
George Kalogeris for his gentle yet incessant encouragement.
L A U R A M A N U E L has completed her freshman year at Boston
University, majoring in English and French. She is pursuing simultaneous careers in teaching, translating, and creative writing.
E M I L Y N A G L E is working on a thesis in Neo-Latin poetry at
Boston University. She has recently begun to cultivate an interest
in the Earth Sciences and Paleontology, and she plans to spend the
rest of her life digging up dinosaurs in South Dakota.
M E G A N N A T T , a 2006 graduate of Boston University, majored
in English and minored in French. She is from San Francisco,
speaks French and Italian, and is an enthusiastic traveler.
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L A U R E N O ’ D O N N E L L is a landscaper and photographer who
attends the University of Connecticut at Storrs. She was the
Creative Non-fiction Editor at Long River Review. Her photo submission was shot during a motorcycle trip through Newfoundland.
G L ÁU C I A R E Z E N D E is a Brazilian poet who is currently translating the work of Pessoa and Lorca. She is considering a career
change, due to her interest in psychology.
J A M E S R I G G A N , of Walnut Shade, Missouri, is a member of the
United States Air Force who has completed an MA in Islamic
Studies at Boston University. His research focused on the political
nature of Palestinian poetry. He holds graduate level Arabic
Language certifications from the American University in Cairo.
M I C H A E L R U S S O N I E L L O is a sophomore English major at
Boston University. During his time in Sicily this summer, he hopes
to produce some translations of Italian literature. He is interested
in the theoretical aspects of translation and is a frappe-slinger in
Newton on weekends.
M I C A H S H A P I R O is from Evanston, Illinois. His interest in
English developed due to positive classroom experiences and to his
parents, who introduced him to Homer’s epics. Translation combines his interest in writing, his knowledge of Hebrew, and his
Jewish background. He is a freshman at Boston University.
S T E P H A N I E S H I H is a journalism major at Boston University.
She enjoys sushi, beer, and chess.
A N A S T A S I A S K O Y B E D O studies International Relations and
Philosophy at Boston University. She hails from St. Petersburg (or
“Petropolis,” as Mandelstam would have it). She enjoys Latin
American, Russian and German prose, as well as most kinds of
poetry from Russian Romantics to Icelandic skalds.
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CONTRIBUTORS
G R A C E S M I T H , a 2006 graduate of Boston University, received
a degree in English. Beyond her studies of literary-critical disciplines, she focused on dramatic texts from the standpoint of both
scholarship and performance.
M A R K S T E U E R is a Boston University student from the
Philadelphia region. A modern-day ‘Japhy’, Mark has hiked the
Pyrenees, biked the Alps, and ruined his bowels in Morocco, where
he trekked the Sahara, camelback.
S A S S A N T A B A T A B A I is a professor of Humanities at Boston
University. He is a boxer and a poet. His essays, poems and translations have appeared in publications including The Christian
Science Monitor, Literary Imagination, Ispand, The Republic of Letters,
and Seneca Review.
D Y G O T O S A , a sophomore at Boston University, studies Ancient
Greek and Latin. Some of his favorite authors are Sappho,
Archilochus, Thucydides, and Homer. A composer of drawings and
poetry, he enjoys fencing, soccer, and tae kwon do.
D E B B I E W I E S S screenwriter and playwright, has been writing
full-time since moving to Boston from New York City in 2000. In
addition to writing in both French and English, she directs and
when sufficiently cajoled, acts. She is active in the local independent film and theatre communities, as well as Boston cultural organizations including the MFA and the Boston Lyric Opera.
B E N W E S T graduated in 2006 from Boston University with
degrees in International Relations and German. He has studied
German since seventh grade. In 2005, Ben studied and completed
an internship in Dresden. His translation took second place in the
2006 Schmuel Traum literary translation competition. He thanks
Heidi Zimmermann and Sarah-Maria Steffens for their assistance.
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xi
RILKE
“. . . it is important and full of new
experience to reencounter one’s own work
in strange handwriting. Read the lines as if
they were a stranger’s, and in your
heart you’ll feel how much they are your own.”
– Rainer Maria Rilke
“. . . es wichtig und voll neuer Erfahrung ist, eine eigene Arbeit in fremder
Neiderschrift wiederzufinden. Lesen Sie die Verse, als ob es fremde wären,
und Sie werden im Innersten fühlen, wie sehr es die Ihigen sind.”
From Rilke’s letter to Franz Xaver Kappus, Rome, May 14th, 1904.
Translated by Zachary Bos.
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On Mandelstam and Russian Verse
O
sip Mandelstam’s work is not well known outside of Russia,
but he is still considered one of the finest twentieth century
Russian poets. His collection Kamen garnered him critical acclaim
in 1913. He was a member of the Acmeist school of poetry, separating him from other Soviet poets of the Russian Symbolist movement, which was then in vogue. As translator Clarence Brown
observes, Mandelstam’s variant of Acmeism was a mixture of poetics and moral doctrine, the former based on an “intuitive and purely verbal logic of inner association” and the latter on a kind of
“democratic humanism.” He was arrested and exiled in the early
1930s for “counter-revolutionary” poetry and statements. After two
years of exile he died in the GULAG archipelago in 1938. His
works were neglected during the ascendancy of the Soviet reign,
and were not published in full until 1970, when they were widely
acclaimed. Much of his writing was preserved thanks to the efforts
of his wife Nadezhda, who memorized his work so as to avoid
incrimination by printed pages. His journals from exile and his
widow’s autobiographies chronicle their lives in Communist
Russia.
Some considerations on translation from Russian verse:
Russian’s characteristically long words lend themselves easily to
feminine rhyme, whereas the shorter English equivalents, when
rhyme is possible at all, fall more naturally into a masculine
scheme. Many translators opt for free verse translations in order to
maintain the integrity of a poem’s meaning rather than keeping
strictly with the original form. Complicating matters further is the
2
ON MANDELSTAM
AND
RUSSIAN VERSE
lack of definite or indefinite articles in Russian. The English translator must find a way to incorporate this part of speech throughout
the poem he wishes to translate without making the addition too
apparent.
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4
SKOYBEDO
“For the thundering valor . . . .”
Translated by Anastasia Skoybedo
For the thundering valour of approaching centuries
For the elevated tribe of men –
I forfeited a chalice at a feast of the fathers,
My happiness, and my personal honour.
Century-wolfhound throws itself on my shoulders
But I am not a wolf by blood
Better stuff me away, like a hat, into a sleeve
Of a torrid fur coat of Siberian steppes . . . .
So I don’t see a coward, squelchy filth
And bloody bones in the wheels;
So that every night blue foxes shine
To me in their primordial beauty –
Lead me into the night, where Yenisei flows
And the pine tree reaches a star,
For I am not a wolf by blood
And only my equal can kill me.
17-28 March, 1931
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6
SKOYBEDO
“Only children’s books . . . .”
Translated by Anastasia Skoybedo
Only children’s books to read,
Only childish thoughts to cherish,
To scatter far everything big,
To rise from deep sorrow.
I am deathly tired of life
I accept nothing from it,
But I love my poor land
For I have seen no other.
I was swinging in a faraway garden
On a simple wooden swing,
And recall tall dark firs
In a foggy delirium.
1908
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PUSTEBLUME
Pitfalls in Translating Chinese
M
eng Haoran was a Chinese poet who lived during the Tang
dynasty, from about 698-740 BC. He was a “landscape” poet;
much of his work is devoted to describing his homeland and its history. Some poems were given as gifts to friends. He is often associated with the more famous Tang poet Wang Wei; some of Haoran’s
poems address the differences between his poetry and Wang Wei’s.
Haoran started his political career late in life and it proved short
and unmemorable when compared to his poetic achievements.
Haoran’s poetry continues to be widely-read in modern China.
“Chun Xiao”, arguably his most well-known poem, has become a
cultural staple: most Chinese citizens can recite it from memory.
The five-word-four-line structure is typical of Tang dynasty poetry.
Because they were limited to twenty words, Tang-era poets often
employed characters with manifold meanings to convey subtleties.
In the resulting compact poetry, each word is essential to the
author’s intent. What can be said in one manifold word in Chinese
often requires three or four in English.
The paratactic structure of Chinese poetry cannot always be
carried over into the more restrictive rules of English grammar. For
example, Chinese poetry lacks conjunctions; the relationship
between nouns and subjects must be specified by the translator to
make each poem readable. However, in specifying a particular relationship, the polyvalence of the original is diminished. It’s difficult
to say which English translation has greater fidelity; small decisions
about conjunctives, connectives and prepositions can profoundly
affect the tone and meaning of the poem. Since these small but
8
PITFALLS
IN
TRANSLATING CHINESE
necessary English words have no analogues in the original text, a
case can be argued for the validity of any number of differing interpretations.
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10
HUANG
Last Night
Translated by Claudia Huang
In my spring slumber I did not know
that the sun had risen
Birds’ cries filled every corner
With the night came winds and rains
Who knows how many petals fell?
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On Spoken and Written Arabic
M
ahmoud Darwish is a Palestinian poet whose poetry reflects
the struggle to establish his homeland. He was born on
March 13, 1941 in Al Birweh, in disputed Israeli territory. He has
led a nomadic life in order to escape harassment for his proPalestinian poetry and his political activity, living all over Europe
and the Middle East. He worked for several newspapers and political organizations in Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. He has
produced over thirty volumes of poetry and is considered by consensus among critics of Arabic literature to be the finest living
Palestinian poet. Among his honors are the Lotus prize in 1969, the
Lenin prize in 1983, and France’s highest medal: Knight of Arts
and Belles Lettres in 1997. He has been affiliated at various times
with both the Palestine Liberation Organization and the
Communist party in Israel.
Translator’s Note
Since being set down in writing early in the seventh century,
the Qur’an has been an inviolate standard for literary Arabic,
resisting lexical and stylistic change. Literary Arabic therefore
resembles the Arabic of Qur’anic times while spoken Arabic has
undergone significant transformation and fragmentation into very
different dialects. An important starting point in translation is to
ask whether the work in question is conforming to the conventions
of the Arabic literary tradition, or whether it is using a modern language more like a spoken dialect. The “spoken” component in
12
ON SPOKEN
AND
WRITTEN ARABIC
Arabic literature – especially poetry – should not be understated.
Whereas English literature exists almost wholly as texts in print,
Arabic literature still thrives on oral performance. Indeed, the title
of the Qur’an in English means “recital” or “recitation.” A particularly difficult question is how to convey the rich imagery and auditory techniques in a language that owes its development to poetry.
The particular vocal capabilities of internal and external rhyme are
simply not available in English.
As is the case with other languages, Arabic vocabulary carries a
different set of allegorical references than do the equivalent words
in English. Going quite beyond the conventional meaning of a
given word, the denotations may subtly or dramatically alter the
sense of the word in context: a plodding desert caravan, an abandoned paradise, a weeping hero looking for his beloved. Any of
these idiomatic and culture associations may or may not have resonance with the target audience of the translation. When translating from Arabic into English, the translator must solve the acute
problem: how does one take a foreign set of paradigms and make
them local, while keeping close to the tenor and meaning of the
original text?
* * *
The Arabic text is taken from Li-madha tarakta al-hisan wahidan
(Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone?), by Mahmoud Darwish.
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14
RIGGAN
The Express Train
Translated by James Riggan
I have been . . . anticipating
The express train
On the platform, waiting
I have watched the travelers, wondering
Which of them . . . And I
Am still waiting
The spike fiddle cries from a distance
Though I am born
On a trail, an escape from the weeping
And the cries fade softly in the distance
I yearn for hidden secrets
Distant, and close enough
That I cannot forget my debt
But I do not remember, the buzz
Of women distracts me
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16
RIGGAN
If the moon can forget
She screeches: I am the moon
The express train flashes by
Time, stops,
On the platform with me
Then, the hour changes
What time is it now?
Where was the day gone?
The slice between yesterday and tomorrow
When the traveler speaks
Here I was born, but will not bear
It will mark the anniversary of the resistance,
This train’s path
Around the scenes
Here I found, but will not be found
In this train, I will trip
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18
RIGGAN
Over my self that fills itself
On the river of death between them
Like the boy
(Would God the traveler followed . . . )
The Express train flashes
Passes by me, and I
Am kin to this stop. A skeptic
I force my body to go meet the people:
Hello, from my platform:
Coffeehouse,
School
A flower
A telephone
A paper
And a flourish
And music
And rhyme
For another poet to arrive, I wait
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20
RIGGAN
The express train goes by
Passes by me, and I
Am still waiting
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22
MANUEL
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Conveying Culture
G
uila Clara Kessous is a Gold Medalist of Theater Arts from the
French National Conservatory and recipient of the highest
honor in drama issued by the French Ministry of Culture: the State
Diploma in Performing Arts. The following translation is excerpted from her play Culture.com, which was put up for a one-night performance at Boston University on April 24, 2006. John Malkovich
was the guest of honor at the show, and joined sponsor Professor
Christopher Martin and the author on stage afterwards for a discussion of culture. During the talk, Malkovich proposed a theory of
culture as “a way of satisfying the curiosity that I have.” He continued:
In Amsterdam you have a lot of cultural choices. You can stay in the
hotel and watch Finnish porno, which may be a sensible choice at the
time, or you could go see Night Watch, which could also be a sensible
choice. That’s culture, to me.
Of course, culture is a different thing to different people in different nations. The many puns and culturally-specific references in
the play were a challenge to convey in English, since in many cases
idiomatic equivalents had to be used instead of more literal translations. Not only would the English version need to maintain lexical, grammatical, syntactic, and stylistic integrity, it also would
need to carry over a sense of humor which in the French depends
on references to French culture. The recursive problem of precise
cultural equivalency in a play which critically questions common
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CONVEYING CULTURE
conceptions of culture was not lost on the translators. According to
Debra Wiess, this “Herculean effort” was more of a process of adaptation than that of strict translation.
Kessous’ play is a commentary on the differences between, and
different attitudes toward, culture and knowledge in modern society. The play consists of: an introductory advertisement which
explains the philosophy behind the play; a series of unrelated
scenes which build up the tone; and the main storyline involving a
family whose imprisoned son suffers from a culture-regurgitating
case of Hyper-emission. The following excerpts are the introduction, and the scene “On the Subway.”
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from “Culture.com”
Guila Clara Kessous
[Introduction]
AVERTISSEMENT!
Une pièce a-générique
I
l me sera dur de résumer l’œuvre sur laquelle je travaille. En effet,
la résumer lui donne un tour rationnel que je réfute tout au long
des pages. Enseignant le théâtre français aux Etats-Unis et en
France, l’idée m’en est venue lors d’une conférence internationale
où soudain j’ai réalisé l’incroyable vide qu’il y avait à écouter le
conférencier. Il venait débiter ses mots sans aucun sens, sans
aucune passion, dans une lecture nonchalante qui avait presque
l’air de l’ennuyer lui-même.
Mentionnons la chanson du début de la pièce:
Je suis tombé par terre, c’est la faute à Voltaire
Le nez dans le ruisseau, c’est la faute à Rousseau
J’serai bouffé par les vers, c’est la faute à Baudelaire
Faut croire qu’j’en savais trop, c’est la faute à Malraux . . .
Ce refrain n’a rien de révolutionnaire quand je le cite ; c’est plutôt
un état qui va être démontré dans le courant de toute la pièce: le
poison de la CULTURE. Je ne parle pas de cette grosse valise, que
chacun porte sur son dos qui fait si mal aux épaules et que l’on
nomme ‘état civil’. Cette richesse de couleurs que chacun ‘porte’ en
soi: histoire personnelle, vécu, curiosité intellectuelle,…est ce qui
26
SMITH & WIESS
from “Culture.com”
Translated by Grace Smith and Debbie Wiess
[Introduction]
ATTENTION!
I
t will be difficult for me to summarize the play on which I am
working. Indeed, summarizing it makes it seem logical and
rational, something I reject on every single one of its pages. While
teaching Theater in the United States and in France, the idea for
this piece came to me during an international conference when
suddenly I felt an incredible emptiness listening to the speaker. He
seemed to just churn out his words, without any meaning or passion, in a tone so nonchalant even the speaker himself seemed
bored . . . .
Let’s talk about the nursery rhyme at the beginning of the play:
Ring a ring o’ rosies
A pocketful of posies
“Ashes, Ashes”
We all fall down!
There is nothing dangerous about this refrain in and of itself; the
danger is more a condition that will be demonstrated in the theme
of the entire play: the plague of CULTURE. I’m not talking about
this giant suitcase that everyone drags around, which hurts the
shoulders so much and that we call “civil status.” The richness of
colors that each person ‘carries’ around with him/her (i.e. personal
history, life experience, intellectual curiosity . . . .) is what gives the
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PUSTEBLUME
fonde et ce qui fait l’intérêt de la matrice sociale. Je parle de cette
culture surajoutée, mise à vif dans le cerveau, tranchante car
imposée dès la plus tendre enfance où l’adolescent est noyé d’informations dogmatiques et péremptoires à propos d’hommes qui
comme lui ont été aussi brimés par une éducation où ‘plus on en
sait, plus on est savant’.
Et l’homme créa la machine . . . et il trouva plus fort que lui
dans l’emmagasinement de données précises . . . Et lui qui trouvait
du mérite à passer des heures à la bibliothèque se retrouve à passer
des nuits blanches devant l’écran d’Internet . . . Alors, l’apprentissage par cœur n’avait plus de raison d’être. Il fallait trouver un autre
moyen de survie pour les ‘rats de bibliothèque’ et ceux qui se
voulaient ‘cultivés’: penser par la négative. Chercher sur Internet
ce qui existe et combler les manques par ce qui n’existe pas au travers de discours pompeux et vides. A cela se surajoute le marketing
publicitaire qui abrutit à coup de mots creux et sonores . . . Bref, les
intellectuels deviennent de moins en moins intelligents . . . Cette
pièce n’est donc pas un pamphlet contre l’éducation, elle est une de
ces ‘bandelettes’ révélatrices de ce que je crois être le pH de la
société dans sa complexité. Présentant des enfants fredonnant la
sonate au clair de lune de Beethoven qui devient générique pour
une publicité de saucisse ou mettant en scène cet éclair d’images de
morts en flash télévisé le temps d’un repas familial, cette pièce se
veut témoignage de quelqu’un qui observe et qui ne juge pas . . .
puisque l’auteur a été empoisonné lui-même . . . et qu’il en redemande . . . .
Cher Descartes, il est tant de remettre “ Je suis” à sa place . . . .
* * *
28
SMITH & WIESS
social matrix value. I am speaking about the Culture that is added
on, freshly implanted in the child’s brain, prepackaged servings
imposed from the most tender age. And by adolescence he/she is
drowning in peremptory and dogmatic information about people
who, like him/her, were bullied by an education where “the more
one knows, the more intelligent he/she is supposed to be.”
Then man created the machine . . . and he found it to be better than him at storing precise data . . . And so those who used to
spend hours at the library now found themselves spending sleepless
nights in front of the screen on the Internet . . . Learning things by
heart no longer had a reason for being. It was necessary to find
another means of survival for these “library rats” and those who
wanted to become “Cultured”: thinking through the negative.
Search the Internet for what exists, and fill in the gaps with what
does not exist, through pretentious and empty discourse. On top of
this, one can add marketing advertisements that shell-shock with
their resounding verbal blows . . . in conclusion, intellectuals are
becoming less and less intelligent.
This play is not a pamphlet against education; it is supposed to
be a revealing pH test of society in all its complexity. Showing children humming Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” which becomes
the opening music for an ad for detergent, and presenting images of
death and destruction from the news during a family meal, this play
intends to be the testimony of someone who observes and does not
judge . . . for the author has been contaminated herself . . . and cannot help asking for more . . . .
Dear Descartes, it is time to put “being” before “thinking.”
* * *
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[Partie II]
L’ENFANT CACHÉ
SOUS-PARTIE A: DANS LE MÉTRO
La scène se passe dans un métro et nécessite beaucoup de figurants.
Comme le budget sera serré (comme toujours), on fera appel à une
dizaine de personnes du public qui, sur scène joueront leur propre rôle.
La Mère: Mesdames et Messieurs (s’adressant au public), nous avons
l’honneur et l’avantage de vous jouer la célèbre scène du Métro.
Seulement comme le budget dont nous disposions a été restreint,
nous manquons de figurants. Je vous demanderai donc, Mesdames
et Messieurs de bien vouloir nous aider et de désigner des volontaires pour tenir leur propre rôle tels qu’ils le sont dans le métro.
Installation des figurants dans le métro. On leur explique qu’il faut qu’ils
fassent semblant de remuer avec le hochement du métro, sinon, l’illusion
ne peut être créé. Enfin, tout cela doit se faire dans l’ambiance locale
des métros de l’endroit où la pièce est jouée. A Paris, on imaginera un
défilement d’images publicitaires de femmes en soutien gorge pour les
sous-vêtements ‘COQUUS’, la réclame pour du papier toilettes, le
dernier magazine sur comment mincir et le faire craquer cet été, son correspondant masculin-genre ‘Nous les hommes’, . . . Et, bien entendu,
la mouziiique !
Entre un pauvre hère, sale avec un accordéon à la main (Michel
Meulot):
Le pauvre hère: Bijour Missieursdames . . . c’est-y-pourrr la mouziiique !!!
Le voilà qui entonne ‘Kalinka’ suivi de ‘La Foule’ suivi de ‘O sole
mio’…Les gens, à la fin, excédés le paie pour qu’il parte. Dans ce
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SMITH & WIESS
[Part II]
THE HIDDEN CHILD
SUB-PART A: IN THE SUBWAY
The scene takes place in a subway and requires many walk-on actors. As
the budget will be tight (like usual), a dozen people from the audience will
be called up to the stage to play themselves on stage.
Mother: (addressing the audience) Ladies and gentlemen, we have
the honor and the privilege to perform for you the famous Subway
scene. Since the budget available to us was limited, we will need
some walk-on actors. So perhaps, ladies and gentlemen, you will be
kind enough to volunteer to play yourselves as you are when traveling in the subway
Set up of walk-ons in the subway: It is explained that the volunteers will
have to pretend to move with the rumble of the subway, otherwise, the
illusion cannot be created. Naturally, all of this should be done incorporating the atmosphere of the local subway system where the play is put
on.
Enter the Subway Bum, dirty with an accordion in his hand.
Bum: Hullo, ladies ‘n gents . . . Now fer some musik!!
He starts to play ‘Kalinka’ followed by ‘La Vie en Rose’ followed by ‘O
sole mio’ or ‘Imagine’. The people at the end of the car, irritated, give
him some change so that he’ll leave. During this brouhaha as described in
the above, the following takes place simultaneously.
Mother: . . . And the medical insurance didn’t cover it . . .
Friend (Florie Manzone): I can’t believe it . . . Those people have
such nerve . . . Did you tell them . . . .
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brouhaha, la scène continue:
La Mère: . . . Et c’est comme çà qu’ils m’ont retiré les bénéfices couverture assurance vie à la Sécurité sociale . . . .
L’Amie (Florie Manzone): Mais j’y crois pas . . . Ils sont gonflés tout
de même . . . Et tu leur as dit . . . ?
La Mère: Bien sûr que je leur ai dit . . . J’ai encore des enfants à
charge . . . .
L’Amie: Est ce que c’est encore à cause de . . . Faust . . . ?
La Mère (brusquement): Cela n’a rien à voir là dedans !!!
L’Amie: Donc…Ton énervement est donc Faust…ement justifié !
Elle rit de sa trouvaille. Silence de la Mère. Arrêt du Métro: surgissement d’un encart publicitaire très coloré pour un festival de banlieue.
L’Amie (songeuse): Ahhh . . . C’est quand même beau, la culture .
. . einh? . . . Regarde un peu çà . . . Alors qu’est-ce que c’est? Oh
regarde un peu . . . ils jouent Macbeth . . . Ooh, çà, faut quand
même qu’on aille voir . . .
La Mère (songeuse): Oui . . . oui . . .
L’Amie (sérieuse): Tu sais que j’ai vu Macbeth joué par Antoine
Vitez . . .
La Mère (sans réaction): Ah . . . vraiment . . .
L’Amie (enthousiaste): C’était splendide!!! Avec Marie Paule Belle
. . . qui l’était comme le jour . . . d’ailleurs . . . .
Elle rit encore de son bon mot.
L’Amie: Moi, ce que j’aime là dedans…c’est le côté insolite . . . non
préparé . . . Moi, j’aime le culturel, quand ça surprend! . . .
Entre temps est arrivé un autre personnage tout à fait marginal (Robert
32
SMITH & WIESS
Mother: Of course I told them . . . I still have children to raise . . .
Friend: Is it still because of . . . Faust . . . .
Mother: (brusquely) That has nothing to do with it!!!
Friend: So . . . Your frustration is Faust-ly justified!
She laughs at her wit. The Mother is silent. Subway stop: sudden appearance of a very colorful ad for a theatre festival.
Friend: (thoughtfully) Ohh, it’s still wonderful, culture . . . huh? . . .
Look at that . . . So what is it? Oh, just look, they’re doing Macbeth
. . . Ohh, we’ve really got to see that
Mother: (thoughtfully) Yes . . . yes . . . .
Friend: (seriously) You know I saw Macbeth played by Kenneth
Branagh . . . .
Mother: (without reaction) Oh . . . really . . . .
Friend: (enthusiastically) It was splendid!! And with Natasha
Richardson . . . who was just like the rising sun . . . How about that
for a pun? I’m a poet and I don’t know it.
She laughs again at her cleverness.
Friend: For me, what I liked about it . . . was its avant-garde quality
. . . totally spontaneous . . . I love cultural things, especially when
it just sweeps you off your feet! . . . .
Meanwhile, another bum enters, a young, male “Deaf-Mute” dressed
in odd clothing. He passes out little pieces of paper to each person in the
subway car. The Friend looks at hers:
Friend: (in surprise) Thank you . . . Now, let’s see . . . .
Mother: Another scam!
Friend: (reading slowly and distinctly)”I am homeless; I have been an
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Lejeune), en habits dépareillés qui dépose des petits papiers dans la main
de chaque personne présente dans le métro. L’Amie en reçoit un:
L’Amie (surprise): Merci bien . . . Alors, voyons . . . .
La Mère: Encore un attrape-nigaud !
L’Amie (lisant lentement et distinctement): “ Je soui réfuchié, n’aiant
pas de toi et de maison pour vivr. Je suis sour et mué. Vous pouvais
m’aidé. Sivouplait. Merci.”
L’Amie (compatissante): Ohhh . . . Mais bien sûr que je vais t’aider
mon petit . . . Tiens.
Elle lui donne 5 Euros.
L’Amie: Ce sera pour t’acheter à manger !
Le marginal: Merci bien !!!
Il repart. Les deux femmes restent éberluées.
La Mère: Ah ! On descend ici !
Les spectateurs dans le métro sont remerciés chaleureusement de leur
participation et on les encourage à laisser leur adresse pour les futurs
castings.
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SMITH & WIESS
unfortunate victim of this society. I am deaf and mute but not
deprived of humanity. Please, show your compassion for the disabled by giving me whatever change you can spare. Thank you.”
Friend: (with compassion) Ohh . . . But of course, I’ll help you . . .
Here.
She gives him 5 dollars.
Friend: That’s so you can buy yourself something to eat!
Deaf-Mute: Thanks a lot!!!
The Deaf-Mute gets off the subway. The two women sit flabbergasted.
Mother: Oh! We get off here!
The spectators in the subway are warmly thanked for their participation
by the bum and the “deaf-mute” and are encouraged to leave their
addresses for future auditions.
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36
BUFFARD
37
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On Anglo-Saxon Verse
P
oetry in the mead-hall was much different from poetry in the
coffeehouse. The scop, as the man with the harp was known,
served a social rather than a strictly artistic function. It was he who
preserved the stories of the community’s forefathers, who propagated the values of valor and fealty, and whose voice wove a mythic
curtain behind which a basically brutish reality could be set aside.
Both historian and priest, the scop was the guardian of a treasurehoard of words, memories and legends no less valuable than the
gold kept by the king. Each recitation of a given lay would be different from previous tellings, since the Anglo-Saxon oral tradition
did not require perfect memorization. The most-admired scop could
skillfully tell the same old stories with smooth variation, without
stopping, and employing all the tricks of his art: half-line stock
phrases; kennings, or compound metaphors (“woruld-candel” for
“sun”; Beowulf or “bee-wolf” for “bear”); and the emphatic alliteration which unites each half-line across the characteristic caesura.
With these skills, and a good familiarity with the stories to be told,
the scop could be called upon as the occasion demanded for an original retelling that was formulaic, permutative, and recognizable.
This is not to say that the modern translator of Anglo-Saxon
should strive only for recognizability! Although the world of the
Germanic tribes was dark, bellicose, and uncivilized – especially for
those unfortunate wretches who found themselves exiled or outside
the care of a lord, as in “The Wanderer” – their poetry was sophisticated, frequently moving, and as worthy the attention of the
modern reader as any national literature.
38
ON ANGLO-SAXON VERSE
Translator’s Note
Although “The Wanderer” runs 115 lines, this excerpt captures
the tone of the poem as a whole. The longing in these lines crystallizes the elegiac tone while deploying evocative and concrete
imagery. The confusion of the physically present with the physically absent does much to convey the speaker’s grief and isolation.
A more literal translation of my “Seafarers’ phantoms don’t
fetch much / of common speech” would be “Seafarers’ ghosts don’t
bring many known songs there.” I made the translation a little freer
both for sound and sense. The syntax of the original is very different from Modern English: at least some changes had to be made in
order to make the line comprehensible. Moreover, the sense of the
lines is difficult to get at anyway; I wanted to convey something of
the idea that the speaker of the poem is isolated from everyday
social communication. Perhaps my translation pushes toward a certain interpretation of the poem, but I thought this guidance might
be helpful given that this is an abbreviated translation and needs to
make its point in fewer lines than the original. Moreover, it may be
more ‘poetically condensed’, but that aspect only imitates the original. Even in the Anglo-Saxon, these lines are condensed almost to
the point of not making sense. What are “known songs”? Who
“knows” them? Which “ghosts” are they? Any seafarers, or particular ones?
In my translation, a major question was how to carry over the
alliterative meter. Since I am assuming that most readers will not
have had much exposure to Anglo-Saxon poetry in the original, I
wanted to give them an idea of what it might sound like: alliteration on stressed syllables and a strong caesura in each line.
39
PUSTEBLUME
from “The Wanderer”
Unattributed Anglo-Saxon elegaic poem
40
45
50
55
40
Forþon wat se þe sceal
his winedryhtnes
leofes larcwidum
longe forþolian,
ðonne sorg ond slæp
somod ætgædre
earmne anhogan
oft gebindað.
þinceð him on mode
þæt he his mondryhten
clyppe ond cysse,
ond on cneo lecge
honda ond heafod,
swa he hwilum ær
in geardagum
giefstolas breac.
ðonne onwæcneð eft
wineleas guma,
gesihð him biforan
fealwe wegas,
baþian brimfuglas,
brædan feþra,
hreosan hrim ond snaw,
hagle gemenged.
þonne beoð þy hefigran
heortan benne,
sare æfter swæsne.
Sorg bið geniwad,
þonne maga gemynd
mod geondhweorfeð;
greteð gliwstafum,
georne geondsceawað
secga geseldan.
Swimmað eft on weg!
Fleotendra ferð
no þær fela bringeð
cuðra cwidegiedda.
Cearo bið geniwad
þam þe sendan sceal
swiþe geneahhe
ofer waþema gebind
werigne sefan.
NAGLE
from “The Wanderer”
Translated by Emily Nagle
And he knows this
(he who needs
to long forego
his lord’s counsel):
when sadness and sleep
shackle down
a solitary man,
it seems to him
that he clings to
and kisses his king,
holds to his lord’s knee
his hands and head,
just as he used
to enjoy the throne.
Then he’s alert again –
a lone man.
He sees before him
shadowy waves,
bathing sea birds
beating their feathers.
Frost and snow
fall with hail.
Then the heavy blisters
on his heart
sear for his beloved.
Sadness is renewed.
Then his mind visits
the memory of kin;
he happily greets,
gladly surveys
these friends of men.
They always float away.
Seafarers’ phantoms
don’t fetch much
of common speech.
Care is renewed:
he will heave
his haggard heart
over and over
the ocean’s binding.
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PUSTEBLUME
La carne
Virgilio Piñera
S
ucedió con gran sencillez, sin afectación. Por motivos que no
son del caso exponer, la población sufría de falta de carne. Todo
el mundo se alarmó y se hicieron comentarios más o menos amargos y hasta se esbozaron ciertos propósitos de venganza. Pero, como
siempre sucede, las protestas no pasaron de meras amenazas y pronto se vio aquel afligido pueblo engullendo de los más variados vegetales.
Solo que el señor Ansaldo no siguió la orden general. Con gran
tranquilidad se puso a afilar un enorme cuchillo de cocina, y, acto
seguido, bajándose los pantalones hasta las rodillas, corto de su
nalga izquierda un hermoso filete. Tras haberlo limpiado lo adobó
con sal y vinagre, lo pasó-como se dice-por la parilla, para finalmente freírlo en la gran sartén de las tortillas del domingo. Sentóse
a la mesa y comenzó a saborear su hermoso filete. Entonces llamaron a la puerta; era su vecino que venía a desahogarse . . . Pero
Ansaldo, con elegante ademán, le hizo ver el hermoso filete. El
vecino preguntó y Ansaldo se limitó a mostrar su nalga izquierda.
Todo quedaba explicado. A su vez, el vecino deslumbrado y conmovido, salió sin decir palabra para volver al poco rato con el
Alcalde del pueblo. Este expresó a Ansaldo su vivo deseo de que su
amado pueblo se alimentara, como lo hacía Ansaldo, de sus propias
carnes de cada uno. Pronto quedó acordada la cosa y después de las
efusiones propias de gente bien educada, Ansaldo se trasladó a la
plaza principal del pueblo para ofrecer, según su frase característica,
“una demostración práctica a las masas.”
Una vez allí hizo saber que cada persona cortaría de su nalga
42
ALVAREZ
The Meat
Translated by Grecia Alvarez
I
t occurred with great simplicity, without any affectation. For reasons not worth mentioning here, the people went without meat.
Everyone became alarmed, made embittered comments to each
other, and even went so far as to plot revenge. But, as is always the
case, the protests were nothing more than empty threats, and soon,
that afflicted town began to consume the most varied of vegetables.
Only, Mr. Ansaldo did not follow the general protocol. With
great tranquility he began to sharpen an enormous kitchen knife,
and lowering his pants, sliced from his left buttock an impressive
filet. After cleaning it, he seasoned it with vinegar and salt, and
tossed it on the grill – as it is said – to cook in the skillet used for
making omelets on Sunday. He sat at the table and began to savor
his lovely filet. Then, someone came to the door; it was his neighbor who had come to complain . . . But Ansaldo, with an elegant
gesture, made his neighbor gaze upon the splendorous filet. The
neighbor inquired, and Ansaldo limited himself to showing his left
buttock. Everything was explained. The neighbor, dazzled and
greatly moved, left without saying a word, only to come back
moments later with the Mayor of the town. The Mayor expressed
to Ansaldo his fervent desire to have the town people feed themselves, as Ansaldo had done, of their own meat. Soon the thing was
settled and after many effusions from the educated people, Ansaldo
came unto the town’s main square, to offer, as the characteristic
phrase denotes, “a practical demonstration to the masses.”
Once there, he let it be known that each person should slice,
from his or her left buttock, two filets, and then he reproduced a
43
PUSTEBLUME
izquierda dos filetes, en todos iguales a una muestra en yeso encarnado que colgaba de un reluciente alambre. Y declaraba que dos
filetes y no uno, pues si él había cortado de su propia nalga izquierda un hermoso filete, justo era que la cosa marchase a compás, esto
es, que nadie engullera un filete menos. Una vez fijados estos puntos, diose cada uno a rebanar dos filetes de su respectiva nalga
izquierda. Era un glorioso espectáculo, pero se ruega no enviar
descripciones. Se hicieron cálculos acerca de cuanto tiempo gozaría
el pueblo de los beneficios de la carne. Un distinguido anatómico
predijo que sobre un peso de cien libras, y descontando vísceras y
demás órganos no ingestibles, un individuo podía comer carne
durante ciento cuarenta días a razón de media libra por día. Por lo
demás, era un cálculo ilusorio. Y lo que importaba era que cada uno
pudiese ingerir su hermoso filete.
Pronto se vio a señoras que hablaban de las ventajas que
reportaba la idea del señor Ansaldo. Por ejemplo, las que ya habían
devorado sus senos no se veían obligadas a cubrir de telas su caja
torácica, y sus vestidos concluían poco más arriba del ombligo. Y
algunas, no todas, no hablaban ya, pues habían engullido su lengua,
que, dicho sea de paso, es un manjar de monarcas. En la calle tenían
lugar las más deliciosas escenas: así dos señoras que hacia muchísimo tiempo que no se veían no pudieron besarse; habían usado sus
labios en la confección de unas frituras de gran éxito. Y el Alcaide
del penal no pudo firmar la sentencia de muerte de un condenado
porque se había comido las yemas de los dedos, que según los
buenos “gourmets” (y el Alcaide lo era) ha dado origen a esa frase
tan llevada y traída de “chuparse la yema de los dedos.”
Hubo hasta pequeñas sublevaciones. El sindicato de obreros de
ajustadores femeninos elevo su más formal protesta ante la autoridad correspondiente, y ésta contestó que no era posible “slogan”
44
ALVAREZ
shiny wire with a plaster steak hanging from the end of it to demonstrate the thickness of each filet. He declared that two filets should
be sliced and not one, because if he had sliced one filet from his left
buttock, it was only as a test. No one should be left without an
extra filet. Once he made his points, the townsfolk took to slicing
two filets out of their respective left buttocks. It was a glorious spectacle to behold, but out of decency no descriptions shall be made.
Calculations were made as to how much time the town would be
able to enjoy the benefits of a meat-filled diet. A distinguished
anatomist predicted that on one-hundred pounds, discounting viscera and other indigestible organs, an individual could eat meat
during one-hundred and forty days, eating only half a pound of
meat per day. And the only thing that mattered was that each person could eat his precious filet.
Soon the women began speaking of the advantages of Mr.
Ansaldo’s ingenious idea. For example, those who had already
devoured their breasts were in no need of covering their thoraxes
with fancy lace brassieres, and their dresses could be made to cover
just a little above the navel, saving them money on materials. And
some, not all, no longer spoke because they had already consumed
their tongues, which, it must be said, are morsels fit for monarchs.
The most delicious scenes took place on the street: two ladies, who
had not seen each other in a very long time, could not kiss; they
had used their lips in confectioning some very tasty fritters. And
the Warden of the prison could not sign the death sentence of an
inmate because he had eaten his fingertips, which, according to the
connoisseurs of fine gourmet cooking (as was the good Warden),
has spawned that now overused phrase: “it will have you sucking
your fingers.”
There were even small uprisings. The Brassiere Manufacturers
45
PUSTEBLUME
alguno para animar a las señoras a usarlas de nuevo. Pero eran sublevaciones inocentes que no interrumpían de ningún modo la consumición, por parte del pueblo, de su propia carne.
Uno de los sucesos más pintorescos de aquella agradable jornada fue la disección del último pedazo de carne del bailarín del
pueblo. Este, por respeto a su arte, había dejado para lo último los
bellos dedos de sus pies. Sus convecinos advirtieron que desde hacia
varios días se mostraba vivamente inquieto. Ya sólo le quedaba la
parte carnosa del dedo gordo. Entonces invitó a sus amigos a presenciar la operación. En medio de un sanguinolento silencio cortó
su porción postrera, y sin pasarla por el fuego la dejó caer en el
hueco de lo que había sido en otro tiempo su hermosa boca.
Entonces todos los presentes se pusieron repentinamente serios.
Pero se iba viviendo, y era lo importante. ¿Y si acaso . . . ? ¿Sería
por eso que las zapatillas del bailarín se encontraban ahora en una
de las salas del Museo de los Recuerdos Ilustres? Sólo se sabe que
uno de los hombres mas obesos del pueblo (pesaba doscientos kilos)
gastó toda su reserva de carne disponible en el breve espacio de
quince días (era extremadamente goloso, y, por otra parte, su organismo exigía grandes cantidades) Después ya nadie pudo verlo jamás.
Evidentemente, se ocultaba . . . Pero no sólo se ocultaba él, sino que
otros muchos comenzaban a adoptar idéntico comportamiento. De
esta suerte, una mañana, la señora Orfila, al preguntar a su hijo-que
se devoraba el lóbulo izquierdo de la oreja-dónde había guardado no
sé qué cosa, no obtuvo respuesta alguna. Y no valieron súplicas ni
amenazas. Llamado el perito en desaparecidos sólo pudo dar con un
breve montón de excrementos en el sitio donde la señora Orfila
juraba y perjuraba que su amado hijo se encontraba en el momento
de ser interrogado por ella. Pero estas ligeras alteraciones no minaban en absoluto la alegría de aquellos habitantes. ¿De qué podría
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ALVAREZ
Union made a formal protest to the corresponding authority, which
replied that there was no possible slogan that could compel the
ladies to wear brassieres again. But they were tiny uprisings, that in
no way interrupted the consumption, by the townsfolk, of their
own meat.
One of the most picturesque events of that pleasant movement
was the dissection of the last bit of meat from the town’s dancer.
He, in respect for his art, had left the meat of his beautiful toes, for
last. His neighbors noticed that for several days, he seemed to be
utterly anxious. He only had the fleshy part of his big toe left. He
invited his friends over to witness the operation. In the middle of
the bloody silence, he cut his final portion of meat, and without
cooking it, let it fall in the hole that was once his gorgeous mouth.
Then all those present became suddenly serious.
But life went on, and that’s the important thing. Might that be
it? Might that be the reason why the dancer’s shoes can now be
found on display at the Museum for Illustrious Memories? All that
is known is that one of the more obese gentlemen of the town (who
weighed four-hundred pounds) used up his entire reserve of meat in
the meager space of fifteen days (he was extremely fond of snacking, and his body required large portions). No one ever saw him
again. Evidently, he was hiding . . . but he was not the only one to
hide, many others started to adopt this solitary behavior. In this
way, one morning Mrs. Orfila, while asking her son – who was nibbling on his left earlobe – where he had put something or other,
received absolutely no reply. Exhortations and threats were of no
use. A search party was called, and all they could find was a pile of
excrement where Mrs. Orfila swore she saw her dear son when she
was interrogating him last. But these slight alterations did not
undermine the happiness of that populace at all. What more could
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quejarse un pueblo que tenía asegurada la subsistencia? El grave
problema de orden público creado por la falta de carne, ¿no había
quedado definitivamente zanjado? Que la población fuera ocultándose progresivamente nada tenía que ver con el aspecto central de
la cosa, y solo era una colofón que no alteraba en modo alguna la
firme voluntad de aquella gente de procurarse el precioso alimento.
¿Era, por ventura, dicho colofón el precio que exigía la carne de
cada uno? Pero sería miserable hacer más preguntas inoportunas, y
aquel prudente pueblo estaba muy bien alimentado.
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ALVAREZ
a town want than a secure means of subsistence? The deeply serious problem of a disrupted civil order created by the lack of meat –
was not this issue wiped clean? That the population progressively
went into seclusion had nothing to do with the central aspect of
the thing; it was only the dénouement that did not in any way
change the firm will of those people to procure themselves of that
precious nourishment. Was by chance this dénouement the price to
pay for each one’s meat? But it would be foolish to ask any more
inopportune questions; those prudent people were very well fed.
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50
DEMBE & STEUER
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Modern Hebrew and Yehuda Amichai
W
ith the formation of the State of Israel in the nineteenth
century, Hebrew was reinvigorated after a long period of
decline and displacement. Alongside their goal of a strong national identity, the architects of the new Israel wanted to revitalize the
use of Hebrew as a historical language that would convey the cultural and spiritual heritage of the Jews. Since the vocabulary of biblical Hebrew reflected a drastically different era, its extant vocabulary was somewhat limited. For this reason, many new words were
coined, or borrowed from other languages, in order to supply meaningful forms for contemporary concepts: technology, industry, science, theory. This expansion, plus the wealth of loanwords brought
in from macaronic diasporic languages like Ladino and Yiddish,
mean that although modern Hebrew is a direct descendant of its
biblical predecessor, it has changed with time and for the times.
Israeli poet Yeduha Amichai is a good example of this blending
of old and new in Hebrew. Although his poetry is modern and
accessible, he frequently mines the history of Jewish culture for
symbolism that will register with Jewish readers. Robert Alter, writing in Modern Hebrew Literature No.13 (1994), gives an example:
In a love poem (“In the Middle of This Century”) he speaks of “the linsey-woolsey of our being together.” This literal rendering sounds silly,
but the Hebrew reader will identify in the term sha’atnez the biblically
prohibited interweave of linen and wool and grasp it as a beautifully
succinct image of an impossible union of disparate elements, and one
that may be taboo.
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MODERN HEBREW
AND
YEHUDA AMICHAI
Three thousand years of accumulated culture gives a poet a lot of
material to work with. However, the depth of this tradition, that
allows for such deep resonance, is a chasm of distinctively Jewish
meaning that the translator has to scramble out of in order to carry
over nuance and significance into other languages. The translator
is further challenged by unique linguistic aspects of Hebrew: e.g.,
the verb “to be” has no present tense form; the written language
may or may not indicate the proper vocalization of vowels, which
must then be inferred from context and convention; the complex
rules for syllabic stress are not easily determined either from meter
or from spoken form. Nonetheless, and thankfully so, it can be
done and is done. Amichai is one of the most-widely translated
poets writing in Hebrew, his work appearing in dozens of foreign
languages. Mexican poet Octavio Paz (translated elsewhere in this
issue) was frank in his praise: “Once one has read his poems, one
can never forget them – there can be so much life and truth in sixteen lines.”
Translator’s Note
The poetry of Yehuda Amichai is deeply preoccupied by
humanitarian themes. Many of his poems address relationships
between people, and the problems that arise when societies focus
too much attention on ideologies which strain those relations.
“Jerusalem” deals with this theme in a very literal sense. It conveys
Amichai’s disappointment (amongst other feelings) that the two
sides in conflict cannot reach a consensus, even on the simplest
levels of life. Amichai thinks that as long as we fail to recognize
the humanity of our so-called enemies – that they hang their laundry out to dry, just as we do – unhappiness will always persist.
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54
SHAPIRO
Jerusalem
Translated by Micah Shapiro
Upon a roof in the Old City,
Laundry is illuminated in the last light of the day –
A white sheet of some female enemy,
An adversary’s towel,
With which he wipes the sweat of his brow.
And in the skies of the Old City –
A kite.
And at the string’s other end –
A boy,
Whom I could not see –
Because of the wall.
We have raised many flags.
They have raised many flags.
That we will think that they are happy –
That they will think that we are happy.
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On Sappho 58
S
appho was born between 630 and 612 BC and died around 570
BC, after establishing herself as a poet of such skill that Plato
proposed she be appointed as the tenth Muse. She is considered the
mother of the lyric poem, though perhaps more for being the finest
practitioner of the time than for being the originator of the form.
Much of her reputation depends on the praise of contemporaries,
since little of her work remains except in the form of fragments and
isolated lines. In 2004, Michael Gronewald and Robert Daniel
announced that a dismantled cartonnage (plaster and fiber mummy
casing) which had been languishing in the archives of Cologne
University contained fragments of text corresponding to verses
gleaned from “gravedigging” excavations in the garbage dumps of
Oxyrhynchus (now Al Bahnasa, Egypt). The largest portion of the
reconstructed, nearly complete poem was copied early in the third
century BCE, making this the earliest manuscript of her work so far
known.
Translator’s Note
In addition to the specific pitfalls of translating ancient Greek
was my difficulty with recreating the emotional tone: I don’t share
the same nostalgia as Sappho for her old age. However, after reading aloud continuously, I realized that the key was in the opening
lines themselves. Sappho frequently dwells on the human helplessness in the face of mortality, to which she resigns herself, since
“immortal men are never born.” Never have I been more unsettled
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ON SAPPHO 58
by an ancient text than by this reflection on man’s fate; her blunt
phrasing refutes all ambition. However, she offers comfort in the
opening verse. Humans can overcome death and attain eternal ‘life’
through remembrance, the reverberation of actions or words – or
poetry – through history.
Another concern was how to establish a tone that would evoke
the rhythmic tune generated by the turtle shell harp. This consideration often conflicted with my desire for fidelity to the rhyme,
sentence structure and syntax, as permitted by the constraints of
English. I wanted to remain faithful to the original, in which each
word is of vital importance to the line, just as each verse is precious
to the entire fragment. Finally, I had to represent Sappho’s images
– the violet-clad arms, the dancing of young deer – while restraining the effect of each so as not to supersede the “alluring” beauty of
the entire work. I thank George Kalogeris for pointing me to the
original Aeolic text and for his erudite comments on my final work.
Hunt’s Commentary
The inset text on the following page is an excerpt of the transcription of Fragment 1, from The Oxyrhynchus Papyri Part XV
(Oxford University Press, 1922). Square brackets indicate lacunae;
dots within brackets represent the approximate number of missing
letters. A dot beneath indicates that a letter is considered doubtful.
Bernard Grenfell and Arthur Hunt together supervised the excavation which recovered the papyri, and jointly translated, edited and
annotated fifty-four volumes of the published fragments. The following comments are from his essay on P.Oxy.XV 1787, p. 26-27.
On attribution: “The authorship . . . is established by one certain
and two probable coincidences with lines previously extant; some
isolated words attributed by Grammarians to Sappho also occur. To
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which of the available books
among the nine of her lyrics
they belonged is uncertain, but
they may be assigned with some
probability to the fourth.”
On metrics: “The metre is
apparently the same throughout, a two-line strophe consisting of a repetition of the verse
which
Š--ŠŠ--ŠŠ--ŠŠ-Š-Š,
Hephaestion 64 describes as an
Ionic a maiore tetrameter
acatalectic . . . .” [The meter is
given as Š –ŠŠ– –ŠŠ– –ŠŠ– ŠŠ–
by
William
Annis
of
http://www.aoidoi.org, a compendium of Ancient Greek texts.]
On script: “The hand is a rapidly formed uncial of medium size
and with a decided slope . . . Stops in the high position occur, and
accents, breathings, and marks of elision, quantity, and diaeresis
have been freely added, as usual in papyri of lyric poets. Acute
marks are sometimes so horizontal as to be barely distinguishable
from marks of length.”
On tatters: “Of the individual pieces there is not much to be
said, since their severe mutilation, except in one or two cases, prevents the line of thought from being followed with precision, and
restoration cannot be attempted with any real chance of success.”
On topic: “Fr.1 gives the ends of lines of a poem of some length
in which Sappho dwells on the advance of age and the inevitable
approach of death . . . The idea here [lines 18-19] may well be that
old age follows youth as inevitably as night the dawn . . . .”
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ON SAPPHO 58
Lines 10-21 correspond to the translation printed on the facing
page. The original papyrus is in the Sackler Library in Oxford.
(Cartoon of P.Oxy.XV 1787
Fragment 1 by Zachary Bos.)
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60
KALERGIS
Sappho to her female companions
Translated by Jesus Kalergis
Seek the gifts in the violet clad arms of the Muses.
Cultivate the excellence of the turtle shell harp.
For me it’s over, my once delicate skin has been blemished by
The sands of time; my hair ripen, brittle white from blazing dark.
Burdensome spirit, for my knees too heavy to bear,
That once would whirl me, dancing, like deer.
Often I mourn, howling – but what can be done:
Nothing, immortal men are never born
And Tithonus, the tale holds, that rose-breasted Dawn
Love-smitten, carried off to the ends of the worlds,
Tithonus, alluring and youthful, still subdued into time
Despite sharing an eternity with amaranthine Dawn . . . .
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On Petrarch’s Canzoniere in English
Dygo Tosa
P
oetry in translation often resembles moving from one line to
another with the purpose of conveying the meaning over to
another language. This should be of no surprise as “translation” is a
term that originates from the participle of the Latin transferre,
which we see in use in our language as “transfer” itself: an act of
bringing one thing over to another. The movement of the Latin
language into the English language can be traced back to the
Norman invasion of Britannia. If the result of translation were to
craft a copy of the original, our language would have lost its unique
simplicity for a system of inflection. But just as the English people
would derive their laws and civics from those of the Romans while
retaining their Germanic roots for everyday conversation, a fine
translation must be a compromise if it is to convey the original
author’s message while maintaining beauty, attempting to balance
both style and substance. Poetry demands the retention of the aesthetic in order to be itself. The task of translation must consider
cultural to universal.
* * *
Reading Thomas Wyatt’s famous adaptation for Petrarch’s
Canzoniere 190 is rewarding. The original Italian is in the form of a
sonnet, but many English translators do not attempt to replicate
the rhyme scheme (For an example, refer to Musa’s translation in
Selections from the Canzoniere and Other Works, Oxford University
Press, 1985). Wyatt’s adaptation on the other hand, adopts the
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TOSA
Petrarchan sonnet rhyme scheme faithfully, edging to a slant rhyme
for his second to last line. Wyatt then goes beyond translation by
introducing his own material. For example, where the poet quotes
the words about the doe’s neck, Wyatt replaces the wordy phrase
with a line out of the Gospel of John. The resulting effect is stunning; “Let no one touch me” for Noli mi tangere holds a sudden force
in our language as an imperative command, especially since Latin
holds a place in our minds as the language of law. Petrarch’s intention to describe a dreamlike state has been lost through the process
of adaptation, but he makes up for the difference by injecting his
own metaphor: the doe as a representation of Anne Boleyn. Also,
it would not make sense for the doe to vanish in Wyatt’s adaptation, but he makes full use of the hunting metaphor to illustrate his
own point. Thus adaptation relies heavily on interpretation, and
will often draw its own meaning quite differently from the sense of
the original. Wyatt’s preservation of the sonnet form, however,
clearly gives proper credit to his source, which in turn allows us to
understand and enjoy both Italian and English poetry from a different perspective.
* * *
These comments are excerpted from Tosa’s paper, “Poetry in
Translation and Adaptation: On Selections from Petrarch’s Canzoniere
in English,” written for Christopher Ricks’ CC201: The Renaissance in
Fall 2005 at Boston University.
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Translating Rudaki’s New Persian
T
he blind poet Abu-Abdullah Ja’far-ibn Mohammad Rudaki
(859-c.941) is known as the father of Persian poetry for having
been one of the first significant poets to write in “New Persian,”
using classical forms: qasida, ghazal, rubai. Although 1,300,000 verses are attributed to him, only a few remain, perhaps because his
unornamented style was not as popular during the bombastic literary culture which followed the tenth-century revival of Persian
identity in the Samanid court. He spent over three decades as court
poet, but eventually fell out of favor with the new Emir and died in
poverty. “The Beloved’s Beauty” is taken from Divån-e Rudaki
Samarqandi (Tehran: Moassesseh-ye Enteshåråte-e Negåh, 1994)
and is untitled in the original text.
Translator’s Notes
My first priority in translating Rudaki has been to convey the
meaning of his poems. Even when certain liberties had to be taken
in order to bring my English lines to life, they have never been at
the expense of the overall meaning of the poem. A translation that
in any way alters the sense of the original poem ceases to be a translation altogether and becomes nothing more than an imitation.
* * *
Regarding its form, the two most important features of Persian
poetry are its quantitative prosody and its rhyme. The translator
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TRANSLATING RUDAKI’S NEW PERSIAN
who tries to carry the form of the Persian poem over into English is
faced with monumental difficulties. The basic structure of English
poetry is accentual, relying on stress rather than the length of syllables. When translating a classical Persian poem into English, if
the translator insists of presenting the Persian poem to the English
reader within the framework of Persian metrics, the result will be a
clumsy poem that sounds forced and unnatural.
* * *
The unit of the Persian poem is a bayt or distich, which is divided into two misrå’ or semi-distichs. The two semi-distichs are of
equal weight (they have the same number of feet). They are mirror
images of each other and the same thought usually runs through
both. I find this balance and symmetry to be an important aspect of
Persian poetry, which I have tried to reflect in my translations. I
have presented each distich as a couplet and have tried to keep
both lines in each couplet at the same length (syllable count).
* * *
These comments are excerpted from Rudaki: The Father of Persian
Poetry by Sassan Tabatabai, in a doctoral thesis submitted in 2000 to
Boston University’s University Professors Program.
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66
TABATABAI
The Beloved’s Beauty
Translated by Sassan Tabatabai
Song, rose-colored wine, and beauties like the moon,
Would make an angel fall in the well.
How can I sew my gaze shut? To see my love
Only narcissi grow on my grave, not weeds.
For the man who knows love’s drunkenness,
It’s a shame to be sober for a moment.
Your eyes can’t make out the ceiling beams by day.
But you spot a straw in someone else’s eye at night.
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Translator’s Comments
First stanza transliteration:
Song and flower-colored (red) wine and dolls/beauties like the
moon
If an angel (pure and without sin) sees/experiences [them], will fall
in the well (of sin)
Comments: In these lines, Rudaki is making reference to the story
of Harut and Marut, which has pre-Islamic roots (“Ho’avrutat” and
“Amrotat” in Avestan literature) and is retold in the Koran. As the
story goes, the angels Harut and Marut were sent to earth to guide
mankind. They were seduced by the beautiful Nahid (“Zohreh” in
Arabic) and engaged in singing, drinking wine and merry-making.
As punishment, God threw them into the well of Babylon.
Second stanza transliteration:
How do/can I sew my gaze (close my eyes)? That for seeing/in
order to see a friend (the beloved)
From my earth (grave) only narcissus grows instead of weeds
Comments: In Persian poetry, narcissi represent eyes. Narcissus on
the grave means that he will see the beloved even after his death.
Third stanza transliteration:
He who has felt/been aware of/has understood
zeal/pleasure/enthusiasm/intoxication of the beloved’s love
For him it is a pity to be sober for [even] one moment
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the
TABATABAI
Fourth stanza transliteration:
In/with your own eyes, you don’t see the ceiling beams during day
(You don’t see obvious faults in yourself)
At night, in the eyes of others you see [one] straw (you see even
small faults in others)
Comments: The last couplet seems disjointed from the rest.
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Translating “Ithaka”
B
orn on April 29, 1963 in Alexandria, Egypt, Cavafy wrote the
majority of his work after the age of forty. He maintained several literary friendships, including a twenty-year acquaintance with
E.M. Forster, and died on April 29, 1933, also in Alexandria.
Criticized by literary circles in Greece for his lack of idealism and
poetic eroticism, Cavafy was isolated and obscure during his lifetime. His poetry was re-discovered after the Greco-Turkish War,
and posthumously has become one of the most widely-read poets in
Greece. His poetry comprises three distinct groups: philosophical,
historical, and hedonistic.
“Ithaka” appears to be directed towards the mythical Odysseus,
but it is using the myth as an allegory through which to speak to a
modern reader. This translator of “Ithaka” attempts to convey,
more than he felt previous translations did, the prominent lyricism
in Cavafy’s free iambic form. One particular difference in this
translation from others is the decision to keep the “Ithaka” in the
last line in the singular, as it is in the Greek. Previous English translators have pluralized the word, suggesting less the specific Ithaka
of ancient Greece than the universal idea of Ithaka as home. While
the word choices and syntax in the poem may sometimes seem formal, they belie a great depth of feeling.
Translator’s Notes
The most difficult task in writing this translation was conveying the elegant simplicity of the original without being lackluster.
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TRANSLATING “ITHAKA”
The musical aspect of spoken English is not as prominent as in the
Greek. The English translation, then, must be composed of aesthetically-pleasing vocabulary in cooperation with deliberate yet sensitive word choice in order to compensate for the reduced emphasis
on euphOny. I hope that in this respect I have done some justice
to the poem. As part of this process, and indeed as a result of the
very nature of translation, there are some things in Cavafy’s
“Ithaka” that are not in mine, and some things in my rendering of
“Ithaka” that are not in Cavafy’s.
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72
HERMAN
Ithaka
Translated by Doug Herman
As you set out on your voyage towards Ithaka,
pray that the way be a long one,
full of adventures, full of new knowledge.
Lestrygonians, Cyclopes, wrathful Poseidon –
fear not – you’ll never find them on your way,
long as your thought remains lofty, and choice
the sensation that touches your body and life-breath.
Lestrygonians, Cyclopes, wild Poseidon –
you won’t meet them, unless you keep them in your soul,
unless your mind erects them there before you.
Pray that the way be long, and many
the summer mornings when with pleasure and delight
you enter newfound foreign ports bustling, confused.
Dock at Phoenician marketplaces
and purchase their delicate many-colored finery:
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
rich spices of every sort – as much as you can –
more and more ample rich spices.
Go to Egyptian cities, many of them,
to learn and keep learning from their scholars.
Always in your mind hold on to Ithaka:
arrival there is your objective.
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74
HERMAN
But do not rush the trip at all.
Better to let the long years last, and then,
when you are grown old, to anchor by the island
rich with what you’ve gained along the way,
not expecting wealth from Ithaka.
Ithaka gave you the beautiful trip.
Without her you’d never have taken to the road.
But she has no more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka has not mocked you.
So wise as you’ve become, with such experience,
you’ll know by then what Ithaka means.
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76
BETWEEN FIDELITY
AND
HARMONY
Between Fidelity and Harmony
O
ctavio Paz (1914-1998) was a prolific poet, writer, and diplomat who earned multiple awards for his groundbreaking work,
including the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1990. Born into a literary family with an impressive library, Paz received a sound liberal
education and encouragement to write. His literary journal
Workshop, begun in 1938, helped call attention to a new wave of
Mexican poets and writers. Paz’s diplomatic trips to France and
India helped refine his artistic sensibilities. His widely-acclaimed
The Labyrinth of Solitude is a moving portrait of Mexican identity.
However, he discontinued government service in 1968 out of
protest for their harsh treatment of student activists. Paz continued
to publish politically minded literary journals: Plural from 1971 to
1976 and Vuelta, formed in 1976.
In discussion with the editors, translator Stephanie Shih elaborated on the reasoning behind some of her decisions. In the penultimate stanza, Paz describes the speaker watching his reflection in
the mirror’s reflection of his eye. Shih changes the meaning slightly (or rather, was slightly less specific) for the sake of sound and
rhythm. The quality of vagueness, she suggests, remains in line with
Paz’s tone. The reader should note that although the last stanza, in
which Paz writes, “I am a pause,” could have been easily translated
literally, the meter Shih establishes early on required that she pare
it down to just, “a pause.” For similar reasons, “the books” was cut
from the list in the third stanza. These deliberate changes may
compromise strict ‘fidelity’, but ensure an overall harmony.
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Entre irse y quedarse
Octavio Paz
Entre irse y quedarse dude el día,
enamorado de su transparencia.
La tarde circular es ya bahía:
en su quieto vaivén se mece el munco.
Todo es visible y todo es elusivo,
todo está cerca y todo es intocable.
Los papeles, el libro, el vaso, el lápiz
reposan a la sombra de sus nombres
Latir del tiempo que en mi sien repite
la misma terca sílaba de sangre.
La luz hace del muro indiferente
un espectral teatro de reflejos.
En el centro de un ojo me descubro;
no me mira, me miro en su mirada.
Se disipa el instante. Sin moverme,
yo me quedo y me voy: soy una pausa.
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SHIH
Between leaving and staying
Translated by Stephanie Shih
Between leaving and staying be wary of the day,
enamored with its own transparency.
Already, the afternoon is an elliptical bay:
the earth bobs in its taciturn swelling.
Everything is seen and everything is vague;
everything is near and untouchable.
All things rest in the shadows of their names:
the papers, the glass, the pencil.
In my temples time’s rhythm beats a refrain,
that obstinate syllable of being.
The daylight illuminates a wall’s stoic face
as a theatre of ghostly reflections.
In the center of an eye, I find myself;
I am watching myself as I watch myself . . . .
But the moment is lost. Standing in place,
I stay and I leave as a pause.
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94
BUHL
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Anoche
Antonio Machado
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que una fontana fluía
dentro de mi corazón.
Di, ¿por qué acequia escondida,
agua, viences hasta mí,
manantial de nueva vida
en donde nunca bebí?
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que una colmena tenía
dentro de mi corazón;
y las doradas abejas
iban fabricando en él,
con las amarguras viejas,
blanca cera y dulce miel.
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KALOGERIS & REZENDE
Last Night
Translated by George Kalogeris and Gláucia Rezende
Last night, while falling asleep, I dreamt my heart
Was a gushing fountain, and what a wonderful dream
It was, so deep was my delusion, last night.
And I said to the surging current: “Hope springs eternal
from water so fresh – but how did you ever spring up
In me? And by what mysterious underground channel?”
* * *
Last night, while sound asleep, I dreamt the bees
Were building a hive inside the humming cells
Of my beating heart. What a wonderful dream it was,
And so deep was the droning sound of my delusion
That my lips tasted of honey – as if the bees
Had distilled my bitter failures, and made them golden.
* * *
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Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que un ardiente sol lucía
dentro di mi corazón.
era ardiente porque daba
calores de rojo hogar,
y era sol porque alumbraba
y porque hacía llorar.
Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que era Dios lo que tenía
dentro de mi corazón.
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KALOGERIS & REZENDE
Last night, while dead to the world, I dreamt the sun
Was blazing from my heart, and what a wonderful
Dream it was – so deep was my delusion,
Last night. And now I felt as if I was lying
Before a fireplace, and the heat was so great that it stung
My eyes. And before I knew it I was crying.
* * *
Last night, while fast asleep, I dreamt my heart
Held God Himself, and what a wonderful dream
It was – so deep was my delusion, last night.
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PUSTEBLUME
La Noria
Antonio Machado
La tarde caía
triste y polvorienta.
El agua cantaba
su copla plebeya
en los cangilones
de la noria lenta.
Soñaba la mula,
¡pobre mula vieja!,
al compás de sombra
que en el agua suena.
La tarde caía
triste y polvorienta.
Yo no sé qué noble,
divino poeta,
unió a la amargura
de la eterna rudea
100
KALOGERIS & REZENDE
The Waterwheel
Translated by George Kalogeris and Gláucia Rezende
Already the afternoon light was turning to dust,
Alas, and all the time the wooden wheel
Over and over kept turning the murmuring water
To its own rhythm, slowly as those dances
People do in the country, even though the old mule
Seemed to be fast asleep, as if he was dreaming
Out of sheer exhaustion, and that dream was deep
Enough to fill the buckets that he kept drawing
Out of the murmuring shadows. The afternoon light,
Alas, was turning to dust, and who knows who
Came up with the splendid idea of taking this wheel
That never stops chafing and churning, and yoking it
To the flowing water’s sweet dreams, though I think
That genius must have been divinely inspired.
And because he also provided you with blinders,
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PUSTEBLUME
la dulce armonía
del agua que sueña,
y vendó tus ojos,
¡pobre mula vieja! . . .
Mas sé que fué un noble,
divino poeta,
corazón maduro
de sombra y de ciencia.
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KALOGERIS & REZENDE
Wretched creature, I can’t help seeing him now
As a great and maybe even a godlike poet:
One who found a way to instruct his heart
In the dark, unfathomable ways of illumination.
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PUSTEBLUME
“N O ,
ALL IS NOT LOST.
One of humanity’s greatest beauties and
greatest accomplishments is the diffusion
of ideas and truths through art. For as long
as people continue to write, they will be
translated; as long as literature and the souls
contained in literature are translated,
we can virtually all be on the same page.”
Excerpted from Megan Natt’s paper, “Finding That Which Has Been There
All Along: The Trouble of Translation in Bolaño,” written for Christopher Ricks’
EI501: Literary Editing in Fall 2005 at Boston University.
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