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  • Read from Vallejo intro (Peyden) as marked\n
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  • Ewan version?\n
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Session 5 presentation Presentation Transcript

  • 1. Texts and Translations 5
  • 2. 1. A fishy song
  • 3. Fisches Nachtgesang Fishes NightsongChristian Morgenstern W.D. Snodgrass, Walter Arndt, translators Morgensterns "Nightsong (or Night Hymn) of the Fish" (or per a as
  • 4. Jeremy Adler and Ulrich Ernst list the interpretations that have been suggested:‘The symbols signify the metre of silent song; the alternation of symbolsindicates a fish mouth opening and closing; together, they resemble the frontalview of a choir of fish; they represent water; they resemble the shape of a fishwithout head or tail. These as well as other interpretations of the poem are quitepermissible. Thus we have, in the framework of ‘nonsense literature,’ a new typeof visual poetry: a poem of figures that does not imitate any particular form, theabstract figure poem.’“Or, expressed differently,” writes Heinrich Plett in Literary Rhetoric, “thereferentiality of this isographemic configuration is polysemous.”
  • 5. sches Nachtgesang Fishes Nightsong ristian Morgenstern W.D. Snodgrass, Walter Arndt, translatorsMorgensterns "Nightsong (or Night Hymn) of the Fish" (or per
  • 6. Fisches Nachtgesang Fishs Night SongChristian Morgenstern Max Knight, translator tiousness, a neutral, aniconic reading of its signs as sheer graphicsigns against the undifferentiated white of the page takes us intodeeper theoretical waters: The "literal" meaning of writing, accordingto Jacques Derrida is "metaphoricity itself." (Of Grammatology, p. 15)Metaphoricity (or the use of figurative language) is, of course, a fair ly common way of defining the literary.25 IsMorgensterns fish, then,
  • 7. 2. Recap: Classical Chinese to English
  • 8. ‘. . . classical Chinese poetry was only successfully translated intoEnglish when the translators were willing to set aside the rhymes andmeters of traditional English verse, as well as Western concepts of whatconstitutes poetic diction and subject matter, and create a freer formthat would permit the power and expressiveness of the originals to shinethrough.’Burton Watson, Introduction to Columbia Book of Chinese Poetry,pp12/13
  • 9. Reaction to PoundWi-lim Yip, in Ezra Pounds Cathay, admitted‘One can easily excommunicate Pound from the Forbidden City ofChinese studies’yet Pound conveyed ‘the central concerns of the original author" andthat no other translation “has assumed so interesting and unique aposition as Cathay in the history of English translations of Chinesepoetry.”In The Pound Era, Hugh Kenner pointed out that Cathay was aninterpretation as much as a translation; the "poems paraphrase anelegiac war poetry.... among the most durable of all poetic responses toWorld War I."Perhaps the clearest assessment of Pounds achievement was made atthe time by T. S. Eliot in his introduction to Pound’s Selected Poems; hecalled Pound ‘the inventor of Chinese poetry for our time’ and predictedthat Cathay would be called a ‘magnificent specimen of twentieth-century poetry’ rather than a translation.
  • 10. consider Wai-lim YipDisturbed by translations of Chinese poetryMost English translations of Chinese poetry simply let the target horizonmask and master the source horizon.Translators seemed unaware classical Chinese poetry has whole set ofcultural-aesthetic assumptions, that its syntax is in many waysinseparable from perception, and that by imposing Indo-Europeanlinguistic habits upon the classical Chinese without any adjustment theywere significantly changing the source horizon(Diffusion of Distance:dialogues between Chinese and Western poetics)see also Ezra Pounds Cathay, Princeton University Press, 1969.Chinese Poetry: Major Modes and Genres, U. C. Press/Duke UniversityPress, 1976; 2nd ed. Duke University Press, 1997.
  • 11. from Travelling on the Southern ValleyPath to a Deserted Village on an AutumnMorning Wai-lim Yip’s versionLiu Zongyuan Autumn’s end: frost and dew become heavy.The end of autumn- there’s heavy frost Get up early. Walk in secluded ravine.and dew;At dawn, I rise and go to the hiddenvalley.
  • 12. Li Po/Li BaiA Letter To Send Far AwayMy love, So much beauty home–flowers filled the When you were here there was house. a hall of flowers. So much beauty gone–nothing but theWhen you are gone there is empty bed, an empty bed.Under the embroidered coverlet your embroidered quilt rolled up, never I toss and turn. used.After three years I It’s been three years. Your scent still smell your fragrance. lingers,Your fragrance never leaves,But you never return. your scent gone and yet never ending.I think of you, the yellow leaves are But now you’re gone, never to return,endedAnd the white dew dampens the green thoughts of you yellow leaves falling,moss. white dew glistening on green moss.Translated by William Carlos Williams Translated by David Hinton
  • 13. 3. Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834) : ‘On the Different Methods ofTranslating’ (1813)
  • 14. Friedrich Schleiermacher: ‘On the Different Methods of Translating’‘Should [the translator] try to bring two people together who are so totallyseparated from each other – as his fellow man, who is completely ignorantof the author’s language, and the author himself are – into such animmediate relationship as that of author and reader?’
  • 15. ‘Either the translator leaves the writer alone as much as possible andmoves the reader toward the writer, or he leaves the reader alone as muchas possible and moves the writer toward the reader.’Schleiermacher favours moving the reader toward the writer‘..the translator’s goal must be to provide the reader with the same imageand the same pleasure as reading the work in the original language offersto the man educated in this way...’
  • 16. ‘Either the translator leaves the writer alone as much as possible andmoves the reader toward the writer, or he leaves the reader alone as muchas possible and moves the writer toward the reader.’Schleiermacher favours moving the reader toward the writer‘..the translator’s goal must be to provide the reader with the same imageand the same pleasure as reading the work in the original language offersto the man educated in this way...’
  • 17. Miguel HernándezEl cementerio está cercade donde tú y yo dormimos,entre nopales azules,pitas azules y niñosque gritan vívidamentesi un muerto nubla el camino.De aquí al cementerio, todoes azul, dorado, límpido.Cuatro pasos, y los muertos.Cuatro pasos, y los vivos.Límpido, azul y dorado,se hace allí remoto el hijo.
  • 18. The graveyard is nearMiguel Hernández Miguel HernándezEl cementerio está cerca The graveyard is nearde donde tú y yo dormimos, to where you and I are sleepingentre nopales azules, among blue nopales,pitas azules y niños blue pitas and childrenque gritan vívidamente who shout loudlysi un muerto nubla el camino. if a phantom fogs the road.De aquí al cementerio, todo From here to the graveyard, everythinges azul, dorado, límpido. is blue, golden, clear.Cuatro pasos, y los muertos. Four steps, and the dead.Cuatro pasos, y los vivos. Four steps, and the living.Límpido, azul y dorado, Clear, blue and golden,se hace allí remoto el hijo. there the son becomes remote. (Translated by Claudia Benítez)
  • 19. The graveyard is nearMiguel Hernández Miguel HernándezEl cementerio está cerca The graveyard is nearde donde tú y yo dormimos, to where you and I are sleepingentre nopales azules, among blue nopales,pitas azules y niños blue pitas and childrenque gritan vívidamente who shout loudlysi un muerto nubla el camino. if a phantom fogs the road.De aquí al cementerio, todo From here to the graveyard, everythinges azul, dorado, límpido. is blue, golden, clear.Cuatro pasos, y los muertos. Four steps, and the dead.Cuatro pasos, y los vivos. Four steps, and the living.Límpido, azul y dorado, Clear, blue and golden,se hace allí remoto el hijo. there the son becomes remote. (Translated by Claudia Benítez)
  • 20. I could have used the word “cemetery”, which would be closest to theSpanish “cementerio”. But I decided to use instead “graveyard” as I The graveyard is nearthink it sounds better in the English version, and also because here in Miguel HernándezIreland it is more common to use this word. The nopal is an edible cactus native from Mexico. The word comesfrom the náhuatl “nopalli”. It is usually translated into English as The graveyard is near“prickly pear”, but it seems like this refers more to the “tuna”, which to where you and I are sleepingis the sweet fruit that grows on top of the nopal. I also found ittranslated as “nopal cactus”. For this poem, I decided to keep it as the among blue nopales,original Mexican word “nopal” (its plural is “nopales”) as there doesn’t blue pitas and childrenseem to be an accurate translation into English. Can the name of a who shout loudlycactus be translated accurately? if a phantom fogs the road. The word “pita” can refer to many different things: a plant of thegenus agave, native from Mexico; a round flat bread typical of theEastern Mediterranean region; the fiber of this plant used in making From here to the graveyard,string (known as fiber thread); or a children’s game in which the everythingchildren chase each other (they say “to play the pita” in Spain,especially in Galicia). In the case of this poem, “blue pitas” is referring is blue, golden, clear.to the plant. Four steps, and the dead. I could have translated “muerto” as “corpse” but this word makes me Four steps, and the living.think of a walking dead body, which, in my opinion, wouldn’t workwell with the image in the poem: the road gets covered in fog when adead person passes by. This sounds more like a spirit leaving a veil of Clear, blue and golden,fog behind, rather than a walking dead body leaving behind a scent of there the son becomes remote.putrefied flesh. In this case I could have used “ghost” or “spirit”, butin the end I chose “phantom” in order to keep the alliteration with “if”and “fogs”. (Translated by Claudia Benítez) Here I decided to use the verb “fogs” from the noun “fog” as Ithought it was the best way to transfer this image into English. Theliteral translation of the verb “nublar” would be “to cloud”. However,“to cloud” makes me think of covering the road with the clouds fromthe sky, when in this case it is the image of the road getting coveredin fog. This is why I thought the verb “fog” would work much better. Hernández is clearly talking about his own son in this poem, whodied in infancy. Nevertheless, he doesn’t say “mi hijo” (“my son”) but
  • 21. Miguel Hernández The cemetery lies nearEl cementerio está cerca The cemetery lies nearde donde tú y yo dormimos, where you and I are sleeping,entre nopales azules, among blue nopals,pitas azules y niños blue pitas, and childrenque gritan vívidamente who shout at the top of their lungssi un muerto nubla el camino. If a corpse darkens the street.De aquí al cementerio, todo From here to the cemetery everythinges azul, dorado, límpido. is blue, golden, clear.Cuatro pasos, y los muertos. Four steps away, the dead.Cuatro pasos, y los vivos. Four steps away, the living.Límpido, azul y dorado, Clear, blue, and golden.se hace allí remoto el hijo. My son grows remote there. Translated by Don Share
  • 22. ‘It is the plainest, most limpid, poem that may defy translation,because it leaves the least latitude for paraphrase andinterpretation, and the plainness that may be a happy reduction inone language and literary convention can sound like an intolerablebanality in another’
  • 23. 4. Gottfried Benn: A Casebook
  • 24. Was schlimm ist (Gottfried Benn)Wenn man kein Englisch kann,von einem guten englischen Kriminalroman zu hören,der nicht ins Deutsche übersetzt ist.Bei Hitze ein Bier sehn,das man nicht bezahlen kann.Einen neuen Gedanken haben,den man nicht in einem Hölderlinvers einwickeln kann,wie es die Professoren tun.Nachts auf Reisen Wellen schlagen hörenund sich sagen, dass sie das immer tun.Sehr schlimm: eingeladen sein,wenn zu Hause die Räume stiller,der Café besserund keine Unterhaltung nötig ist.Am schlimmsten:nicht im Sommer sterben,wenn alles hell istund die Erde für Spaten leicht.
  • 25. What’s Bad/Gottfried BennNot reading English,and hearing about a new English thrillerthat hasn’t been translated.Seeing a cold beer when it’s hot out,and not being able to afford it.Having an ideathat you can’t encapsulate in a line of Hölderlin,the way the professors do.Hearing the waves beat against the shore on holiday at night,and telling yourself it’s what they always do.Very bad: being invited out,when your own room at home is quieter,the coffee is better,and you don’t have to make small talk.And worst of all:not to die in summer,when the days are longand the earth yields easily to the spade.Source: Poetry (November 2009).
  • 26. Dear Editor. . .Hofmann translates Benn’s phrase “guten englischen Kriminalroman” as“new English thriller.” Benn’s word gut means “good.” As opposed toHofmann’s “new” (neu), it speaks directly to schlimm (bad) in thepoem’s title. Since Benn uses neu later in the poem—not included inHofmann’s translation, which renders Benn’s “neuen Gedanken” (newidea/thought) simply as “idea”—Hofmann’s using it where Benn doesn’tstrikes me as odd.Hofmann’s decision to translate Benn’s “nicht in einen Hölderlinverseinwickeln kann” as “can’t encapsulate in a line of Hölderlin” strikes meas a misleading choice of register. The Latinate “encapsulate” does notsuggest the tactile immediacy, even colloquialism (not unimportant,perhaps, in a poem that praises beer), of einwickeln, captured betterperhaps by “wrap up.”
  • 27. In several cases, Hofmann’s word choices subtly change aline’s range of meanings. For example, Hofmann translatesBenn’s Reisen as “holiday,” adding a layer of meaning thatmay well be there along with the more mundane meanings(trip, journey, tour), but I don’t think that layer deserves to beforegrounded. Similarly, Benn’s “zu Hause die Räume”becomes “your own room at home.” Benn’s plural “Räume”turns into singular “room” in Hofmann’s version. Benn’s pointmay be that any room at home, not just your room, i.e., aroom with specific meaning to you, is still better than havingto spend time in somebody else’s home. One more example:Benn’s description of summer as a time “wenn alles hellist” (when everything is bright/light) turns into “when the daysare long,” substituting the length of summer days for aparticular quality of their light, of their atmosphere. It seemsto me that Sommer, leicht, and hell are crucial words inestablishing the oddly comforting atmosphere of a verseparagraph that, after all, deals with death.
  • 28. I am not an expert on Benn or twentieth-century German poetry, so Imay well be unaware of arguments justifying every single one ofHofmann’s choices. I only mean to draw attention to the possibility thatin a few places Hofmann’s fine translations may not be quite as preciseas they perhaps could be.Alfred LutzMURFREESBORO, TENNESSEE
  • 29. There is no more dismal—or, frankly, stupid—way of reading atranslation than to pick on single words (as though the first duty of atranslation were that it should be reversible—it’s not—and as thoughwords were tokens of unchanging value, the way money used to be, inits dreams—they’re not either). Alfred Lutz writes as though I were asiffleur, there to help a drying German actor with English prompts: good—gut, new—neu, wrap up—einwickeln. This is then equated withaccuracy, with being “precise.” I think I have been remarkably precise. Idon’t see how I could have served Benn any better in English, both inlarge and in little. My “choices” (detestable word) are absolutely “thebest available” (certainly to me), and if they can be improved, then atleast it won’t be by any obvious so-called “literal” so-called “dictionaryequivalents.” (I’m curious: does Lutz think I don’t know these words; orthat I’m just avoiding them for fun?)
  • 30. What’s BadNot speaking English,then hearing of a good detective storyyou can’t get in German.Seeing a cold beer on a hot day,and not being able to afford it.Having a new ideayou cant gift-wrap in a verse from Keats,the way professors do.Travelling, to hear the waves beat at night,and say to yourself thats what they always do.Very bad: being invited out,when it’s quieter at home,the coffee’s better,and there’s no need for small talk.Worst of all:not to die in Summer,when days are longand the soil on the spade is light. Adapted: Donal Lyons
  • 31. What’s Bad (Christopher Middleton)When you do not know Englishand hear of a good English detective novelthat has not been translated into German.To see when you’re hota beer that you can’t afford.To have a new thought without being ableto make it sound like a line by Hölderlinas the professors do.On a journey by night to hear waves beatingand to think: they do that all the time.Very bad: to be invited outwhen at home it is quieter,the coffee is better,and you’ve no need to be amused.Worst of all:not to die in summer,when everything is bright,and the earth is easier on the spade.
  • 32. 5. Instant Italian
  • 33. Ed è subito sera[da Acque e terre (1930)] Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terratrafitto da un raggio di sole:ed è subito sera. Salvatore Quasimodo
  • 34. [1] And Suddenly It’s Evening Each of us is alone on the heart of the earthpierced by a ray of sun:and suddenly it’s evening. - Jack Bevan [2] And Suddenly It Is Evening Everyone stands alone at the heart of this earthStunned by a ray of sunlightAnd suddenly it is evening. - J Ruth Gendler
  • 35. [3] And suddenly it is evening Everyone stands alone at the heart of the worldpierced by a ray of sunlight,and suddenly it is evening. [4] And it’s suddenly evening Everyone stays alone, on the heart of the Earth,Wounded by a ray of sunAnd it’s suddenly evening
  • 36. [5] And then suddenly it’s evening Alone at the earth’s core stands each man,Pierced by a ray of light; and thenSuddenly it’s evening.  [6] Each one stands on the heart of the earth,impaled by a ray of sunlight.And suddenly, it’s evening
  • 37. [7] A’s siúd go tobann an tráthnóna. Seasann gach n-aon ina aonar ar chroí an talaimhgath gréine ina shaighid tríd:a’s siúd go tobann an tráthnóna. Máirín agus Cearbhall Ó Dálaigh 
  • 38. Jack Bevan’s “each of us” may perhaps be a littletoo comfortable for Quasimodo’s less personal“ognuno”, and Patrick Creagh mysteriously changesUngaretti’s “mare cenerino” into “ashen sky”,making nonsense of the subsequent lines.Times Literary Supplement
  • 39. Letters to the editor, 24 December 2004 Brief and beautiful Sir – In his review of Jamie McKendrick’s Faber Book of Twentieth-CenturyItalian Poems (December 10), Jonathan Keates says that Jack Bevan’s “eachof us” seems “too comfortable for Salvatore Quasimodo’s less personal‘ognuno’” in the poem “And Suddenly It’s Evening”. In fact, Bevantranslated “ognuno” as “everyone”— “Everyone is alone on the heart of theearth” — in his first version, made for the Penguin Modern European Poetsseries in 1965.I have a letter from him dated April 1984 in which he regrets the change.He says he “havered over it a good deal” and thought “each of us” “morespecific, more multitudinous” than “everyone”, but came to think thechange “hard on the tongue” and to “[lose] more than it gained”. It’s not atrivial point, really, since the poem is so brief and so beautiful, and sinceBevan’s translations of Quasimodo usually work so well in English. Neil Corcoran
  • 40. more examples of ‘extreme variance’ /versions ofVallejo from Margaret Sayers Peden, Translator’s Preface toCésar Vallejo One of the fascinations about translating a poem –translating anything, really --- is that there is seldom a‘correct’ solution. Students in translation courses areoften upset by that truth until it becomes clear to themthat there are simply better and worse ways to move atext into a second language, not one that is definitive –unless, of course, in regard to factual material. Readseveral translations of the same poem and you will beamused, perhaps confounded, by the differences amongthem. Translators of Vallejo carry those differences intoamazing ranges of interpretation. One example willsuffice. In Trilce X, relating the death of Vallejo’s lover,the last stanza reads (italics mine):  No hay ni una violencia El paciente incorpórase, y sentado empavona tranquilas misturas.
  • 41. 6. ‘Extreme variation’
  • 42. more examples of ‘extreme variance’ /versions ofVallejo from Margaret Sayers Peden, Translator’s Preface toCésar Vallejo One of the fascinations about translating a poem –translating anything, really --- is that there is seldom a‘correct’ solution. Students in translation courses areoften upset by that truth until it becomes clear to themthat there are simply better and worse ways to move atext into a second language, not one that is definitive –unless, of course, in regard to factual material. Readseveral translations of the same poem and you will beamused, perhaps confounded, by the differences amongthem. Translators of Vallejo carry those differences intoamazing ranges of interpretation. One example willsuffice. In Trilce X, relating the death of Vallejo’s lover,the last stanza reads (italics mine):  No hay ni una violencia El paciente incorpórase, y sentado empavona tranquilas misturas.
  • 43. Here are four translations of those final lines. First,Michael Smith: There is not the slightest violenceThe patient sits up,and, seated, dips quiet breadcrumbs. Clayton Eshelman: There’s not even any violence.The patient rises up,and seated empeacocks tranquil nosegays. Rebecca Seiferle: There is not even one constraint.The patient sits upand, seated, daubs tranquil mixtures. And myself: There is not even one violent act.The patient stands up,and, seated, paints out tranquil petal showers. 
  • 44. 7. Right or wrong?
  • 45. Here is another poem translated by Czerniawski:Wieslawa Szymborska (b.1923)SOME LIKE POETRYSome -therefore not all.Not even a majority just a minority.Not counting schools where they have to,and the poets themselves,that’s probably two per thousand.Like -but one also likes noodle soup,one likes compliments and the colour blue,one likes an old scarf,one likes to have one’s way,one likes to pat a dog.Poetry -but what is poetry.There have already beenseveral shaky answersto this question.But I dont know and I dont know and I hold on to thislike a saving hand-rail.
  • 46. a) Joanna Trzeciak and b) Stanislaw Baranczak:a)Poetry?What sort of thing is poetry?More than one shaky answerhas been given to this question.But I do not know and do not know and clutch on to it,as to a saving banister.b)Poetry?but what is poetry anyway?More than one rickety answerhas tumbled since that question first was raised.But I just keep on not knowing, and I cling to thatlike a redemptive handrail.
  • 47. Poezję – a) Joanna Trzeciak and b) Stanislaw Baranczak:Tylko co to takiego poezja.Niejedna chwiejna odpowiedź a)Na to pytanie już padła. Poetry?A ja nie wiem i nie wiem i trzymam się What sort of thing is poetry?tego More than one shaky answerJak zbawiennej poręczy. has been given to this question. But I do not know and do not know and clutch on to it, as to a saving banister. b) Poetry? but what is poetry anyway? More than one rickety answer has tumbled since that question first was raised. But I just keep on not knowing, and I cling to
  • 48. Poezję –Tylko co to takiego poezja.Niejedna chwiejna odpowiedźNa to pytanie już padła.A ja nie wiem i nie wiem i trzymam się tegoJak zbawiennej poręczy. Poetry – But what is poetry More than one shaky answer Has been given to this question. But I don’t know and don’t know, and I cling to it Like a redemptive handrail.
  • 49. The simplicity and economy of Szymborska’s poetryis a challenge to her translators. Though writing in aconversational tone, Szymborska never falls back onidiom; rather, she greatly subverts it. Where herlanguage reflects an internal dialogue or dissonance, Ihave tried to capture that grappling quality ratherthan smooth it over. In choosing how to render theseemingly untranslatable, I have sought to draw outthe possibilities lurking in language rather thancompensate through embellishment or augmentation.Szymborska has a penchant for coining new words,and I hope I have preserved the seamlessness withwhich her coinages and consonantal creatures arise
  • 50. As for formal considerations, I have tried to remain asfaithful to the forms of the original poems aspossible, bearing in mind the differences in grammarand poetics between Polish and English. Rhymeschemes were maintained, though slant rhymes weresometimes substituted for straight rhymes. Because Szymborska draws freely from a wide varietyof linguistic registers, choices between alternativetranslations of individual words were sensitive tofrequency of usage. For example, an effort was madeto avoid rendering common Polish words by obscureEnglish words. Balanced against this was the desirethat connotations be preserved. This prompts somerather difficult translation choices.-- Joanna Trzeciak, Translator’s Note, Selected Poemsof      Wisława Szymborska, Norton and Company,2001.
  • 51. 8. ‘A pattern of decisions’
  • 52. ‘Translation is above all a pattern of decisions, andevery local decision will commit you to decisionselsewhere. The mark of a bad translation is thecompletely erratic nature of the decisions ….Thething about translation is that it involvescommitment. And another sign of a bad translation iswhen people are not willing to commit’.Richard Sieburth
  • 53. “Someone once asked Richard Howard, ‘How wouldyou translate this word?’ And he came back saying, ‘Ido not translate words.’ What you translate is asystem of relationships.”
  • 54. Eliot Weinberger: ‘The success of a translation isnearly always dependent on on the smallest words:prepositions, articles. Anyone can translate nouns .’
  • 55. Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab orisItaliam fato profugus Laviniaque venitLitora, multum ille et terris iactatus et altoVi superum, saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram,
  • 56. Arma virumque canoArms and the man I sing [Dryden]I sing of arms and of a man [Allen Mandelbaum]I sing of warfare and a man at war [Robert Fitzgerald]Arms I sing, and the manWars and a man I sing (Robert Fagles)
  • 57. Lîle sur le lac, à Innisfree
  • 58. William Butler Yeats - The Lake Isle of InnisfreeI will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.And I shall have some peace there, for peace comesdropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where thecricket sings;There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet’s wings.I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavement grey,I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
  • 59. William Butler Yeats - The Lake Isle of InnisfreeI will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.And I shall have some peace there, for peace comesdropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where thecricket sings;There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet’s wings.I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavement grey,I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
  • 60. Lîle sur le lac, à InnisfreeQue je me lève et je parte, que je parte pour Innisfree,Que je me bâtisse là une hutte, faite dargile et de joncs.Jaurai neuf rangs de haricots, jaurai une rucheEt dans ma clairière je vivrai seul, devenu la bruit desabeilles.Et là jaurai quelque paix car goutte à goutte la paixretombeDes brumes du matin sur lherbe où le grillon chante,Et là minuit nest quune lueur et midi est un rayon rougeEt dailes de passereaux déborde le ciel du soir.Que je me lève et je parte, car nuit et jourJentends clapoter leau paisible contre la rive.Vais-je sur la grand route ou le pavé incolore,Je lentends dans lâme du coeur.W.B. YEATS (Yves BONNEFOY) (*)
  • 61. Lîle sur le lac, à InnisfreeWilliam Butler Yeats - The Lake Isle of Innisfree Que je me lève et je parte, que je parte pour Innisfree,I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, Que je me bâtisse là une hutte, faite dargile et deAnd a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: joncs.Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the Jaurai neuf rangs de haricots, jaurai une ruchehoneybee, Et dans ma clairière je vivrai seul, devenu la bruitAnd live alone in the bee-loud glade. des abeilles.And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes Et là jaurai quelque paix car goutte à goutte ladropping slow, paix retombeDropping from the veils of the morning to where the Des brumes du matin sur lherbe où le grilloncricket sings; chante,There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, Et là minuit nest quune lueur et midi est un rayonAnd evening full of the linnet’s wings. rouge Et dailes de passereaux déborde le ciel du soir.I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; Que je me lève et je parte, car nuit et jourWhile I stand on the roadway, or on the pavement grey, Jentends clapoter leau paisible contre la rive.I hear it in the deep heart’s core. Vais-je sur la grand route ou le pavé incolore, Je lentends dans lâme du coeur. W.B. YEATS (Yves BONNEFOY) (*)
  • 62. Lîle sur le lac, à InnisfreeQue je me lève et je parte, que je parte pour Innisfree,Que je me bâtisse là une hutte, faite dargile et de joncs.Jaurai neuf rangs de haricots, jaurai une rucheEt dans ma clairière je vivrai seul, devenu la bruit desabeilles.Et là jaurai quelque paix car goutte à goutte la paixretombeDes brumes du matin sur lherbe où le grillon chante,Et là minuit nest quune lueur et midi est un rayon rougeEt dailes de passereaux déborde le ciel du soir.Que je me lève et je parte, car nuit et jourJentends clapoter leau paisible contre la rive.Vais-je sur la grand route ou le pavé incolore,Je lentends dans lâme du coeur.W.B. YEATS (Yves BONNEFOY) (*)
  • 63. Commitment, being bold, taking risks I didn’t realize till two days laterAn Scáthán it was the mirror took his breath away.Níorbh eol dom go ceann dhá lá The monstrous old Victorian mirrorgurbh é an scáthán a mharaigh é… with the ornate gilt frame we had found in the three-storey houseAn seanscáthán ollmhór Victeoiriach when we moved in from the country.leis an bhfráma ornáideach bréagórgaa bhí romhainn sa tigh trí stór I was afraid it would sneak down from the wall and swallow me upnuair a bhogamar isteach ón tuath. in one gulp in the middle of the night.Bhínn scanraithe roimhe: go sciorrfadhanuas den bhfalla is go slogfadh mé While he was decorating the bedroomd’aon trom anáil i lár na hoíche… he had taken down the mirror without asking for help;Ag maisiú an tseomra chodlata dó soon he turned the colour of terracottad’ardaigh sé an scáthán anuas and his heart broke that night.gan lámh chúnta a iarraidh;ar ball d’iompaigh dath na cré air, Translated by Paul Muldoonan oíche sin phléasc a chroí.Michael DavittThe Mirror
  • 64. Translate into your mothertongueIn the rooms the women comeand goTalking of Michaelangelo
  • 65. Nella stanza le donne vanno evengonoParlando di Michelangelo.En la pieza las mujeres vienen y vanHablando de Miguel ÁngelDans le salon les femmes vont etviennenten parlant des maîtres de Sienne
  • 66. ‘Translation fails where it does not compensate, where there is norestoration of radical equity’George Steiner, After Babel (Oxford University Press, 1975) p. 396.
  • 67. Who can say to the birdsshut the fuck upor tell the sheep in the yow trummlenot to struggle and leap?(Tom Paulin)Wer kann gebieten den VögelnStill zu sein auf der Flur?Und wer verbieten zu zappelnDen Schafen unter der Schur?Goethe, Unvermeidlich’
  • 68. The House of the Customs Men Henry Snodden and me we’ve nearly forgotten that scraggy coastguard station –You won’t recall the house of the customs men a ruin from the Black and Tan waron the bluff that overhangs the reef: it stood on Tim Ring’s hill above the harbourIt’s been waiting, empty, since the evening like an empty a crude roofless barracksyour thoughts swarmed in -- same as the station in Teelin or Carrickand hung there, nervously. with the usual concrete harbour like a berm built the century before lastSou’westers have lashed the old walls for years to make a new fishing village with a slightlyand your laugh’s not careless anymore: daftthe compass needle wanders crazily name – in this case Portnoo – below the headand the dice no longer tell the score.You don’t remember: other times one August we came back and insteadassail your memory; a thread gets wound. of that ruin there was only the grassy track on the grassy hill and so the field’s stayedI hold one end still; but the house recedes year after year though we’re both afraidand the smoke-stained weathervane that one day very soon that unused fieldspins pitiless up on the roof. ‘ll be sold as sites – then we’ll watchI hold on to an end; but you’re alone, as a new colony of thatchednot here, not breathing in the dark. breezeblock cottages – Irish Holiday Homes – with green plastic oilgas tanks at the back –Oh the vanishing horizon line, as a new colony starts up all ownedwhere the tanker’s lights flash now and then! by people like us from BelfastIs the channel here? (The breakers who’ve at last laid that claggy building’s ghoststill seethe against the cliff that drops away…) -- well I wouldn’t go as far as thatYou don’t recall the house of this, my evening.And I don’t know who’s going or who’ll stay. [Tom Paulin]Trans. Jonathan GalassiThe Coastguard Station