Every Language
Yves Rouquette
Every language is either spoken at home
Or naught but noise, powerless against silence.
The words let themselves be led
To the slaughterhouse like those bulls
You saw grazing down in the dell
Horn against horn, as if still
Yoked together.
They are also like the dead
When the earth molds them
Into gods once and for all.
Even so, you can't ask everything of them.
They are what you are.
The Original:
Tota Lenga
Ives Roquetta
Tota lenga es la de l'ostal
o pas que bruch sens poder sul silenci.
Las paraulas se daissan menar
al masèl coma aqueles buòus
que vesiàs pastencar dins la comba
bana contra bana, e coma
s'èran juntats pel jo encara.
Revèrtan los mòrts atanben
quand la tèrra se los pasta
per los far Dieus un còp per totes.
Mas i pòdes pas tot demandar.
Son çò que siás.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Nathan Zach: I saw (From Modern Hebrew)
I Saw
Nathan Zach
I saw a white bird up in the black night
And knew that time would soon put out the light
Of my eyes in the black night.
I saw a cloud small as the palm of a man
And knew that I felt that rain that I can
Never describe to any man.*
I saw a fallen leaf, a falling leaf.
Time is short. I have no need for grief.
The Original:
*Note on stanza 2:
For the allusion of rain and a cloud like a man's palm, see I Kings 18:44-45 "And lo, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea like a man's palm...and there was a great rain."
Nathan Zach
I saw a white bird up in the black night
And knew that time would soon put out the light
Of my eyes in the black night.
I saw a cloud small as the palm of a man
And knew that I felt that rain that I can
Never describe to any man.*
I saw a fallen leaf, a falling leaf.
Time is short. I have no need for grief.
The Original:
ראיתי
נתן זך
ראיתי ציפור לבנה בלילה השחור
וידעתי כי קרוב לכבות אור
עיני בלילה השחור.
ראיתי עב קטנה ככף יד איש
וידעתי כי את הגשם שאני מרגיש
עוד לא הצלחתי לספר לאיש.
ראיתי עלה אשר נפל, אשר נופל.
הזמן קצר, אני איני קובל.
נתן זך
ראיתי ציפור לבנה בלילה השחור
וידעתי כי קרוב לכבות אור
עיני בלילה השחור.
ראיתי עב קטנה ככף יד איש
וידעתי כי את הגשם שאני מרגיש
עוד לא הצלחתי לספר לאיש.
ראיתי עלה אשר נפל, אשר נופל.
הזמן קצר, אני איני קובל.
*Note on stanza 2:
For the allusion of rain and a cloud like a man's palm, see I Kings 18:44-45 "And lo, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea like a man's palm...and there was a great rain."
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Rosalía de Castro: Black Shadow (From Galician)
Black Shadow
Rosalía de Castro
When I think you're gone and done with,
Once again you rise and haunt me,
Overpowering black shadow
Circling round my bed to taunt me.
When again I dream you've vanished,
In the sun itself you hound me.
You're the light of stars above me.
You're the howl of wind around me.
If they sing, you are the singer.
If they mourn, you are the mourning.
You're the murmur of the river.
You're the evening. You're the dawning.
You are all and all becomes you,
You who will not leave me ever,
Living in me, living for me,
Shadow over me forever.
The Original
Negra Sombra
Cando penso que te fuches,
Negra sombra que m’asombras,
Ô pe d’os meus cabezales
Tornas facéndome mofa.
Cando maxino qu’és ida
N’ò mesmo sol te m’amostras,
Y eres á estrela que brila,
Y eres ò vento que zoa.
Si cantan, ês ti que cantas;
Si choran, ês ti que choras,
Y ês ò marmurio d’o rio
Y ês á noite y és á aurora.
En todo estás e ti ès todo,
Pra min y en min mesmo moras,
Nin m’abandonarás nunca,
Sombra que sempre m’asombras
Rosalía de Castro
When I think you're gone and done with,
Once again you rise and haunt me,
Overpowering black shadow
Circling round my bed to taunt me.
When again I dream you've vanished,
In the sun itself you hound me.
You're the light of stars above me.
You're the howl of wind around me.
If they sing, you are the singer.
If they mourn, you are the mourning.
You're the murmur of the river.
You're the evening. You're the dawning.
You are all and all becomes you,
You who will not leave me ever,
Living in me, living for me,
Shadow over me forever.
The Original
Negra Sombra
Cando penso que te fuches,
Negra sombra que m’asombras,
Ô pe d’os meus cabezales
Tornas facéndome mofa.
Cando maxino qu’és ida
N’ò mesmo sol te m’amostras,
Y eres á estrela que brila,
Y eres ò vento que zoa.
Si cantan, ês ti que cantas;
Si choran, ês ti que choras,
Y ês ò marmurio d’o rio
Y ês á noite y és á aurora.
En todo estás e ti ès todo,
Pra min y en min mesmo moras,
Nin m’abandonarás nunca,
Sombra que sempre m’asombras
Amir Gilboa: Isaac (From Modern Hebrew)
Isaac
Amir Gilboa
Toward morning, the sun strolled out in the forest
Together with me and father,
My right hand in his left.
A knife like lightning flamed out through the wood,
And I was so scared of my eyes' terror, facing the blood on the leaves.
Father! Father! Come quick and save Isaac
And nobody will be missing at lunchtime.
It is I who am slaughtered, my son
And my blood is already on the Reich of the leaves.
And father's voice was smothered
And his face pale.
And I wanted to scream, writhing against belief,
As I ripped my eyes open.
And I awoke.
And my right hand was out of blood and time.
The Original:
Literal Translation with Commentary:
This poem is a Holocaust poem of the sort that only an Israeli could write (and, of Israelis, only an Israeli of Gilboa's generation.)
Stanza 1:
Lifnot boker tila shemesh betoch haya'ar
Yachad imi veim aba
Vimini bismolo.
Early in the morning, the sun went for a walk in the forest
Together with me and with dad
And my right hand in his left
The poem begins as a sort of sylvan idyll told with a child's voice. The allusion to the Song of Songs (2:6) "His left hand is beneath my head, and his right hand embraces me" strengthens the sense of emotional, timeless intimacy.
Stanza 2:
Kevarak ma'achelet beyn ha-etsim
Veani yare kol-kach et pachad eynay mul dam al he-alim.
Like lightning a knife flashed out between the "etsim"
And I am so afraid of the terror of my eyes facing the blood on the leaves.
All of a sudden, a knife flashes through the etsim, a word which normally refers to trees, but which also translates as "burnt offering." The following line suggests the child's terror with a sentence whose syntax is intentionally garbled almost beyond parsability.
Stanza 3:
Aba aba maher v'hatsila et yitschak
Velo yechsar ish bis'udat ha-tsohorayim
Daddy daddy come quick and save Isaac
And no one will go missing at lunchtime
The words "aba aba" have a childish tone to them (i.e. "daddy daddy") but are somewhat more dignified and grave than any readily available English translation. The child (Isaac) referring to himself in the third person here creates a sense of fatalism. "Father must save me," the poem's speaker seems to imply, "because I am Isaac, and he is Abraham, and that is how it is written."
The verbal phrase "lo yechsar" (shall not go lacking) is reminiscent of the beginning of Psalm 18 ("The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want") where the English phrase "I shall not want" translates the same verb in the first person lo echsar. This adds to the overwhelming sense that this is more than just a child worrying that his mother will wonder why he isn't at lunch, yet is paradoxically anti-heroic and homely.
Stanza 4:
Ze ani hanishchat bni
Uchvar dami al he-alim
V'aba nistam kolo
Ufanav chivrim
It is I who am slain, son,
And my blood is already on the leaves
And daddy's voice was stifled
And his face pale.
Here, the contrast between Abraham's own sacrificed blood and the child's earlier cry for help is plangent. The stifling of the voice and the pallor of the face suggest that, though the father is crying out, he is in some sense already dead. This complete reversal of the typical image of Abraham suddenly whirls the readers perspective out of the purely Biblical and suggests a more personal, more psychologically modern interpretation.
Stanza 5:
Ve-ratsiti lits'ok, mefarper lo leha'amin
Ve-kore'a ha-enayim.
Unit'orarti
And I wanted to cry, writhing not to believe
And ripping open my eyes.
And I awoke
The whole scene now has the flavor of a ghoulish nightmare, or something that the speaker wishes were a nightmare. The previous pastoral-like lines can now be re-read as surreal dream images.
Final line:
Ve-azlat-dam hayta yad yamin
And the right hand was sapped of blood
The phrase azlat-dam ("helpless-of-blood") is a play on the phrase azlat-yad ("helpless of hand.") The blood-loss did not just occur in a dream, but has been real.
The poem, by turning the prototypical Biblical account of a "test of faith" on its head, suggests an ordeal that goes beyond any test God could inflict on his adherents. The poem is a surrealistic depiction of the holocaust, and the questioning of faith which it engendered.
Amir Gilboa
Toward morning, the sun strolled out in the forest
Together with me and father,
My right hand in his left.
A knife like lightning flamed out through the wood,
And I was so scared of my eyes' terror, facing the blood on the leaves.
Father! Father! Come quick and save Isaac
And nobody will be missing at lunchtime.
It is I who am slaughtered, my son
And my blood is already on the Reich of the leaves.
And father's voice was smothered
And his face pale.
And I wanted to scream, writhing against belief,
As I ripped my eyes open.
And I awoke.
And my right hand was out of blood and time.
The Original:
יצחק
אמיר גלבע
לפנות בקר טילה שמש בתוך היער
יחד עמי ועם אבא
וימיני בשמאלו
כברק להבה מאכלת בין העצים.
ואני ירא כל–כך עת פחד עיני מול דם על העלים.
אבא אבא מהר והצילה את יצחק
ולא יחסר איש בסעדת הצהרים.
זו אני הנשחט בני,
וךבר דמי על העלים.
ואבא נסתם קולו.
ופניו חורים.
ורציתי לצעק, מפרפר לא להאמין
וקורע העינים.
ונתעוררתי.
ואזלת–יד היתה יד ימין.
אמיר גלבע
לפנות בקר טילה שמש בתוך היער
יחד עמי ועם אבא
וימיני בשמאלו
כברק להבה מאכלת בין העצים.
ואני ירא כל–כך עת פחד עיני מול דם על העלים.
אבא אבא מהר והצילה את יצחק
ולא יחסר איש בסעדת הצהרים.
זו אני הנשחט בני,
וךבר דמי על העלים.
ואבא נסתם קולו.
ופניו חורים.
ורציתי לצעק, מפרפר לא להאמין
וקורע העינים.
ונתעוררתי.
ואזלת–יד היתה יד ימין.
Literal Translation with Commentary:
This poem is a Holocaust poem of the sort that only an Israeli could write (and, of Israelis, only an Israeli of Gilboa's generation.)
Stanza 1:
Lifnot boker tila shemesh betoch haya'ar
Yachad imi veim aba
Vimini bismolo.
Early in the morning, the sun went for a walk in the forest
Together with me and with dad
And my right hand in his left
The poem begins as a sort of sylvan idyll told with a child's voice. The allusion to the Song of Songs (2:6) "His left hand is beneath my head, and his right hand embraces me" strengthens the sense of emotional, timeless intimacy.
Stanza 2:
Kevarak ma'achelet beyn ha-etsim
Veani yare kol-kach et pachad eynay mul dam al he-alim.
Like lightning a knife flashed out between the "etsim"
And I am so afraid of the terror of my eyes facing the blood on the leaves.
All of a sudden, a knife flashes through the etsim, a word which normally refers to trees, but which also translates as "burnt offering." The following line suggests the child's terror with a sentence whose syntax is intentionally garbled almost beyond parsability.
Stanza 3:
Aba aba maher v'hatsila et yitschak
Velo yechsar ish bis'udat ha-tsohorayim
Daddy daddy come quick and save Isaac
And no one will go missing at lunchtime
The words "aba aba" have a childish tone to them (i.e. "daddy daddy") but are somewhat more dignified and grave than any readily available English translation. The child (Isaac) referring to himself in the third person here creates a sense of fatalism. "Father must save me," the poem's speaker seems to imply, "because I am Isaac, and he is Abraham, and that is how it is written."
The verbal phrase "lo yechsar" (shall not go lacking) is reminiscent of the beginning of Psalm 18 ("The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want") where the English phrase "I shall not want" translates the same verb in the first person lo echsar. This adds to the overwhelming sense that this is more than just a child worrying that his mother will wonder why he isn't at lunch, yet is paradoxically anti-heroic and homely.
Stanza 4:
Ze ani hanishchat bni
Uchvar dami al he-alim
V'aba nistam kolo
Ufanav chivrim
It is I who am slain, son,
And my blood is already on the leaves
And daddy's voice was stifled
And his face pale.
Here, the contrast between Abraham's own sacrificed blood and the child's earlier cry for help is plangent. The stifling of the voice and the pallor of the face suggest that, though the father is crying out, he is in some sense already dead. This complete reversal of the typical image of Abraham suddenly whirls the readers perspective out of the purely Biblical and suggests a more personal, more psychologically modern interpretation.
Stanza 5:
Ve-ratsiti lits'ok, mefarper lo leha'amin
Ve-kore'a ha-enayim.
Unit'orarti
And I wanted to cry, writhing not to believe
And ripping open my eyes.
And I awoke
The whole scene now has the flavor of a ghoulish nightmare, or something that the speaker wishes were a nightmare. The previous pastoral-like lines can now be re-read as surreal dream images.
Final line:
Ve-azlat-dam hayta yad yamin
And the right hand was sapped of blood
The phrase azlat-dam ("helpless-of-blood") is a play on the phrase azlat-yad ("helpless of hand.") The blood-loss did not just occur in a dream, but has been real.
The poem, by turning the prototypical Biblical account of a "test of faith" on its head, suggests an ordeal that goes beyond any test God could inflict on his adherents. The poem is a surrealistic depiction of the holocaust, and the questioning of faith which it engendered.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Heinrich Heine: The Lorelei (From German)
Lorelei
Heinrich Heine
I wonder if there is a reason
Why I am so sad at heart.
A legend of bygone ages
Haunts me and will not depart.
The air is cool under nightfall.
The calm Rhine courses its way.
The peak of the mountain is sparkling
With evening's final ray.
The fairest of maidens is sitting
Wrapped in wonder up there,
Her golden jewels are shining,
She's combing her golden hair.
The comb she holds is golden,
She sings a song as well
Whose melody binds an enthralling
And overpowering spell.
In his little boat, the boatman
Is seized with a savage woe,
He'd rather look up at the mountain
Than down at the rocks below.
I know the waves will devour
The boatman and boat as one;
All this by her song's sheer power
Fair Lorelei has done.
The Original:
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
Daß ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die Luft ist kühl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
In Abendsonnenschein.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldenes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.
Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.
Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh'.
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei getan.
Heinrich Heine
I wonder if there is a reason
Why I am so sad at heart.
A legend of bygone ages
Haunts me and will not depart.
The air is cool under nightfall.
The calm Rhine courses its way.
The peak of the mountain is sparkling
With evening's final ray.
The fairest of maidens is sitting
Wrapped in wonder up there,
Her golden jewels are shining,
She's combing her golden hair.
The comb she holds is golden,
She sings a song as well
Whose melody binds an enthralling
And overpowering spell.
In his little boat, the boatman
Is seized with a savage woe,
He'd rather look up at the mountain
Than down at the rocks below.
I know the waves will devour
The boatman and boat as one;
All this by her song's sheer power
Fair Lorelei has done.
The Original:
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
Daß ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die Luft ist kühl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
In Abendsonnenschein.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldenes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.
Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.
Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh'.
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei getan.
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