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June 08, 2009

Nichita Stănescu: They kiss

A nice man from Croatia found this blog and asked the question. The following is an answer to that question. Ivan, this translation is dedicated to you.

Nichita Stănescu
Tinerii

Se sarută, ah, se sarută, se sarută
tinerii pe străzi, în bistrouri, pe parapete,
se sarută intruna ca și cum ei inșiși
n-ar fi decât niște terminații
ale sărutului.
Se săruta, ah, se săruta printre mașinile-n goană,
în stațiile de metrou, în cinematografe,
în autobuze, se săruta cu disperare,
cu violență, ca și cum
la capătul sărutului, la sfârșitul sărutului, după sărut
n-ar urma decât bătrânețea proscrisă
și moartea.
Se săruta, ah, se săruta tinerii subțiri
și indrăgostiți, Atât de subțiri, ca si cum
ar ignora existenta piinii pe lume.
Atât de indragostiti, ca si cum, ca și cum
ar ignora existența însăși a lumii.
Se săruta, ah, se săruta ca și cum ar fi
în întuneric, în întunericul cel mai sigur,
ca și cum nu i-ar vedea nimeni, ca și cum
soarele ar urma să răsară
luminos
abia
după ce gurile rupte de sărut și-nsângerate
n-ar mai fi în stare să se sărute
decât cu dinții.   
Nichita Stănescu
The young

They kiss, oh, they kiss, they kiss,
the young on the streets, in the bistros, on parapets
they kiss and kiss as if they were themselves
just endings
of the kiss
they kiss, oh, they kiss in the racing cars,
in the metro stations, in theaters,
in buses, they kiss with desperation,
with violence, as if,
at the end of the kiss, at the conclusion of the kiss, after the kiss,
the only thing to follow would be prescribed old age, and death.
they kiss, oh, they kiss, the thin young people
in love. So thin, as if
they were ignoring the existence of bread in this world.
so in love, as if, as if
they were ignoring the existence of world itself.
they kiss, oh, they kiss as if they were
in the dark, in the safest darkness
as if nobody saw them, as if
the sun would rise
shining
only after
their mouths, broken by the kiss and bleeding
would only be able to kiss
with their teeth.


If you want to hear how it sounds in Romanian, see the (quite moving) YouTube clip here: Tinerii // The young.

This was quite straightforward as far as the translation, and fairly "easy" for Nichita, whose poems are typically very difficult to translate. This is a simple, primordial, painfully intense feeling he's writing about - youthful love, as epitomized by the kiss, which holds within both life and death. In fact, here's Nichita's brilliance: reading the kiss as the defiance of death, as the seamy laboratory of life itself, with its violent, morbid, glorious cycles.

As about my dirty translation lab: while I had very few issues here, I do have one bone to pick with the English language, and that is the deeply unsatisfying way of nominalizing adjectives. What I mean by that is constructions like, "the departed," "the young," "the dead," "the living," etc. I'm just not feeling it. In Romanian, a strongly inflected language with oodles of terminations for every number, gender, case, and combination thereof, "the young" is "tinerii" (the title of the poem), and somehow, it sounds more like a collection of real persons that happen to be defined by youth than the English version. "The young" sounds more like a cover-up: let's rush this article in front of the adjective, and call it a day--no one will notice, really. Romanian does basically the same thing (adds the definite article, which happens at the end) BUT it does it for both singular and plural without any compunctions. Also, "tinerii", takes a myriad forms: tânar, tânărul, tânără, tânărului, tânărei, tânara, tineri, tinerii, tinere, tinerele, tinerilor, tinerelor (with or without the definite article, plural or singular, Nominative-Accusative or Genitive-Dative forms). Granted, these are the same forms as the adjective, but as a stand-alone, they represent a substantial, unmistakable noun. "I-am spus tânărului să citească mai mult Nichita," "I told the young man to read more Nichita." There, right there is the cause of my problem: to make it a proper now, English needs an actual noun in the singular--the definite article isn't enough. You need the prop of "man" or "woman" or "boy" or "girl" or what have you to turn the adjective into a noun. That seems...wasteful, or at the very least inelegant. That is why the Romanian "Tinerii' sounds so much more substantial. To achieve the same exact meaning in English I'd have to say "The young people," which ruins it. Or I can just say "the young," which I did, and which seems to dilute the impact. I could also say "the youth," but it becomes both ambiguous and unwieldy.

So, "the young" it is, but just know, when you read it or listen to it, "tinerii" is the more plastic term.

Btw, the other word that is repeated obsessively in this poem, "se saruta" ([they] kiss)--comes from Lat. salutare, which also gave us "salute," or in Romanian "salut"--although that word comes to Romanain at a later date, probably via Italian. I like to think that until we reintegrated "salut" into Romanian, everybody greeted everybody with a kiss, just because that's how it was done :)

April 11, 2009

Light

I've noticed a while ago that my "Categories" sidebar stopped working, for some mysterious reason, probably while TypePad was being upgraded. Since I wasn't posting and had no time to spare to figure it out (as usual, I assumed it was MY fault), I just let it go, but it bothered me: I couldn't find anything anymore.

So this a.m. I opened a help ticket with the nice folks at TypePad and lo! Sidebar restored. 

This has got to be the most boring customer service story EVER, I realize that, I do. But it's the most excitement my life can take right now. Sad, no?

In other news, I've become some sort of a sleeper hit, and by hit I mean, of course, that, apart from myself, two or more people seem to visit this blog, some even from time to time, even though I haven't really posted in over a year... and some others (gasp!) even leave comments, which, while deeply appreciated when I eventually discovered them, have been left to linger due to my aforementioned lack of activity on this blog. Guys, I'm sorry: I'll get there, I promise!

In the meantime, I've been translating alright, just not anything I actually enjoy or that's worth posting about (unless you're into complex clinical trial protocols and nauseatingly patriotic exemplary stories. Um...more on that later.)

But since it's Easter here, I'm going to post a short translation I did a while ago, by Tudor Arghezi, who, just in case you forgot, used to be an Orthodox monk for four years before settling on a career as a poet. I'm smiling right not because hey, those two career choices, one after the other? It would be really nice to have those kind of options today, you know?

What follows is the Romanian original, a quick and dirty literal translation, and a more polished and rhyming one:

Lumină

by Tudor Arghezi

Azi e sărbătoare mare,
Îmbracă-te frumos,
Pune-n păr felii de soare
Şi nu privi în jos...

Şterge orice supărare
Din inima ta:
Azi primeşte fiecare
Lumină de stea.

Nici o zi din calendare,
Oricît ai căuta,
N-are-aşa putere mare:
Ne vom înălţa,
Ne vom înălţa !

Ne vom înălţa,
Ne vom înălţa,
Ne vom înălţa,
Ne vom înălţa,
Ne vom înălţa,
Ne vom înălţa !

 

Light


Today is a big holiday

Put on your Sunday best,

Put slices of sun in your hair

And don’t look down…

 

Erase any sorrow

From your heart:

Today everybody receives

Light of a star.

 

No day in calendars,

No matter how hard you look,

Has such big power:

We will rise,

We will rise! etc.

Light


A big holiday’s in the air

Put on your best gown,

Put slices of sun in your hair

And don’t look down…

 

Your heart shouldn’t grieve

Erase every scar:

Today we all receive

Light from a star.

 

In the calendars, no day

No matter how long you seek

Has such mighty sway:

We shall rise!

We shall rise!

We shall rise!

We shall rise!

We shall rise!

We shall rise!

We shall rise!

We shall rise!


Now, I've stopped celebrating Easter when my current religious views became incompatible with it, and by my "current" religious views I of course mean my non-existent religious views. Still, this poem made me smile, in a wise-but-candid sort of way, and so I'm going to share.

No perilous linguistic waters to cross with this one, just some tinkering here and there; this was pleasant to translate, almost (dare I say?) a breeze! Unlike Morgestimmung, Arghezi's mini-masterpiece, which has been causing me headaches for about two years (that's when I first decided to pursue its translation). This should answer a comment somebody left a while ago: yes, I have though about translating Morgenstimmung, and no, I have not been able to, not yet anyway. I have a pathetic attempt, an ersatz translation, if you will... it's fiendishly difficult and I'm starting to belive it's close to impossible (cue action music: Translation Impossible, as I hang by a thread over the alarm-tripping laser beams, but all my high-tech arsenal just can't unlock the secrets of that safe! bah!). Apparently, a competent translation exists in German, go figure! If any of you know of an English version, enlighten me, for I'm just about to give up!

March 30, 2009

Hail...

The hail we've got last night in Philly provides the appropriate dots to the multitude of ?!?!?!?!?!? (quesclamation marks?) that my life has turned into lately. It was no ordinary hail either--not like one I'd ever seen, with deafening raps reminiscent of an army of monkey typing furiously at once--a mock celestial experiment to see if they could produce...what, Shakespeare? As I watched my tenderly cared-for roses taking a brutal beating under the chickpea-sized ice bits (complemented by a brief but violent thunderstorm for good measure), I concluded that the work I'm translating now might have been produced in a similar (failed) experiment. Something semi-coherent and with intelligible words came out, miraculously, but the question remains: is it good? Was it worth it?

In a word: NO. I've undertaken a translation project which I should have never undertaken, but when I tried to get out of it, it was quasi-impossible for reasons I am loath to explain. Now I'm late with the project (at least there's no emergency...) as I'm trying to unscramble my mind from prolonged exposure to tortured language and logic, to say nothing of the underlying political philosophy of this lengthy piece, a philosophy I abhor. Between the cliches, the involuntary humor (the worst kind if you ever want to be taken seriously, as this author does), the lengthy expository passages devoid of any credibility whatsoever, the prolonged oh-my-God-get-on-with-it-already-for-real-wtf plot points, and the archaic vocabulary which requires extensive researched, I am DOOMED.

And of course, the deadline (past due already) comes in the middle of the busiest period of my life, bar none, seriously, honest to God. Which means, logically, that I MUST update this page for the first time in four (FOUR) frigging months.

Ok, just thought I'd kvetch. In the meantime, I've got to go grade the approximately forty gazillion student papers I still have to grade, plus teach, plus committee work, plus own research (Ha. Ha-ha-ha. I'm so funny) and *gurgle* help *gurrrllllllgggrrrrr* I'm drowning here @!#$%^^&&$..............

December 09, 2008

10 months of uneven days

It's been 10 months since the last entry, which can only mean that:
1) I am in no way, shape, or form a proper Blogger;
2) I've really missed this place! Really!

I had this ambition to pursue a different, "life" blog on the side, but that went the way of "Saturday's water," to quote the brilliant yet now seemingly defunct Mintrubbing.org. Life sorta....kinda...got in the way. I finished and defended my dissertation and got my Ph.D. (no, not in poetry nor in translation, but in - are you ready for this?- rhetoric); and later on I got a job and spent the past 3+ months teaching freshman comp, in a 4/4 load non-TT job at a university whose chief virtue is that it is located 20 minutes away from my house (10' by bus, 10' on foot). I'm writing this with a 3-ft high stack of papers still needing to be graded next to me, so it seems like just about the right time, no? So...that kept me relatively busy.

But enough of that: this is not a personal blog in THAT way, although of course it's highly personal in every other way, if you consider that each selection posted here speaks to me and reflects me, at least at this particular juncture in time.

I've decided to make my comeback with a song I've often hummed under my breath, by my beloved Andries, "Zile egale," which can be translated by "Equal" or "Even Days." I'm still torn which to choose. "Equal" is the literal and quite correct translation of "egal," "even" has that implication of flatness, levelness, and steadiness, of routine, if you will, which is also the meaning here; however, I'm not sure that this would be clear in English from the sole instance that the phrase appears in the song...

What I love in most of Andries's work is that feeling of "huh" that he leaves you with at the end, and he doesn't disappoint here, either; it's that mundane and mischievous side that keeps him from sliding into sentimental crap and keeps his lyrics a notch or 10 above other writers'.

The syntax is quite simple and I've sought to preserve it as much as I could (I can't help it, I am sort of a purist), even when it sounded a little forced in English, as in "Why, I don't know, I'm lonely so/I go..."--but when read, or better, sung with the right intonation, it makes sense, and it capitalizes on that inner rhyme he's so fond of here. I absolutely adore the final metaphor, the "equal/even" days whose burden creeps into his room, populating it with shadows and turning it into a little curiosity shop for his absent lover. It's as beautiful as it's unassuming and ending with the invitation to shop for "soul" souvenirs, I imagine.

Which brings me to my linguistic conundrum of the day: the Romanian for window display or shop window display is "vitrina," applicable also to any piece of furniture fitted with a glass display case in order to show off bibelots and various decorative objects. Much to my surprise, the word exists almost in the same form in English; I found this in the Merriam-Webster:

vi·trine [Pronunciation:\və-ˈtrēn\], noun. Etymology: French, from vitre pane of glass, from Old French, from Latin vitrum. Date: 1880. A glass showcase or cabinet especially for displaying fine wares or specimens

...which renders the meaning of "vitrina" quite beautifully, except perhaps for the commercial meaning extension it has acquired in Romanian (shop window). Also, "vitrina" is a fairly well-used word in Romanian, as one can imagine, whereas I dare you find handy contexts for the use of "vitrine" in English. (I've never heard it used at all, in fact). This led to my more mundane choice of "shop window" with the addition of "sign" for the rhyme, and whose insertion here I will defend on two accounts: 1) it rhymes better, duh (there's virtually no good rhyme for "window," did you know that?); 2) the shadowy play of the "traces" of the "equal days" points, indeed, to the making of an intricate sign of sorts (right?); 3) it doesn't change much of the meaning--right? right? (Ok, a little, but we can live with it!).

As all of Andries, this sounds better on music...I'll try to put the mp3 up one of these days!

Zile egale
de Alexandru Andrieş

Telefonul pentru mine e un duşman,
Îl ţin pe podea, ascuns după divan,
Pentru mine niciodată nu sună,
Şi cînd sună, nu-i zi bună,
Zău, nu,
Tu nu eşti la celălalt capăt...
De ce nu, nu ştiu, e-n jur pustiu
Şi-atunci la plimbare pe stradă ies !

Rareori mă salută cineva
Şi-asta doar dac-are nevoie de cîte ceva,
Eu cu toată lumea m-am purtat frumos
Dar lucrurile mi-au ieşit mereu pe dos,
Zău,
Azi aş fi avut nevoie de tine,
Te-am sunat, te-am căutat, dar în zadar:
Încerc mîine iar!

Zile egale peste mine apasă,
Închid fereastra să nu intre-n casă,
Da' ele se strecoară prin geamul crăpat
Şi se-aşează peste tot, pe masă, pe pat,
Pe scaun...
Urma lor fină
Transformă camera mea în vitrină...
N-ai vrea să intri, să cumperi ceva ?

Equal Days
by de Alexandru Andrieş

The phone is an enemy to me,
I keep it under the bed, so I can’t see it,
It never rings for me, and when it rings
It’s only to tell me really bad things,
Really, it's true,
You’re not at the other end…
Why, I don’t know, I’m lonely so
I go outside to roam the streets…

People rarely say hello to me,
And only if they need me to do something for free
I have always been nice to everyone,
But my plans have always come undone,
Really,
Today I needed you so badly
I’ve been calling you and I’ve looked for you, in vain:
I’ll try tomorrow again…

Equal days are bearing down on me,
I’ve closed my window so they can’t get in,
But they creep inside through the broken frame
And they sit on my bed, on my desk, and they claim
My chair…
Their traces so fine
Turn my room into a shop window sign…
Won’t you come in, buy something from me?

February 14, 2008

Emil Brumaru--Amnesia

Ooof...long hiatus here, as I took a break to finish off my dissertation...now it's in the hands of the adviser, and now I'm barely containing my jitters (major revisions are sure to come, and that's the optimistic scenario). I'm taking a break from .. doing anything, really, and trying to forget, like in this sweet little poem by Brumaru, which teaches us how to forget everything:

Amnezie
de Emil Brumary

dacă iei o portocală
şi-o dezbraci in pielea goală
ca să-i vezi miezul adânc
peste care îngeri plâng
cu căpşune-n loc de ochi
şi aripi de foi de plopi
se întâmplă să uiţi totul...
Amnesia
by Emil Brumary

Take an orange, strip it down
Of its juicy fleshy gown
Look into its core so deep
Over which the angels weep
Strawberries for eyes and sleeves
And its wings of poplar leaves
That’s how you forget everything.

January 23, 2008

George Topârceanu - Jealousy

I think Topârceanu will always be remembered for this kind of poems--fun, light, good for a chuckle, making you think about pretty deep things while making fun of them at the same time. I love this one, in particular:

Gelozie
de George Topârceanu

Dacă nu ne-am fi-ntâlnit
(Absolut din întâmplare),
Tu pe altul oarecare
Tot aşa l-ai fi iubit.

Dacă nu-ţi ieşeam în drum
Ai fi dat cu bucurie
Altuia străin, nu mie,
Mângâierile de-acum.

Ai avea şi vreun copil
Care, poate (idiotul!),
Ar fi semănat în totul
Cu-acel tată imbecil.

Şi aşa... ce lucru mare
Că-ntr-o zi ne-am întâlnit
Şi că-s foarte fericit, --
Absolut din întâmplare!
Jealousy
by George Topârceanu

If you and I had never met
(Absolutely happenstance)
You’d have found perhaps romance
With some other guy, I bet.

If I hadn’t crossed your way
You’d have offered happily
To a stranger, not to me,
This affectionate display.

You’d most likely have a child
Who, (the idiot!) would look
Every cranny, every nook,
Like his dad, that imbecile.

And so…what a lucky chance
That the two of us should meet
And I’m happy and upbeat—
Absolutely happenstance!

January 22, 2008

Nichita Stanescu--Of course

DESIGUR
de Nichita Stănescu

Desigur, ea e o brăţară
purtată la mână de un zeu
ea e mai liniştită spre seară
deşi e neliniştită mereu.

Ea luceşte toată în luna
când zeul îsi ridică braţul zâmbind,
o lebădă brună
cu plisc de argint

Zeul e invizibil. Nu se vede
decât ea la glezna mâinii lui,
bătând în cerul negru şi verde
vederea mea ca un cui.
OF COURSE
by Nichita Stănescu

She is, of course, a bracelet,
that a god wears on his hand,
she’s more quiet in the evening,
though she’s always without rest.

She shimmers in the moon dawn
when the god lifts his arm, oblique,
a beautiful brown swan
with a silver beak.

The god is invisible. You can spy
only her, on the ankle of his wrist,
nailing into the green black sky
my eyesight, like a fist.

January 17, 2008

Dorothy Parker--A Pig's Eye View of Literature

It's impossible to translate "A Pig's Eye View of..."--too much of a pun. Possibly, "O vedere din cocina" (a view from the pigsty"), but I went for "o perspectiva sumara" (a brief view). Otherwise, fun little poem; I wish I knew it in college when I was actually studying this trio!

A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature
by Dorothy Parker

The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron

Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
O perspectivă sumară asupra literaturii
de Dorothy Parker

Vieţile şi vremurile lui John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, şi
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron

Byron şi Shelley şi Keats—
Un trio de lirici vestiţi.
Fruntea lui Shelley avea cârlionţi
Şi Keats niciodată n-avu neamuri conţi,
Curta fete Byron cu alţi bagabonţi,
Dar ca poeţi nu fură nicicând stăviliţi,
Nici Byron nici Shelley,
Nici Byron nici Shelley,
Nici Byron nici Shelley nici Keats.

January 16, 2008

Nichita Stanescu - Song

Cântec
Din Necuvintele
de Nichita Stănescu

Echilibru, vertical, de suflet,
între guri cu colţi rânjiti
mai spre-o parte, mai spre-o alta
cu peretii răstigniti
Se dărâmă casa, o,
tu rămâi în echilibru
Acheronul pentru noi
s-a şi prefăcut în Tibru
Numai vârful tău, rotind,
taie cercuri, pe tavane,
suflet vertical şi trist
fără urme de ciolane.
Song
from The Unwords
by Nichita Stănescu

Vertical equilibrium, of the soul
between mouths with fangs, grinned
to this or other side
with walls sprawled
The house is falling, o,
you keep your balanced fiber
The Acheron for us
has turned into the Tiber
Only your sharp edge, spinning,
cuts circles, in the ceilings,
sad soul, so vertical
no trace of bones concealing.

January 15, 2008

Ion Minulescu--Watercolor

One of my favorites by Minulescu...The city he talks about is, evidently, Bucharest.

Acuarelă
de Ion Minuescu

În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Orăşenii, pe trotuare,
Merg ţinându-se de mână,
Şi-n oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână,
De sub vechile umbrele, ce suspină
Şi se-ndoaie,
Umede de-atâta ploaie,
Orăşenii pe trotuare
Par păpuşi automate, date jos din galantare.

În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Nu răsună pe trotuare
Decât paşii celor care merg ţinându-se de mână,
Numărând
În gând
Cadenţa picăturilor de ploaie,
Ce coboară din umbrele,
Din burlane
Şi din cer
Cu puterea unui ser
Dătător de viaţă lentă,
Monotonă,
Inutilă
Şi absentă...

În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Un bătrân şi o bătrână -
Două jucării stricate -
Merg ţinându-se de mână...
Watercolor
by Ion Minulescu

In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
City dwellers, on the sidewalk,
Stroll hand in hand and cheek to cheek,
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week,
From under the old umbrellas, which moan and squeak
And can’t sustain
The wet burden of the rain,
City dwellers on the sidewalk,
Look like automatic puppets, straight out of the window shop.

In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
Just one sound will fill the sidewalk:
It’s those walking hand in hand and cheek to cheek,
Counting
In their head
The cadence of the rain drops
Dripping from umbrellas,
From water pipes,
And from the brink
Of the sky, like a drink
Giving life--
Jaded,
Futile,
Full of strife.

In the city where it rains for ust about three days a week
An old man and an old lady –
Two mechanic, broken toys –
Walk hand in hand and cheek to cheek.

Copyright

  • All the translations on this website, unless otherwise noted, are my own. Please mention the source if you intend to reproduce them. A link would be nice. I try to use for my translations only texts that are already in public domain. If you know otherwise, or you are the author and object to your work being replicated here, please let me know at changanu at hotmail. (Yes, dot com, of course.) I will do my best to rectify the situation. Copyright: Cristina Hanganu-Bresch, 2007.
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