Linguistic Treason

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.

Ion Minulescu--With autumn in my room

Minulescu (who, to my surprise, has a surprisingly well developed entry in the English Wikipedia) sometimes seems a little dated, but he's always hopelessly, incurably romantic, and extremely likable.

A few notes on the translation:

- Romanian seasons are always feminine. I never really really thought about it until now. I'm sure there's some linguistic psychoanalysis to be conducted there. So anyway, that's why "Autumn" is a "she." I chose "Autumn" because it obviously sounds much better than "Fall" in this context. Or to me, anyway. I did use "fall" later when it's used as an adverb immediately before it's used as a noun (middle of third stanza).

- "cutie de Capstan" and "tigari de foi din Rotterdam"--dated references, of course. "Capstan box" doesn't mean anything to anyone these days, but I'm thinking it's an old tobacco brand. I did not translate it and chose instead "tobacco for my pipe." I kept Rotterdam for local charm!

- "bate...in geam"--it's really "knock at my window"--but for rhyme's sake I embellished it a little (much!)--"the door of my slum." Hey, it rhymes. Shut up.

- that Sybil prophecy was only "lying" (or "false") in Romanian; I added the "vicious."

- in the last stanza, the smoke came from a pipe, not from a flue, but I was desperate for a rhyme, any rhyme, so.... there. Another smoke-related accoutrement!

Cu toamna în odaie de Ion Minulescu Mi-a bătut azi-noapte Toamna-n geam, Mi-a bătut cu degete de ploaie... Şi la fel ca-n fiecare an, M-a rugat s-o las să intre în odaie, Că-mi aduce o cutie cu Capstan Şi ţigări de foi din Rotterdam... Am privit în jurul meu şi-n mine: Soba rece, Pipa rece, Mâna rece, Gura rece, Doamne!... Cum puteam s-o las să plece? Dacă pleacă, cine ştie când mai vine? Dacă-n toamna asta, poate, Toamna-mi bate Pentru cea din urmă oară-n geam? "Donnez-vous la peine d'entrer, Madame..." Şi femeia cu privirea fumurie A intrat suspectă şi umilă Ca o mincinoasă profeţie De Sibilă... A intrat... Şi-odaia mea-ntr-o clipă S-a încălzit ca un cuptor de pâine Numai cu spirala unui fum de pipă Şi cu sărutarea Toamnei, care mâine O să moară... vai!... Bolnavă de gripă...

With autumn in my room de Ion Minulescu Autumn knocked on my window last night, She knocked with fingers of cold rain— As usual, she asked, very polite, For me to let her in my room, again, Then she’ll bring tobacco for my pipe, And expensive cigarettes from Rotterdam. I looked around, I looked inside me: The stove is cold, The pipe is cold, The hand is cold, The mouth is cold. God! … How could I ever let her go? If she leaves, who knows how long she’ll be? What if this fall, to my shock, Autumn will knock For the last time at the door of my slum? "Donnez-vous la peine d'entrer, Madame..." And the woman with the eyes of smoke, Entered, all humble and suspicious, Like a prophecy the Sybil spoke— False and vicious… She came in… And my room in just an instant Warmed up like a bread oven, With a spiral of smoke in the flue, And with the kiss of Autumn, who tomorrow, Will die—oh heavens!... Sick with the flu...