Does poetry lose its soul in translation?

[Lisa!]

A translation is like a mistress, either beautiful and unfaithful, or faithful and not beautiful.

(Translated from the Russian)

So true!

 

[tiny-tim]

Yes let's try this famous poem
Le Corbeau et le Renard by Jean de LA FONTAINE (1621-1695)

My effort, preserving most of the rhyming pattern:

Mr Crow, perched in a tree,
Had in his beak a lovely cheese
Mr Fox, by the smell attracted,
Spoke to him with words like these:
"Mister Crow, how do you do!
How fine you are! I'm stunned by you!

Sing! for if your song is able
To rival your splendid coat of sable,

You are the phoenix of these trees."
On hearing this, the Crow, so pleased,
Anxious this fine chance to seize,
Opened wide, and dropped the cheese!

The Fox left with it, saying: "Dear Sir,
You've learned that every flatterer
Lives at the expense of flatterees:
That lesson was well worth a cheese!"

The Crow was full of shame, and lost for words,
And learned that foxes please themselves, not birds. ​

© tiny-tim 2012​

 

[drizzle]

Nice tiny :)

 

[ArcherofScience]

Nice thread btw drizzle :).

Here is my poem I am currently working on for my English poetry assignment.

Its by Robert Frost: The Rhodora (i underlined it cause I'm afraid my english teacher to actually read this and take off points for not underlining the title .

Robert Frost - The Rhodora

On being asked, Whence is the flower?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the Earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

nice poem actually kind of like it :)

 

[netgypsy]

tiny-tim I love your version. It's both musical and true to its essence. Could we say the mistress is the wife?

Person who say he hates poetry does not yet know her, nor has he seen her unadorned beauty and wit.

Clothe her with music, call her a song and suddenly she has many new admirers.poem
"My Cousin Fred"

He came, he saw, he trashed my room,
He pushed, he shoved, he broke a broom!
He sniffed, he snarled, I stood stock still,
He biffed, he bashed, my drink did spill!

He mumbled, he grumbled, he kicked my door,
He grunted, he groaned, he stamped on the floor!
He's evil, he's mean, but I like him this way,
It's funny when my cousin Fred comes to stay!

He's trouble, he's bad, but it works out for me,
His thrashing and bashing just fills me with glee!
As my mum and dad think that Fred's the bad egg,
So I can be naughty and blame him instead!

©2003 Gareth Lancaster


song

Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walking home from our house Christmas eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe

She'd been drinkin' too much egg nog
And we'd begged her not to go
But she'd left her medication
So she stumbled out the door into the snow

When they found her Christmas mornin'
At the scene of the attack
There were hoof prints on her forehead
And incriminatin' Claus marks on her back

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walkin' home from our house Christmas eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe

Now were all so proud of Grandpa
He's been takin' this so well
See him in there watchin' football
Drinkin' beer and playin' cards with cousin Belle

It's not Christmas without Grandma
All the family's dressed in black
And we just can't help but wonder
Should we open up her gifts or send them back?

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walkin' home from our house Christmas eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe

Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of pig
And a blue and silver candle
That would just have matched the hair in Grandma's wig

I've warned all my friends and neighbors
Better watch out for yourselves
They should never give a license
To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walkin' home from our house, Christmas eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe!The Classic Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer Song by:

Elmo & Patsy Elmo & Patsy - Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer



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(The lyrics found on this page are the property of their respective authors, artists and record labels, the lyrics provided here are for educational purposes only. If you like this song, please buy the music and support the artist.)

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[drizzle]

Hewwo!


This is something* I really enjoy to read and listen [It's been sung well by my favourite singer, and I never get bored listening to it]. Interesting thing about the real writer of these lines, is that he belongs to a conservative family and didn't want to 'hazard' their name, so he sold it to a known song writer for less than a dollar [probably more]... It's priceless, to me at least. But I guess he just wanted these words to be heard.


I, O bird of blues
Am like you, without a homeland
As a child looted to sleep
By the hands of night's onset
I sense exile and joy
Just as in ships sailing the sea
I, with no land nor sanctuary
I live in your eyes
I came back from a song
O time that got lost in time
Her voice cries and I tote it
Through the flowers of silence and atonality
O dream, from the limits of yesterday
A bird visited me on a branch
What illusion you are that I lived
You were in mind, yet not there

- Ali Badr al-Din


* Sorry for any misdelivered lines, I tried my best to translate them [And might probably sound awkward ]. Any corrections are very welcome. I hope there will come a better English version of it.

Here's the original:

أنا يا عصفورة الشجن
مثل عينيك بلا وطن
بي كما بالطفل تسرقه
أول الليل يد الوسن
واغتراب بي وبي فرح
كارتحال البحر بالسفن
أنا لا أرض ولا سكن
أنا عيناك هما سكني
راجع من صوب أغنية
يا زمانا ً ضاع في الزمن
صوتها يبكي فأحمله
بين زهر الصمت والوهن
من حدود الأمس يا حلما
زارني طير على غصن
أي وهم أنت عشت به
كنت في البال ولم تكن

 

[FreeMitya]

I'm almost certain that poets require underdefined words and concepts (which happen to be the hardest to translate) to lend their poems poignancy. That is, the abstraction each person uses to personally define certain words or ideas gives the poem its feeling. Then, across culture and language, person to person even, certainly the feelings evoked will change.

Then again, I'm almost certain I'm not making any sense.

I pretty sure I understand what you mean, which is why I feel that a poet like Dylan Thomas, for example, would be a pain to translate:

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

 

[ImaLooser]

Problem is I found that poetry is its best with the initial written language, I can roughly say that half of its glamour is gone once it’s translated! Of course, I’m not speaking about something I’ve translated myself, cause I’ll ruin the whole poem. I do remember translating a few lines though, written by some Iraqi person I guess, and post them here, and I did find it a bit different... I don’t mean the rhyme or assonance which are depending on the language used, but ‘the soul’, if I may so say, of the poem.

What about you, have you tried to translate a poem, or have you read an original one and its translated version, do you find it the same, what do you think?

Sometimes the translation is better than the original. I've been told that the King James bible is better than the originals in Greek and Hebrew. Translations by Rimbaud are also said to be better than the originals.

I've translated poems and thought they were fine, but I don't know that a native speaker would agree with that.

 

[BobG]

Sometimes the translation is better than the original. I've been told that the King James bible is better than the originals in Greek and Hebrew. Translations by Rimbaud are also said to be better than the originals.

It's been said that many of the quotes attributed to Native American chiefs are like that. You don't really know how eloquent or ignorant the actual chief was - you only know the literary ability of the chief's interpreter.

If I had two hearts I would have used one
And left the other to be tortured by your love

But i only have one owned by affection
Which rejects life and is not asking for death

Like a bird in a child's hand
Tasting a hint of death while the child is just fooling around

Neither the child is aware of what he’s doing
Nor the bird is capable of flying


I who left my faith to god in the name of love
Got a syndrome with no remedy

And a graceful deer took a shot of beauty at me
The arrows of lethal beauty swift near my remedy

And so I went to the judge of love to tell my story
To judge between me and my lover with just

He answered me and said: son how many have died awfully out of love
I am the judge of love and love is killing me

While love is who murdered the judge of judges!

The first 8 lines of this poem are beautiful. As a whole, I'm thinking the poet's lover gave them AIDS?

Reminds me of Krista Detor's song, "The World is Water". You have to listen a few times before you realize it should be a duet and it's actually a song about Alzheimer's.
http://krista-detor.musikear.com/songs-lyrics/krista_detor-the_world_is_water




William Carlos Williams:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

I'm thinking this should translate in any language.

 

[ImaLooser]

Kanon Wakishima says there are words in Japanese that have no equivalent in English.

 

[Bandersnatch]

Michael Kandel produced this marvelous translation of Stanisław Lem's poem from the Cyberiad:

Come, let us hasten to a higher plane,
Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn,
Their indices bedecked from one to n,
Commingled in an endless Markov chain!

Come, every frustum longs to be a cone,
And every vector dreams of matrices.
Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze:
It whispers of a more ergodic zone.

In Riemann, Hilbert, or in Banach space
Let superscripts and subscripts go their ways.
Our asymptotes no longer out of phase,
We shall encounter, counting, face to face.

I'll grant thee random access to my heart,
Thou'lt tell me all the constants of thy love;
And so we two shall all love's lemmas prove,
And in our bound partition never part.

For what did Cauchy know, or Christoffel,
Or Fourier, or any Boole or Euler,
Wielding their compasses, their pens and rulers,
Of thy supernal sinusoidal spell?

Cancel me not -- for what then shall remain?
Abscissas, some mantissas, modules, modes,
A root or two, a torus and a node:
The inverse of my verse, a null domain.

Ellipse of bliss, converge, O lips divine!
The product of our scalars is defined!
Cyberiad draws nigh, and the skew mind
Cuts capers like a happy haversine.

I see the eigenvalue in thine eye,
I hear the tender tensor in thy sigh.
Bernoulli would have been content to die,
Had he but known such a2 cos 2 phi

It's so far from faithful that it's practically Kandel's own verse, retaining but the spirit of the original.

 

[ImaLooser]

One interesting note - I remember reading "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad. Absolutely gorgeous, picture painting, prose. He was second language English. So sometimes people who learn a language later have a much greater appreciation for its nuances than do those who have spoken it from birth.

Not very often. Conrad is the only example I can think of.

 

[drizzle]

The first 8 lines of this poem are beautiful. As a whole, I'm thinking the poet's lover gave them AIDS?

Worse.

 

[Galteeth]

Not very often. Conrad is the only example I can think of.

Vladimir Nabokov comes to mind.

 

[Galteeth]

The first 8 lines of this poem are beautiful. As a whole, I'm thinking the poet's lover gave them AIDS?

Your wit is as dry as the sahara.

 

[ImaLooser]

Vladimir Nabokov comes to mind.

According to Wikipedia, "The family spoke Russian, English, and French in their household, and Nabokov was trilingual from an early age. In fact, much to his patriotic father's chagrin, Nabokov could read and write in English before he could in Russian." So he doesn't count, at least not any more than any other multilingual person.

On the other hand, "Conrad ... did not speak the language fluently until he was in his twenties (and always with a marked Polish accent)."

Amazing. He proved it was possible.

 

[drizzle]

So, time for another poem to share with you, people.
It's originally in Arabic, and I got a lot of help from a poet friend (thanks! ) to make it sound more consistent. Enjoy!


O the thorns of love, O sweet kisses
In the tides of desire they bathe
Whenever we say that with time they have faded away
They return like the wind, a typhoon in our hearts
O heart, tell me then, how do I escape
From this weary path
Does Love last? Asks
A lover that got lost in its ways
Do the gardens smile still?
Hiding the coy lovers in its veil
And I have forgotten myself, and on the next day
Everything is just extemporized
Give me back my life so that I can be the bird
flying around and soaring through the heavens
Let me be, on this parting day, a song
Echoing through out the world.

 

[lisab]

So, time for another poem to share with you, people.
It's originally in Arabic, and I got a lot of help from a poet friend (thanks! ) to make it sound more consistent. Enjoy!


O the thorns of love, O sweet kisses
In the tides of desire they bathe
Whenever we say that with time they have faded away
They return like the wind, a typhoon in our hearts
O heart, tell me then, how do I escape
From this weary path
Does Love last? Asks
A lover that got lost in its ways
Do the gardens smile still?
Hiding the coy lovers in its veil
And I have forgotten myself, and on the next day
Everything is just extemporized
Give me back my life so that I can be the bird
flying around and soaring through the heavens
Let me be, on this parting day, a song
Echoing through out the world.

Very nice .

 

[Enigman]

...Everything is just extemporized...

That line sticks out like a sore thumb...
(Sorry, don't mind me- I'm just jealous of you and your friend.)


EDIT:If I may suggest something, perhaps this would be better:
...
And I have forgotten myself, and on the next day
Everything is just a haze
Give me back my life so that I can be the bird
...

 

[drizzle]

Hmm, I liked extemporized more, I think it expresses how life has become off-hand and planned no more once love is introduced into life.. But sure! Any suggestions to make it sound better are welcome. Thanks, friend.

 

[Enigman]

Extemporized breaks the rhythm of the song; On the other hand: ...Everything is just a haze, I am lost in this wretched maze...just a suggestion...

Where The Mind Is Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
-Rabindranath Tagore, translated by himself.
(Bengali)

 

[drizzle]

I had to read about the poet, thanks for sharing Enigman. Fine translation too.

 

[Enigman]

Song Of The Spirits Over The Water

The spirit of Man
Resembles water:
Coming from heaven,
Rising to heaven,
And hither and thither,
To Earth must then
Ever descend.

It leaps from the heights
Of the sheer cliff,
In a pure stream,
Then rises sweetly
In clouds of spray
Against smooth stone,
And lightly received
Flows like a veil
Streaming softly
To depths beneath.


When the sheer rocks
Hinder its fall,
It foams angrily
Flowing stepwise
Into the void.
Along its flat bed
It wanders the vale,
And on the calm lake
All the bright stars
Gaze at their faces.

Wind is the water’s
Sweet lover:
Wind stirs up foaming
Waves from the deep.

Spirit of Man
How like water you are!
Man’s fate, oh,
How like the wind!
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe; Translated by A. S. Kline

It is a pity that Goethe doesn't translate very well; you only have a shadow of the poignancy of the original, you can see something should be there but you just can't grasp it.

 

[drizzle]

Love of books:

Tutti i libri del mondo
non ti danno la felicità,
però in segretoti
rinviano a te stesso.

Lì c’è tutto ciò di cui hai bisogno,
sole stelle luna.
Perché la luce che cercavi
vive dentro di te.

La saggezza che hai cercato
a lungo in biblioteca
ora brilla in ogni foglio,
perché adesso è tua.*

- Hermann Hesse


* I'd be thankful if anyone can translate it--online translations aren't good enough.

 

[zoobyshoe]

* I'd be thankful if anyone can translate it--online translations aren't good enough.

Why is it in Italian?

 

[drizzle]

I was surprised, I think he is fluent in Italian too.

 

[tiny-tim]

Love of books:

isn't hesse saying the opposite, that you shouldn't love books, because the light of wisdom does not come from books to illuminate you, it comes from you, and illuminates the books?

EDIT: btw, there's a misprint at the join of lines 3 and 4, they should read:

però in segreto
ti rinviano a te stesso.​

(but in secret
they refer/return you to yourself)​

 

[lendav_rott]

Technically, the light coming from a source illuminates the surface of the book, which makes it readable in the first place *wiseguy alert*

 

[zoobyshoe]

isn't hesse saying the opposite, that you shouldn't love books, because the light of wisdom does not come from books to illuminate you, it comes from you, and illuminates the books?

EDIT: btw, there's a misprint at the join of lines 3 and 4, they should read:

però in segreto
ti rinviano a te stesso.​

(but in secret
they refer/return you to yourself)​

Can you translate the whole poem, t-t?

 

[tiny-tim]

Can you translate the whole poem, t-t?

if i copy-and-paste the whole poem into http://translate.google.co.uk/ …

yes of course! ​

(sì, naturalmente! )