09 Thursday Jan 2014
Tags
art, Emily Dickinson, erotic, If I can stop one heart from breaking I shall not live in vain, poem, Poetry, quote
“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain” — Emily Dickinson
Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry
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09 Thursday Jan 2014
Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Feminism, Illustration and art
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09 Thursday Jan 2014
Posted in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation
≈ Comments Off on salome: page 01
SALOMÉ
SALOME
ՍԱԼՈՄԵ
1893
PERSONNES
PERSONS
ԱՆՁԵՐ
HÉRODE ANTIPAS, Tétrarque de Judée
HEROD ANTIPAS, Tetrarch of Judea
ՀԵՐՈՎԴ ԱՆՏԻՊԱ, տետրարք Հրեաստանի
IOKANAAN, le prophète
IOKANAAN, the prophet
ՅՈՔԱՆԱԱՄ, մարգարեն
LE JEUNE SYRIEN, capitaine de la garde
THE YOUNG SYRIAN, captain of the guard
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ, դահճապետի [1]
TIGELLIN, un jeune Romain
TIGELLINUS, a young roman
ՏԻԳԵԼԻՆ, երիտասարդ Հռոմայեցի
CAPPADOCIEN
CAPPODOCIAN
ԿԱՊԱԴՈՎԿԻԱՅԻ
NUBIEN
NUBIAN
ՆՈԻԲԻԱՅԻ
PREMIER SOLDAT
FIRST SOLDIER
ԱՌԱՋԻՆ ՋԻՆՎՈՐ
SECOND SOLDAT
SECOND SOLDIER
ԵՐԿՐՈՐԴ ՋԻՆՎՈՐ
LE PAGE D’HÉRODIAS
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱՅԻ ՄԱՆԿԼԱՎԻԿԸ
JUIFS, NAZARÉENS, etc.
JEWS, NAZARENES, etc.
ՀՐԵԱՆԱՆԵՐ, ՆԱՋՈՎՐԵՅԻՆԵՐ, եւ այլն.
ESCLAVE
SLAVE
ՍՏՐՈԻԿ
NAAMAN, bourreau
NAMAAN, executioner
ՆԱԱՄԱՆ, դահիճ
HÉRODIAS, femme du Tétrarque
HERODIAS, wife of the tetrarch
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱ, տետրարքի կինը
SALOMÉ, fille d’Hérodias
SALOME, daughter of Herodias
ՍԱԼՈՄԵ, աղջիկը Հերովդիայի
ESCLAVES DE SALOMÉ
SLAVES OF SALOME
ՍԱԼՈՄԵԻ ՍՏՐԿՈԻՀԻՆԵՐԸ
][][
SCÈNE
SCENE
ԲԵՄ’
[Une grande terrasse dans le palais d’Hérode donnant sur la salle de festin. Des soldats sont accoudés sur le balcon. A droite il y a un énorme escalier. A gauche, au fond, une ancienne citerne entourée d’un mur de bronze vert. Clair de lune.]
[A large terrace in Herod’s palace overlooking the banqueting hall. Some of the soldiers are leaning against the balcony. To the right there is a huge staircase. To the left, at bottom, an old cistern surrounded by a wall of green bronze. Moonlight.]
[Մի մեծ կտուր է Հերովդեսի պալատը նայող խնջույքի դահլիճը. Որոշ զինվորներ են հենվում է պատշգամբում. Դեպի աջ կա մի մեծ աստիճաններ. Դեպի ձախ, ժամը ներքեւում, հին ցիստեռնը շրջապատված է պատին կանաչ բրոնզե. Լուսնյակ.] [2]
LE JEUNE SYRIEN: Comme la princesse Salomé est belle ce soir!
THE YOUNG SYRIAN: How beautiful the Princess Salome looks tonight!
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ: Ինչ գեղեցիկ է Արքայադուստրը Սալոմե երեկո! [3]
LE PAGE D’HÉRODIAS: Regardez la lune. La lune a l’air très étrange. On dirait une femme qui sort d’un tombeau. Elle ressemble à une femme morte. On dirait qu’elle cherche des morts.
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Look at the moon. The moon looks strange! She looks like a woman rising from a tomb. She looks like a dead woman. One might think she was looking for the dead.
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱՅԻ ՄԱՆԿԼԱՎԻԿԸ: Նայիր լուսնի. Լուսինը ունի տարօրինակ տեսք. Կարծես մի կին աճող մի շիրիմին. Կարծես մահացած կնոջ.Կարելի է մտածել որ նա փնտրում է մահացած. [4]
LE JEUNE SYRIEN: Elle a l’air très étrange. Elle ressemble à une petite princesse qui porte un voile jaune, et a des pieds d’argent. Elle ressemble à une princesse qui a des pieds comme des petites colombes blanches … on dirait qu’elle danse.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She has a strange look. She looks like a little princess who wears a yellow veil, whose feet are made of silver. She looks like a princess who has feet like little white doves … she looks like she is dancing.
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ: Այն նայում շատ տարօրինակ է. Կարծես մի փոքր Արքայադուստրը ով հագնում է դեղին վարագույրի, եւ որոնց ոտքերը են արծաթի. : Նա, կարծես արքայադուստր ով ունի ոտքերը նման փոքր սպիտակ աղավնիներ … կարծես նա պար. [5]
][][
notes:
Most of the footnotes here will be from my attempts at transcribing Vahan Terian’s original. I’ll state for the record here: there will be errors. I am neither a native speaker of Armenian nor particularly good at any language. But I follow the advice of the poet and translator Marilyn Hacker who said, “it is better to have a bad translation than no translation at all.” Cheers.
[1] Թիկնապահների Հրամանատար [VT]
[2] Հանդիսասըահին կից մեծ պատհգամը: Հռըովդի պալատում: Ջինվոըները կանգնել են պատհգամբի վանդակապատին Հռնված: Աջ կողմը’ մեծ սանդուղք: Ջախ կողմը, ըէմի խորքում’ մի ջըհոը: [VT]
[3] Որքան հքնա’ղ է այս երեկո արքայադուստր Սալոմեն: [VT]
[4] Նայեցեք լուսնիմ: Որքան տարօրինակ տեսք ունի լուսնյակը: Կարծես մի կին ե, որ գերեզմանից է ելնում: Սեռած կնոջ է նման: Կարծես մեռել է որոնում նա: [VT]
[5] Շատ տարօրինակ տեսք ունի: Նա նման է մի փոքրիկ արքայադստեր, որ դեղին քող է ծածկում [and] որի ոտներն արծաթից են: Կարծես նա մի արքայաղուստր է, որի ոտները սպիտակ աղավնյակների են նման: Կարծես նա պարում է: [VT]
09 Thursday Jan 2014
Posted in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation
≈ Comments Off on salome: an introduction
Tags
Armenian translation, drama, English translation, introduction, Oscar Wilde, Salome, Vahan Terian
Here’s a little unknown story.
In the summer of 1997, after I came back from my psycho-vac, I ended up teaching conversational English to a classroom of Armenian students in Yerevan.
In theory it should have been an easy job … one just talks and play word-games and get people to enjoy trying something as scary and illogical as English (seriously, who in hell came up with p-q and b-d as letters that won’t get constantly reversed or turned upside down in non-English speakers minds?) Anyway, I took the hard road and decided the best way to have fun in this class was to get them to perform a play … and, you say, after reading the title of the Oscar Wilde drama up above, what better way to approach Amateur Drama 101 than with something that hasn’t been updated into modern speak since it was first translated from French in 1900? Because trying to explain “thee” and “thy” to a classroom who were just hoping to be able to say hello to their cousin Aram in Glendale might not have been the smartest move on my part, though one of my students did say she had heard someone, at some point in time, had translated the play Salome (1893) into Armenian, but she had no idea who or when.
Jump forward in time to yesterday, around 10-ish in the morning while I was at work. The Internets is fabulous, for I discovered who it was who first translated the play. Not everyone is familiar with the name Vahan Terian (Վահան Տերյան), which is a shame since his original poetry is both sad and beautiful (though not necessarily in that order), but, in 1910, he translated the French original into Armenian. And not only is the Internets fabulous but someone sainted soul actually uploaded the original translation … sadly in PDF format, but still! The whole play! translated! online! hurrah for exclamation points!
Here is the mission I’ve given myself. I want to simultaneously translate the original French into an updated English version plus translate it into modern Armenian while transcribing Terian’s original. This won’t be easy for numerous reasons. First, I’m terrible at transcribing. My ability to read Armenian is limited, but the uploaded PDF file seems to be the only version I can find online, unless someone can clue me in to where to look. Also, my ability to translate Armenian is comically absurd. There are children laughing at my attempts in Gyumri right now and I haven’t even started. Perhaps, one day, someone will read this and think helping me is a good idea, but there aren’t a lot of native Armenians in the world, even less so on-line, so I never take radio silence personally.
What I am going to present here are three versions of the play. The first is the original, taken from Project Gutenberg. The second is my attempt at an English translation and the third will be the Armenian. I’ll add notes from the Terian transcription as I go along, though I haven’t figured how exactly (I’m making this up as I go along). There are about 30 pages to the original play, depending on the font, so I’m thinking of publishing a page at a time, just to avoid confusion (mine). Of course, as always, if anyone reads this and wants to help, correct and ridicule, any assistance will only make the translations better.
With that said, the game, Mrs Hudson, is on!
08 Wednesday Jan 2014
Tags
as if it were a given, dreams of the earth, lover's heat, mist as a metaphor, poem, Poetry, sonnet, the dead remember
halo blue light, moon through trees the dead lay
curled in the grass softly teasing the rain
light drops upon its naked skin the fey
delight the wood nymph pleasures each drop pain
each drop, a warming, bringing it nearer
to the mist, the clouds, the shadow glimmers
upon its back and legs, heat, a lover’s
heat, one even dead flesh can remember
whipping now, stinging its back, burning holes
in its ruined blue face as the dead dive
in and the living talk about rebirth
as if it were a given that’s the soul’s
vanity, hoping that it will survive
as its laid down in the dreams of the earth
07 Tuesday Jan 2014
Tags
Buddha laughs at poets, burn Western literature to set it free, erase every poem you've ever written, fuck zen, immortality is absurd, neolith art, poem, Poetry, sonnet
“if I could I’d burn all of Western literature to set it free …”
Here’s the thing, the problem I struggle with,
the whole kit and kaboodle, here’s how I’ll
go down: one day I’ll get bored, my neolith
art will no longer please. Every exile
knows that immortality is absurd.
It’s that last act: burning books, deleting
computer files, making sure that no word
remains — that is art. Would you keep writing
if you knew no one would read it? Zen tells
us to hit “erase” after each poem.
Enlightenment claims nothing shall remain
behind. Fuck zen. Give me chaos and hell’s
short-term memory. I want to become
nothing, let blank pages be my domain.
07 Tuesday Jan 2014
Posted in Armenian, Erotic, Poetry, Translation
≈ Comments Off on before the storm
Tags
Armenian translation, clitoris, cunnilingus, ծլիկ, poem, Poetry, the problem with so-called dirty words, tslik
Before the thunderstorm arrives
Ampropits’ arraj galis
Ամպրոպից առաջ գալիս
Rub your tongue across her swollen clitoris
K’sum dzer lezun amboghj ir tslik urrats
Քսում ձեր լեզուն ամբողջ իր ծլիկ ուռած
Watch as she begins to arch her spine
Ditel yen k’ani vor na sksum e shrjadardz ir voghnashari
Դիտել են քանի որ նա սկսում է շրջադարձ իր ողնաշարի
and her thighs begin to tremble
yev nra azdreri sksum yen doghal
եւ նրա ազդրերի սկսում են դողալ
Inhale the rain in the air
Nershnch’yel e andzrev odum
Ներշնչել է անձրեւ օդում
][][
notes:
The best way to determine if a foreign language dictionary is of any use is to see if it has the word “clitoris” in it, a standard medical term. If it doesn’t then there is a good chance there will be a whole mess of other words it won’t have either. If language is simply a tool that allows us to communicate then there is no such thing as a “dirty” word, there are only uptight people who fear the truth behind words. One day someone needs to make an erotic Armenian dictionary. The nearest I could find in Armenian for clitoris is “tslik” (ծլիկ ), though I am sure there are other words, too, that I just can’t find.
06 Monday Jan 2014
Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art
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06 Monday Jan 2014
Posted in Erotic, Illustration and art
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ROMEO AND JULIET
MERCUTIO:
O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider web;
Her collars, of the moonshine’s wat’ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail
Tickling a parson’s nose as ‘a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she!
05 Sunday Jan 2014
Posted in Illustration and art, Poetry News
≈ Comments Off on frustrating news
My grandfather passed away on December 26 and this coming Tuesday, January 07, is going to be his funeral. Sadly, due to the “polar vortex” blizzard that is dumping at least 2 feet of snow on Michigan right now, all flights to California in the entire Midwest have been cancelled. There is no way I can get to the funeral on time. This is terrible, but the only silver lining to this story is that at least my mom caught one of the last flights to LA right before the snow started. It would have devastated her not to be at her father’s side this Tuesday.
memories of my ghost sista 