• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Category Archives: Translation

pizarnik’s árbol de diana/ diana’s tree

25 Friday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Spanish, Translation

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Alejandra Pizarnik, Árbol de Diana, Diana's Tree, poem, Poetry, Spanish translation

1.
He dado el salto de mí al alba,
he dejado mi cuerpo junto a la luz
y he cantado la tristeza de lo que nace.

I have leaped from myself into the dawn,
I have left my body next to the light
and sung the sadness of what is born.

2.
Éstas son las versiones que nos propone:
un agujero, una pared que tiembla …

These are the versions proposed:
a hole, a shaking wall …

3.
sólo la sed
el silencio
ningún encuentro
cuídate de mí amor mío
cuídate de la silenciosa en el desierto
de la viajera con el vaso vacío
y de la sombra de su sombra

only thirst
silence
no chance encounter
be careful of me, my love
be careful of the silent one in the desert
of the traveler with the empty glass
and the shadow of her shadow

4.
AHORA BIEN:
Quién dejará de hundir su mano en busca delbvtributo para la pequeña olvidada. El frío pagará. Pagará el viento. La lluvia pagará. Pagará el trueno.

WELL NOW:
Who will stop plunging her hand in searching for the tributes for the forgotten girl? The cold will pay. The wind will pay. As will the rain. And the thunder.

5.
por un minuto de vida breve
única de ojos abiertos
por un minuto de ver
en el cerebro flores pequeñas
danzando como palabras en la boca de un mundo

just for a moment in this short life
to be the one with open eyes
for just a minute to witness
small flowers in the brain
dancing like words in the mouth of a world

6.
ella se desnuda en el paraíso
de su memoria
ella desconoce el feroz destino
de sus visiones
ella tiene miedo de no saber nombrar
lo que no existe

she strips naked in the paradise
of her memory
she does not know the cruel destiny
of her visions
she is afraid of not knowing how to name
what does not exist

7.
Salta con la camisa en llamas
De estrella a estrella.
De sombra en sombra.
Muere de muerte lejana
La que ama al viento.

She jumps with her shirt on fire
From star to star.
From shadow to shadow.
She dies a distant death
She who loves the wind.

8.
Memoria iluminada, galería donde vaga la sombra de lo que espero.
No es verdad que vendrá. No es verdad que no vendrá.

Illuminated memory, gallery where the shadow of what I wait for wanders.
It’s not true that it’ll come. It is not true that it won’t.

9.
Estos huesos brillando en la noche,
estas palabras como piedras preciosas
en la garganta viva de un pájaro petrificado,
este verde muy amado,
esta lila caliente,
este corazón sólo misterioso.

These bones glowing in the night,
these words like precious stones
in the living throat of a petrified bird,
this beloved green,
this hot lilac,
this mysterious heart.

10.
un viento débil
lleno de rostros doblados
que recorto en forma de objetos que amar

a weak wind
full of bent faces
that I slice into objects to love

11.
ahora
en esta hora inocente
yo y la que fui nos sentamos
en el umbral de mi mirada

now
in this innocent hour
the one I once was sits with me
on the threshold of my gaze

12.
no más las dulces metamorfosis de una niña de seda
sonámbula en la cornisa de niebla
su despertar de mano respirando
de flor que se abre al viento

no more the sweet metamorphoses of a silk girl
sleepwalker on the edge of fog
her breathing hand awakening like a flower
that blooms in the wind

13.
explicar con palabras de este mundo
que partió de mí un barco llevándome

explain with words from this world
that a boat left my self carrying me away

14.
El poema que no digo,
el que no merezco.
Miedo de ser dos
camino del espejo:
alguien en mí dormido
me come y me bebe

The poem that I do not say,
the one that I do not deserve.
Fear of being two
the way of the mirror:
someone asleep inside me
she eats me and drinks me

15.
Extraño desacostumbrarme
de la hora en que nací.
Extraño no ejercer más
oficio de recién llegada.

I miss getting used to
to the time when I was born.
I miss not having to work anymore
as a new arrival.

16.
has construido tu casa
has emplumado tus pájaros
has golpeado al viento
con tus propios huesos
has terminado sola
lo que nadie comenzó

you have built your house
you have feathered your birds
you’ve hit the wind
with your own bones
alone you finished
what no one began

17.
Días en que una palabra lejana se apodera de mí. Voy por esos días sonámbula y transparente. La hermosa autómata se canta, se encanta, se cuenta casos y cosas: nido de hilos rígidos donde me danzo y me lloro en mis numerosos funerales. (Ella es su espejo incendiado, su espera en hogueras frías, su elemento místico, su fornicación de nombres creciendo solos en la noche pálida.)

Days when a distant word seizes me. I pass through those days sleepwalking and transparent. The beautiful automaton sings to herself, it is loved, tells herself things and stories: a nest of rigid threads where I dance and cry in my numerous funerals. (She is her own burning mirror, she wait for cold fires, her mystical element, she fucks with the names that grow alone in the pale night.)

18.
como un poema enterado
del silencio de las cosas
hablas para no verme

like a poem aware of
the silence of things
you talk so as not to see me

19.
cuando vea los ojos
que tengo en los míos tatuados

when you see the eyes
I’ve tattooed on mine

20.
dice que no sabe del miedo de la muerte del amor
dice que tiene miedo de la muerte del amor
dice que el amor es muerte es miedo
dice que la muerte es miedo es amor
dice que no sabe

she says she doesn’t know about fear of death of love
says she is afraid of death of love
says that love is death is fear
says that death is fear is love
she says that she does not know

21.
he nacido tanto
y doblemente sufrido
en la memoria de aquí y allá

I’ve been born so often
and doubly suffering
in the memory of here and there

22.
en la noche
un espejo para la pequeña muerta
un espejo de cenizas

at night
a mirror for the little dead girl
a mirror of ashes

23.
una mirada desde la alcantarilla
puede ser la visión del mundo
la rebelión consiste en mirar una rosa
hasta pulverizarse los ojos

a view from the gutter
a vision of the world
resistance consists of looking at a rose
until your eyes become dust

24.
(un dibujo de Wols)
estos hilos aprisionan a las sombras
y las obligan a rendir cuentas del silencio
estos hilos unen la mirada al sollozo

(a drawing by Wols)
these threads imprison the shadows
and force them to account for silence
these threads unite your gaze with their sob

25.
(exposición Goya)
un agujero en la noche
súbitamente invadido por un ángel

(Goya exhibition)
a hole in the night
suddenly invaded by an angel

26.
(un dibujo de Klee)
cuando el palacio de la noche
encienda su hermosura
pulsaremos los espejos
hasta que nuestros rostros canten como ídolos

(a drawing by Klee)
when the night palace
blazes with beauty
we’ll bring together the mirrors
until our faces sing like idols

27.
un golpe del alba en las flores
me abandona ebria de nada y de luz lila
ebria de inmovilidad y de certeza

dawn ricocheting off flowers
leaving me drunk on nothing and on violet
drunk with languor and certainty

28.
te alejas de los nombres
que hilan el silencio de las cosas

you flee from the names
that spin the silence of things

29
Aquí vivimos con una mano en la garganta. Que nada es posible ya lo sabían los que inventaban lluvias y tejían palabras con el tormento de la ausencia. Por eso en sus plegarias había un sonido de manos enamoradas de la niebla.

Here we live with a hand to our throat. That nothing is possible the inventors of rain knew this and wove their words into the torment of absence. This is why in her prayers sound like hands in love with the fog.

30
en el invierno fabuloso
la endecha de las alas en la lluvia
en la memoria del agua dedos de niebla

in the fabulous winter
the lament of the wings in the rain
in the memory of water in fingers of fog

31
Es un cerrar de ojos y jurar no abrirlos. En tanto afuera se alimenten de relojes y de flores nacidas de la astucia. Pero con los ojos cerrados de un sufrimiento en verdad demasiado grande pulsamos los espejos hasta que las palabras olvidadas suenan mágicamente.

It means close your eyes and swear not to open them as strangers outside feed on the watches and flowers born from your cunning. But with the closed eyes, with vast suffering, we must tempt the mirrors until all their forgotten words sound magical.

32
Zona de plagas donde la dormida come
lentamente
su corazón de medianoche.

Plague zone where a sleeping woman
slowly eats
her midnight heart.

33
alguna vez
alguna vez tal vez
me iré sin quedarme
me iré como quien se va

one day
someday maybe
I will go without staying
I’ll go like one who’s leaving

34
la pequeña viajera
moría explicando su muerte
sabios animales nostálgicos
visitaban su cuerpo caliente

the little traveler
died explaining her death
while wise nostalgic animals
visited her body, still warm

35
Vida, mi vida, déjate caer, déjate doler, mi vida, déjate enlazar de fuego, de silencio ingenuo, de piedras verdes en la casa de la noche, déjate caer y doler, mi vida.

Life, my life, let yourself fall, let yourself hurt, my life, let yourself bond with fire, with naive silence, with green stones in the house of the night, let yourself fall and hurt, my life.

36
en la jaula del tiempo
la dormida mira sus ojos solos
el viento le trae
la tenue respuesta de las hojas

in the time cage
the sleeping woman looks at her lonely eyes
the wind brings
the leave’s distant answer

37
más allá de cualquier zona prohibida
hay un es pejo para nuestra triste transparencia

beyond every forbidden area
lies a mirror for our sad transparency

38
Este canto arrepentido, vigía detrás de mis poemas:
este canto me desmiente, me amordaza.

This repentant song, peering out from behind my poems:
this song negates me, it silences me.

][][

NOTES:
22.
I know Pizarnik is talking about a little dead girl, but I can’t help wondering if, “la pequeña muerta,” is also similar to the French, “la petite morte,” the little death, the orgasm. I like to think that Pizarnik would be happy with either translation.

where it was

03 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, German, Poetry, sonnet, Translation

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anal sex, erotic poetry, falling on my head like a memory, German translation, memory, puckered again, rim job, sonnet, where it was, wo es war

“Wo es war,” where it was leads us to it.
There were days as if it were not hunkered

in the distance; from gangrened to frostbit
to flesh in the cold. Where it was. Absurd

to think of it: beastly, feral, depraved.
Absurd to follow. “Wo es war,” and yet,

I do. There be dragons; all that it craved,
ravings. I crave for you: take the blade, whet

stone, carve such German words on my neither.
Twist me this where it was hunkered. Our tryst

begged. I follow. I rave. May memory
be my only brood; the past such future.

You lay with your ass in the air — I kissed,
you clenched; puckered again, I thought, briefly.

Quote

quote unquote

10 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Portuguese, quote unquote, Translation

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Tags

do it for fun or not at all, erotica is life, exigÊncia, Leila Míccolis, poema para o namorado, portuguese translations, voyeurismo

three poems by Leila Miccolis, from Portuguese

VOYEURISMO

Te olho


me molho

VOYEURISM

I look at you

I’m soaking


POEMA PARA O NAMORADO

Teu lado feminino me erotiza:


são belos, sensuais e muito caros


certos instantes gostosos, em que te encaro


menos como homem e mais como menina:


quando passas teus cremes para a pele,


ou pões o avental pra cozinhar,


ou quando em mim te esfregas


até gozar os teus gozos sem fim,


ou quando tuas mãos, leves e lésbicas,


desabam como plumas sobre mim.

POEM FOR A BOYFRIEND

Your feminine side makes me erotic:

it is beautiful, sexy and very dear.

There are certain moments when I regard you

less like a man and more like a girl:

when you apply creams to your skin,

or when you put the apron on to cook,

or when you massage me

so that I enjoy your endless joys,

or when your hands, light and sapphic,

fall like feathers upon me.


EXIGÊNCIA

Meu homem eu quero,


enquanto puder,


molhado e úmido


feito mulher.

REQUIREMENT

I want my man

to be able to be

wet and damp

like a woman

][][

NOTE:

I do things not because I am particularly skilled or
good at them but because they are fun. Translations are a wonderful
example. Of course I don’t know Portuguese or any other language—I
hardly have a grasp on English—but muddling through puzzles,
decoding, deciphering, finding that something totally alien is
beautiful and amazing … that’s why I wake up in the morning. Once I
attempted to translate a Pablo Neruda poem and thought I had done a
kinda/maybe/sorta good job (I checked it against other English
translations and it didn’t seem to have any horrific flaws) so I
posted it on my blog. A couple of days later someone from Uruguay
wrote to me saying, “what have you done to my beloved Pablo?”
Apparently some of the words I decided to use weren’t the correct
ones. Another time I found a Federico Garcia Lorca poem that I had
translated getting torn apart on an on-line forum because, as one
person put it, if I “had any grasp of the Spanish language at
all”
I wouldn’t be making such obvious mistakes. Translators
seem to be a very unforgiving bunch, at times. Since then I mainly
focus on poets that I’ve stumbled across who have never been
translated into English because, as Marilyn Hacker put it, “even
a bad translation is good because it might cause someone more fluent
in that language to make a better translation.”
Life is too
short to apologize for having fun.

ch’iu chin: i die unfulfilled

11 Wednesday Oct 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Chinese, Feminism, Historic Research, Poetry, Translation

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ch'iu chin, Chinese translation, 秋风秋雨愁煞人, essay, i die unfulfilled, Poetry, Qiu Jin, translation

autumn rain/ autumn wind/ i die unfulfilled

Poetry translation is never an exact science. Taking a concept, rich with metaphors, from one language and somehow then discovering a similar meaning in another has challenges. How does one find that original essence – the core of what the poet was trying to say – in an alien tongue? I have always found translation to be a synthesis of everything that has been done before my attempt and then a smoothing out of all the rough bits into something that sings to me. If there was a philosophy to this it’d go: be illiterate in all languages, just resonate with the soul of what is being said. I suppose that is the difference between professionals and amateurs. I will always be an amateur. To misquote the Japanese haiku poet Issa: “there will always be farmers/ laboring in the fields/ I don’t feel guilty.”

Today I turn my attention to the Chinese radical feminist, revolutionary and martyr, Ch’iu Chin (better known through modern translation as Qiu Jin). If you’ve never heard her name before just know this: she was a lesbian poet who tried to overthrow the Qing dynasty in 1907 and then was executed, beheaded. One day someone will translate all her poetry, essays and speeches into English and that will be a blessing. Just now I am only looking at her last words, her death poem. They’re simple, they look like this:

秋风秋雨愁煞人

Technology fails us. According to Google Translate we get, “Autumn autumn rain sad people.” which are at least English words strung together in some sort of order. And yet they fail to capture any meaning of these words. First let me reprint the best translation that I’ve found:

Autumn rain, autumn wind/ I die of sorrow.
[from the documentary, Autumn Gem]

Now let me tell you why this is so good. Ch’iu Chin’s name literally translates into, “Autumn Gem,” and the ‘autumn’ is the metaphor that works in this poem. By the time of her capture she was burned out, depressed and had realized that her revolutionary goals would never happen. She let herself be captured and executed so that she could become one of the Chinese heroines of myth who rose up to fight for women during times of oppression.

As one says, there are no bad translations, just different interpretations. I point out these simply because they were faithful to the words on the page but the translators did not seem to know why the words were written:

O Autumn Winds chilly, O Autumn Rains chilly, (Why you are spilling)
Frank C Yue

Autumn wind autumn rain makes one gloomy
Lu Yin, from Imagining Sisterhood in Modern Chinese Texts, 1890–1937

For whom does the autumn rain and wind lament?
Sjcma

All of which, out of context, still works. Getting executed would make one gloomy. Then there is the fact that Ch’iu Chin became a symbol for the 1911 Revolution and her words were used to express the woes of other people, and thus we get the royal ‘we’

Autumn wind and rain have brought overwhelming grief to many
Albert Chan

The sorrow of autumn wind and autumn rain kills
China Heritage Quarterly

Again, this is all just a matter of interpretation of what comes before. Like I said, I can’t read Chinese, I can just guesstimate from the works of others. If I’m wrong … then I’m wrong and this was just a curious post won’t mean anything. Still, I love the poetry of Qiu Jin and if I can be part of helping her find an English audience then my day is good. Two translations that I think are kind of marvelous:

Autumn wind and autumn rain often bring forth unbearable sorrow
Alan Cykok

The autumn wind and autumn rain agonize me so much.
Badass Women of Asia

Quote

quote unquote

06 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in French, quote unquote, Translation

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French translation, I burn, je brûle de partout, quote unquote

je brûle de partout.

I burn everywhere.

Quote

quote unquote

01 Friday May 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Portuguese, quote unquote, Translation

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Tags

nanny love is it wrong, Portuguese translation, sexetry

Me lambe, me chupa, me coma, babá / Lick me, suck me, eat me, nanny

Quote

one should always be drunk that is all that matters

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in French, quote unquote, Translation

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Charles Baudelaire, French poetry, French quote, one should always be drunk that is all that matters, quote unquote

One should always be drunk. That is all
that matters; so as not to feel Time’s
horrid burden that breaks your shoulders and grinds you down, you
must get drunk without resting.

But on what? On wine, poetry, or virtue
as you please. But get drunk.

And if, at some time, on steps of a
palace, or in the green grass of a ditch, or in the bleak loneliness
of your room, as you wake and find your  drunkenness already dying
away, ask the wind, ask the wave, ask the stars, ask the clock – all
that which runs, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all
that which sings, all that which speaks – ask them, what time is it?
and the wind, the waves, the stars, the birds, and the clock, will
all reply:  “It’s time to get drunk! So that you may not be the
martyred slaves of Time, get drunk, get drunk and never pause for
rest! On wine, poetry, or virtue, as you please!”

– Charles Baudelaire

fantasma guloso [greedy ghost]

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Tags

cunnilingus, fantasma guloso, greedy ghost, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation

“I had almost forgotten how good it is to be licked – kissed – smeared –”

Be for me the language
that redeems me.

Mortal flesh is weak, but
I am apocalyptic: she-devil
in heat.

I am your horny sister
cursed with
chastity.

“Greedy Ghost.” (desire
takes shape) “Feel this wet tongue
slide and your juice returns
to condition of the living.”

][][

“Eu quase havia esquecido como é bom ser lambido – beijado – lambuzado –”

Seja comigo uma língua
que me redime.

Carne mortal é fraca, mas
eu sou apocalíptica: um diaba
no cio.

Eu sou o seu tesão irmã
amaldiçoado com
castidade.

“Fantasma guloso.” (desejo
toma corpo) “Sentir a língua molhada
deslizar enquanto o teu suco retorna
à condição de vivos.”

gosto [taste]

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Tags

cunnilingus, gosto, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, taste

TASTE

Full of the mystery of taste.
Reckless with my mouth.

Throbbing fruit
fresh. My mouth

on your skin. A light kiss
with the touch

of the tongue.
Suck your

fruit; with a grip,
howling, and hair

pulling. Strange
fruit.

][][

GOSTO

Plena do gosto da mistério.
Afoita com minha boca.

Latejando de fruta
fresca. Minha boca

na teu pele. Um leve beijo
com o toque

da língua.
Chupo teu

fruto; com um aperto,
um urro, e puxão

de cabelo. Fruto
estranho.

Bilac’s DELÍRIO

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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cunnilingus, Delírio, Olavo Bilac, Portuguese translation

Olavo Bilac, Delirium

Naked since love doesn’t need shame
In my her mouth I pressed.
And, as for carnal thrills, she said:
“Lower down, baby, I want your kiss!”

Crude, unconsciousness of my desire
Trembling, my mouth obeyed,
And I bit her taut breasts
So that she gasped like broken chords.

In endless sighs of joys
She told me, still almost crying:
“Lower down, baby!” – All in a frenzy.

On her belly I laid my mouth,
“Lower, baby!” – She said, crazy,
Puritans, forgive me! but I obeyed …

][]][

Delírio

Nua, mas para o amor não cabe o pejo
Na minha a sua boca eu comprimia.
E, em frêmitos carnais, ela dizia:
– Mais abaixo, meu bem, quero o teu beijo!

Na inconsciência bruta do meu desejo
Fremente, a minha boca obedecia,
E os seus seios, tão rígidos mordia,
Fazendo-a arrepiar em doce arpejo.

Em suspiros de gozos infinitos
Disse-me ela, ainda quase em grito:
– Mais abaixo, meu bem! – num frenesi.

No seu ventre pousei a minha boca,
– Mais abaixo, meu bem! – disse ela, louca,
Moralistas, perdoai! Obedeci …

note:

Olavo Brás Martins dos Guimarães Bilac (1865 – 1918) was a Brazilian poet, journalist and translator. This poem comes from his, Poesias (1888)

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  • hayaxk (ՀԱՅԱՑՔ)
  • ghosts of zimbabwe
  • bernardine evaristo
  • elisa gabbert
  • carol guess

ars poetica: the blogs i-l

  • irene latham
  • Kim Whysall-Hammond
  • a big jewish blog
  • charmi keranen
  • meg johnson
  • maggie jochild
  • IEPI
  • laila lalami
  • amy king
  • sheryl luna
  • kennifer kilgore-caradec
  • renee liang
  • megan kaminski
  • dick jones
  • las vegas poets organization
  • emily lloyd
  • language hat
  • joy leftow
  • Jaya Avendel
  • donna khun
  • lesley jenike
  • diane lockward
  • gene justice
  • miriam levine
  • lesbian poetry archieves
  • sandy longhorn

ars poetica: the blogs m-o

  • michigan writers resources
  • motown writers
  • Nanny Charlotte
  • mlive: michigan poetry news
  • caryn mirriam-goldberg
  • sophie mayer
  • iamnasra oman
  • michelle mc grane
  • sharanya manivannan
  • january o'neil
  • michigan writers network
  • marion mc cready
  • maud newton
  • My Poetic Side
  • majena mafe
  • new issues poetry & prose
  • nzepc
  • wanda o'connor
  • ottawa poetry newsletter
  • heather o'neill
  • adrienne j. odasso
  • the malaysian poetic chronicles

ars poetica: the blogs p-r

  • joanna preston
  • nicole peyrafitte
  • ariana reines
  • sophie robinson
  • susan rich
  • rachel phillips
  • Queen Majeeda
  • maria padhila
  • kristin prevallet
  • helen rickerby
  • nikki reimer
  • split this rock

ars poetica: the blogs s-z

  • Trista's Poetry
  • tim yu
  • womens quarterly conversation
  • scottish poetry library
  • sexy poets society
  • switchback books
  • ron silliman
  • tuesday poems
  • shin yu pai
  • southern michigan poetry
  • Stray Lower
  • vassilis zambaras

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