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memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: Oscar Wilde

gauche

29 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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ars poetica, blatant bleeding, Bronski Beat, gauche, jinkies, Oscar Wilde, poem, Poetry, sonnet, twenty seven scars

We all bleed; I’m just ill-bred about it.

Of the twenty-seven holes so far bored

through my flesh all were amateurish, split

seconds of poor choices. There’s no reward

for a gauche childhood other than blatant

bleeding while your betters smirk. Oscar Wilde

never tripped on rusty farm equipment.

No one in Bronski Beat had such reviled

puncture wounds. Jinkies! I hear their peevish,

“Tsks,” each time I must take off my trousers.

Tsks and, “If you call that mutilating.”

Twenty-seven scars and not one foppish

gaffe; just crackups, buckshot, brass knucks, a spur.

–– Redundant wounds. –– Tedious hemorrhaging.

Quote

quote unquote

30 Tuesday Oct 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Oscar Wilde, quote unquote, temptation

The only way to rid yourself of temptation is to yield to it.

Oscar Wilde.

Quote

quote unquote

20 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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aim of life, Oscar Wilde, realize yourself, though I adore pain, through pleasure

… the realization of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realize oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain … It is a pagan idea.

Oscar Wilde

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quote unquote

06 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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I never could figure out commas either, Oscar Wilde, quote unquote, strange unnatural things, you never really know

I have spent most of the day putting in a comma and the rest of the day taking it out.

Oscar Wilde

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quote unquote

09 Thursday Feb 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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a woman of no importance, Oscar Wilde, quote unquote, sigh

You were the prettiest of playthings, the most fascinating of small romances.

Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance, and yet what am I left with if I can’t put faith in that word, romance?

Quote

quote unquote

29 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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French translation, I kiss your lips, J'ai baisé ta bouche, Oscar Wilde, quote unquote, Salome

“J’ai baisé ta bouche, Iokanaan.”

“I kiss your lips, Iokanaan.”

—Salome, Oscar Wilde

salome: page 01

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation

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Armenian translation, art, English translation, Oscar Wilde, page 1, Salome, Vahan Terian

Jan 09, 2014 (2)

Jan 09, 2014 (3)

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]

salome: an introduction

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation

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Armenian translation, drama, English translation, introduction, Oscar Wilde, Salome, Vahan Terian

Jan 09, 2014 (1)

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!

roots

04 Friday Oct 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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bisexuality, brothers, Camp humor, fathers, grandfathers, Oscar Wilde, poem, Poetry, roots, sonnet, Stonewall

“Then,” my grandfathers wrote, sweet, sweet men, “I
wiped my/ 9 year old ass I was/ bloody
copiously. ‘Congratulations,’ Sly
said, ‘you’re/ a man.’” That was what poetry
was like back then: lists of fucks. Oscar Wilde,
save us. And he tried. My fathers, sweet, sweet
men, heard him. Stonewall, being the grandchild
of the divine, brought forth Camp and the Beats
and cute men in natty dread suits. But once
I came to be the plague had destroyed fuck
all. I was raised by their ghosts so I walk
alone. I love ghosts, their sweet, sweet essence,
but one love is not enough. “It’s my luck,”
he said, “that I talk of both cunt and cock.”

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