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memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: translation

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quote unquote

19 Thursday Jul 2018

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mary barnard, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

And I said … I shall burn the fat thigh-bone of a white she-goat on her altar …

Sappho

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quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

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barks, quote unquote, Rumi, this we have now, translation

When the nightsky pours by it’s really a crowd of beggars and they all want some of this …

Rumi, fragment (trans. C. Barks)

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quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

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fragment, lombardo, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

I loved you once, Atthis, long ago. You seemed like a child to me, little and graceless.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

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quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

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fragment, lombardo, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

For me neither honey nor the honey bee.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

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20 Friday Apr 2018

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fragment, lombardo, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

What girl has seduced you? Draped in burlap, she doesn’t even know to pull her rags down over her ankles.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

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20 Friday Apr 2018

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lombardo, Poetry, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

blessed one/ lovely braids … O Cypris may she find you more bitter still and Dorikha not boast of her desire come to fulfillment a second time.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

qiu jin: i die unfulfilled

11 Wednesday Oct 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Historic Research

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1911, ch'iu chin, China, Chinese, i die unfulfilled, personal hero, Qiu Jin, radical feminst, translation, translation theory


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 they fail to capture
any meaning of this poem. 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 arrest 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 this out simply because these are faithful to the word but the translators did not seem to know why
they 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

For whom does the autumn rain and wind lament?


Sjcma
 

All of which, out of context, still works. Getting
executed would make one gloomy and spill. 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 that 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 let us say that my day was 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 

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

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02 Monday Jan 2017

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Coleman Barks, Moses and the Shepherd, prose poetry, Rumi, translation

Moses heard a shepherd on the road, praying, “God, where are you? I want to help you, to fix your shoes and comb your hair. I want to wash your clothes and pick the lice off. I want to bring you milk to kiss your little hands and feet when it’s time for you to go to bed. I want to sweep your room and keep it neat. God, my sheep and goats are yours. All I can say, remembering you, is ayyyy and ahhhhhhhhh.”

Moses could stand it no longer:  “Who are you talking to?“

The shepherd replied: “The one who made us, and made the earth and made the sky.”

“Don’t talk about shoes and socks with God! And what’s this with your little hands  and feet? Such blasphemous familiarity sounds like you’re chatting with your aunts. Only something that grows needs milk. Only someone with feet needs shoes. Even if you meant God’s human representatives, as when God said, `I was sick, and you did not visit me,’ even then this tone would be foolish and irreverent. Body-and-birth language are right for us on this side of the river, but not for addressing the origin, not for Allah.”

The shepherd repented and tore his clothes and sighed and wandered out into the desert.

And then, suddenly, a revelation came to Moses. The Friend’s voice:

`You have separated me from one of my own. Did you come as a Prophet to unite, or to sever? I have given each being a separate and unique way of seeing and knowing that knowledge. What seems wrong to you is right for him. What is poison to one is honey to someone else.
Purity and impurity, sloth and diligence in worship, these mean nothing to me. I am apart from all that.

`Ways of worshiping are not to be ranked as better or worse than one another. It’s all praise, and it’s all right.

`It’s not me that’s glorified in acts of worship. It’s the worshipers. I don’t hear the words they say. I look inside at the humility. That broken-open lowliness is the reality, not the language.

`I want burning, burning. Be friends  with your burning.

`Moses, those who pay attention to ways of behaving and speaking are one sort. Lovers who burn  are another. Don’t scold the Lover. The “wrong” way he talks is better than a hundred “right” ways of others. Inside the Kaaba it doesn’t matter which direction you point
your prayer rug.

`When you eventually see through the veils to how things really are, you will keep saying again and again, “This is certainly not like we thought it was!”

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi,

It’s all praise and it’s all right

(trans. Coleman Barks)

molly peacock’s WHY I’M NOT A BUDDHIST [translated into portuguese]

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Molly Peacock, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, translation, Why I'm Not A Buddhist

POR QUE EU NÃO SOU BUDISTA

Eu amo esse desejo — o estado de necessidade e pensando
diga-me como — de construção um reino na alma
requer desejo. Eu amo as coisas que eu busquei–
você em um desamarrado roupão, dinheiro de línguas pendurados
da minha carteira–e eu amo as coisas que eu deseja: roupas,
casas, resgates. É que um novo terno equivalente malva
a Deus? ¡Ay não! o desejo de ter hierarquias. Perder
um lápis amado não é igual a perder a fé. O desejo
persistente de uma gateau de nozes é esquecido por causa da morte,
mas o bolo no prato adquire um sentido,
mesmo quando o amor é nada importa ameaçadas.
Para a minha mãe, a saúde–para a minha irmã, desolado,
completude. Mas porque é que desejo o sofrimento?
¿Porque a desejo deixa o mundo em frangalhos?
¿Que outra maneira senão nos frangalhos deve ser o mundo?
Uma casa com uma porta de entrada cercado por pilares de alta acima de um lago.
Aqui, aqui está o meu dinheiro. Um rosto amado em agonia,
um espírito está faltando. Aqui, usar meus frangalhos de amor.
—-tradução por ZJC

][][

WHY I’M NOT A BUDDHIST

I love desire–the state of want and thought
of how to get–building a kingdom in a soul
requires desire. I love the things I’ve sought–
you in your beltless bathrobe, tongues of cash that loll
from my billfold–and love what I want: clothes,
houses, redemption. Can a new mauve suit
equal God? Oh no, desire is ranked. To lose
a loved pencil is not like losing faith. Acute
desire for nut gateau is driven out by death,
but the cake on its plate has meaning,
even when love is endangered and nothing matters.
For my mother, health–for my sister, bereft,
wholeness. But why is desire suffering?
Because want leaves a world in tatters?
How else but in tatters should a world be?
A columned porch set high above a lake.
Here, take my money. A loved face in agony,
the spirit gone. Here, use my rags of love.
—–Molly Peacock

note:

I love translating things … mainly because I’m terrible at it so it becomes a lovely mind-fuck trying to figure out what goes where and how it should sound in a language I literally have no clue how to speak. In a perfect world I’d have a friend fluent in Armenian and we’d translate every erotic poem we can find (Armenian literature needs more erotica in it) but since I don’t know anyone like that I ended teaching myself Portuguese, since it’s awesome, and have been spending my free time finding new poets I’ve never heard of and translating their work into English. Sometimes, though, I run across a poet in English I adore and have the urge to be the first to translate her or him into Portuguese (other people may have already translated this poem but it’s not on the Internet) because that’s fun too.

I understand that to any native Portuguese reader this translation probably sounds like I took an axe to my translating dictionary, but how can one improve except making a fool of oneself in front of all creation? Por favor, aproveite …

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