j'ai touché l'automne des idées ...

Iain Banks - The Steep Approach to Garbadale - Recommendation/Commentary

2009-06-12T04:12:00.000-07:00

So, it's not often these days that I buy new or read new novels; I normally wait a while for things to have a solid consensus before I make an attempt, as there are lots of old things to read too! Of course, Iain Banks is well-regarded, and so last summer when I was doing lots of commuting I bought this book, along with a few others, in a 3-for-2 sale in Waterstones (the other two being The Historian and something I don't remember). Despite Banks' reputation, however, I've only just read this. I enjoyed it. I read it quickly. Yet I was also disappointed. Here are three of the main reasons (spoilers included, so be warned...):

1) Tango. Yes, I understand why he was there. At the end of the book, it did feel that the best way to describe the ending was through him, as an added layer of detachment. It would likely have been hard to write the ending from Alban's perspective, anyway. I didn't much like Tango's voice, though, and throughout the rest of the novel he felt superfluous and just unnecessary -- i.e. jarring.

2) Similarly, there were quite a few moments where strange constructions popped up, or the writing just didn't feel right because of the tense Banks was writing in.

3) Well, the plot itself. I can't imagine there were many people reading this book who didn't know that the "big dark secret" was going to be incest. I don't think this is necessarily the fault of Banks' writing style (although there is plenty of foreshadowing), just the fact that he picked a plot that's been a hundred times or more. "Dark family secret" promised in a blurb for a book, film, or TV show? Incest is one of the few main contenders that readers/viewers have seen done time and time again. Banks does it fairly well, at least, in not having them be brother and sister, and I quite liked the little we saw of Blake and his unfortunate ending. Still, the reader always knows precisely what sort of "revelation" Win is going to make.

I enjoyed some of the reminiscences, though, particularly with Fielding, and VG was probably my favourite character (naturally). I'd certainly recommend the book (after all, I did finish reading it!), but don't read for the suspense of the "dark family secret" (although maybe for the suspense over the buy-out of the family company, which turned out to be a pretty solid and amusing subplot...)

More poems to come soon!

2009-06-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

This is just a little notice to say that shortly I'll be able to put up some more of my own poetry. I got confirmation from the competitions I'd entered that I won only one of the five (not really very surprising), which means that the poems from the other four are now fair game to be "published" wherever I wish. I think here's a good a place as any, don't you?

Bécquer – Rima VII – Translation/Commentary

2009-06-02T20:43:00.000-07:00

Given the length and complexity of Rima IV, I thought that for the time being I would jump over it (it's the sort of thing I'll have to do with pen and paper, not with a keyboard!) and jump straight to Rima VII (which you can read in the original below). This has the advantage of possessing a rhythm similar to that of Rima I, with a truncated second line, essentially (decasyllabic anapests still, but hexasyllabic amphibrachs):

— — / | — — / | — — / | —

—/— | —/—

Although these are fairly challenging feet, at least to me, I think that given that I already tackled Rima I with some margin of success, this too should be do-able, and I probably won't mangle it!

This is the literal translation in the first instance (again with syllable numbers):

In the dark corner of the salon, (9)
By its owner perhaps forgotten, (9)
Silent and covered in dust (7)
One may see the harp. (5)

How many notes sleep in its strings (8)
As the bird sleeps in the branches (8)
Awaiting the hand of snow (7)
That knows how to pluck them! (6)

Oh! I thought; how many times has genius (11)
Slept thus in the bottom of my soul (9)
And a voice, like Lazarus, waits for me (10)
To say: "Rise and go!" (5)

The syllabification is much more friendly than it was in the literal translation of Rima I, so I feel that this "literary translation" will be a little easier and somewhat more true to the original. Nonetheless, the type of rhythms required still make it something of a challenge. Here's what I have so far:

In the quiet of the boudoir's dark nook,
Forgot by its owner,
One may see the old harp, silent, dusty
A harp long since silenced.

Many notes in its strings, hiding, slumb'ring
As birds sleep in branches,
Yet awaiting the hand of pure snow that
Still knows how to pluck them!

Oh! I thought; many times has such art deep
At my soul's core slept thus,
And a voice, like Lazarus, still waits to
Hear, "Rise and go!" from me.

In line 3, I think that the slight though clear syllabic strength disparity in "silent" is more or less mitigated by the greater emphasis on "dusty", but please feel free to disagree! Given the condensed form of the original lines 3-4, I've added the repetitive image in line 4 for good measure, and hopefully it's not too heavy-handed. I don't particularly like "branches" in line 6, but I couldn't come up with a very good alternative... I really wanted to retain the certain "mixed metaphor" sense of "hand of snow" in line 7, and I hope it works!

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Del salón en el ángulo obscuro,
De su dueño tal vez olvidada,
Silenciosa y cubierta de polvo
Veíase el arpa.

¡Cuánta nota dormía en sus cuerdas,
Como el pájaro duerme en las ramas,
Esperando la mano de nieve
Que sabe arrancarlas!

¡Ay! pensé; ¡cuántas veces el genio
Así duerme en el fondo del alma,
Y una voz, como Lázaro, espera
Que le diga: «Levántate y anda!»

Moi - ??? - Poem

2009-06-01T18:24:00.000-07:00

So, a few of my other poems are still under consideration by a whole range of prize committees, so I can't share them much, although I hope to soon. However, this one I have still lying around and un-submitted anywhere because, frankly, I'm not wholly sure what I want to do with it. It's short, and although this is not wholly obvious (perhaps?), it's about a cat. A certain feline inspired this in its entirety, and I haven't been able to add/tweak it at all since because I feel like it was just a momentary poem that I can't see my way into anymore. I can't even think of a title (beyond the wholly banal and probably dissatisfying 'Cat's Poem'). Here it is, anyway, and please do let me know what you think and any suggestions for a title!

He has every intention,
I am sure, of behaving himself
Today, but he has been ruined
By long naps, and always
Besting me, for his wisdom, legendary—
He can recite the Book of the Dead
A Marie de France lay
Or the history of God—is always
On display, and he
Raises his (sleepy) head
With a wry look that seems to say
“A riposte, good sir?”

Bécquer - Rima I - Translation/Commentary

2009-06-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

As a follow-up to my earlier post, I thought I'd make an attempt at honing my "literary translation" of Rima I.

I have learned a hymn great, withal strange, which
Betokens a dawn in the night of the soul, and
These same pages held are of this hymn, washed
With shadows these cadences lengthened by the air.

I have wanted to write this old hymn, and
Of man taming rebel and miserly language,
Using words that had once the great fortune to
Make sighs and young laughs, to be notes, made of colours.

But in vain one may fight, seek the pages’
Lost cipher, unlock them; and nearly—oh, beauty!—
With your hands in my own, then I feel I
Could sing it in your ear, that hymn, for you alone.

I thought long and hard about the use of the word "learned", and I ultimately thought it worked best out of all my options, so I stuck with it. "So strange" ultimately felt forced to me, so I added "withal" to not only indicate the equivalance of "great" and "strange", but also to strike a more archaic note that speaks to the poem's long history. Rearranging line 4 seemed to assist the rhythm, but also made it a little more faithful to the original meaning.

Although the mimicking of form between line 1 and line 5 isn't in the original, I think it adds a little to the unity between knowing the hymn and wanting to write it. Although I wanted to try and use the word "rebellious" in line 6, it has a different stress pattern that just didn't fit. Hopefully "rebel and miserly" isn't overly clunky.

The rhyme of "might fight" in line 9 felt uncomfortable on re-reading, and I prefer the greater urgency that the present-tense form brings, regardless. I changed "unlock it" to "unlock them" in line 10 because that was an error that pointed mistakenly back to the cipher, when I think it's better to point back to the pages themselves. I'm not entirely sure about the forward-looking aspect of "then I feel" in line 11, but I think it will have to suffice. I took out the comma between "it" and "in" in the final line because I didn't seen any real reason for that added moment of pause.

So, all in all, small changes, but I think this version is rather better than the first one that I did!

Bécquer - Rima I - Translation/Commentary

2009-06-01T13:16:00.000-07:00

Bécquer's are some of my favourite Spanish-language writings, and I particularly wanted to approach his Rimas with an eye to (if it is at all possible) maintaining rhyme scheme and rhythm. This proved more of a challenge than I had originally thought; Rima I, which I look to translate here (the original is below), has a fairly complex pattern, being comprised of alternate decasyllabic anapests and dodecasyllabic amphibrachs (and the lines can often be enjambed into what feels like a continuous anapestic pattern [plus an extra syllable almost as a separator between pairs of lines]). What does that mean, some may be asking. Well, it means that the lines follow this pattern:

— — / | — — / | — — / | —
—/— | —/— | —/— | —/—

The slashes here represent stresses, which are somewhat differently experienced in Spanish and English poetry, and trying to maintain other features (such as repeated assonance) from the original adds an additional layer of complexity. So, this is how I began, with a more or less literal "translation", which I've marked up with the number of (English) syllables in each line:

I know a hymn giant and strange (8)
That announces in the night of the soul a dawn, (12)
And these pages are of this hymn, (8)
Cadences that the air lengthens with the shadows. (12)

I wanted to write this hymn, of the man (10)
Taming the rebel, stingy language, (9)
With words that were at one time (7)
Sighs and laughter, colours and notes. (8)

To fight is but in vain, there is no cipher (11)
Capable of unlocking it; and scarcely—oh, beautiful!— (15)
If, having your hands in mine, (7)
I could, in your ear, sing it to you alone. (11)

Obviously, the rhythm is rather erratic, so, as an attempt at "literary translation", I came up with this:

I have learned a great hymn, one so strange, which
Betokens a dawn in the night of the soul and
Here these pages held are of this hymn, washed
With cadences lengthened with shadows by the air.

I have wanted to write this old hymn, and
Of man taming rebel and miserly language,
Using words that had once the great fortune to
Make sighs and young laughs, to be notes, made of colours.

But in vain one might fight, seek the pages’
Lost cipher, unlock it; and nearly—oh, beauty!—
With your hands in my own, then I feel I
Could sing it, in your ear, that hymn, for you alone.

I think it maintains the balance of rhythm somewhat better than the literal translation, although anapests and amphibrachs are something of a struggle at times. I also at times tweaked the literal meaning to try and maintain some of the connotations I felt in the original. So, for example, "saber" to me suggests not just "to know" but "to have learned"; I'm not sure in hindsight whether "I have learned" really reflects the more spontaneous and mystico-spiritual "knowing" that the original seems to imply, though. I also used "lengthened with shadows," which suggests a more organic composition than "in the shadows," although that might be more literal. I'm also debating putting in a comma after "cadences" although I'm not entirely sure I want the pages or the cadences to be "lengthened with shadows".

I'm going to take a little while away from it now, get my head (and ears) clear of all those stressed and unstressed feet, and then revisit it. Changes will come in a new post, though. I'm really interested to see how the translations shift with re-readings, and also what different people think of different "versions", so please feel free to comment (particularly if you have some suggestions for better handling the anapests!)

---

Me gustan mucho las escrituras de Bécquer, y quiero intentar unas traducciones de algunas de las Rimas, pero creo que es importante mantener las rimas y el ritmo intactos. He elegido Rima I (debajo), pero tiene un ritmo muy complejo, y va a presentarme un desafío. Por favor, lean ustedes las dos traducciones en ingles y díganme como les parecen.

Yo sé un himno gigante y extraño
que anuncia en la noche del alma una aurora,
y estas páginas son de ese himno
cadencias que el aire dilata en las sombras.

Yo quisiera escribirle, del hombre
domando el rebelde, mezquino idioma,
con palabras que fuesen a un tiempo
suspiros y risas, colores y notas.

Pero en vano es luchar, que no hay cifra
capaz de encerrarle; y apenas, ¡oh, hermosa!,
si, teniendo en mis manos las tuyas,
pudiera, al oído, cantártelo a solas.

Baudelaire - Les fleurs du mal - Ed. Marthiel, Jackson Mathews

2009-06-01T13:15:00.000-07:00

This edition is by no means a new edition. The previous edition I'd enjoyed Baudelaire's Les fleurs in is the much more recent one edited and translated by James McGowan, which puts the French and English versions opposite each other. I always feel very ambivalent about translated poetry, although I do occasionally do translations myself; fundamentally, I think it can't really work, at least not in a neutral fashion. Translated poems are still poems, but not still the same poems, and then that makes me feel half cheated and half cheating. Sadly, my French is mediocre (particularly for the purposes of reading poetry), so I've been persevering with bilingual texts of Baudelaire, Hugo and Gagne, skipping back and forth between the pages, original and translation, hoping to miss nothing of the original and, of course, failing because I'm not only struggling with the French allusions and connotations, but my attention is divided between the two 'versions' of the poems (better to say, perhaps, simply, the two poems). Nonetheless, I'd enjoyed the McGowan edition, and thought it fairly faithful to the original in a way that assuaged my personal inadequacy (lack of exceptional French reading skills).

When I found the Marthiel/Mathews edition, I thought initially that it was English-only because nothing on the cover suggested bilingual texts. I picked it up half-way in scorn, and flipped through to find that the French poems were, indeed, there, just at the back, as an "appendix". Curiosity piqued, I wondered if this might be a more valuable way of reading the poems; I could read the English without feeling too guilty, and I could read the French later without cheating quite so readily (because flipping back through all those pages is far less appealing than just swivelling one's eyes a little to the left). So, I folded and added to my collection.

This was a few weeks ago, and I've only just now found time to pick up the book to begin reading. I started, like a diligent reader, with the preface, and the book began to strike me as even more interesting than I'd first imagined. Essentially a compendium of "the best" translations, playing to various translators' strengths, the edition prompts new thoughts about the nature of translation itself in a way that more "faithful" translations don't. In reading through the book, I stopped at a few of my favourites, but I also discovered new ones in a curious way. For example, L'ennemi is translated by Robert Lowell into The Ruined Garden, and the line that inspired this blog—j’ai touché l’automne des idées—became the punchy "From now on, my mind's autumn!" Far more striking than the more literal, softer, "Now are the autumn days of thought at hand" of McGowan's translation. Somehow, the thought and feeling behind "my mind's autumn!" struck a chord much deeper than "now are the autumn days of thought at hand," and that chord seemed to speak to a deep undertone in all my poetry-reading; the thought of trying to tend to one's mind as if it were a garden, to try and instill order into the raw materials poured into by poetry, has a striking tone contrary to the general unthinking hum that poetry otherwise evokes. The image got me thinking about a blog wherein one might "throw fresh seeds out" in thinking about and writing poetry, so hopefully this place will fit the bill!

So, before I endeavour to post my own poetry (and particularly my own translations), I thought it would be interesting to raise these questions. How best should one translate a poem from one language to another? How best should one read translated poems? Should one always or never read the original and translation together? How do the two usually compare? And what happens if we prefer the translation to the original? Is that a ground-shaking proposition for you, fellow poetry lovers? Is the translator a transparent veil? A translucent one? Or one that is wholly opaque?

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I've also found a site dedicated to this collection of poems, linked to on the right, which lists a great number of different translations for each of Baudelaire's poems, for those who are interested in reading them all in a space that makes comparison easy (and free!).

Hello world!

2009-06-01T13:13:00.000-07:00

Hopefully, this will serve as a brief introductory post to get us started! I hope that this blog—j'ai touché l'automne des idées (the name taken from Baudelaire's The Ruined Garden (L'ennemi) because the idea of a mind that needs tending like a garden so melancholicly epitomises how reading poetry sometimes makes me feel)—I hope that this blog becomes somewhere interesting for other bibliophiles (or bookworms, if you prefer the image) to discuss literature, particularly poetry, which for the most part will be my theme, the poetry of myself and of others (and authored by myself and many, many more talented others).

I will try and post in both Spanish and English whenever I write about Spanish poetry, although there is a certain irony in the fact that it is my purchase of another edition of Baudelaire's Les fleurs du mal that inspired me to create the blog. More on that in another post!

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Hola. Espero que mi blog—j'ai touché l'automne des idées (el nombre es de un verso en Baudelaire's The Ruined Garden (L'ennemi) porque la idea que la mente es como un jardin que uno debe tender expresa perfectamente y con apenas la cantidad correcta de melancolía como siento a veces cuando leo la poesía)—espero que mi blog será interesante para otros bibliófilos (o ratones de biblioteca si prefieres la imagen), y que podemos discutir la literatura, y la poesía en particular, porque la poesía es mi tema mayor, la poesía de mi y de otros (y por mi y muchos escritores con más talento).

Intentaré escribir en español e inglés cuando hablo de poesía española, aunque hay una ironía allí, porque he creado este blog después de comprar otra edición (muy buena) de Les fleurs du mal (escrito por Baudelaire). Más pronto...