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Saturday, May 19th, 2012
Some really striking passages are popping up in this collection of Giuseppe Ungaretti's poetry. Sound, listening, singing, sirens,...
y el mar es ceniciento
tiembla dulce inquieto
como una paloma
Agua confusa
como el ruido de popa que escucho
en la sombra
del
sueño
Hay niebla que nos borra
Tal vez nace un rÃo por aquÃ
Escucho el canto de las sirenas
El sol roba la ciudad
No se ve más
Ni siquiera las tumbas resisten demasiado
Below the fold a stunning elegy. Who is the translator? Not credited in the linked file -- possibly it is Luis Muñoz, his is the only name I am finding as a translator for Ungaretti in a few tries via Google.
 (original and (similarly uncredited) English translation here) IN MEMORIA,Locvizza, 30 de setiembre de 1916
Se llamaba
Moammed Sceab
Descendiente
de emires de nómadas
suicida
porque no tenÃa más
Patria
Amó a Francia
y se cambió el nombre
Fue Marcel
pero no era francés
y ya no sabÃa
vivir
en la tienda de los suyos
donde se escucha la cantilena
del Corán
tomando un café
Y no sabÃa
soltar
el canto
de su abandono
Lo acompañé
junto a la dueña de la pensión
donde vivÃamos
en ParÃs
en el número 5 de la rue des Carmes
lánguida callejuela en bajada
Descansa
en el cementerio de Ivry
barrio que parece
siempre
en un dÃa
de
feria descompuesta
Y tal vez yo sea el único
que sabe todavÃa
que vivió
↻...done
posted afternoon of May 19th, 2012: Respond
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Sunday, April first, 2012
Hairfor throw the auctorite of Almichty God, the Fader of hevin, his Son, our Saviour, Jhesu Crist, and of the Halygaist; throw the auctorite of the Blissit Virgin Sanct Mary, Sanct Michael, Sanct Gabriell, and all the angellis; Sanct John the Baptist, and all the haly patriarkis and prophets; Sanct Peter, Sanct Paull, Sanct Andro, and all haly appostillis; Sanct Stephin, Sanct Laurence, and all haly mertheris; Sanct Gile, Sanct Martyn, and all haly confessouris; Sanct Anne, Sanct Katherin, and all haly virginis and matronis; and of all the sanctis and haly company of hevin; be the auctorite of our Haly Fader the Paip and his cardinalis, aned of my said Lord Archibischop of Glasgw,  be the avise and assistance of my lordis, archibischop, bischopis, abbotis, priouris, and utheris prelatis and minesteris of halykirk.
I denounce, proclamis, and declaris all and sindry the committaris of the said saikles murthris, slauchteris, brinying, heirchippes, reiffis, thiftis and spulezeis, oppinly apon day licht and under silence ofnicht, alswele within temporale landis as kirklandis; togither with thair partakeris, assitaris, supplearis, wittandlie resettaris of thair personis, the gudes reft and stollen be thaim, art or part thereof, and their counsalouris and defendouris, of thair evil dedis generalie CURSIT, waryit, aggregeite, and reaggregeite, with the GREIT CURSING. At his cursing blog, Buddha's Black Dog, Edwin Moore quotes Archbishop Gavin Dunbar's curse against the border reivers. Dunbar, whom George MacDonald Fraser called
one of "the great cursers of all time," consigns the reivers "perpetualie to the deip pit of hell, the remain with Lucifer and all his fallowis, and thair bodeis to the gallows of the Burrow Mure, first to be hangit, syne revin and ruggit with doggis, swyne, and utheris wyld beists, abhominable to all the warld." (Thanks for the link, Stewart!)
posted morning of April first, 2012: Respond
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Sunday, March 18th, 2012
In college, I used to underline sentences that struck me, that made me look up from the page. ... I noted them for their clarity, their rhythm, their beauty and their enchantment. For surely it is a magical thing for a handful of words, artfully arranged, to stop time.
In the NY Times Sunday Review*, novelist Jhumpa Lahiri reflects on the "urge to convert experience into a group of words that are in a grammatical relation to one another" -- I empathize with her as far as this being a primary motivation. I love her description of reading Italian, which captures perfectly how I enjoy reading Spanish.
I sometimes underline sentences too, though I don't remember having done so in college -- it's a habit come by recently, until only a few years ago I could not hilight a book without its feeling forced and unproductive. Just last night I started a reread of The Art of Resurrection, which happily contains lots of underlining and margin notes from 2010. I believe a part of blogging my reread is going to be quoting from these, seeing if I am still finding these artfully arranged bunches of words to hold the same beauty and enchantment, how my reactions have evolved over the time since I first read it -- which time of course includes my translation of and revising of the first chapter , and reading Santa Maria de las flores negras... I'm thinking I'll try to keep fairly good bloggy notes about this reread. (As for Chapter 1 though, I am going to let my translation stand without discussing it.)
The second chapter (which I call "In Transit" in my notes) is slightly tedious compared to the opening (although, well, what would not be) -- there is a shift of tense from the imperfect narrative to a remembered preterite, the camera zooms out for a little setting up of the plot of the book. Here Magalena Mercado is introduced (again not in person, but via a story told by a traveling salesman) and we get some of Zárate Vega's back story. My only hilight in this chapter is the last line -- ¡Aleluya, Padre Santo! -- where I note a transition into Zárate Vega's voice. Switches between tenses and between voices are a very, very important part of this novel I think -- based on the two books I've read of Rivera Letelier's it seems to me like these switches are almost the key feature of his prose style. In this regard, the Christ of Elqui makes an ideal character for Rivera Letelier to draw.
 * and/or in the online "opinionator" section of the Times website? I am no longer sure with this newspaper what is the print organ and what is the digital presence. This piece is certainly printed on the front page of the "Review" section of the hardcopy Times delivered to my stoop this morning. However its url identifies it as part of the site's blog section -- perhaps there is no longer any distinction to be made between these venues.
posted afternoon of March 18th, 2012: Respond
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Saturday, February 18th, 2012
sà sÃ, tu aviso estóy escuchando pero hallo que no me importa esto rodeo del confesionario dar, del medio narrativo, del reflejo retro. Asà afirmando, estóy la suerte cerrando: no me debo preocupar de que puedo me apartar del camino recto y angosto
y vago garabatear la escrita mustia de disculpa.
En cambio, me gloriaré -- en todo caso, fanfarronearse es una forma de confesionario, ¿verdad? Cantaré autodescriptivamente qui quiri quÃ,
fingiré que mi ceguera perpleja fuera alguna ventana.
posted evening of February 18th, 2012: Respond
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Monday, January 30th, 2012
Los traductores traducen por traición (y por hoy casi como mandato) de un idioma extranjero a lo que se llama su lengua materna. En la jerga de los estudios de traducción, éso se llama traducción L1, a diferencia de la traducción L2, que se dice traducción hacia un idioma entendido, un otro idioma. Pero, ¿qué significa una lengua materna?
-- D. Bellos
¿Es un pez en tu oreja?
Me divertaba en los últimos dÃas, traduciendo de lo que se llama mi lengua materna a un idioma extranjero. ¿Por qué? Es divertido, delantero, y me hice pensar en el sentido de las palabras. Aún no he logrado cuantificar qué es, que me tan atractivo parece en relación con el bilingüismo... Todo que ha podido pensar degrada últimamente a tautologia.Examinando más tarde la declaración del San Jerónimo -- Ego enim non solum fateor, sed libera voce profiteor me in interpretatione Graecorum absque scripturis sanctis ubi et verborum ordo mysterium est non verbum e verbo sed sensum exprimere de sensu -- escribe Bellos que el San Jerónimo quizás trataba sobre un verdadero problema para los traductores: ¿cómo tratar los expresiones que no entiendes? En la lectura y la plática cotidiana nos acostumbramos a pasar por encima de tales expresiones, el sentido interpretando del contexto.
Donde el contexto no basta por interpretar, pasamos por encima. ¡Pasamos por alto todo el tiempo! Nadie entiende todas las palabras de Les Misérables, pero éso no mantiene nadie de disfrutar la novela de Hugo. Pero los traductores no se les permite pasar por alto.
posted evening of January 30th, 2012: Respond
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Saturday, January 28th, 2012
de "Cosas que se dicen sobre la traducción"
por David Bellos
¿Es un pez en tu oreja?: La traducción y el sentido de todo
CapÃtulo 4
(porque me está gustando traducir de un lenguaje que conozco solamente corto en inglés: intentamos el proceso al revés...)
La noción de que una traducción no se buen sustituye a la obra original debemos también someter a otra crÃtica. Se ese refrán esté válido, ¿qué reciban los lectores de una obra traducida? Por supuesto no la cosa auténtica. Pero más lejos, ni siquiera una sustituto: ni siquiera una Nescafé literaria. Afirmar la naturaleza irreemplazable del texto original los condena a ellos quienes no puedan leer el lenguaje en cuestión, a beber no Nescafé sino lavazas. Existiese ninguna opinión sobre el texto en que se vale creer, a menos que uno puede leer la obra original.Y aún es verdad, los ejemplos de Cervantes, Walpole, MacPherson, Gary, Guilleragues, Makine, Clifford y otras también se demuestren que nunca podemos estar seguros de que leemos una obra original.
Ismail Kadare recuenta otra historia sobre la dificultad de distinguir entre textos originales y traducidos en su novela memorial, Chronicle in Stone. Teniendo luego diez años, se fue encantado de un libro que lo regaló un tÃo de él. Su historia de fantasmas, de castillos, asesinos, traiciones le gustaba inmensamente, precisamente porque parecÃa explicar en parte las circunstancias que a él alrededor tenÃan lugar, en la ciudad fortificada de Gjirokastër durante esos años de guerras y disputas. Eso libro fue Macbeth, por William Shakespeare. El joven Ismail podÃa ver a la Dama Macbeth en su propia calle, se las manos retorciendo en el balcón, las cosas terribles lavándose que le sucedÃan en la casa. TenÃa ninguna idea de que este libro ha sido traducido de inglés. Fascinado infantilmente con un muchas veces releÃdo texto, copiaba sus palabras; preguntado hoy por los periodistas el tÃtulo de su primero libro escrito, responde siempre Macbeth, y hasta no más que la mitad de bromo. De cualquier modo que fue la traducción buena o mala, que a él tan le inspiró, seguramente no fue lavazas. Mucho mejor un elixir.
posted evening of January 28th, 2012: 1 response
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Saturday, November 5th, 2011
Los mitos de la palabra girando escúchanlo.
El éter apoyandolo y nada les entendÃa, mientras
Sylvia le traÃalo, le podÃa, deberÃa, comprar, oh
Algunas veces yo cuando pienso en MarÃa, oh
Me canta de la tierra su recuerda, matadora,
En velas viejas y blancas y a fondo del pozo:
Me duele por su toque.
Tengo a su vuelta esperanza, también miedo.
posted afternoon of November 5th, 2011: Respond
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Tuesday, October 18th, 2011
 So for about 3 years now I've had the vague notion that I would really like to take a two-week vacation from work, travel to Mexico or some other Latin American country and enroll in an intensive Spanish language program. Unfortunately the artisan who fashioned me and put me here on Earth did not see fit to give me any capability of making plans; so it has remained a vague, unrealized notion. Every quality has its antithesis, every vacuum has its corresponding completeness; and Ellen is a very good planner. So thanks to her persistence it looks like we have a plan, a palpable plan, for the three of us to travel to southern Mexico late next summer and study Spanish as a family, at the Instituto Cultural Oaxaca. I can't wait!
posted evening of October 18th, 2011: Respond
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Saturday, October 15th, 2011
Sylvia got a lovely birthday present from my parents, a bunch of merch from Moomin Shop, in Finland. A "Little My" nightgown, a mug with a likeness of Moominmamma, copies of "The Book About Moomin, Mymble, and Little My" in both English and Finnish --  Sylvia and I spent a little while watching this (beautiful) 2009 production of "Kuinkas Sitten Kävikään?" and reading along...
posted evening of October 15th, 2011: Respond
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Tuesday, June 7th, 2011
 Justin Erik Halldór Smith has posted a fine essay on the names of mushrooms -- names fraught, at least in the cultures of Western Europe, with references to death and sickness, names richly and comicly multifarious; names which are "just folk terms, and so, since the beginning of the 18th century anyway, are not the real names of anything. Or at least that's what we're supposed to believe."
Found via a link at LanguageHat, where the discussion in comments is lively and worth while as always.
 Elsewhere: John L. Trapp's preliminary catalog of bracket fungi in Berrien Co., Michigan, includes a lovely photo of a wood-ear mushroom called "Dryad's Saddle."
posted evening of June 7th, 2011: Respond
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