Second post in the series:
This next group of poems consists of translations into English. Translations from another language allow us to contemplate the written symbols and spoken sounds of the original language.
O SILÊNCIO por Eugéniode Andrade
Quando a ternura
parece já do seu ofício fatigada,
e o sono, a mais incerta barca,
inda demora,
quando azuis irrompem
os teus olhos
e procuram
nos meus navegação segura,
é que eu te falo das palavras
desamparadas e desertas,
pelo silêncio fascinadas.
SILENCE by Eugéniode Andrade
Original language Portuguese
Translated by Alexis Levitin
When tenderness
seems tired at last of its offices
and sleep, that most uncertain vessel,
still delays,
when blue bursts from
your eyes
and searches
mine for steady seamanship,
then it is I speak to you of words
desolate, derelict,
transfixed by silence.
This poem in Portuguese was originally published in Obscuro Domínio (1971).
The poem is notable for its mystery. It speaks of a moment when
“tenderness seems tired” and “sleep still delays,” in response to which words
are “desolate, derelict” and, paradoxically, silent. Transporting us from
beginning to end is a delicate lyricism.
STILLHETEN EFTERPÅ av Rolf Jacobsen
Prøv å bli ferdige nu
med provokasjonene og salgsstatistikkene,
Søndagsfrokostene og forbrenningsovnene,
militærparadene, arkitektkonkurransene
og de tredobbelte rekkene med trafikklys.
Kom igjennem det og bli ferdige
med festforberedelser og markedsføringsanalyser
for det er sent,
det er altfor sent,
bli ferdige og kom hjem
til stillheten efterpå
som møter deg som et varmt blodsprøyt mot panden
og som tordenen underveis
og som slag av mektige klokker
som får trommehindene til å dirre
for ordene er ikke mere til,
det er ikke flere ord,
fra nu av skal alt tale
med stemmene til sten og trær.
Stillheten som bor i gresset
på undersiden av hvert strå
og i det blå mellemrommet mellem stenene.
Stillheten
som følger efter skuddene og efter fuglesangen.
THE SILENCE AFTERWARDS by Rolf Jacobsen
Original language Norwegian
Translated by Robert Bly
Try to be done now
with deliberately provocative actions and sales statistics,
brunches and gas ovens,
be done with fashion shows and horoscopes,
military parades, architectural contests, and the rows of triple
traffic lights.
Come through all that and be through
with getting ready for parties and eight possibilities
of winning on the numbers,
cost of living indexes and stock market analyses,
because it is too late,
it is way too late,
get through with and come home
to the silence afterwards
that meets you like warm blood hitting your forehead
and like thunder on the way
and the sound of great clocks striking
that make the eardrums quiver,
because words don't exist any longer,
there are no more words,
from now on all talk will take place
with the voices stones and trees have.
The silence that lives in the grass
on the underside of every blade
and in the blue spaces between the stones.
The silence
that follows shots and birdsong.
The silence
that pulls a blanket over the dead body
and waits in the stairs until everyone is gone.
The silence
that lies like a small bird between your hands,
the only friend you have.
 |
| ...the only friend you have. |
Original poem in Norwegian, and English translation published in The Roads Have Come to an End Now,
translated by Robert Bly, Roger Greenwald, and Robert Hedin (Port Townsend,
Washington: Copper Canyon Press, 2001), pages 92-93.
The poem consists of a series of metaphors climaxing in a single
powerful image—“a small bird between your hands, the only friend you have.”
“Try to be done now” with noise, the poem says, ready yourself to experience
encompassing silence. The statement is skillfully, lyrically constructed.
Every reader will probably find in this poem at least one metaphor they
relish. I like “the silence afterwards that hits you like warm blood hitting
your forehead.”
TØGNIN OG EG af Tóroddur Poulsen
Tøgnin uttan
fyri meg
sjálvan og
sum eg
vakni til
eins og
ein buldrandi
býur sovnar
THE SILENCE AND I by Tóroddur Poulsen
Original language Faroese
Translated by Randi Ward
i wake
to the silence
outside myself
the way
a bustling
city falls
asleep
 |
| Kansas City at Dusk |
Original poem in Faroese, and English translation published in Beloit Poetry Journal, Vol. 64,
No. 4 (Summer 2014), page 10.
Haiku-like, the poem uses startling metaphorical language. It surprises
us with insight. Both attributes characterize Tóroddur Poulsen’s elliptical
poetry.
The old pond… by Matsuo Bashō
Original language Japanese
Translated by Robert Hass
The old pond—
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
Furu ik eya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto
In Japanese script:
I doubt that I could add much to the extensive commentary that already
exists about this famous poem.
I would only remark that I like the above translation best because it
is accurately concise.
 |
| Tree Frog Jumping |
I live on the mountain… by
Han Shan
Original language Chinese
Translated by J. P. Seaton
I live on the mountain
no one knows.
Among white clouds
eternal perfect silence.
In Chinese script, see HS 308:
Han Shan, which literally means “Cold Mountain,” is a legendary poet of the Tang dynasty.
Translation was originally published in Han Shan, Cold Mountain Poems,
edited and translated by J. P. Seaton (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 2009),
page 72.
See: https://books.google.com.ph/books?redir_esc=y&id=W_0RMKJL-ZMC&q=cold+mountain#v=snippet&q=72&f=false
English translations of poems written in Chinese often have a terse
visual quality. This particular translation by J. P. Seaton is incisively
imagistic.
 |
| Rocks in Huangshan Mountains |
Fourth
post in the series:
