Twenty Poems about Silence (3 of 4) – Analysis and Commentary

Second post in the series:

https://poetryofgonzalinhodacosta.blogspot.com/2018/07/twenty-poems-about-silence-2-of-4.html

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).

Translation was originally published in Inhabited Heart: The Selected Poems of Eugénio de Andrade (1985).

See: http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/4830

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:

http://www.carlsensei.com/classical/index.php/text/view/1

Many copies of this poem appear online. See, for example:

http://www.bopsecrets.org/gateway/passages/basho-frog.htm

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:

https://www.scribd.com/document/373191259/9781501501913-the-poetry-of-hanshan-cold-mountain-shide-and-fenggan-hanshans-poems

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:

https://poetryofgonzalinhodacosta.blogspot.com/2019/01/twenty-poems-about-silence-4-of-4.html