So far in our Seashell Game, we have evaluated works by contemporary poets from Japan (Ami Tanaka and Keiji Minato), the United States (Fay Aoyagi) and Colombia (Umberto Senegal). For Round Three, I'd like us to turn our attention to that hotbed of cutting-edge haiku, the Balkans. Let's look at two haiku that were featured last year on the
Periplum blog: Petar Tchouhov's "the longest night..." and the recently deceased Slavko Sedlar's "The moment I return..."
Here's Petar's haiku in Bulgarian with an English translation by the poet. It first appeared in
Ginyu #28 (October 2005).
най-дългата нощ
ван краде очите
на снежен човек
the longest night
a raven steals the eyes
of a snowman
And here's Slavko's haiku in Serbian with a translation by Saša Važić, taken from his book,
T A К В О С Т 2 ("SUCHNESS 2") (Belgrade: 2010).
А дође с плаже
Мој глас постаде цвркут
Два папагаја
The moment I return
from the beach - my voice becomes
the chirp of two parrots
If you are new to the Seashell Game, you might want to look over what was written in Rounds One and Two. Your task here is to dredge to the surface your deep-held beliefs about haiku by forcing yourself to choose between the verses. Be sure to give reasons for your vote. Deadline: Feb. 20th.
As the moderator, I won't vote, but I do plan to share some of my own thoughts on these works later on.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Let Round Three begin!
These are both marvelous, though I have reservations about Sedlar's which I'll get into. First, thanks David for doing this. It's become a feature I look forward to, and I hope others discover it.
Though I have said that I tend to take a phenomenological approach to these short poems which some people call haiku (that's okay with me), Tchouhov's gets to that place that feels/understands things archetypically, or mythically. I think it's more than the invocation of Trickster Raven. One needn't have read mythology to appreciate the action/image here. It seems to get to (and get into) the heart of winter and of "the longest night"; it seems to reside at the nexus of life/death. Poetry, it reminds me, is what inheres—it in here is. This poem, for me, goes to a depth that I would not care to make explicit. Nor could I.
I think if Sedlar's poem were put up on the forum to be mentored, someone would suggest that it be made more brief—something like: "returning from the beach/ my voice becomes...". I don't know how it works in the original, but I like the way it comes across in this translation. It gives the two "images" equal weight. (Senegal's poem did something similar). Though the poem would appear to work as a sentence, I think it asks not to be taken as such, but asks the reader to settle in with each image as separate and complete, to allow one to "leap" into the other. My reservation is with the word "becomes" (which may, of course, relate to the translation more than to the original)—I basically feel that "becoming" in haiku is overused, and in effect is rather directive. I would prefer the line "my voice is/ the chirp..." The word "becomes" guides us as we move from one state of mind to the next, not trusting that we can make the leap.
Forgive me if I add that I hope to present a Sailing on "leaping" in the near future. Look for it over on Troutswirl.
My vote is likely evident from what I've said, but I'm going to wait, to see how these poems look tomorrow.
I'll be waiting a bit & mulling these over, too, before registering a vote, Peter.
Whilst there are ravens all over Europe (and in European and British folklore are associated with death ...and eating the eyes of the dead...rather than with the 'Trickster' of American native people's folklore) I couldn't imagine a parrot from Serbia, so I googled and found pages of listings and 'The Parrot Club of Serbia'! So I imagine we have a caged parrot pair in Slavko Sedlar's poem. Like all parrots, they would have the ability to mimic their keeper's voice. So the reversal of the norm in "my voice becomes a chirp" intrigues me.
What has the beach got to do with it? Well, the parrots or their ancestors came from across the sea...Africa, South America, Australia etc. Not Europe. The man is free to come and go; the birds are caged. On his return from the beach, does he, in his mind, change places with the birds for a moment?
- Lorin
Hello all,
Thanks to previous discussions I'm becoming aware that accepting an English version of a translated poem as that poem (ie, with the nuances of language the poet intended) is sometimes a bit naive.
The moment I return
from the beach - my voice becomes
the chirp of two parrots
So, I'd like some clarification, if possible, please. I'm having a problem with the picture presented, mostly because I wouldn't usually describe the call of a parrot as a "chirp", in my experience that sound belongs to a much smaller bird. (Screech, cry ... something like that for a parrot.)
One website I found listed the translation of папагаја as parakeet, which might make more sense but I don't have any way of knowing how reliable that might be. Perhaps Sasa would be kind enough to help me (or tell me I've fallen off my perch!) :)
Happy to be corrected - and illuminated.
QuoteI'm becoming aware that accepting an English version of a translated poem as that poem [...] is sometimes a bit naive - Sandra
Yes indeed. Although in Petar Tchouhov's case he is the also the translator, so we only have to deal the question of whether a poet knows his own intention or not (and is therefore able to translate it faithfully).
I find Petar's English to be direct (I don't notice I'm reading it) whereas the second poem halts me at the surface of the text itself. And I wonder if this indicates that the source text of the former - Petar's Bulgarian - is more simple than that of the latter - Slavko's Serbian.
In whatever language I tend to find simple and direct haiku to be the more appealing. Or rather, those written in a simple and direct manner.
Best wishes, John
Sandra - applogies for my comment above. Reading it back on screen it appears to suggest that I am rebuking you for naïvety. This is not my intention.
I merely meant that, as we poets normally act in good faith, we sometimes fail to take account of what a dodgy lot translators are. You know - really fundamental things like inserting 'cutting word' symbols, or 'regularising' mid-line pivots.
Come the revlolution there will be a reckoning! John
My vote:
Here's Petar's haiku in Bulgarian with an English translation by the poet. It first appeared in Ginyu #28 (October 2005).
най-дългата нощ
ван краде очите
на снежен човек
the longest night
a raven steals the eyes
of a snowman
Although, this short poem is older (2005) than the other (2010), and that may have significance to me because I like more the classic style. In that it has two "kigo" (the longest night) and (snowman), the rule being that the first is the emphasis and the second is supporting, so, there is harmony. Note: that it is hard to master this harmonic resonation of two kigo in the same short poem.
The visual/circumstance/scene flows with vortex, to me, with "night", "raven", "eyes", and "snowman" (Frosty the famous snowman had eyes of coal -- my childhood reference). Also, the night-raven jux with the eyes-snow (black - white contrast) works to add further intrigue and depth.
Mosly, when I read a poem if it "snaps" into view, it gets a very favorable nod. I nod to it over the other.
Hi Sandra,
The birds that I found on a quick google were parakeets, even though the title was 'Parrot Club of Serbia'. So I imagined small birds, like budgies, who do chirp. I think it's ok to use parrots, the more generic word, as parakeets are parrots and we have the chirp to show that they're not cockatoos or the like. We'd need to know if the Serbian word, 'папагаја' is specifically 'parakeet', though, and doesn't include 'parrot'.
OK, I've just availed myself of English/Serbian web translations:
parrot (n.)
papagaj, папагај, папига
parakeet (n.)
mali papagaj
mali (a.)
small, little, low
So which word is used in the original Serbian? 'papagai' or 'nanaraj'? Probably 'papagai', with or without the 'little'?
Quote from: John Carley on February 07, 2011, 04:41:16 AM
I find Petar's English to be direct (I don't notice I'm reading it) whereas the second poem halts me at the surface of the text itself. And I wonder if this indicates that the source text of the former - Petar's Bulgarian - is more simple than that of the latter - Slavko's Serbian.
In whatever language I tend to find simple and direct haiku to be the more appealing. Or rather, those written in a simple and direct manner.
Best wishes, John
Quote from: chibi575 on February 07, 2011, 11:45:23 AM
My vote:
Here's Petar's haiku in Bulgarian with an English translation by the poet. It first appeared in Ginyu #28 (October 2005).
най-дългата нощ
ван краде очите
на снежен човек
the longest night
a raven steals the eyes
of a snowman
Although, this short poem is older (2005) than the other (2010), and that may have significance to me because I like more the classic style. . . .
Yes, I think that the dates could be a clue, thanks Dennis. I agree with you both that the Tchouhov ku is the more 'direct' or 'classic' (if we are thinking in terms of EL haiku or EL translations of Japanese ku). Another word might be 'traditional'. The Sedlar ku might have its counterpart in the newer Japanese gendai haiku... maybe, maybe not.
The moment I return
from the beach - my voice becomes
the chirp of two parrots
a version:
back from the beach -
my voice becomes the chirp / chirps
of two parrots/ parakeets
- Lorin
You are welcome, Lorin. Your retranslation of the "parrot/parrakeet" made me think of articles in Serbian, if similar to Russian, they are not used, so, the English translation beats are 6-7-6 if you drop the articles from L1 and L3 then it is 5-6-5... then I noticed the pause which be a beat if in the center, so, dropping the article in L2 and using the cut as a beat, brings the English to 5-7-5, thus:
moment I return
from beach - my voice becomes
chirps of two parrots
Maybe the parrot choice over parrakeet is one of beat count consideration?
I also wonder if the Serbian beats are 5-7-5? I know that the 5-7-5 beats may fit Serbian and not English.
My penchant for nits ... make me a nit-wit, eh?
А дође с плаже The moment I returned
Мој глас постаде цвркут from the beach my voice becomes
Два папагаја the chirp of two parrots
The author of this haiku was not in good health, and thus not available for discussion of any of his haiku I was translating for his book Takvost 2/Suchness 2. Actually, what he says and what I understand is that:
1. as soon as (just when; the moment I entered the room etc) I returned from the beach (I feel "the precise moment of this 'voice transformation' is important to the author, so I opted for "the moment I returned")
2. as for "from the beach, I don't think it has any 'deep' significance to the rest of the poem. He could have returned from any other "noisy" place.
3. In line 2, Sedlar says: "My voice becomes". Could be "transforms into", or "I hear my voice in...", or "two parrots' voices sound like my own" or "my voice is two parrot's voice", but most probably, the parrots are greeting Sedlar with their parroting his voice with their joyful chirp.
4. the chirp (of parrots) - yes, parrots can chirp, and to the author's ear, they really chirp expressing their joy to see him back.
This is my understating of this poem, and the translation corresponds to it.
Quote from: viktorija on February 07, 2011, 11:56:37 PM
А дође с плаже The moment I returned
Мој глас постаде цвркут from the beach my voice becomes
Два папагаја the chirp of two parrots
The author of this haiku was not in good health, and thus not available for discussion of any of his haiku I was translating for his book Takvost 2/Suchness 2. Actually, what he says and what I understand is that:
1. as soon as (just when; the moment I entered the room etc) I returned from the beach (I feel "the precise moment of this 'voice transformation' is important to the author, so I opted for "the moment I returned")
2. as for "from the beach, I don't think it has any 'deep' significance to the rest of the poem. He could have returned from any other "noisy" place.
3. In line 2, Sedlar says: "My voice becomes". Could be "transforms into", or "I hear my voice in...", or "two parrots' voices sound like my own" or "my voice is two parrot's voice", but most probably, the parrots are greeting Sedlar with their parroting his voice with their joyful chirp.
4. the chirp (of parrots) - yes, parrots can chirp, and to the author's ear, they really chirp expressing their joy to see him back.
This is my understating of this poem, and the translation corresponds to it.
I am sorry to hear that at the time the author was in poor health.
Thank you for your translations and explanations. Since parrots can mimic the human voice and other sounds, I wonder were the parrots "mimicing" the author's voice? This brought back from memory my grandmother's best friend down the block had a parrot. On occasion we would go to visit in the summer. We would knock on the sceendoor entrance to the back porch and the parrot would in identical voice as its owner say, "Come in". Thinking it the neighbor's voice, we would sometimes find the screendoor latched and the parrot's owner totally unaware that her parrot invited us in. It was a bit of fun during the summer.
I know a common behavior between the parrots owner and the parrots, is to repeat the phrase the owner wants the parrot to say, like, "Pretty bird" or maybe some phrase thought cute by the owner. Perhaps, this such a case the poem?
As with the poems presented in the SG2, these present a clear contrast in how they operate. Tchouhov's reminds me of something Burnell Lippy said introducing his own work: "I often approach haiku, my own and others', as though I were creating or deciphering a Chinese ideogram". In this way of looking at haiku, Lippy might say that "a raven steals the eyes/ of a snowman" could evolve into an ideogram for "the longest night". The two parts of the poem do not contrast or compare, nor does the first line merely present a "weather report", a background against which some detail or action can occur.
It seems more accurate to say that they mean each other, or even that they are each other, or even to say... The poem feels close to the source, where language is still a living thing. Not bad for a translation. Of course, I don't know what sound and rhythmic qualities the original might add.
With Tchouhov's poem, I do not question the particulars, any more than I would question snow falling from a cloud. It's different with Sedlar's. My approach to this kind of poem is the same approach I would have to a dream: without wishing to drain it of its integrity, of its being a whole which manifests differently from different angles, I might still ask why a beach, why two parrots, or any parrots? If I were under the impression that a haiku needs to be derived from actual experience, reportage of a filmable event, let's say-- then I would be left to ask, well why did he feel the need to report that odd experience. But I have been disabused of that notion, as well as of the notion that actual or "direct" experience is somehow more real than any other kind of experience. I look up (literally and figuratively) to what I have posted above my window: "How do you know but every bird that cuts the airy way, is an immense world of delight, closed by your senses five".
Having said all that, I am not sure that any responses, and I do have some, to any questions I ask add up to more than my having enjoyed the exercise. I'm not sure that I can enter the poem any more deeply than I can enter an ink-blot, though I might learn something about myself.
So I seem to have revised my estimate of this poem to something below "marvelous". Even so, I am not ready to vote. Who knows but Sedlar's poem is an immense world of delight, just now closed to my senses six or seven?
For now I'll just enjoy the absurdity of it. Not all dreams are life-changers.
Thank you, Saša, for coming here and helping us. It's really good to be able to have a translator help when one is unsure. I think that these are African parrots, cage birds, perhaps even the renowned African Grey Parrot species, which have, reportedly, excellent memories as well as being great mimics.
"...but most probably, the parrots are greeting Sedlar with their parroting his voice with their joyful chirp." - Saša
I would've thought that the chirping sounds and the speaking sounds would be distinct in all parrots, but I may be wrong. They would certainly mimic their owners voice. Nevertheless, I feel that the author intended the interesting reversal: instead of parrot voices learning speech and so becoming the man's voice, it's the man's voice here that becomes "the chirp of two parrots".
So, 8) pets and their owners. Perhaps he really does find himself chirping to the two parrots in greeting?
I have seen this, the man imitating the bird, even bobbing his head up & down to the rhythm. I don't know what to make of the beach except that of course it's outdoors and public, whilst a return to parrots would perhaps be inside, or at least in the man's own yard, and so it's private.
Perhaps the author is showing us something about his public persona, the social mask, and the private... essentially from the wild, like the birds... giving us a glimpse inside?
- Lorin
Hi, David, greetings from Bulgaria :)
Since i'm new to this forum - can i vote?
If i can - my vote goes for Peter's haiku.
BTW, there's a typo in L2 of the Bulgarian version, it should read like this:
"гарван краде очите"
Peter writes most of his haiku directly in English and that explains their smooth flow, besides, we don't need another translator's help :)
Hi all,
although Serbian is not my native language (Sloveinan is but my generation grew up surrounded by what was then known as Serbo-Croat), I thought I'd try to provide some info regarding the translation of Slavko's haiku. Having said which, I may be fluent in both English and Serbian but there is a possibility I'm missing some important nuances in either language.
А дође с плаже returning from the beach
Мој глас постаде цвркут my voice becomes the chirp
Два папагаја of two parrots
From Saša's reply it is evident she thought the moment of the poet's return from the beach was important. However, дође (comes, arrives, returns...) is not first person - so the way I read it, it may refer to the poet's voice rather than the poet himself. Of course, I may as well be wrong...
L2 Nd L3 are clear as far as direct translation goes but there is the issue of 'papagaj' (папагај in Cyrillic). It is a generic term which most dictionaries translate as parrot. I can only speak accurately for my part of the former Yugoslavia but it is fair to assume things weren't much different elsewhere. Larger species of parrot were rare and would be called with their genus name (ara for macaw; kakadu for cockatoo etc.). But budgies were quite common so it is highly likely that the parrots in Slavko's haiku were indeed budgies -which would also explain the chirping part.
I do not know how important the beach is in this haiku but I think there is a strong possibility that said beach was situated on the Danube rather than by the sea.
Hi Maya... of course you can vote! Anyone who's interested enough can vote, though David asks that we give our reasons, since the discussion is the more important thing.
Hi Polona... thanks for helping with the Serbian poem. For me, "returning from the beach" (or even "back from the beach") would work almost the same as "The moment I return/from the beach" or "just as I return from the beach", given that in a haiku we don't have a lot of room to say everything. It feels to me that it's Ls 2 & 3 that are the focus of the poem.
Interesting to know that a beach can be a river bank (I'd never have thought of that!) The beach, wherever situated, might be important in giving a sense of season? For the majority of people, "beach" is probably associated with Summer.
- Lorin
Hi Lorin,
I agree that the mention of the beach provides the seasonal reference and sets the poem in the summer and yes, there are a few known river beaches like Ada Ciganlija, an islet in the Danube near Belgrade, a popular venue for the local folks.
I also feel that the poet's voice mimicking the chirping of parrots / parakeets / budgies(?) is essential for the haiku and gives an interesting twist. The birds are caged but greet the returning owner with the cheerful chirping and he shows his affection by responding in the same way...
Quote from: polona on February 09, 2011, 01:08:30 PM
Hi Lorin,
I agree that the mention of the beach provides the seasonal reference and sets the poem in the summer and yes, there are a few known river beaches like Ada Ciganlija, an islet in the Danube near Belgrade, a popular venue for the local folks.
I also feel that the poet's voice mimicking the chirping of parrots / parakeets / budgies(?) is essential for the haiku and gives an interesting twist. The birds are caged but greet the returning owner with the cheerful chirping and he shows his affection by responding in the same way...
Hi Polona,
The more I sit with this poem and let it sink in, the more I see what a warm poem it is. ('warm' in the sense of 'warm, affectionate feelings', not temperature!) The man might even be the first to 'chirp', greeting his birds and letting them know he's home, even before he's within their sight. It seems to me this might be the case, and that he's observing himself without judgment but with (perhaps ironical , perhaps not ironical at all) detachment in this poem.
If they're budgies or the like, they're very communal birds even in the wild, and as pet birds would be attached to their owner. Here are some wild ones having a conference:
http://www.listeningearth.com.au/blog_images/2008_10/BudgieQuintet.jpg
- Lorin
Hi Lorin... yes, a lot of empathy in this poem. And thanks for the budgie photo, they look great in their wildlife plumage :)
My impression is that while Petar's poem hits immediately with its stark and primal imagery, Sedlar's is not so easily accessible but turns out no less rewarding (now I talk like an expert which I am certainly not) :o
Thank you Polona, for the suggestion of "budgie" - it makes more sense to me (no disrespect to Sasa intended, the fault is my own).
Interesting that Petar writes first in English.
My vote is for that poem:
the longest night
a raven steals the eyes
of a snowman
because I feel that each word is counting towards the whole, whereas in the parrot haiku I lean towards the view that "beach" is meaningless in the context of the poem, it's simply "outside"/ "away".
Hi, Lorin, and thank you, i'll give my reasons for voting for Peter's haiku then.
най-дългата нощ
гарван краде очите
на снежен човек
the longest night
a raven steals the eyes
of a snowman
гарван= a raven
Firstly, because of the stark imagery; secondly, i like the structure of the ku - the parallel between the longest night, the dark colors of the raven and the eyes of the snowman (usually pieces of coal), the coldness of the night, embodied in a snowman. IMHO, Peter's haiku is a classical example of the use of implied metaphor in haiku writing.Then, last but not least, i get it as a low bow to the Great Master's "autumn dusk"
Hi, Polona, nothing curious about Peter's writing them directly in English, i do most of mine too.
About Slavko's haiku - i think it's an example of the so called "slippery haiku", too slippery to my taste, though. Could it be his voice becoming the chirp of two parakeets because he suffers from some illness? This could happen wnen someone catches cold for example, or it could more serious like throat cancer.
QuoteAbout Slavko's haiku - i think it's an example of the so called "slippery haiku", too slippery to my taste, though - Maya
It's been immensely helpful to read the exchanges between people closer to the languages of composition.
Petar's poem gets my vote. John
Sedlar's poem is 18 syllables "long". I see no reason why a haiku cannot be that long or even considerably longer. (A recent Per Diem was I think 24 syllables long). But I have come to believe that the first part this poem, by dint of its length, goes counter to its "meaning", or intent. He is speaking of an instant: the instant of returning from a beach, but the instant he sets up for us takes (relatively) forever to get to. It is, in fact, an instant that pulls us away from instantaneity-- it has the past at its back, pulling like the tide. Again we are up against translation here, but the word "return" always implies a history, and is not of the moment. Strictly speaking, though, this is not true, as any moment may be layered with all manner of temporality, associations, memories etc. But I believe for it to work in this poem, it needs more of an all-at-onceness to be effective. An all-at-onceness would help "explain" (horrible word) the transformation to come. It may be that the appeal for the author was in the experience of return: being here (back home?) and there (the beach) at the same time, and in how that split moment swiftly changed into the chirp of two birds.
It is entirely plausible if one does not require plausibility-- still under the spell of the beach, feeling open and perhaps a bit sky and sky-struck, that one would cross the threshold (back) into familiarity and experience it in a new way: a moment when one's voice is transformed.
I just think, today, the poem needs better execution-- or better translation.
QuoteHi, Polona, nothing curious about Peter's writing them directly in English, i do most of mine too.
Hi Maya, actually it was Sandra who found Peter's writing haiku directly in English curious. It seems quite normal to me - I do it, too :)
Again, as in 'seashells #2", we have a translated poem and poem written in English by a multi-lingual author for comparison. Somehow, this doesn't strike me as quite fair to the translated poem.
the longest night
a raven steals the eyes
of a snowman
'The longest night' (Winter Solstice) might be a humorous or witty take on the blindness of the snowman, before but particularly after the theft. Like Dennis & Maya, I imagine the traditional 'eyes' of coal . Why a raven would steal these is beyond me, but there is a connection of 'black' between the bird & coal. But perhaps the eyes were made of some foodstuff? If they were made of coal, this is 'one dumb bird', and the poem might also be a humorous take on the benightedness of such a raven. Alternatively, we might suspect that it's a very clever raven who knows how to make fire, and ravens are noted for cleverness, the ability to use tools eg.
Anyway, the raven is an eater of the eyes of corpses, according to European and British folk-lore, and the implication here is that it's so cold that a raven steals a snowman's, to eat. I see this as a play on the sort of hyperbole in common sayings like, "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"
Tchouhov's poem has the advantage of its relative clarity and technical smoothness in English, but then it was written in English! (see Maya's first post: "Peter writes most of his haiku directly in English and that explains their smooth flow. . .")
Sedlar's is translated, and may not yet have reached its definitive translation/rendition into English. The author has passed away, so we can't consult him.
The moment I return
from the beach - my voice becomes
the chirp of two parrots
(trans.- Saša Važić)
returning from the beach -
my voice becomes the chirp
of two parrots
(trans. – Polona)
home [back?] from the beach -
my voice becomes the chirp
of two parrots
(EL version – Lorin)
In previous posts, I've said what appeals to me about this poem... the transformation of the voice leads me to a warm sense of 'family' and fellowship in relation to the caged birds... but more, it leads me ultimately to a sense of 'Thou art that', not told, but experienced through quite an ordinary thing...a man chirping to his parrots/ budgies.
Tchouhov's poem is certainly the more technically accomplished (in English: I have no ability to judge haiku in other languages) and is a delightful poem, but it is Sedlar's poem that draws me into a warm sense of the mystery of relationship with everything.
So, because I think that the contest is weighted in favour of the Tchouhov poem as the more technically accomplished (in English) of the two and therefore is likely to glean more votes, I'll vote for the Sedlar poem.
(ps, I've just seen your post, Polona.
I think that it's not the fact that Petar's was written directly in English that's curious or surprising, but that we are presented with the two poems as if both are translations into English, when it turns out that one is a translation but the other is an EL haiku.
- Lorin
To clarify what I meant by finding it interesting (not curious) that Petar writes first in English:
When I read that this was the case I applied a hypothetical scenario to myself - if I had a fluent second language, which language would be the language of my poetry?
The one my parents speak and so the language of my growing up, or the one I have learned? If I still lived in the country of my birth my "mother tongue" is the language being spoken all around me and is the language of memory.
But now, there are three people on this thread, if we count Petar, who don't have English as a first language, yet compose haiku in English.
As I say, interesting ... oh, okay, I'm curious. :)
It's a bit off-topic but I wonder if Maya and Polona would mind sharing why they do choose to do this?
Best wishes,
Sandra
Quoteif I had a fluent second language, which language would be the language of my poetry? - Sandra
Either, Sandra. Isn't that a diagnostic criterion for true fluency, or self delusion?!
QuoteSedlar's is translated, and may not yet have reached its definitive translation/rendition into English. The author has passed away, so we can't consult him - Lorin
Perhaps there's a bit of a loop here, Lorin. If the author was not fluent enough in Swahili to write in Swahili originally, or to translate his original from Ingush to Swahili, how would said author be able to rule on what was a correct of definitive translation?
I support your objection that there is limited utility in judging chalk against cheese.
Best wishes, John
Sandra says
QuoteIt's a bit off-topic but I wonder if Maya and Polona would mind sharing why they do choose to do this?
Fitst off, Slovenian is a language spoken by roughly two million people, most of which, even if they've heard about haiku, haven't the slightest idea what haiku is. The status of the Haiku Club of Slovenia is currently frozen and the last publication of Letni časi / The Seasons magazine dates back in 2007. There is still Apokalipsa with their haiku contest and some activity in schools but mostly the use a world language (i.e. English) is necessary if one wants to make their haiku public.
On a more personal note, and this is not completely clear even to me, I find it easier to express myself creatively in English than in my native language. I suppose this has something to do with the teachers / mentors I encountered during my learning process. Until not many years ago I had no affinity for writing whatsoever and I actually learned to enjoy writing at an English course, a few years before I first discovered and fell in love with haiku.
Thanks Polona, I appreciate your reply.
This is another great conversation. Welcome, Maya (I hope to see you again this summer in Blagoevgrad!) and welcome Polona and Sasa. And welcome back, everyone else!
I promised to share my impressions of these haiku. First, Petar's.
The longest night, the night of winter equinox, is frigid, dark, disturbing. Our ancient ancestors feared this night: with days growing shorter and shorter, nights growing longer and longer; would not the inevitable result be a cold and perpetual darkness? Hence solstice rituals and magical-religious celebrations to coax back the sun and its life-giving light. But in Petar's scene there's no promise of light or warmth, no miracle. The raven blinds the poor man of snow, leaving him in a permanent darkness that is truly "the longest night." At first view, it seems an atrocity. Or, I wonder: Is this raven a trickster, as the Chinook and other Native American tribes see him, playing a mischievous prank? Should we be horrified? Should we laugh? Or...should we simply accept and understand? If the eyes that he steals are berries and not lumps of charcoal like we used for our Nebraskan snowmen back when I was a kid, then the raven's theft is a forgivable act of survival in a harsh, cold world.
My sympathies flit from snowman to raven, back to snowman. Life is hard all over. The world is cold all over. And now that the black bird has flown off with the snowman's eyes, our eyes, we are left alone in a frozen darkness without a glimmer of hope, of light, of spring. Brrrrrrr!
About Sedlar's haiku: When I first read this and wrote about it for the
Periplum blog last year, I felt it was surreal and "slippery." I wrote:
What appears impossible in the external world can ring with psychological truth. The body takes a journey from beach to home, and the mind is not the same. A day of communing with the sea--perhaps swimming in it, perhaps simply watching its undulating waves, the suchness of the undulation--has profoundly changed, well, everything. As he walks in the door, are two parrots in a cage singing the story of what he has gained and felt today with perfect precision, with their wild, raucous voices? Or, perhaps, has the poet opened his own mouth to say something and discovered, by truly listening to it, his voice sounds different, for it has become the chirping of two parrots?
Now, thanks to this discussion, I am able see the haiku differently and less magically: the parrots' (budgies') owner coming home from the beach (river or sea), affectionately chirping to/with his birds. This is a sweet interpretation. Still, I prefer (obstinately) to read the haiku as a magical moment: the poet's voice becomes, in fact, the voice of two parrots. Why? I don't know! But I like it.
By the way, as I'm writing this I'm listening to music on my headphones (it's past midnight but the neighbors have a loud party going)--and just now Petar's band, Gologan, started playing. He was kind enough to give me a disk with several of his band's "Bulgarian folk-rock" tracks when he visited New Orleans two summers ago. I think there's one or two samples on You-Tube. A talentented guy! Check it out: here (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxgEg6HrKtw). (That's Petar playing the guitar.)
David, I had not read your blog entry, but seeing what you wrote now, it would seem you and I have a similar view. I wrote above (modified here):
"It is entirely plausible (if one does not require plausibility) that-- still under the spell of the beach, feeling open and perhaps a bit sea-and-sky-struck, that one might cross the threshold (back) into familiarity and experience it in a new way: a moment when one's voice is transformed".
I'm still not convinced that the poem as a whole works, though. I worry about the "inkblot" aspect. The reader may in some sense "complete" a poem, (generally speaking)-- but sometimes may be required to do all the work. After all, readers of haiku are given, I think, to go off on an associational journey based on very little. Even "August cicadas" (just the two words) seems enough to fulfill many needs. Probably "August" would suffice. Or "tundra".
I think that would make an interesting discussion, though right now I'm not sure how it could be approached.
Anyway, my vote goes to "the longest night". And though it is probably illegal, I'm stuffing the ballot box with votes for you and my hat as well for presenting and presiding over a valuable forum which I hope others pick up on.
By the way, it's very interesting that this SG3 got significantly fewer "views" and "replies" than the last two. I wonder why.
Peter and All,
If the Third Round attracted fewer comments than the first two, perhaps this is just a reflection of life and how busy people are becoming. I find that the deeper we go into the "work year," the less time I can scrounge for important things like comparing seashells. Or...maybe we have lurkers about who haven't felt the need to contribute since there has been a solid majority vote for Petar Tchouhov's haiku (in my count 5: you, John, Chibi, Maya and Sandra)--with one vote (Lorin's) going to Slavko Sedlar's haiku. This being the deadline day for voting, I believe I can officially declare "the longest night" the winner, though, as I've said before, the point isn't the decision but the conversation that has led to it.
I have a special surprise for Round 4--complete with a Mystery Guest who will enter the fray at some point. Stay tuned!
Tuned up... but your on vacation, eh? :o
enjoy!