In the past month I have taken up a challenging but pleasant task. A Columbian haiku poet, Fernando López Rodríguez, has allowed me to translate his book,
Luciérnagas en las manos, the title of which I plan to render into English as "Fireflies in My Hands." In recent discussions on
Periplum, our musings on non-English haiku have led inevitably to issues of translation. This, I think, is how things should be. When confronted with an English translation (or, if you prefer, "an English version") posted alongside a source poem in a different language, we naturally crave insights into the meanings and nuances of the original words. In undertaking such exploration, we as readers follow the path originally walked by the translator: becoming aware of the choices, the twists and turns on the way, that must be made for a poem to BE A POEM in English. If word-for-word, literal translation sufficed for poetry, we could just plug a haiku into Babelfish and call it a day. Clearly, this is not, and will never be, enough.
Those of you who read Spanish will notice that the first fork in my translation path came at the third word of the collection's title,
Luciérnagas en las manos. Literally, the firefly is in "the" hands, but I felt that translating it, "Fireflies in the Hands," lacks the warmth that the original title conveys in Spanish. Fernando takes his title from one of the haiku in the book that reads, "Entre las manos/ del niño aún ilumina/ la luciérnaga": "Still lit/ in the child's hands/ a firefly." With this image of a male child (
niño) holding a firefly in mind, I considered rendering the book's title, "Fireflies in His Hands." In English, however, the phrase "his hands" suggests a speaker who is detached from the action, objectively describing something happening to someone else: a "he." Spanish, on the other hand, capaciously allows
las manos to refer to the hands of anyone: his hands, her hands, my hands, or even our hands. I decided, therefore, to render the title, "Fireflies in My Hands," to suggest, I hope, tenderness and immersion in the scene. A literally-minded reader might object: Shouldn't I keep the fireflies in "the hands" since this is where they reside in the Spanish original? Yes, I would reply, but only if this literal translation can be a
full translation: evoking in English both the words' objective meaning and feeling. The problem with "the hands" is not one of meaning but of feeling. It is only half of a translation: faithful to the surface but not to the emotional depth of the original. By substituting "my" for "the," I choose to value emotional depth over surface meaning in this instance.
Translation, like the old addage goes, is an act of betrayal (in Italian,
tradurre e tradire: "to translate is to commit treason" -- and note that I have just now committed teason with my clunky rendering of the pithy Italian maxim!). When faced with choices, we must choose where to swear our allegiance: to the literal surface or the emotional depth? And then there's the problem of connotations. I choose to translate luciérnaga as "firefly" -- not, for example, "lightning bug." I associate the latter expression with a rural North American setting, so "firefly" feels more appropriate for a poet from South America.
Enough about the title. Now let's look at three of Fernando's haiku along with my English translations and impressions. Feel free to share your own feelings and insights--and if you would like to bring up a question about my translation choices, please do!
1.
Cuarenta y tres años.
Por primera vez
un violín en mis brazos.
Age forty-three.
For the first time
a violin in my arms.
The fact that the violin is in his "arms" and not his "hands" suggests to me a world of difference. I think the violin could be a lover, responding to the poet's embrace like a finely tuned Stradivarius. If so, it's sad to think he had to wait 43 years for such a feeling. Better late than never? Or is the violin just a violin?
2.
En el dedo que lo señaló
quedó eterno el meteoro
de la otra noche.
In the finger that pointed it out
the other night's meteor
is eternal.
This one is mysterious to me. It vaguely reminds me of Carl Sagan proclaiming that we are made of stardust (remember that TV astronomy series,
Cosmos?). Why and how is the meteor "eternal" in the finger of the poet or whoever did the pointing? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
3.
La última gota
del rio cintila
en el ojo del pez.
The river's last drop
shines
in the fish's eye.
Now and then in Fernando's book, his haiku echo Basho. This one reminds me of the image of a salted sea bream in a fish shop with Basho's focus zooming in to its cold gums. It also brings to mind my early morning visit to Tsukiji, the fish market in Tokyo, which inspired me to write, on the spot, "fish in plastic bags/ one/ still flapping." But the interesting thing about Fernando's haiku, to me, is the expression, "last drop" (
última gota). Has the river dried up, leaving its last drop of moisture in the eye of a dying fish? Or is the poet using the word "last" in a different way? Could the drop of water in the fish's eye be the "last" remant of the river that it has been taken from? This poem, to me, is apocaplytic. Your impressions?
I thank you in advance for your thoughts. Hearing feedback on these translations-in-process should help a lot as I refine them.
David, for what it's worth, I appreciate your going into why you chose "my hands" over the literal translation, "the hands". In English, to me, "the hands" in this context simply sounds wrong in English, though of course I'm used to hearing this from speakers of non-EL background. The other thing is that, in English, "the hands", without a given context, conjures up an image of hands that don't belong to anyone, hands disconnected from a body, symbolic or spirit hands like this:
http://www.ancient-symbols.com/images/irish-symbols/original/irish_claddagh.jpg
rather than an embodied hand like this:
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SiI8xMJXktY/TTTbv3CIsgI/AAAAAAAABtU/0W4ykJgDGbM/s1600/Pope_RAT.jpg
--
Age forty-three.
For the first time
a violin in my arms.
"Arms" makes all the difference: the violin, held for the first time, is cradled. Do you recall holding a baby for the very first time? Male or female, we were a bit awkward about it in a good way, hardly daring to move with the knowledge that we are holding something very precious. To hold a violin for the first time must be like that.
In the finger that pointed it out
the other night's meteor
is eternal.
Again, this poet's sensibility is embodied. The body has memory, rather than memory being just an abstract, mental thing. (and this is true, as anyone who poked their finger into a fire when young will attest from experience)
The river's last drop
shines
in the fish's eye.
I'm not sure about the setting of this one, either. To me, though, "last drop" is "last drop" so I see a vanished river, through drought or through damming works. A fish will survive a little while in the mud. He might mean that it's the "last drop" of the river as far as the fish is concerned, though. Whichever way, the fish is of the river: no river, no fish, so this fish is the last of the river. Again, the embodied experience, and the dependence of body, and of identity, on environment. An obvious thing, perhaps, but often overlooked by 21st century people who live in an artificial environment which is dependent on electricity, petroleum oil and gas.
- Lorin
"A literally-minded reader might object: Shouldn't I keep the fireflies in "the hands" since this is where they reside in the Spanish original?"
http://spanish.about.com/od/spanishvocabulary/a/body_parts.htm (http://spanish.about.com/od/spanishvocabulary/a/body_parts.htm)
*"Names of body parts are used much the same in Spanish as in English — but with one significant difference. In Spanish, names of parts of the body are frequently preceded by the definite article (el, la, los or las, meaning "the") instead of possessive adjectives (such as mi for "my" and tu for "your"). In most cases, the possessive adjective is used only where the context doesn't make clear whose body is being referred to."
What would be correct in Spanish would be awkward in English. Your translation honors the sentiment of the original.
I would, however, prefer to see:
La última gota
del rio cintila
en el ojo del pez.
The river's last drop
shines
in the fish's eye.
Translated as:
The last drop
of the river shines
in the fish's eye.
To slow the reader down and to preserve the layering of meaning in the original. Plus it looks nicer on the page to my eye.
The haiku reminds me of this one:
The passing spring,
Birds mourn,
Fishes weep
With tearful eyes.
(Basho tr. Yuasa)
Yuku haru ya tori naki uo no me wa namida
行はるや鳥啼うをの目は泪
". . .Luciérnagas en las manos, the title of which I plan to render into English as "Fireflies in My Hands." " - David.
Hi David, . . . a thought which has struck me just now: if Fernando López Rodríguez is as environmentally aware as I begin to suspect he is, you might confer with him about how "Fireflies in Our Hands" might work as a title for the English translation of the book. One the one level, it's just a plural; more than one person has fireflies in their hands, so there's a shared wonder. On the other level, it's a fact that the
very existence of fireflies (and so much more) in many areas of the world is indeed in our hands. Fireflies wouldn't exist in most areas of Japan today if it weren't for both the extensive government and enthusiastic amateur breeding and release programs.
- Lorin
Quote from: David Lanoue on March 11, 2011, 10:16:20 AM
1.
Cuarenta y tres años.
Por primera vez
un violín en mis brazos.
Age forty-three.
For the first time
a violin in my arms.
The fact that the violin is in his "arms" and not his "hands" suggests to me a world of difference. I think the violin could be a lover, responding to the poet's embrace like a finely tuned Stradivarius. If so, it's sad to think he had to wait 43 years for such a feeling. Better late than never? Or is the violin just a violin?
2.
En el dedo que lo señaló
quedó eterno el meteoro
de la otra noche.
In the finger that pointed it out
the other night's meteor
is eternal.
This one is mysterious to me. It vaguely reminds me of Carl Sagan proclaiming that we are made of stardust (remember that TV astronomy series, Cosmos?). Why and how is the meteor "eternal" in the finger of the poet or whoever did the pointing? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
3.
La última gota
del rio cintila
en el ojo del pez.
The river's last drop
shines
in the fish's eye.
Now and then in Fernando's book, his haiku echo Basho. This one reminds me of the image of a salted sea bream in a fish shop with Basho's focus zooming in to its cold gums. It also brings to mind my early morning visit to Tsukiji, the fish market in Tokyo, which inspired me to write, on the spot, "fish in plastic bags/ one/ still flapping." But the interesting thing about Fernando's haiku, to me, is the expression, "last drop" (última gota). Has the river dried up, leaving its last drop of moisture in the eye of a dying fish? Or is the poet using the word "last" in a different way? Could the drop of water in the fish's eye be the "last" remant of the river that it has been taken from? This poem, to me, is apocaplytic. Your impressions?
I thank you in advance for your thoughts. Hearing feedback on these translations-in-process should help a lot as I refine them.
What a treat to find this thread! As someone who has a degree in translating poetry (Spanish and French), I love these kind of discussions. And I also realize how painstaking translation from one language to another can be as you attempt to capture the nuances of the original's passion. Your first translation definitely conveys the emotion of the original. I'm wondering as I read the translations, though, if you've thought about alternate punctuation? Since you're dealing with translating a living poet, you might run that idea by him. It occurs to me that the first haiku might be more powerful if L1 did not end with a period, but, perhaps, a colon or em-dash, to connect the poet's amazement at the joy he feels in holding an instrument of music for the first time. Just a thought . . .
Haiku 2: I love that you made the choice of leaving the article "the" in this one. I definitely think the ambiguity adds to the experience, which also has a surreal/metaphysical quality.
Haiku 3 seems more problematic to translate. I like your choice for line 1, and, although I understand why Karen made her suggestion, "the last drop" seems a bit more prosaic than the poem's intention. For me, the problem is more with "shines." Not only does it make for a much shorter line, it also feels a little less powerful than say "shining," which gives the idea that the action of shine/life/river is still ongoing--a part of the fish even though it has been removed from the source of its life. Or, possibly, you might think of using "glimmering" instead of "shining," which, I think is closer to the original's intention . . . as "glimmer" gives more of an impression of something that has faded but still remains and, also, has that playful reference to the English expression a "glimmer in the/my eye." So much to think about! Here's one idea:
The river's last drop--
still glimmering
in the fish's eye.
-or-
The river's last drop--
a still glimmer
in the fish's eye.
Thanks for letting me play here.
Best, Maggie
Thanks, Maggie, Lorin and Karen! I wanted you to know that I find your feedback very helpful. I'm a bit bogged down with "real life," these days, but soon I hope to be back to this project and submitting my revised translations based on your insights. Stay tuned!
david
it struck me that Rodriguez is making a universal statement with his title in the original spanish
Lorin is on to something with "our hands" as being environmentally aware
coming from a Gaelic language backround
we often stress the definite article when we want to make something seem all encompassing
tha mi a fuireach air An t - Eileain =
I live on the island (like there was only one island lol)
therefore, can't prove it but i think rodriguez is putting a stress on "las" or the
which we would render with itallics in English (maybe awkward in an english title though)
so with "Fireflies in the Hands"
we get a sense of wonder, and yet the notion of the delicate balances of nature,
cradling the firefly - but it could equally be squashed
so a metaphor for our human stewardship/agency to act as a force for good or bad.
coolio
col :)