PALINURUS SLEEPLESS

PALINURO INSOMNE

Silvina Ocampo (1903-93)

PALINURO INSOMNE
nudus in ignota, Palinure, iacebis harena Las olas y las algas y las alas, los caracoles rotos y sonoros, la sal y el yodo, las tormentas malas, los delfines inciertos y los coros de sirenas cansadas de cantar, no te reemplazarán las tierras suaves donde vagabas con el quieto andar que aleja siempre a las profundas naves. Palinuro: tu rostro clausurado y marítimo ofrece a la serena noche insomnios. Desnudo y acostado perpetuarás tus muertes en la arena, y crecerán con distracción de piedra tus uñas y tu pelo entre la hiedra.
PALINURUS SLEEPLESS
nudus in ignota, Palinure, iacebis harena Seawaves seaweeds and seawings snailwhorls seawrecked and sounding salt iodine and stormwind sparse dolphins and the chorus of sirens tired of singing: no match for lands of pleasure you roamed with silent footfall to keep the deep ships from you. Night sleeps not Palinurus to see you beached and seachanged: your face is sealed. Lie naked and die and die, and mindless as stone your nails and hair still shall grow among the ivy.
Publ in CA News, Dec 1992

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Sailor's Wind

Brise Marine

Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-98)

Translated without using letter E: a lipogram
Brise Marine
La chair est triste, hélas! et j’ai lu tous les livres, Fuir! là-bas fuir! Je sens que des oiseaux sont ivres D’être parmi l’écume inconnue et les cieux! Rien, ni les vieux jardins reflétés par les yeux Ne retiendra ce coeur qui dans la mer se trempe O nuits! ni la clarté déserte de ma lampe Sur le vide papier que la blancheur défend Et ni la jeune femme allaitant son’enfant. Je partirai! Steamer balançant ta mâture, Lève l’ancre pour une exotique nature! Un Ennui, désolé par les cruels espoirs, Croit encore à l’adieu suprême des mouchoirs! Et, peut-être, les mâts, invitant les orages Sont-ils de ceux qu’un vent penche sur les naufrages Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts, ni fertiles ilôts … Mais, ô mon coeur, entends le chant des matelots!
Sailor's Wind
Limbs flag and fail; j’ai lu all books of words. To fly away! I think of soaring birds In sky unknown, and spray, mad-drunk with flight. No arbours, mirror’d back from orbs of sight, Can stay my soul from plunging totally, O nights! nor lamplight’s arid clarity On my blank writing-pad’s forbidding wall; Nor a young woman with a sucking doll. I go! You throbbing ship with masts that sway, Up anchor, and to magick lands away! Vain longings haunt us; harsh monotony Still trusts in waving chiffon’s last goodby; And masts that summon storms may soon bow down To roaring winds, by ruin’d hulks that drown, Lost, with no masts, nor islands blossoming … But hark, my soul! What songs our sailors sing!

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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From Ramsgate to Antwerp

De Ramsgate à Anvers

Gérard de Nerval (1808-55)

De Ramsgate à Anvers
À cette côte anglaise J’ai donc fait mes adieux Et sa blanche falaise S’efface au bord des cieux! Que la mer me sourie! Plaise aux dieux que je sois Bientôt dans ta patrie, Ô grand maître anversois! Rubens! à toi je songe, Seul peut–être et pensif Sur cette mer où plonge Notre fumeux esquif. Histoire et poésie, Tout me vient à travers Me mémoire saisie Des merveilles d’Anvers. Cette mer qui sommeille Est belle comme aux jours, Où, riante et vermeille, Tu la peuplais d’Amours. Ainsi ton seul génie, Froid aux réalités, De la mer d’Ionie Lui prêtait les clartés, Lorsque la nef dorée Amenait autrefois Cete reine adorée Qui s’unit aux Valois, Fleur de la Renaissance, Honneur de ses palais, — Qu’attendait hors la France Le coupe–tête anglais! Mais alors sa fortune Bravait tous les complots, Et la cour de Neptune La suivait sur les flots. Tes grasses Néréides Et tes Tritons pansus S’accoudaient tout humides Sur les dauphins bossus. L’Océan qui moutonne Roulait dans ses flots verts La gigantesque tonne Du Silène d’Anvers, Pour ta Flandre honorée Son nourrisson divin À sa boisson ambrée Donna l’ardeur du vin! — Des cieux tu fis descendre Vers ce peuple enivré, Comme aux fêtes de Flandre, L’Olympe en char doré, Joie, amour et délire, Hélas! trop expiés! Les rois sur la navire Et les dieux à leurs pieds! — Adieu, splendeur finie D’un siècle solennel! Mais toi seul, ô génie! Tu restes éternel.
From Ramsgate to Antwerp
To the far English coast I’ve said my goodbyes. Its white cliffs are lost at the brink of the skies. Smile, waves! and gods, grant we’re p– arked soon on the strand, at anchor at Antwerp, in Rubens’s land! This lugger is pitching, and rolling, and stinking. I’m skulking, and retching: yet of you, sir, I’m thinking! By the past I’m inspired, by verse, and your canvas; my memory’s fired by the marvels of Anvers. They laughed and they shone, those somnolent waves, that in days dead and gone you peopled with Loves. A genius alone, you disdained what was true, put the seas of Ionia, so bright and so blue. In a gilded careen she came alongside, the darling Scots queen, for the Dauphin, a bride. A flower of learning, a court of renown: then England, returning an axe for a crown. At first her good fortune survived every snare: by courtiers of Neptune the glass was set fair. Your Tritons paunch–tumid, your sea-nymphs well–stacked, were lounging all humid on dolphins round–backed. The sea–god’s retainers let the green frothing sea roll to the Scheldt, for Silenus, a very big barrel. He honoured your Anvers with liquors divine, to her brewmaster’s ambers gave courage of wine! To the Flemish Kermesse you brought down Olympus in a golden calèche on a heavenly nimbus. Joy, love, and the revel, more bitter than sweet: twin crowns on the vessel, the gods at their feet! Farewell to past splendours And pageant of years. Great master of Flanders, Your genius endures!
[caption id="attachment_2743" align="alignleft" width="306"]Maria de' Medici arriving at Marseille Nerval imagines a Rubens picture like this actual one of Maria de' Medici arriving at Marseille in 1600 (in Rubens's lifetime) to be Queen of France.[/caption]

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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On First Looking into Chapman's Translation

On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer

John Keats (1795-1821)

My lipogram, no letter E
On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
On First Looking into Chapman's Translation
I got around, saw lots of lands of gold, Good kingdoms, many a top–class duchy too, And sundown islands (I was shooting through) Which bards as loan–stock from Apollo hold. On various occasions I was told About an old blind highbrow’s Timbuctoo: But always was as ignorant as you, Until Dan Chapman said it loud and bold. That did it! Say you watch a midnight sky: An unknown rock floats up into your bag! Or stout Balboa’s sharp rapacity Scans your Pacific, plants a Spanish flag, His troops agog with curiosity, Dumbstruck upon a Panamanian crag.
Said at Poet in the City Drop–in, Daunts Bookshop, Piccadilly, London, W1. Contributed to Poetry Atlas website.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Lost

Verloren

Joseph von Eichendorff (1788-1857)

Verloren
Still bei Nacht fährt manches Schiff, Meerfey kämmt ihr Haar am Riff, Hebt von Inseln an zu singen, Die im Meer dort untergingen. Wann die Morgenwinde wehn, Ist nicht Riff noch Fey zu sehn, Und das Schifflein ist versunken, Und der Schiffer ist ertrunken.
Lost
Quiet night, and boats are roaming, Mermaid on an islet combing, From the reef she starts to sing, Which is sinking, vanishing. Come the gentle winds of dawn, Reef and mermaid both are gone, Boat has shattered on the reef, Boat and sailor come to grief.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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