Ulick
O'Connor, Fred Johnson and Joseph Woods
at the
launch of The Kiss, 2008.
Two
Approaches to Translation
Ulick O'Connor certainly planted
seed when his Poems of the Damned first came out published by
Wolfhound Press in 1995. I used to have the slim first edition, lent it to
someone like an eejit and so had to wait for 2008 to have my own copy of his
translations again. I had a great respect for this old world gentleman, hearing
him on the radio reading his very fine renderings one Sunday morning while all
the rest were at mass! I thought that was a very nice touch, Baudelaire would
have been amused.
But, for my tastes, O'Connor makes
the fatal mistake of attempting to keep the rhyme in English, as translators
are prone to do. In this way, I would counter, what he gains in rhyme he loses
in brooding bloody atmosphere. This is what I wanted to render in my
transversions. In order to show you what I mean, let us take a poem in French
by Baudelaire and compare O'Connor's translation with my own transversion of
the same poem. Now, before anyone gets all uppity with me, what I am trying to
show here is difference, that is all. It is not a question of which approach is
best, as this is entirely subjective. I simply want to clarify two different
schools of thought on the matter, for the purposes of sheer appreciation,
clarity and, who knows, perhaps even a little conversion. But to which side is
only your ( yes, YOU the reader) guess.
“Just trust your ears, ya Gobshite!”
The author stage whispers to the poor reader.
LXXII.
– LE MORT JOYEUX
Dans
une terre grasse et pleine d’escargots
Je
veux creuser moi-même une fosse profonde,
Où
je puisse à loisir étaler mes vieux os
Et
dormir dans l’oubli comme un requin dans l’onde.
Je
hais les testaments et je hais les tombeaux;
Plutôt
que d’emplorer une larme du monde,
Vivant,
j’aimerais mieux inviter les corbeaux
A
saigner tous les bouts de ma carcasse immonde.
O
vers! noirs compagnons sans oreille et sans yeux,
Voyez
venir à vous un mort libre et joyeux;
Philosophes
viveurs, fils de la pourriture,
A
travers ma ruine allez donc sans remords,
Et
dites-moi, s’il est encore quelque torture
Pour
ce vieux corps sans âme et mort parmi les morts.
Glad
to be Dead
Translation
by Ulick O’Connor
Deep
in the slimy earth surrounded by snails
I
want to dig myself a gaping pit,
Where
like a shark in a wave, snug beyond gales,
I
can stretch my creaking bones a little bit.
I
hate tombs, legacies, those sorts of shows
Rather
than ask for some sign of remorse
By
staying alive, I would prefer to ask the crows
To
lap the blood from my loathsome corpse.
Worms
without ears or eyes, to your dark company
Admit
now a new friend, joyous and free
As
for you prosperous philosophers, sons of filth,
Across
my tomb step without remorse or dread,
Let
me know if you find some new torment built
For
this dogsbody without a soul among the dead.
LXXII.
A Happy Death
Transversion Peter O’Neill
In a great plot of snail infested earth
I wish to dig myself a profound hole,
Where I can repose these old bones at my leisure
And sleep the big sleep like a shark beneath the
waves.
I detest wills, and tombs;
And instead of provoking a further tear in this poor
world,
I would much rather invite the crows
To feast upon my old and rotting carcass.
O worms! Black eyeless companions,
Living philosophers, sons of filth,
Come and gratify yourselves on a free and happy death;
Inside my ruinous cadaver roam at your will
And tell me if there is another torture
For this my soulless corpse, lifeless among the dead.
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