[Michael Juster]

TO LUIS CERNUDA: SOUTHERN AIR
LOOKED FOR IN ENGLAND
translated from Rafael Alberti

If the air should say to itself one day:
.................................................. ..."I'm tired,
exhausted of my name. I do not want
even my initials scrawled on the curls
of the carnation, the fluttering of the rose,
the gentle brook's ruffled folios,
the tumbling fliers of the sea, or the dimple
that laughs its way along the cheek of a sail . . .

My bearings lost, I rise from the kindly
dormant surfaces
that house my sleep.
I flow from the indolent vines, I insinuate
the tall blocked windows of the towers.
Pure slenderness, I bend through streets
with sharpened corners, penetrating,
broken and wounded from hinges of doors, deep
vestibules that lead to green courtyards
whose gushing fountains cause me to recall,
sweetly and desperately, my own desire. . .

I search and search for what to call myself
– with what new word, in what new mode or fashion?
Is there no gust, no inspiration,
no respiration able to give flight
to the unknown voice that would bestow my name?

Dispirited, I search and search for a token,
a something or a someone to replace me,
to be just like myself, and with the memory
fresh of all these things, under the spell
of the fragile cradle and the feverish whispering,
to press on with the same
trembling, the same breath
I took that first morning
upon my birth, when the light told me:
Fly. You are the air."

If the air should say that to itself one day . . .


*

A LUIS CERNUDA, AIRE DEL SUR BUSCADO EN INGLATERRA

Si el aire se dijera un día:
—Estoy cansado,
rendido de mi nombre... Ya no quiero
ni mi inicial para firmar el bucle
del clavel, el rizado de la rosa,
el pliegecillo fino del arroyo,
el gracioso volante de la mar y el hoyuelo
que ríe en la mejilla de la vela...

Desorientado, subo de las blandas,
dormidas superficies
que dan casa a mi sueño.
Fluyo de las paradas enredaderas, calo
los ciegos ajimeces de las torres;
tuerzo, ya pura delgadez, las calles
de afiladas esquinas, penetrando,
roto y herido de los quicios, hondos
zaguanes que se van a verdes patios
donde el agua elevada me recuerda,
dulce y desesperada, mi deseo...

Busco y busco llamarme
¿con qué nueva palabra, de qué modo?
¿No hay soplo, no hay aliento,
respiración capaz de poner alas
a esa desconocida voz que me denomine?

Desalentado, busco y busco un signo,
un algo o alguien que me sustituya
que sea como yo y en la memoria
fresca de todo aquello, susceptible
de tenue cuna y cálido susurro,
perdure con el mismo
temblor, el mismo hálito
que tuve la primera
mañana en que al nacer, la luz me dijo:
—Vuela. Tú eres el aire.

Si el aire se dijera un día eso...


*

 
If the air would say to itself one day,
I am tired,
exhausted of my name. I do not want
even my initial to sign the ringlet
of the carnation, the curl of the rose,
the fine little folds (or sheets of paper) of the brook,
the gracious turbulence (or "flyer" -- double meaning) of the sea and the dimple
that laughs in the cheek of the sail...

Disoriented, I rise from the soft
sleeping surfaces
that give house to my dream/sleep.
I flow from the stopped vines, I penetrate (drench)
the blind tall windows of the towers;
I twist, already pure delicateness, through the streets
with sharpened corners, penetrating,
broken and wounded from door jams,
hallways that lead to green patios
where the elevated water reminds me,
sweet and desperate, of my desire....

I search and I search to name myself (have a name).
With what new word, in what mode?
Is there nothing that blows, is there no breath,
respiration capable of putting wings
on this unknown voice that would designate me?

Discouraged (breath/courage removed), I search and I search for a sign,
a something or a someone to substitute for me
that can be like me and in fresh memory
of all of that, susceptible
to the weak/thin cradle and the warm sigh,
can endure with the same
trembling, the same breath [yet another word for breath]
that I had on the first
morning in which upon being born, the light told me:
--Fly. You are the air.

If the air would say that to itself one day.

***********************************


I started translating almost twenty years ago, and one of the first poets I translated was Rafael Alberti. I'm so pleased that someone picked this lyrical poem to translate. The translation is quite skilled, and it gains momentum in the last ten lines, but I think there are opportunities for improvement.

Let's start with the title. In Spanish the phrase after the colon flows smoothly despite three prepositions; in English it clunks with two. The prepositions don't seem essential to me for either meaning or texture, and in this translation they stifle the music of the original text, which has the alliteration of sur/buscado and the aire/terra internal rhyme. I might try the simpler, more alliterative "Southern Air Sought in England." Since this piece is close to publishable, I'd also note that in my experience editors tend to prefer the attribution at the bottom of the poem, such as: (translated from the Spanish of Rafael Alberti).

The first problem is "exhausted of my name" for "rendido de mi nombre." The English didn't make sense to me and felt like a literal word-for-word translation of a colloquialism. Accordingly, I did what any good poet does in this situation, and I went running to Rhina Espaillat for advice, who generally confirmed my instinct and endorsed the alternative "weary of my name." Assist to Rhina, goal to Rafael!!!

A few lines down, I'm dissatisfied with "curls" for "bucle" and "fluttering" for "rizado," and I am also dissatisfied with the move away from grammatical parallelism that changes the flow of the lines. I'd prefer something closer to: "scrawled on the ringlet of the carnation, the curl of the rose, and the ruffled folio of the brook."

This stanza seems padded with some words that don't help the poem, such as "gentle" and "its way." I'm guessing that "its way" was added to make the transition to the next stanza more logical, but we have to remember that Alberti was heavily influenced by the surrealism of his time, and that many of his transitions are dreamlike, not syllogistic.

I am also discontent with "tumbling" for "gracioso." I am assuming that the intended connotation is "acrobatic," but the sense of falling is too strong with this choice. Unless a Spanish speaker can set me straight, the choices here are words like "amusing" or words like "pretty" (or both).

In the next stanza, I think "My bearings lost" is off-key. As I mentioned above, by extending the sail image of the previous stanza, the translation overreaches by trying to tie the stanzas together too tightly. I'd go for the more obvious "Disoriented."

In the first line of the next stanza "kindly" seems off--"blandas" looks like a noun to me and the next phrase an appositive. There are tone/meaning issues in many of the key words here. I'd rethink "indolent," "insinuate" and "Pure slenderness."

The phrase "hinges of doors" misses a key association from the love elegy tradition--the paraclausithyron (lament at a lover's doorstep), which may seem obscure, but Alberti, Lorca and their peers knew their Ovid, Propertius and Tibullus. I don't think you can take from Alberti's words that some sharp edge from a hinge injured the speaker. I think instead that his injuries are emotional, the kind that come when a lover exits frustrated from a lover's doorstep (the formulaic conclusion of a paraclausithyron). Also, "green" here is too literal; it seems that "lush" is what's intended, and it has the benefit of setting up an internal rhyme with "gushing" in the next line that better mimics the music in words such as "agua elevada." Finally, I'd question the decision to turn the adjectives of the stanza's last line into adverbs.

In the third stanza "mode or fashion" is padded; "way" would be just fine. The term "respiration" is too literal and clinical; I'd try "exhalation" or settle for "breath."

In the fourth stanza, which I think is by far the strongest, I would only suggest dropping "the" in the third line and in the ninth line substituting "of" for "upon."

I know I have been hard on this piece, but it's a solid draft of a beautiful, but difficult, poem. With another round of reworking, I think it could be published in a top-notch journal.

[Andrew Frisardi]

Is the poem viewable somewhere?

[Alex Pepple]

Originally Posted by Andrew Frisardi

Is the poem viewable somewhere?

Andrew, the reason is in post #3 in the thread here.

[Birthe Myers]

Here is the perfect proof of the importance of translation. I would never have known that this poem existed if it had not been translated, and I would have missed all the beauty and elegance the poet created and the translator conveys. It is a wonderful poem, wonderful in this English translation.

[Seree Zohar]

I admire this, because originals that leave much in the realm of hidden - encapsulated, let's say, or implied - are

so very hard to unravel and comparing to the crib, a fairly good job's been done here. Futher to Michael's remarks, I also thought the 'looked for in' of the title could either be snicked to 'sought in' or altered altogether: eg watching out for southern air in england. As it's England we're talking about, can this go a step further to the idiomatic: eyes peeled for southern air in england.

As of S1L2 the form moves to speech. Is there room to play a little here, perhaps, and instead of statement after statement, add the feelings [fed up + self pity ?] that goes with the words: eg: Tired me, / so weary of my name. And from there, starts a gorgeous game of hidden and sought. Words/phrases that tripped me are: curls, tumbling fliers [if they can fly, how is it they tumble?], kindly, blocked [boarded?], bend [despite the internal rhyme with slenderness, I prefer the more precise and imaginable crib original 'twist'], whose [dunno, I have this thing against using 'who' for objects; 'with' or 'where' would work here], respiration [not, 'breath' ?].

I twist, already pure delicateness, through the streets - this line from the crib allows me to understand that the actions of rising, flowing and insinuating [great choice!] have caused the wind to thin out, whereas the wording of the translation, pure slenderness, implies that the wind has always been and still remains this way. Not the same mind image. Could 'now' fit after 'slenderness'? [or, now slendered down,...]

Generally: do all the appearances of the definite article need to be there? In some sections, they seem to be so abundant as to draw too much attention away from all else.

Technical: L2 begins with quotation marks; but the penult line is a quote within a quote, so perhaps those five words should simply be italicized, then have the closing quotemarks [maybe someone else will be able to yeah or nay this].

Seconding Birthe's comment, if not for this forum and these events, I too might never have come across this poet. Lovely piece, thanks.

[Ann Drysdale]

May I make another, alongside Birthe and Seree? This whole enterprise is a delight. I had never heard of Alberti but was so captivated by the imagery in the translation that I crept through the crib and tentatively ran the poem itself through my mind's fingers, whispering it as I thouigh it might be. Alas, I have no Spanish so there was nothing much left in my hand and I went back across the bridge to the translation, which I now looked at as a poem. It is beautiful, taking the time to explore a single thought that becomes, as it moves from simplicity to complexity and out the other side, the germ of translation itself. What if...

It seems that the translator's rule of thumb here, when the crib indicates both literal and figurative interpretations, is to go with the latter. As I would have tried to do, had I the skill.

Back where I began - I had never heard of Alberti. But I have now and am the richer for it. Thank you.

[David Rosenthal]

I like Alberti a lot, and this is a lovely poem. It does look very difficult to translate, but I think the the translator has done very well with it. One of the tricks I find translating from Spanish to English is trying not to add too much. Where there is a good cognate, I tend to go for it. For example, I think "disoriented" works fine for "desorientado," and "my bearings lost" is a touch too dramatic, I think.

Meanwhile, neither "tumbling flyer" nor "gracious tubulence" seem right to me for "gracioso volante." With the sail's laughing dimple coming up, I think "gracioso" is easily enough "funny" or "amusing." "Volante" as a adjective might be "flying" but as a noun, I think "wheel" is more likely than "flyer," or maybe "flywheel" which with "de la mar" gives a wave image.

There are little picky bits like that throughout (Michael mentioned many of them), but I might not have cared about them in a different context. In the bake-off, I can look at the original, and the crib, analyze the translators choices, etc. If I saw this in a journal or anthology, even facing the original, I'd probably say, "nicely done."

Nicely done.

David R.

[Roger Slater]

I wish I had more time to comment on this one at length, since I think the original poem is a stunner, but my son is off from school this week and eats up most of my time. Michael has done a yeoman's DG job, however, and the other comments have been so extensive as well, that I suppose there's no real need for much else to be said.

This is a very hard translation to evaluate, I think, since the underlying poem is so wonderful that any translation that doesn't completely blow it and walk all over itself will likely be pretty good, especially since it is free verse so the poem cannot be easily marred by clumsy rhyme choices or mishandled meter. So in my opinion, the translation does make for at least a pretty good poem, and the question really is not whether it's any good but whether we have the right to expect much better. The comments it has received so far demonstrate, I think, that there is a good deal of tinkering that could be done here to smooth out certain parts and improve it overall, so I would say that this is definitely improvable. It's hard to single out any particular aspect of it that needs to be tweaked or tinkered with, though. It just needs tinkering and fine-tuning here and there, with nothing in particular crying out to be "fixed" or reconceived from the ground up.

This is a sad poem, of course, a poem written by one poet of the Generation fo '27 to another after both of them went into exile after the Spanish Civil War. Rafael missed Spain quite a bit. He wasn't just disoriented -- his bearing were indeed lost. I think he wasn't just weary of his name, but exhausted of it. He was lost and defeated, searching for a way to renew himself and reinvent himself.

Some of the difficulties facing the translator involve the punning in S1, using terms that liken flowers and waves to types of paper upon which one could write one's initials, along with many variations of words with roots suggesting breath, air and spirit. The translator seems to have tried to recreate these sorts of word clusters with words like inspiration, respiration, despirited, gust, whispering, but Spanish affords even more choices and roots.

I'm not sure I agree with Michael that the hinges shouldn't be taken literally as well as figuratively. I think the idea is that the air is wandering about aimlessly, looking for its original inspiration, and in its wanderings it slips through and scrapes against the narrow openings of doorjambs. I sort of like that. The search for inpiration and the yearning for home is a painful one, not just spiritually but literally.

Anyway, Alberti's poem is wonderful, and the translation is at least partially successful if it has caused readers without Spanish to realize that it's so. But I do think it is much tinkering away from being as good as it should be and doing proper justice to the original.

PS--
David, apropos your "tricks," I see much wisdom in what you say, but I also find that the opposite is true. It's sometimes too tempting to go with the word in English that ostensibly sounds more like the Spanish word, but there's no compellingly logical reason to do that. After all, duplicating the sound of a particular word is pretty low down on the priority list of a translator, and another word may be better suited to the new sounds in which the original word now finds itself in the translation in English -- not to mention the risk of false cognates or at least slightly-false cognates.

[David Rosenthal]

Originally Posted by Roger Slater

PS--
David, apropos your "tricks," I see much wisdom in what you say, but I also find that the opposite is true. It's sometimes too tempting to go with the word in English that ostensibly sounds more like the Spanish word, but there's no compellingly logical reason to do that. After all, duplicating the sound of a particular word is pretty low down on the priority list of a translator, and another word may be better suited to the new sounds in which the original word now finds itself in the translation in English -- not to mention the risk of false cognates or at least slightly-false cognates.

Bob,

I disagree with nothing you say. The "trick" is really about trying not to add too much -- using cognates is less important, just an example of a sort of Occam's Razor approach that, as you point out, can be problematic as often as it can be effective. In this case, I think "my bearings lost" doesn't translate "desorientado" any better than "disoriented," but may add unnecessarily to image count and possible alters the tone or voice.

Really, what I meant was that when going from more synthetic/inflected languages to more analytic languages it is often a challenge replicate the relative "density" (whether high or low) of a given line's morphological content. Sometimes the challenge is to fit all the information carried by inflections into a line, but more often I find I am challenged to keep the meter, rhythm, flow, or tone alive without padding too much. So if "disoriented" would work for "desorientado" I would be inclined to used it. But of course I do not intend to imply a hard rule about it (and I know you didn't ascribe such an intention to me).

David R.

[Roger Slater]

I agree that "disoriented" would be an accurate translation of the word. But I wonder whether it would sound natural or good to start a sentence, "Disoriented, I . . . " And if not, I'd say it's a good idea to find another word that sounds a bit better. But Michael has a point that "my bearings lost" may be improperly expanding a bit too much on the sail metaphor that Alberti chose to drop after the dimple line. So some third solution may be the way to go, though I have no suggestions just yet.