2014 TBO 1C--Boye's butterflies
 

"Min hud är full av fjärilar" by Karin Boye (Sweden, 1900-1941)


VERSE TRANSLATION:

My Skin Teems With Butterflies

My skin teems with butterflies.
They flutter out across the meadows to feast on nectar
and flutter back to die in small dismal spasms,
not a single grain of pollen shifted by their light feet.
The sun was made for them: ardent, boundless, older than time itself. . .

While beneath the skin and blood, in the bone's marrow,
captive sea eagles soar on spread wings,
ponderous, ponderous, forever clutching their prey.

How mightily you would tumble in spring's oceanic storms.
How your cry would resonate when the sun ignites gold-gleaming eyes.
The cave is sealed! The cave is sealed!
Bleak as cellar sprouts, in a clawed grip,
writhes the essence of my being.


SWEDISH ORIGINAL:

Min hud är full av fjärilar

Min hud är full av fjärilar, av fladdervingar -
de fladdrar ut över ängen och njuter sin honung
och fladdrar hem och dör i små trista spasmer,
och inte ett blomstoft rubbas av lätta fötter.
För dem är solen till, den heta, omätliga, äldre än tiderna...
Men under hud och blod och innanför märgen
flyttar sig tungt tungt fångade havsörnar,
vingbreda, som aldrig släpper sitt byte.
Hur vore ert tummel en gång i havets vårstorm?
Hur vore ert skrik, när solen glödgade gula ögon?
Stängd är grottan! Stängd är grottan!
Och mellan klorna vrider sig vita som källarskott
mitt innerstas tågor.


ENGLISH PROSE CRIB:

My skin is full of butterflies.
They flutter out over the meadow and enjoy their honey
and flutter home and die in small gloomy spasms,
and not a grain of pollen is disturbed by their light feet.
For them the sun exists, the hot, limitless, older than time…

But under skin and blood and inside the marrow
move heavily heavily captured sea eagles,
spread-winged, that never release their prey.
How wouldn't you tumble in the sea's spring storm?
What would your shriek/cry sound like, when the sun ignites yellow eyes?
Closed is the cave! Closed is the cave!
And between the claws writhe white as sprouts in a cellar
the fiber of my innermost.

Commentary
 

COMMENTS ON THE POEM CHOICE AND TRANSLATION:

I have to discuss these two points together, because I found the second half of the poem infuriatingly confusing, and wasn't sure how much of that was due to translation choices and how much was due to the original's opacity and mystery.

My first instinct was to eliminate this poem as a finalist because it was just too problematical; it seemed unfair to favor this one over other entries that seemed far less flawed. In fact, I actually wrote a "Dear Translator" email explaining this. (I'll be asking Alex to forward similar emails to each of the non-finalists, to let them know why I didn't chose their pieces for discussion here.)

But this piece kept creeping back into my mind over the next few days, and again and again I found myself coming back to wrestle with it. In comparison, some of the more technically solid entries started to seem a bit safe and boring and uncompelling. So I decided that the arresting images of this piece would make for better discussion, even though I wish that the translator had provided us with more guidance in the second half.

I do very much admire this translator's phrasing in a lot of places. For example, "ponderous, ponderous, forever clutching their prey"--that's just delicious.

Ordinarily I would also be quite enthusiastic about swapping the rather pedestrian "is full" for the vividly active verb "teems." However, the more I look at this, the more I suspect that the original is using all those fricatives (f's and v's) and liquids (r's and l's) to fill the first few lines with the sound of tiny wingbeats. If "is full" is replaced with "teems", I think it would be good to offset that sonic sacrifice somehow.

I am also curious about the alliterative repetition and variation of av fjärilar, av fladdervingar in L1 (continued in the fladdrar of L2 and the fladdrar of L3). I'm not sure why the translator has chosen not to include av fladdervingar in either the prose crib or the translation. All these iterations of fladder strike me as a sonic foil to the stodgier, heavier flyttar sig tungt tungt in connection with the possessive sea eagles later. There also seems to be a foil between fladdervingar in the first part and vingbreda in the second.

I would prefer the simpler "hot" to "ardent" in L5, mainly because "ardent" seems an overly Poetickal flourish. I'd also suggest reconsidering "mightily" in L9; since that part of the poem is so busy with images already, I think the language should be kept more simple and straightforward.

I wonder if the notion of "trapped" could be moved from L7 to L6:
"Meanwhile, trapped beneath the skin and blood, in the bone's marrow,"

Soaring and flight connote freedom to me; in contrast, the second half of this poem seems to be about repression of instincts and desires. The literal prose crib says "move heavily, heavily," and the birds are definitely grasping something. So I wonder if the "spread-winged" of the crib might refer not to flight, but to the way that birds of prey on the ground (or on perches) hide whatever they are eating from other predators, by cloaking it with open wings. Examples:
http://php.democratandchronicle.com/...awkonhairy.jpg
http://previews.agefotostock.com/pre...110714p308.jpg
http://animals.nationalgeographic.co...tellers-eagle/
Just a guess. I could be wrong. But I found the idea of the predatory birds lumbering along the ground, with the narrator's deepest desires securely in their fists, an interesting contrast with the superficial and short-lived fluttering of the butterflies--perhaps representing meaningless, casual relationships?--in the beginning of the poem.

To me, "resonate" implies echoes (although I know that it need not), so I was picturing the "you" of the poem in an enclosed space, rather than a cry of joy out in the freedom of the sun.

I think a "But" might be helpful at the beginning of the "The cave is sealed! The cave is sealed!" line, even though that will interfere with the parallelism a bit. That line does seem to be the answer to the two preceding comments/questions, which, due to the mention of cries and eyes, I think the narrator addresses to the sea eagles themselves. Could "tumble" be taken in the sense of "frolic"? That would be more in keeping with the vibe of if-only-we-could-be-free I'm perceiving there; otherwise, tumbling in the storm sounds like a negative experience, instead of a victorious one.

"Pale" or "pallid" might be better than "bleak" to describe the white cellar-shoots, since to me those two words imply weakness and stuntedness, while "bleak" just has to do with dreariness and misery in general.

And now, having picked the piece to death, I still find that I'm captivated by it. The perfectionistic side of me doesn't want to like this translation, but I do anyway. So here it is. I hope others will be intrigued by it, too.

By the way, while researching the poet, I learned that she left her marriage to pursue a relationship with a woman she eventually referred to as her wife, and that one of Boye's novels seems to parallel the author's own struggle to resolve her sexual identity with her faith tradition. This information makes me curious about the date of this poem in relation to other events in her life.

It saddens me that, after a couple of reads-through, I am not feeling any connection with the poem. It feels a bit like the pieces of deeply-felt juvenilia that one feels one cannot comment on for fear of injuring a wholly-sincere poet by betraying the tiny twitch at the corner of the mouth that rises unbidden at lines like "...in a clawed grip/ writhes the essence of my being". But that's (more or less) what the Swedish says.

I find the prose crib easier to make out. Here it is clear(er) that the poet is comparing her own apparent sunny sweetness with inner turmoil, but I'm still not quite clear about where the negative "how wouldn't you tumble" from the later part went.

I'm finding this one a bit overstated at the moment but will come back if, like Julie, I feel it calling to me.

Yes, the poem is a bit of an adolescent effusion, but no less challenging to translate, and the translator has done a beautiful job of adding English music. Quite an achievement to use so much alliteration without making it seem overdone.

I wanted to find out whether learning more about the poet would help me warm to the poem, and I think it has. For starters, the poem no longer seems like juvenilia to me, since it appears in a book dated 1935, six years before Boye's death by suicide and after two other books. (I know, you can't tell how old a poem is by the date of the book in which it appears, but the facts of Boye's gradual coming out suggest that she wrote it during an adult period of struggle.)

In case anybody's curious: More by and about Karin Boye.

When the translators' names are revealed, my question for the translator is whether, in the original, the line "the cave is sealed" is a biblical allusion to the burial of Christ. Just wondering.

Would anyone like to take a shot at explaining what all the smirking about adolescence and juvenilia is about? Is it because the poem is about powerful feelings, painfully repressed? Are we supposed to stop having powerful feelings when we reach a certain age, or just stop writing about them? (Midlife crisis, anyone?) Or is it the mixed metaphors. I admit I have mixed feelings about mixed metaphors, they can seem easy, lazy...but in a poem about passion, for metaphors to come tumbling out one after another, maybe is good. This isn't a cautious poem, it makes its point emphatically, seemingly spontaneously, without holding back. Maybe it makes a fool of itself, a little bit, on purpose. Or maybe I'm the only one doing that.

Julie's note about the author's personal life makes me more sympathetic, but even before I'd read that I could sympathize, just being a former Catholic from puritanical Massachusetts.

Sometimes gut-reactions to a poem say more about the critter than about the work itself.

The tone of the poem embarrasses me - because of who I am and how I think and respond. It has the feel of juvenilia not because of any ineptitude on the part of poet or translator, but just because it "goes on a bit".

Thank you, Rose, for the suggestion that perhaps the poet is smiling too. I hadn't thought of that.

Not my cup of tea, but it is strangely compelling, and I think the translation has added to that. 'Teems' might lose the alliteration, but it's such a weird and disturbing image that it drew me in. However 'the essence of my being' at the end is too vague for me. When I saw 'fiber' in the crib, it made more sense to me as representing both the metaphorical essence and the concrete actual mess of sinew and entrails. Not sure that was intended.

This is just a guess, because I know no Swedish, but the poem would make a LOT more sense to me if it was not the eagles that were captured, but something else that is the captive of the sea eagles, as the last line seems to imply. Then it is the captive something (a fish perhaps?) that wants to tumble into the sea. It is possible that the eagles themselves could also be captive and that the shriek might be their gladness if they could see the sun again. But maybe the captive, used to living without the light, is terrified about being pulled up into it? I have a lot of trouble making sense of what is going on here, and I can't tell whether that is a problem with the translation or with the opacity of the original poem.

Susan

This is a wonderful working into poem, judging by the crib. The closing line is approaching twee, and I wonder if that wouldn't be fixed by replacing 'essence of my being' to 'fiber of my being' - which is also sonically smoother. Glad you kept it in!

I find this poem very beautiful and compelling. The contrast between the images of the fragile, delicate butterflies and the fierce, predatory eagles is powerful and moving. This is one of those deceptively simple pieces where the translator often feels tempted to eschoue a strictly "literal" translation. But in this case, I think the translation would benefit greatly by adhering more closely to both the sound and meaning of the original.

L1-2 Firstly, I think the translator should keep the long, flowing, regular lines of the original. Take the first line of the translation – "My skin teems with butterflies." The shortened line loses the flowing gracefulness of the original, whose sound is inextricably connected with the movement of the butterflies, as well as the alliteration of the "f" sounds, which also serves to suggest that fluttering movement. And the cool thing is, you can do the same thing in English! So why not take the freebie, if you can get it?
And I think "teems” is absolutely the wrong word here as it has a rather negative connotation -- you think of "a teeming tenement” or "teeming with roaches" (yuck!):eek: – Certainly not butterflies.

So, how about something like

"My skin is full of butterflies, with fluttering wings –
they flutter out across the meadows and feast on honey..
(I prefer honey, as in the original, to nectar, which sounds self-consciously poetic to me.)

L3 – I don't like "dismal" – it's a rather heavy word for butterflies, who, even in death, are light and delicate.

L5 – I would take out "itself" which is not necessary and makes the line drag on too long.

L6 – I would take out "bone's" – you don't need it.

L7 - "sea eagles" sounds a little strange to my ear. How about "sea hawks"?

L8 - "ponderous" – too ponderous! I'd stay with "heavily.

L9-10 - why not keep these lines as questions?

L10- "gold-gleaming" - a little too Beowulf? Yellow eyes are much more effective.

L11 – "The cave is sealed" is too melodramatic. I think "The cave is closed" sounds more natural, and also has a nice alliteration.

L12-13 For me L11 is the climax of the poem, which is emphasized by its shortness. But the translator has also shortened L12, which diminishes the impact of the abruptness of the cry in L11. L12 is especially problematic. "Cellar sprouts" just doesn't function as a compound in English, so I think you have to take the long cut and say "sprouts in a cellar”. And, again, the last line needs to be short, to maintain the powerful cadence at the end of the poem.

Overall, I see this translation as a good draft, which can be tightened up to more closely captured the sound and meaning of the original. And that's half the battle!

"
And I think "teems” is absolutely the wrong word here as it has a rather negative connotation -- you think of "a teeming tenement” or "teeming with roaches" (yuck!)
"

But Marion, we also talk of a river or lake teeming with fish, and that's a really positive connotation, of prosperity, of fertility, of nature going right - especially for the fisherfolk! Associative thinking's such an interesting thing.

Maybe, Seree. For me, anyway, "teems" has a somewhat negative connotation. For the fisherfolk, I would choose to say the lake "abounds" with fish. But, in any case,"teems" is a poetic interpretation, and, as I said, I think the translation should stay closer to the original, both in sound and meaning.

I totally agree with Rose. To me, there is nothing in this poem resembling "juvenilia" - it has depth, passion, originality; the apparent simplicity of the language expresses the complexity and depth of a passionate, intelligent woman, who is far from adolescent. It certainly speaks to me. But maybe I'm just in touch with my inner adolescent. :D

(This poem reminded me of the remarkable poem by Maz (Grasshopper) – anyone remember it? – where the narrator describes herself as a performing monkey on the outside, and an anguished hound underneath.)

I wish I were fluent in Swedish in order to be able to critique the translation :o ! There are some powerful images here. Question: Did the translator insert stanza breaks, or was the original lacking them?

The movement of the piece is admirable, but that doesn't make up for the obscurity of stanzas 2 and 3. When one needs notes to explain poetry, the burden becomes almost insurmountable. The translation is fairly faithful to the crib, but the crib is also in need of footnotes. Great singers should choose great songs, yet this obviously accomplished versifier and translator has made a bad choice of translation.

The poem was immediately accessible to me both aesthetically and emotionally. I want to add, as maybe I came off a bit negative toward the translation, that I think it's a good, clear, readable draft, and that with a little polishing and revising I'm sure the translator can make it successful; furthermore, her* passion for the poet and the poem comes through and I think that's the most important part of the process.

Just a note, I can read the original, and I read it first. If you're basing your reaction to the poem off the translation, maybe you're not getting a true sense of the poem.

*I know! His/her. But surely it's a woman!

Coincidentally, I have just been reading a book about Karin Boye's life, since a line of her poetry was quoted a few days ago in the official statement of government policy by our newly elected prime minister. That doesn't happen often and it made me quite happy.

When I heard his quote, I remembered some unread books by K.B so I hauled them out and have been reading. I have in actual fact been personally acquainted with people (all now dead) who knew Karin Boye. It may be because I know (or think I know) circumstances of her life and death that this poem moves me.

Marion, who is fluent in Swedish, discerns a difference between the source language and its rendering. I can't say I'm recognizing discrepancies, but these are sure to be itemized later. Birthe hasn't yet weighed in.

I read the poem as dealing with K.B.s complicated inner life as a young talented avantgarde bisexual who was involved in both political and intellectual enterprises and was interested in Freud's school of psychoanalysis. She spent many years going from one analyst to another and her metaphors reflect her inner strife in Freudian terms.

One should remember that in the thirties homosexuality was still criminalized in Sweden as was propagation of birth control methods.

It is true that half of the first line is missing and that mars the rendition. Otherwise it seems to be an interesting choice and I'm glad to see a Swedish poem again in the discussion. Like Marion, I'm guessing the translator is a woman, but in this company, one never knows.

Wonderful poem, valiant translation, I am looking forward to finding out who tackled Swedish this time.
I agree with Marion about ‘teeming’, the f sequence should not be lost in translation.
The ending is meant to be humorous, ‘My innermost being’ is a poetic interpretation of a what the author calls ‘my tows’. She sees her insides as held together with white tows (or webbing,) white as [ potato ] sprouts grown in the dark. I would translate ‘mit innerstas tågor’ as
’ my internal rigging’.
Or
‘my innermost fabric’.
‘Omätliga’ means insatiable – I don’t think ‘boundless’ will do, it is not the same.
‘The cave is sealed’ is too biblical – The cavern, or grotto, is closed – sounds better, lighter, and I think light is what this should be, and serious - with humor.

I have to respectfully disagree, Birthe.

"Omätliga" means "immeasureable"; (gränslös) boundless;

"Omättliga" means "insatiable".

"tåga" (plural tågor) means "(fiber) filiment, thread; (figuratively) nerve, sinew.

The Swedish dictionary gives it thus:

tåga - -an, -or trådlik del i kätt el. växter, fiber; utplockad tråd (.t.ex. lintåga) äv. bildl. nervkraft, uthållighet: det är verklig t-a i honom han tål och uthärdar verkligen mycket. tågig -t bestående av el. full av tågor.

So I think perhaps "the very fiber of my being" or put another way "the essence of who I am."

I find it difficult to see the ending as humorous. It's very Freudian, a statement about her chosen sexuality, which of course was a criminal offense at that time. Though women weren't usually prosecuted, men were. Still homosexuality was illegal and a social stigma. Also, she was always in need of cash. She mostly supported herself as an underpaid translator, and though her books were published by Bonniers, she had no money to speak of when she died.

I think this is a cry that she feels her sexuality is caught in the grip of these captive eagles who hold it as prey and won't release it. J

ust my take on it.

Janice,
I am on very thin ice when I venture to correct Swedish. I am sure you are right – you have the dictionary, I admit to be basing my opinion on Danish – and the two are not the same. I also only see the poem here without its history – you have its background, so again, I am sure you are right.

I do find the innermost fabric more apt ( humor or not ) than innermost being.

It gives a different scope to one’s interpretation to know the facts about the poet. I did jump right into unknown waters. So no arguments, jeg tager ved lære. ( I learn ).

Birthe, I am always on thin ice. Sometimes if I run fast enough, I get across before it breaks.

First of all, my apologies for belated thanks and comments. I've been away and didn't take my Eratosphere password with me, so even when I had access to the Internet, I was foiled.

I have enjoyed all the comments and yes, part of the first line was missing. Shame on me. I just plucked this from my "Finished/Available Translations" file without reading. I had the missing parts in red in the previous version (to indicate "think more about this") and when I decided I wanted it that way, I apparently mistakenly deleted rather than change the color. That's what happens when I've been in front of the screen for too many hours.

So "fladdervingar" should have been included in the first line and I had it as "with flickering wings" I did not want "fluttering wings" for two reasons. One, because I felt it would be just too many occurrences of "flutter". "fladder" can substitute for "flicker", as you see in definitions 2 and 3 below. And two, I like the "skin/flicker" sound combination.

Flutter - verb (used without object)

1. to wave, flap, or toss about: Banners fluttered in the breeze.
2. to flap the wings rapidly; fly with flapping movements.
3. to move in quick, irregular motions; vibrate.
4. to beat rapidly, as the heart.
5. to be tremulous or agitated.
6. to go with irregular motions or aimless course: to flutter back and forth.

Flicker - verb (used without object)
1. to burn unsteadily; shine with a wavering light:
The candle flickered in the wind and went out.
2. to move to and fro; vibrate; quiver:
The long grasses flickered in the wind.
3. to flutter.

I found Julie's comment about the frictive v's and f's being imitative of the wingbeats just beautiful. Whether Boye intended it or not, I can't say, but I hope I shall always remember that perceptive comment. (If I can't remember how to change color, I may have trouble, but I'll try.) Julie is spot on when she points out Boye's use of alliteration and repetition.

About "teems" rather than "full of". I'm not keen on "My skin is full of butterflies" (though other poets have chosen that solution) because "a skin that is full of" signifies not only "covered with" (the sense intended here) but also "a skin full" and I rejected that as a possible snicker-stumble. Moreover "teem" encapsulates the sense of "swarm"

Teem - verb (used without object)

1. to abound or swarm; be prolific or fertile (usually followed by with).
2. Obsolete. to be or become pregnant; bring forth young.
verb (used with object)
3. Obsolete. to produce (offspring).

I am willing to find a better word than "ardent", but "hot" isn't it.

I have to admit that I don't like "Meanwhile". Sorry, but in my mind, it is inextricably followed by "by at the ranch". For me, "while" fills the need for "at the same time that"; it indicates an analogous or corresponding action: The floor was strewn with books, while magazines covered the tables.

About "bleak, pale and pallid". I thought I was incorporating two senses, but discovered when double-checking now that I am guilty of using a false friend. I would say in Swedish of someone who has lost their face color that they were "blek": So I find myself taken down a second notch about this translation.

Word Origin and History for bleak
adj.
c.1300, "pale," from Old Norse bleikr "pale, whitish, blond," from Proto-Germanic *blaika- "shining, white," from PIE root *bhel- (1) "to shine, flash, burn" (see bleach (v.)). Later "bare, windswept" (1530s). Sense of "cheerless" is c.1719 figurative extension. The same Germanic root produced Old English blac "pale," but this died out, probably from confusion with blæc "black;" however bleak persisted, with a sense of" bare" as well as "pale."

In reply to Maryann's question: I don't know. Both she and her husband Leif Björk were interested in depth psychology and went from one therapist to another. Boye had a period of religiosity in her youth though she later identified as agnostic or atheist. To the best of my knowledge, this is not an early poem, but who knows what scrap can be found and built on?

I've recently read a biography of a sorts: in translation it would be "Karin Boye and her husband". Perhaps it should be called a memoir. It was written by Kaj Björk the younger brother of Leif Bjork, Karin Boye's husband. He was several years younger than she was and died as recently as 2000. They remained on good terms and he never commented their relationship though he did serve on the board for a "Friends of.." organization. He was a statistician and had a long and distinguished career as a civil servant. He was also a translator of specialist literature including J.M. Keynes "General Theory".

I am debating with myself about "fiber" rather than "essence". Thanks to all who introduced and supported this idea.

After all these excellent comments (special thanks to Marion) I intend to work on this some more and see if I can't bring it up to snuff.

Apologies for throwing out the red herrings. That's part of the fun of the yearly translation event.

And so it doesn't get lost in the blah-blah above, I want to say in a special post how appreciative I am of all the work Julie has put into this.

I'm sorry only that there weren't more comments. Everyone can take part--as we've said time and again--even if you don't have skills in another language you can all comment the result as a poem (or not).

Thanks again, Julie. You are a shining example of what makes the Sphere special.