Machado is indeed a wonderful poet, probably the
best of his generation. But I don't think the Bly
translation is any good. Not that he hasn't now and
then done some good stuff---his book of Kabir is an
old favorite of mine (though properly speaking, it's
not exactly a translation: he translated the English
of the scholar Underhill and the soppy English of
Rabindranath Tagore in his own English). I can't
really judge Robert's versions as translations; but
Kabir's poems are so alive, they come through with
great energy and passion. He is not nearly as good
with Spanish verse, as the above Machado poem shows.
(I might add, in passing, that "free verse mastery"
is a rare thing. It is much more difficult than
metrical verse and very few have done it well. At
least 98% of contemporary free verse is of no interest
as verse, is not really verse, strictly speaking.) For
whatever amusement it may provide, here's a parody I did
of Robert's translation style at its worst:
[Machado]
Que quiere el vento de encono
que baja por el barranco
y violenta las ventanas
mientras te visto de abrozos?
Derribamos. Arrastrarnos.
Derribadas. Arrastradas.
las dos sangres se alejaron.
Que sigue queriendo el viento,
cada vez mas enconado?
Separarnos.
[my rough version]
What does it want, the rancorous wind,
that sweeps down the ravine
and shakes the windowpanes
while I robe you in my arms?
To humiliate us. Sweep us away.
Humiliated, swept away,
the two lifebloods drew apart.
What does it go on wanting, this wind
more rancorous every moment?
To separate us.
[as rendered by Captain Bly]
What wants the wild wind, anyway,
As it falls off the cliff
And violates the windows
While I give you a big hug?
To knock us down, drag us out.
Knocked up and drugged out,
Our bodily fluids bid each other adios.
What's the wind getting at with this line of questioning,
daily more tremendous?
To unglue us.
Rather unfair, I admit, but funny.
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