[Jennifer Reeser]

THE TWO CROSSES

Along the road in the region of Pontcroix
A brand new cross looms large against a full sky
With a gleaming rose-washed Christ, commanding awe.
But two or three steps farther on I spy
Distorted, twisted, pitiful indeed,
Discarded under bushes by a wall,
A thigh bone in the shadows, and it leads
Me to another Christ among nettles and thorns,
An older Christ sans color and sans form,
The Eternal Sufferer who calms all pain,
A Christ whose sad and sorry state recalls
His own and others' bitter agonies,
Those noble hearts cast into obloquy,
Forgotten like this Christ who suffers shame.

The leper flees the light with head bent down;
The beggar’s eyes will not gaze on this one.
The crowd just passes by with but a frown.
Saving their incense, vows and prayers, they shun
One loved of poets for one laved in gold,
Preferring a new setting, not the old.
And yet what heart would not be moved by this
Cold stone, this broken wall filled now with Christ?
Once watered with Magdalene’s tears, ah, what a price!
These feet are now bathed with a sewer’s fetid breath.

To punish you, Pilate and Caiaphas
One day placed on your head a thorn-wreathed crown.
What was your crime? To spread God’s love around!
O Christ! By love a peasant, from a mass
Of stone, chiseled and carved you out, his rude
And clumsy child-like hands at work, yet now
You’re lost inside a cleft. O magnitude!
The final insult on your blessed brow,
A brow that blesses and a brow that bleeds,
Are prickly brambles that have become your crown,
And the rough-hewn granite wall among the weeds;
That seeks to banish you into oblivion.


Les deux croix (by Jules Breton in Les Champs et la mer, 1875)

On voit, sur une route au pays de Pontcroix,
En plein ciel, toute neuve, une pompeuse croix
Où resplendit un Christ badigeonné de rose.
Deux ou trois pas plus loin, se tord, navrante chose,
Piteux et relégué sous les buissons d’un mur,
Laissant saillir de l’ombre un horrible fémur,
Penchant affreusement sa tête mutilée
Au milieu de l’ortie à la ronce mêlée
Oublié, l’ancien Christ informe et sans couleur.
Et l’éternel Souffrant, qui calme la douleur,
Rappelle, en cet état, les âpres agonies
De tant de nobles coeurs jetés aux gémonies;
Et le lépreux qui fuit le jour injurieux,
Le mendiant lui-même en detourne les yeux;
Et le poète l’aime.... et la foule qui passe
N’a de regards que pour celui qui dans l’espace
Etend ses bras en croix dans une gloire d’or.
Au crucifié même il faut un beau decor;
A celui-ci l’encens, les voeux et la prière;
L’autre – dans les cailloux, n’est qu’une vaine pierre.
Et cependant quel coeur ne serait pas touché!
Un trou s’ouvrait au mur, et le Christ l’a bouché!
Et l’égout du chemin, de sa fétide haleine
Baigne ses pieds aimés qu’arrosa Madeleine.
Toi dont le crime fut de répandre l’amour,
Lorsque – pour t’en punir, Ponce et Caïphe, un jour,
Sur ta tête eurent mis la couronne d’épines,
o Christ! qu’un paysan de ses mains enfantines,
D’un barbare ciseau par l’amour ennobli,
Tailla dans ce bloc dur; croyais-tu que l’oubli
Oserait te jeter dans un trou de muraille,
Et qu’outrage dernier, l’insultante broussaille
Mêlerait sur ton front, qui saigne et qui bénit,
L’épine de la ronce à celle du granit?


Crib #1: My own attempt

We see on a road in the country of Pontcroix,
in full sky, brand/very new, a pompous/high-flown cross,
where shines brightly (gleams/glitters) a Christ, stained rose (a whitewash of pink or slathered rose).

Two or three steps farther, twisted, appalling/distressing thing,
pitiful and neglected/relegated under the bushes of a wall,
leaving/outcast/abandoned, protruding from the shadows, a horrible femur,
leaning over/tilted mutilated head bent hideously,
in the middle of the stinging nettles and tangled thorns/brambles.
Forgotten, the old/ancient Christ without form (shapeless) and without color.

The eternal Sufferer who calms pain
recalls (calls to mind), in this state, the bitter agonies
of so many noble hearts thrown to the obloquy/public contempt/opprobrium:
And the leper who fled the offensive day,
the begger likewise turns/looks away/averts his eyes;
and the poet loves (Him) and the crowd that passes/passes by
has eyes only for that/this one in space
extending his arms crosswise (into a cross) in a glory of gold.
Even the crucified need a beautiful setting. (to the crucified even it must be a beautiful décor);
To this one incense, vows, and prayers;
The other one, in the pebbles, is just/only a vain stone.

And yet what heart would not be affected/touched/stirred/hit!
A hole opened in the wall and Christ blocked it!
And the sewer/drain on the path with fetid breath bathes his beloved feet, watered by Madeleine (assume here like feet watered by tears of Mary Magdalene and anointed with oil—this is tradition, as the full name of the women is not in the Bible but seems to be who Breton is referring to – Madeleine is a form of Magdalene in French

Thee whose crime was to spread/pour out love!
When, to punish you for it, Pontus (assume here Pontius Pilate) and Caiaphas, one day, on your head had put the crown of thorns.
O Christ! That peasant with his childish/infantile hands,
from a barbarian/crude chisel, by his love ennobled,
hewed/cut out this hard block;
thought thou that
oblivion/neglect would dare throw you into a hole in the wall?
And the final/last insult/outrage, the insulting brush/scrub
mingled on your brow that bleeds and that blesses,
the prickle of the bramble in that of the granite?

Crib #2: This is a translation by the van Gogh Museum. Van Gogh copied this poem to a letter to Anthon van Rappard , Letter 435, 1884. This van Gogh translation from the French is on this website: http://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let435/letter.html


The two crosses

Beside a road somewhere in Pontcroix we see,
Open to the sky, brand new, a pretentious cross
On which there gleams a Christ, daubed all in pink.
A few steps farther on – distorted, painful to behold,
Pitiful, discarded near a wall that’s overgrown with weeds,
A grotesque thigh-bone showing through the shade,
Its mutilated head hideously inclined,
Forgot among the nettles and the tangled briars –
The old Christ, faded, twisted out of shape.
The eternal Sufferer, he who soothes our pain,
His present state recalls the bitter agonies
Of all those noble hearts cast into obloquy;
And the leper, fleeing daylight’s curse,
The very beggar turns away his glance;
The poet loves him.... but the crowd that passes by
Has eyes for none but him who
Spreads wide aloft his arms, haloed in gold.
Though crucified, his setting must be fine;
To him be incense, holy vows, and prayers.
The other, on the pebbly ground, naught but a piece of stone.
And yet what heart would not be moved!
The wall was broken, and Christ filled up the rift!
The drain beside the road exhales its foetid breath
On his beloved feet, those the Magdalen bathed.

Thou whose crime was but in spreading love,
When, to punish thee, Pilate and Caiaphas one day
Placed on thy head the crown of thorns,
O Christ, whom with his child-like hands –
His rude and clumsy chisel by his love refined –
A peasant carved from this hard block,
Did’st thou believe oblivion
Would dare to throw thee into a wall’s dark cleft,
Or, final insult, that the disrespectful scrub
Would mix upon thy brow that blesses and that bleeds
The bramble’s prickle with the granite spine?

[Jennifer Reeser]

French Operative Six, bonjour.

There seems no good reason not to replace “agonies” with “agony” for a perfect rhyme, and a complete couplet. The conclusion of the first stanza is disappointing. What about something like, “Forgotten like this image/savior/old Christ who appalls”? The translation is not as clear (at that point) as the original, and this – at least on an intuitive level – might strengthen it rhetorically, with both emotion and sound (recalls/appalls).

I recommend staying with “The very beggar will not glance at this one,” instead of, “The beggar’s eyes will not gaze on this one.” The line: “One loved of poets for one laved in gold,” is ideal, however. The following line renders the combination sublime, fully doing justice to Breton.

“These feet are now bathed with a sewer’s fetid breath.” Comes completely incongruously, as far as comparative scansion. Dommage, as the French say – because it is a phrasal wonder. Re-order, for more sureness (and I think it could stand to lose “fetid,” since the sewer shows, without needing to tell: ) “Christ’s feet are bathed now with a sewer’s breath.” Again, “What was your crime? To spread God’s love around!” falls out of tone, teetering dangerously on the precipice of jingoism. Better to stay with the restrained, “You whose crime was spreading love around,” as Breton said.


That is a sharp cut, I realize, but overall, I find this piece excellent, and indeed, may even prefer your close to Breton’s more surreal finish.

DG

[Katherine Smith]

A wonderful poem. Many thanks to the translator.

The second stanza of the translation(except the first four lines) is excellent, as well as the middle of the third stanza. I'm not fond of the way the poem has handled the final lines (the original is much more subtle--though this is not a subtle poem) and the beginning also has less conviction than the original.

Katherine

[Don Jones]

I’ll start with positives. I really like these lines from the last stanza.

One day placed on your head a thorn-wreathed crown.
What was your crime? To spread God’s love around!
O Christ! By love a peasant, from a mass
Of stone, chiseled and carved you out, his rude
And clumsy child-like hands at work, yet now
You’re lost inside a cleft.

For By love a peasant how about with love, a peasant. The comma will help.

If you keep that up retroactively through the rest of the poem the next time around, you will have a winner!

Now for things I don't like.

The macaronic rhyme between Pontcroix and awe. I suppose those who know how to pronounce the French will get the rhyme. But what about those who don’t read French? The rhyme is a bit clever but that is damning with faint praise. Of course, finding a rhyme for “Pauntcroiks” is not an option either. I suggest you rewrite these lines to avoid ending either one of them with a French word pronounced a la French.

I’m not sure why you overlook “On voit” ("we see" as you have in your crib, or "they see" or "one sees"), which opens the poem. After all, the narrator is bearing witness for the collective.

In the second line the meter made me lose my breath only to smash into two stresses!: A brand new cross looms large against a full sky. At that point I knew it would take more effort to read when otherwise, as is the French, this should be a journey with its own ease of velocity and tempo. That is what meter brings to words, after all. L2 really turned me off, especially in light of how well you can use meter in so many places.

How about (despite the inversion in the 4th foot) “An older Christ who lacks color and form.” Again, your employment of French in “sans” (twice!) is annoying. It will really make people who hate the French hate them more! Keeping to the Queen’s English should be the norm here.

I may revisit with more comments on the French as I am in a hurry to leave.

In all, though, I think this is quite good.

[Catherine Chandler]

First thoughts:

Why did the translator put in stanza breaks? Or were there stanza breaks, and they didn't come through when posted?

Why didn't the translator attempt rhymed alexandrine couplets (with a caesura after the sixth syllable) as in the original? Or at least use perfect rhymes throughout, as in the original?

I think the title should be simply "Two Crosses". The definite article is not needed in this example.

I may be back with more later, but for now, overall, I'm disappointed with this brave but flawed translation.

[Don Jones]

Agreed about the need to use full rhyme in couplets like the original. Yet, the lines in English could be written in ten syllables. Twelve would be stretching things in English. As for the caesura after the sixth syllable, I'm not sure what purpose that would serve nor if it would be desirable. In any case the caesura is not always present after the sixth syllable in the original. Let the breathing pause in English fall where it may. English pentameter is a homologue to the French alexandrine. Traditional IP can do the job.

Added in:

I spent some more time with the French as promised. Before you begin your rewrite, here are a few pointers.

The French:

On voit, sur une route au pays de Pontcroix,
En plein ciel, toute neuve, une pompeuse croix
Où resplendit un Christ badigeonné de rose.

Your translation:

Along the road in the region of Pontcroix
A brand new cross looms large against a full sky
With a gleaming rose-washed Christ, commanding awe.

The French has “pompeuse,” which shows this crucifix to be bombastic, pompous. That is also what your crib and the second crib state. I take Breton to mean affected, precious, not “commanding awe.” My justification is that later in the poem Breton describes the virtues of the other cross and its humble and humiliated condition. It is the virtue of the peasant who made a simple cross of stone versus the arrogance of a gilt cross made by an unmentioned hand, distant, abstract, theoretical, maybe even theological. In keeping with the original you need to drive home the dichotomy of the two crosses. For the record, I find Breton's Pontcroix or "Crossbridge" a bit over the top. The bridge is between two crosses that are far apart? Not so convinced.

Et l’éternel Souffrant, qui calme la douleur,
Rappelle, en cet état, les âpres agonies
De tant de nobles coeurs jetés aux gémonies

The Eternal Sufferer who calms all pain,
A Christ whose sad and sorry state recalls
His own and others' bitter agonies,
Those noble hearts cast into obloquy,
Forgotten like this Christ who suffers shame.

I don’t follow your English from the French here. There’s no reason to have five lines of English to three in French. It’s sometimes the other way around! Where did you get “shame”? You take up a lot of syllables for the equivalent of en cet état: whose sad and sorry state. In fact, the French doesn’t say that and is far simpler and direct.

It’s not “his own and others’ bitter agonies” (prefer “misery”), but that the Eternal Sufferer (long-suffering) brings to mind the bitter misery of so many noble hearts subjected to public scorn.

Nowhere does the French say “Forgotten like this Christ who suffers shame,” which has to be the worst line in the translation. And we've all written them!

Here’s one more to encourage a closer look at the French. In your crib, the final lines end with two questions while your verse translation ends with a declarative sentence. The original goes:

…croyais-tu que l’oubli
Oserait te jeter dans un trou de muraille,
Et qu’outrage dernier, l’insultante broussaille
Mêlerait sur ton front, qui saigne et qui bénit,
L’épine de la ronce à celle du granit?

Your crib:

…thought thou that
oblivion/neglect would dare throw you into a hole in the wall?
And the final/last insult/outrage, the insulting brush/scrub
mingled (should read: “would mingle” like “would dare” after main verb “thought”) on your brow that bleeds and that blesses,
the prickle of the bramble in that of the granite?

Your translation:

yet now/
You’re lost inside a cleft. O magnitude!
The final insult on your blessed brow,
A brow that blesses and a brow that bleeds,
Are prickly brambles that have become your crown,
And the rough-hewn granite wall among the weeds;
That seeks to banish you into oblivion.

The translation is very distorted here. Where did you get “you’re lost inside a cleft”? Is this a rewrite of the French (jeter dans un trou de muraille)? How does “magnitude” come in? Nowhere do we get the question “Did you think that oblivion …?" But it is oblivion that is the agent of action in the French. You make it into the object of a preposition and at the end of the poem!

The "insult" is not "on the brow" but the "insulting brambles" "would mingle" the nettle and granite upon his brow (between a weed and a hard place). Your translation unnecessary conflates "outrage denier" and "insultante," then goes onto "brambles" unrelated to "insultante" as it is in the original. Instead "brambles" is connected to "prickly," which becomes a pleonasm.

Why "banished"?

In all, you miss the unworldly grandeur of the provocative question did you believe that oblivion would dare to throw you into a hole in a wall and that, final outrage, the contemptuous undergrowth would mingle upon your brow, which bleeds and blesses, the needle of the nettle with that of the granite. Your rendering of these lines is quite a Gordian Knot. I think you forgot the French for the English.

This stone Christ is cast out yet shall be the corner stone of the new Temple. Perhaps Breton despairs that no such temple will be built or that the true Christ is always meant to be among the downtrodden, outside the Temple walls, among those who suffer. On the other hand, if the Temple is built Breton might be suggesting it would be like the golden cross of an established church. Is he being spiritual or political? The poem holds interest in this way.

[Seree Zohar]

Thanks to those of you who've pointed out linguistic discrepancies. I'm sure our secret translator will be grateful too. Lots of good fine-honing feedback here. For me, reading the translation as an English poem, there are sections with full rhymes and sections barely slanted, and I'm having loads of trouble with meter, which seems quite wobbly in places. It seems S2 is the most accomplished in meter and rhyme, and some of those lines are quite lovely. But yes, there are also no small number of discrepancies - fillers or close cigars of all kinds - that differ from both cribs enough to see there's quite a bit of work yet to go.

[Skip Dewahl]

This one needs to shore up meter, rhyme and the pesky linguistic discrepancies, but then this has been said by those preceding. However, the imagery is spot on, so all is not lost.