[Glenn Wright]

Tetrameter (Second) Version

Wounds of Love

by Federico García Lorca

This light, this hungry flame that devours.
This landscape: a gray, encircling ocean.
This sorrow for a single notion.
These anguished skies, this world, these hours.

These tears of blood that decorate
the unplucked lyre, the torch impure.
This crush of waves I must endure.
My heart that houses the scorpion’s hate.

They’re wreaths of love, a bed for the hurt,
sleepless, I dream of your cherished presence
in ruins of my shipwrecked heart.

And though I seek the highest sense,
your heart gives me a valley fraught
with hemlock and bitter experience.
————————
Edits:
S1L1: This light, this fire that devours, > This light, this hungry flame that devours.
S1L2: this gray landscape encircling, > this gray landscape, like a circling ocean, > This landscape, a gray, encircling ocean. > This landscape: a gray, encircling ocean.
S1L3: this sorrow for just one inkling, > this grief for just one single notion,> this sorrow for a single notion, > This sorrow for a single notion.
S1L4: these anguished skies, these worldly hours, > these anguished skies, this world, these hours, > These anguished skies, this world, these hours.
S2L1: these tears of blood that ornament > these tears of blood obscenely gild > These tears of blood obscenely gild > These tears of blood obscenely paint > These tears of blood that decorate
S2L2: the lyre unplucked, the torch, profane, > the unplucked lyre, the torch, profane; > the unplucked lyre, the torch, profane. > the unplucked lyre, the torch profane.> the unplucked lyre, the torch impure.
S2L3: this crush of waves inflicts such pain; > This crush of waves inflicts such pain. > This crush of waves that brings such pain. > This crush of waves that brings me pain. > This crush of waves I must endure.
S2L4: the scorpion taints my sentiment. > the scorpion’s taint my heart has filled. > My heart with scorpion’s taint is filled. > My heart is filled with scorpion’s taint. > My heart that hosts the scorpion’s hate.> My heart that bears the scorpion’s hate. > My heart that houses the scorpion’s hate.
S3L1: They’re earths of love, for the hurt, a cot, > They’re wreaths of love, a bed for the hurt,
S3L2: where sleepless, I dream of you, intense, > where sleepless, I dream your cherished presence, > Awake, I dream your cherished presence > I dream, awake, your cherished presence > sleepless, I dream of your cherished presence
S3L3: in the wreckage of my sad heart. > in wreckage of my downcast heart. > in wreckage of my shipwrecked heart. > in the ruins of my shipwrecked heart.
S4L3: with hemlock and fervid prescience. > with hemlock and bitter prescience. > with lock and bitter experience.

————————

Pentameter (First) Version

Wounds of Love

by Federico García Lorca

This light, this hungry fire that can devour,
this gray landscape, threatening to surround me,
this one, overwhelming idea, trying to drown me,
this anguish in the heavens, the world, the hour,

this weeping of blood that decorates the lyre,
as yet unplucked, the torch that would excite me,
this heaviness that strikes me from the sea,
this scorpion that has made my heart its bower:

they are garlands of love, for the wounded, a cot,
where sleepless, I dream of your beloved presence
among the ruins of my shipwrecked heart.

And though I seek the highest form of prudence,
your heart gives me a valley that is fraught
with hemlock and the passion of bitter prescience.

————————
Edits:
S2L2:as yet unplucked, the torch that would arouse me, > as yet unplucked, the torch that would excite me,

————————
Original (from Ciudad Seva, casa digital del escritor Luis López Nieves)

Llagas de Amor

Esta luz, este fuego que devora.
Este paisaje gris que me rodea.
Este dolor por una sola idea.
Esta angustia de cielo, mundo y hora.

Este llanto de sangre que decora
lira sin pulso ya, lúbrica tea.
Este peso del mar que me golpea.
Este alacrán que por mi pecho mora.

Son guirnaldas de amor, cama de herido,
donde sin sueño, sueño tu presencia
entre las ruinas de mi pecho hundido.

Y aunque busco la cumbre de prudencia
me da tu corazón valle tendido
con cicuta y pasión de amarga ciencia.

————————
Crib:

Wounds of Love

This light, this fire that devours.
This gray landscape that surrounds me.
This pain/sorrow for one single idea.
This anguish of the sky, the world, and hour/time.

This weeping of blood that decorates
the lyre still without plucking, the lusty torch.
This weight of the sea that strikes me.
This scorpion that dwells in my breast.

They are garlands of love, a bed for the wounded
where, without sleeping/dreaming, I dream [of] your presence
among the ruins of my sunken/downcast/submerged heart.

And although I seek the summit of prudence,
your heart gives me a valley lying
with hemlock and the passion/fervor/heat of bitter knowledge.

[Carl Copeland]

Hi, Glenn. I’m intrigued, but a little under the weather, so maybe Mignon or someone else will stop by while I’m recuperating. Meanwhile, I’m going make a suggestion that others have made to me: There seems to be a lot of metrical filler in the translation. I wonder if you’d consider letting out some of the air and shrinking all or some of the lines to tet. It may not be doable, but on a few occasions I found it surprisingly easy and effective.

[Carl Copeland]

Ok, a little more while I’m at it: I didn’t understand “the torch that would arouse me” until I peeked at the crib. I thought the torch might be arousing him from sleep. I’m a legendary misreader, of course, but keep in mind the potential ambiguity. Also in S1, “fire that can devour” and threatens to surround is more tentative than fire that does devour and does surround. And an “idea trying to drown me” seems a little far removed from “pain for an idea,” though it does tie in with the shipwreck. These are all things you could consider if you play with the line lengths. I think I’m running a fever, so I hope I’m not subjecting you to feverish ravings …

[David Callin]

Originally Posted by Carl Copeland

Hi, Glenn. I’m intrigued, but a little under the weather, so maybe Mignon or someone else will stop by while I’m recuperating. Meanwhile, I’m going make a suggestion that others have made to me: There seems to be a lot of metrical filler in the translation. I wonder if you’d consider letting out some of the air and shrinking all or some of the lines to tet. It may not be doable, but on a few occasions I found it surprisingly easy and effective.

This is my thought too, Glenn. More will follow, hopefully. (A selection of Lorca's poems is on my bedside cabinet at the moment, and part of my bedtime reading, so I'm kind of in the zone.)

Cheers

David

[Glenn Wright]

Okay, Carl and David—

Challenge accepted! I chopped a foot off each line. You’re right, Carl, that it was easier than I expected it to be. I guess that shows that there was twenty percent inert ingredients in the original pentameter version, but I still like the first version better.

I hope this gives you something to play with as you recuperate, Carl.

Glenn

[Carl Copeland]

Well done, Glenn. The compression of your new version seems more in keeping with the original. A few more thoughts:

S1L2: How are you scanning this line? I get three stresses. A line or two of trimeter or pentameter in a tet poem wouldn’t necessarily bother me, but I wondered what you had in mind.

S1L3: I can squeeze four stresses out of this line by promoting “for” and ending the line with a trochaic substitution, but three seems a lot more natural to me. And how do you understand the line? In your first version, Lorca had some obsessive idea that was giving him pain. Now it sounds like he’s longing for an inkling of something.

S1L4: Wouldn’t “this anguished sky and world and hour” be more accurate?

S2L2: You could undo the inversion for a more natural “unplucked lyre.” “Profane” seems rather cerebral for this passionate poem. How about “the torch of lust”? Maybe you could rhyme it somehow with “crush.”

S2L4: “Taints my sentiment” pales beside “dwells in my breast.”

S3L3: Headless line? That’s problematic when the initial syllable isn’t naturally stressed. This one’s going to be read as anapest-anapest-spondee.

[Glenn Wright]

Originally Posted by Carl Copeland

Well done, Glenn. The compression of your new version seems more in keeping with the original. A few more thoughts:

S1L2: How are you scanning this line? I get three stresses. A line or two of trimeter or pentameter in a tet poem wouldn’t necessarily bother me, but I wondered what you had in mind. I fudged four syllables out of “en CIR cl ING”

S1L3: I can squeeze four stresses out of this line by promoting “for” and ending the line with a trochaic substitution, but three seems a lot more natural to me. And how do you understand the line? In your first version, Lorca had some obsessive idea that was giving him pain. Now it sounds like he’s longing for an inkling of something. I used the same trick to get three syllables out of “IN kl ING.” I’m imagining the “one single idea” that pains him to be an “inkling” or incompletely realized notion of his idealized love.

S1L4: Wouldn’t “this anguished sky and world and hour” be more accurate? Yes. Fixed.

S2L2: You could undo the inversion for a more natural “unplucked lyre.” “Profane” seems rather cerebral for this passionate poem. How about “the torch of lust”? Maybe you could rhyme it somehow with “crush.” I could fix the inversion (which doesn’t really sound unnatural to me here), but then I have a meter problem. My two nice iambs (the LYRE/ un PLUCKED) become a pyrrhic and spondee (the un/PLUCKED LYRE)

S2L4: “Taints my sentiment” pales beside “dwells in my breast.” Agreed. That’s why I prefer the pentameter version. You made me sacrifice my shipwreck image, too.

S3L3: Headless line? That’s problematic when the initial syllable isn’t naturally stressed. This one’s going to be read as anapest-anapest-spondee. Yes. Fixed, with bonus of using a more literal translation of “hundido.”.

Thanks, Carl! Very helpful suggestions.
Glenn

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

I fudged four syllables out of “en CIR cl ING”

Oh dear, I was afraid of that. You’ll probably find Sphereans who are fine with it, but you can count me out.

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

I used the same trick to get three syllables out of “IN kl ING.”

Now that I never saw coming. It could come in handy if you need to rhyme “single fish” with “Eng-gle-ish.

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

I could fix the inversion (which doesn’t really sound unnatural to me here), but then I have a meter problem. My two nice iambs (the LYRE/ un PLUCKED) become a pyrrhic and spondee (the un/PLUCKED LYRE)

I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your iambs. I was saying “UNplucked,” which, strange as it seems, is possible. In isolation, the adjective is indisputably “unPLUCKED,” but before a noun, the stress can shift to avoid two adjacent stresses. Are you more likely to say “an unWED MOTHer” or “an UNwed MOTHer”? I can find you a better explanation of this if you’re interested.

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

That’s why I prefer the pentameter version. You made me sacrifice my shipwreck image, too.

Mea culpa.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Carl—

You made me feel so guilty about cheating the meter that I went back and made some of the changes you suggested. I like the chiasmus in S2L2, but I’m sure you’ll ding me for the inversion in S2L4. The original uses only four rhymes in an ABBA ABBA CDCDCD scheme. I managed to preserve that in the pentameter version, but couldn’t pull it off in the tet.

I hope these edits cheer you up and speed your quick recovery.
Glenn

[Carl Copeland]

Ok, great. A few more thoughts:

this gray landscape like a circling ocean,

An ocean is a big thing to add in translation, but it works pretty well as a last resort, I think.

this grief for just one single notion,

“This sorrow for a single notion” would be pretty, but you have to decide what best conveys the original.

these anguished skies, this world, these hours,

I thought “anguished” modified skies, world and hours. That’s why I suggested something like “these anguished skies and world and hours.”

these tears of blood obscenely gild
the unplucked lyre, the torch, profane;
this crush of waves inflicts such pain;
this scorpion’s taint my heart has filled.

You’re right. I am turned off by the inversion, and I don’t know how tears of blood could turn anything gold anyway. With “obscenely,” you seem to have taken the lustiness from the torch and given it to the tears of blood, which is also a little dubious.