I'm happy for Julia for the recognition of her latest work, a translated excerpt from Slovak writer Ján Rozner’s novel, Seven Days to the Funeral (although I'd be even happier if it were available online!). And my mind is now abuzz with the idea of preparing one or two things of my own to submit to Two Lines, or polishing up some projects I've already started. Oh my goodness. As a favorite author wrote, my little cup brims with tiddles.
Literalab also notes the fantastic Russian poetry translations that made it into the annual Two Lines print publication. I'm sharing one of these poems, with its Russian original, here; a delicate piece by Arseny Tarkovsky, father of the legendary director.
The translators have taken liberty with some of the images and individuals phrases, but have preserved the overall wonder expressed in the poem, using nearly identical rhyme. But the Russian original is still more magical. In the last line, stars are falling onto the poet's sleeve.
Visit Two Lines Online for a treasure-trove of other recently published translations.
I learned the grass as I began to write . . .
By Arseny TarkovskyTranslated by Philip Metres; Dimitri PsurtsevI learned the grass as I began to write,
And the grass started whistling like a flute.
I gathered how color and sound could join
And when the dragonfly whirred up his hymn,
Passing through green frets like a comet, I knew
A tear was waiting in each drop of dew.
Knew that in each facet of the huge eye,
In each rainbow of brightly churring wings,
Dwells the burning word of the prophet—
By some miracle I found Adam’s secret.
I loved my tormenting task, this intricate
Placing of words, fastened by their light,
Riddle of vague feeling and a simple answer
To the mind. In “truth” I thought truth appeared.
My tongue was true, like a spectral analysis,
And words gathered around my feet to listen.
What’s more, my friend, you’re right to say
I heard one-quarter the noise, saw half the light,
But I did not debase the grasses, or family,
Or insult the ancestral earth by being blithe,
And as long as I worked on earth, accepted
A gift of coldest spring water and fragrant bread,
Above me unfathomable sky still stood,
And stars tumbled around my head.
_____________________________________
Я учился траве, раскрывая тетрадь...
Я учился траве, раскрывая тетрадь,
И трава начинала, как флейта, звучать.
Я ловил соответствие звука и цвета,
И когда запевала свой гимн стрекоза,
Меж зеленых ладов проходя, как комета,
Я-то знал, что любая росинка - слеза.
Знал, что в каждой фасетке огромного ока,
В каждой радуге яркострекочущих крыл
Обитает горящее слово пророка,
И Адамову тайну я чудом открыл.
Я любил свой мучительный труд, эту кладку
Слов, скрепленных их собственным светом, загадку
Смутных чувств и простую разгадку ума,
В слове п р а в д а мне виделась правда сама,
Был язык мой правдив, как спектральный анализ,
А слова у меня под ногами валялись.
И еще я скажу: собеседник мой прав,
В четверть шума я слышал, в полсвета я видел,
Но зато не унизив ни близких, ни трав,
Равнодушием отчей земли не обидел,
И пока на земле я работал, приняв
Дар студеной воды и пахучего хлеба,
Надо мною стояло бездонное небо,
Звезды падали мне на рукав.
