On USP someone posted a poem on poetic inspiration. This passage by Lorca came to mind and I wanted to post it as a reply. But as I tried to translate it into English, I realized just how rusty my spanish has become.
"El estado de inspiración es un estado de recogimiento, pero no de dinamismo creador. Hay que reposar la visión del concepto para que se clarifique. No creo que ningún gran artista trabaje en estado de fiebre. Aun los místicos trabajan cuando ya la inefiable paloma del Espíritu Santo abandona sus celdas y se va perdiendo en las nubes. Se vuelve de la inspiración como se vuelve de un país extranjero. El poema es la narración del viaje. La ispiración da la imagen, pero no el vestido. Y para vestirla hay que observar ecuánimemente y sin apasionamento peligroso la calidad y sonoridad de la palabra. (Obras completas, I, 1045-1046)"
This is what I've got so far:
The state of being inspired is a state of contemplative retreat, but not a state of creative drive. It is necessary to let the vison of the concept rest for a while so it can become clearer. I believe no great artist works in such a state of fever. Even the mystics start to work when the ineffable dove of the Holy Spirit leaves their cell and disappears into the clouds. One returns from inspiration as from a foriegn country. The poem is the narrative of the journey. The inspiration gives the image, but does not clothe it. And to dress it one must with equanimity and without dangerous excitement observe the quality and sonority of a word.
Can anyone help me with the translation, please?
Many thanks in advance.
Veronika
Post Edited (05-09-05 11:10)
It's no good, if you can't eat it.
[www.systransoft.com] />
[www.google.com] />
[www.worldlingo.com] />
[babelfish.altavista.com] />
[www.freetranslation.com]
Hugh:
I wasn't looking for a free translation. I wanted to share what Lorca wrote on one of the emule forums - with all, not just those who speak Spanish. Since I didn't find the English translation on-line and they don't have it in my local library, I tried to translate it myself. I am not a professional translator, my spanish is far from near native and I am not a native English speaker. I was hoping at least to get some comments on the translation - both on its accuracy and on the language used.
Respectfully yours,
Veronika
Post Edited (05-09-05 11:15)
It's no good, if you can't eat it.
Can anyone help me with the translation, please?
I wasn't looking for a free translation.
???
No entiendo, but I thought your rendition was close enough to pick up his meaning.
"I thought your rendition was close enough to pick up his meaning"
So why didn't you just say so?
I think your translation is excellent.
I think I would change the last phrase, though:
". . . the quality and TONE of THE word."
(Sonority is a pretty academic term, and I think LA PALABRA refers to words in general, not to a single specific word.)
I do not know how accurate the translation, but the English version was good enough for me. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Marian. "the tone of the word" is good, I'll use it. He does speak about words in general.
Thanks ns.
Thank you for the links and your comment, Hugh. I've checked out the transation links you gave me - machine translation has improved considerably. They still lack the ability to choose the right word out of several possible and their grammar gets strange at times. But I guess in another 5 to 10 years, they'll be as good as human translators for some jobs. Poetry, I hope, will not be one of them.
To thank you all here is a poem by Louise Glück:
NOSTOS
There was an apple tree in the yard --
this would have been
forty years ago -- behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor's yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
the exact day, not
before, not after? Substitution
of the immutable
for the shifting, the evolving.
Substitution of the image
for relentless earth. What
do I know of this place,
the role of the tree for decades
taken by a bonsai, voices
rising from the tennis courts --
Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut.
As one expects of a lyric poet.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.
Louise GlücK,
It's no good, if you can't eat it.