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I Hate Poetry, and You! |
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Preobrazhenskoe 
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Joined: 27-Jul-2006 Location: United States Online Status: Offline Posts: 398 |
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 Topic: I Hate Poetry, and You!Posted: 13-Oct-2006 at 00:18 |
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More poetry from my man, Du Fu (lived 712-770 AD). He be my runnin dog, and if you mess with him, Snoop Doggy Dogg, or death-rizzow, then you best check yourself 'fore you wreck yo'self, punk. Lol. This next poem is written during a time of great and sudden turmoil in China, during the An Lushan Rebellion, and where he was forced to move his family due to the disorder caused by the war. This poem was inspired by the death of his youngest child, where he chose not to focus on himself, but upon the pain of others around him whom he deemed even less fortunate. All my life I've been exempt from taxes, Here's another poem written by Du Fu as he lived in Chengdu during his final years.  I have been told that Chang'an (City) looks like a chessboard.
A hundred years back, a lifetime's troubles, grief beyond enduring. Mansions of counts and princes all have new masters, The civil and army uniforms differ from olden times. Straight north past the fortified mountains kettledrums are thundering. From wagon and horse on the western campaign winged dispatches rush. Fish and dragons grow silent now, autumn rivers grow cold. The life I used to have at home is the longing in my heart. Good poetry for 8th century China, Edited by Preobrazhenskoe - 27-Oct-2006 at 02:14 |
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Chilbudios
Arch Duke 
Joined: 11-May-2006 Online Status: Offline Posts: 1900 |
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Posted: 12-Oct-2006 at 06:55 |
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Preobrazhenskoe
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Joined: 27-Jul-2006 Location: United States Online Status: Offline Posts: 398 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 14:36 |
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Thanks Aelfgifu and pinguin! Great contributions to the thread. Eric
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Aelfgifu
Caliph 
Joined: 25-Jun-2006 Location: Netherlands Online Status: Offline Posts: 3387 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 14:08 |
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My favorite line of poetry:
Hebban olla vogala nestas hagunnan hinase hic enda thu wat unbidan we nu
It is the oldest written Dutch ever found, it was scribbled on a strip of parchment, probably to test a newly cut quill. The strip was later used as reinforcement in the spine of a book and so preserved. It reads:
All birds have started nests exept me and you, what are we waiting for.
So the oldest Dutch text is a love poem. Interesting if you figure that it was very likely written by a monk...
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Women hold their councils of war in kitchens: the knives are there, and the cups of coffee, and the towels to dry the tears. |
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Decebal
Arch Duke
Digital Prometheus Joined: 20-May-2005 Location: Canada Online Status: Offline Posts: 1791 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 13:08 |
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Just a tiny little comment, Chilbudios: I think that Eminescu's "mandra-n toate cele", used mandra not in the sense of proud, but rather in the sense of beautiful, fair, or maidenly. Note the occasional use of the noun mandra in Romanian folk tales as someone's beautiful bride, betrothed or lover. This would also make the English translation better in my opinion.
Anyway, I generally agree with your general statement about translation of poetry.
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What is history but a fable agreed upon?
Napoleon Bonaparte Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is the truth.- Mohandas Gandhi 
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Guests
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 12:46 |
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I preffer poetry in Native languages of the Americas.
This is one of Chilean mapuche poet Elicura Chihuailaf, singing about the freedom of their people.
Elel mu kechi malall, kalli amulepe i ko. Elel mu kechi malall, wio petu kuyfimogen, Feypi Willi krf i vl, mogenley ta ti Inchi i kom pu che, i pu weny, mlfen i mogen.
I dont want walls!!! Let my rivers run in freedom....
I dont want walls!!! Let the freedom come back, covered by flowers...
So speaks the spirit of the southern wind, who never dies
because it is my people, my friends, the dew of life...
Pinguin
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Chilbudios
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Joined: 11-May-2006 Online Status: Offline Posts: 1900 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 07:18 |
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Let me fetch you a trivial example.
For instance an online version (have no idea who's the author) of Mihai Eminescu's Luceafarul (a famous Romanian poetry written in 19th century) in English gives the following second quartet:
She was her parents' only child,
Bright like the sun at noon, Like the Virgin midst the saints And among stars the moon. But you see, in original the second verse in Romanian is "Si mandra-n toate cele" which is literally "And proud about everything". However the translator sacrificed the literal translation offering a metaphor of (arguably) similar weight, which can be fetched in the series of metaphors shaping the royal maid and in exchange saving the poetry's form. I'm not saying is the best translation, I'm just point out how a literary translation should work.
Moreover, I encountered translations where the corresponding words were not occuring in the same verse because of semantics and the solutions found by translators.
Words and even expressions can be longer or simply sounding differently (type of consonants, diphtongs, hiatuses, etc.) in one language or another, even if we speak of IE languages, even words which have the same common root. For length and syllabes (the word is French, have no idea which is the right English term): Latin tem-pus vs Romanian timp or English king vs German koe-nig or Romanian Ro-xa-na vs English-French Ro-xanne etc..
Though the alphabet is the same, the prounciation is the one which gives the shape of the poetry. That's why, coming at Chinese poetry, I don't think the writing system should influence the translation but the pronounciation - only in pronounciation things like rhyme (whore and door do rhyme though the last letter is not the same!) or metric (neighbourhood and enemy have both 3 syllabes!, tho' metric is a bit more complex than that).
I agree there could be different "poetic sensitivities" e.g. Latin metric is based on the length of the vowels while our modern poetry is based on stress, much Latin poetry has less emphasis on rhymes (I don't know how Chinese metric is defined, nor rhyme), but AFAIK bridges are possible.
I apologize for wrong breaking in syllabes (if any) - I assume full responsability only for Romanian words
 To conclude - translating the words is just not enough in poetry, even in Germanic vs Romance (and viceversa) translations. That's why most of the succesful translations belong to the poets themselves.
 :Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura che la diritta via era smarrita.
I am born in Bucharest, though much of my relatives (and my parents) come from various other regions (Transylvania and Moldavia mostly). Edited by Chilbudios - 11-Oct-2006 at 07:23 |
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Preobrazhenskoe
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Joined: 27-Jul-2006 Location: United States Online Status: Offline Posts: 398 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 06:09 |
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You're from Romania? Which part? When I visited there (and Germany the next week), Brasov was the place I spent the most time at, great town, especially if you're a history nut like me who likes Roman and Medieval history, which Brasov has a lot of.
Anyways, translating fluidly and with similar words to rhyme with others I think shouldn't be especially hard when converting Romanian into English. After all, Romanian is a Romance Language, and English, although half Germanic Anglo-Saxon, is still half Norman-French at its base, which in turn evolved from Vulgar Latin. The Han Chinese language, on the other hand, has no similarity to English, and their writing system involving thousands of characters as opposed to the simplistic and efficient Latin Alphabet are other things to consider. That and picking certain English words (with many variations) to match the correct definitions of certain Chinese words, and a lack of similar words in Chinese and English taht would contrast with English and Chinese thesaurus.
Anyways, I'm giving this way too much analysis, when we should be talking about the poems above and poetry in general! I especially like the poem by Du Fu talking about visiting his old friend, drinking wine and having a good time, with some great lines and a hint of great longing and the emotions that unravel as a mature friendship reaches old age, and one knows that parting with a good friend might be their last if chance doesn't permit them to in the future.
Your thoughts?
Eric Edited by Preobrazhenskoe - 11-Oct-2006 at 06:11 |
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Chilbudios
Arch Duke
Joined: 11-May-2006 Online Status: Offline Posts: 1900 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 04:55 |
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 Perhaps sometimes it's not possible to fit anything in the original form so it could keep a similar semantic, a similar emotion, but these should be seen as exceptions, not as general rule. Again it may be that Far East literary expression to be virtually untraslateable in English, but I'd like to see some serious argumentation on that, meanwhile for me is just the inability of translators
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gcle2003
King 
Suspended Joined: 06-Dec-2004 Online Status: Offline Posts: 7035 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 04:27 |
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Shouldn't this be in the Historical Arts and Literature sub-forum?
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Preobrazhenskoe
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Joined: 27-Jul-2006 Location: United States Online Status: Offline Posts: 398 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 04:24 |
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Dude, that's cuz it's translated into English from Chinese, another language! Lol. I'm sure it sounds much better in theirs. What's more important is what they're actually saying, LeSota, the deeper meaning, if you caught that at all.
Eric Edited by Preobrazhenskoe - 11-Oct-2006 at 04:25 |
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LeSota
Immortal Guard 
Joined: 11-Oct-2006 Online Status: Offline Posts: 0 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 03:51 |
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That doesnt ryhme at all!
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Preobrazhenskoe
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Joined: 27-Jul-2006 Location: United States Online Status: Offline Posts: 398 |
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Posted: 11-Oct-2006 at 03:37 |
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Hey guys, I'm dedicating this thread to anyone who wishes to post anything about poetry from the time period of antiquity and the middle ages, from any civilization, from any poet, yada yada. Since you all know I'm a China-history-freak, I think I'll start this off with some old Chinese poetry. I've posted this thread already in simaqian, and I hope it gets good results! I find a lot of Chinese poetry to be exceptionally descriptive and well-written, filled with deep and vivid imagery, tied with hints and symbolism expressing a catharsis of powerful emotions and deep breadth of human wonder. In other words, stupid gay people like it. First up, here's a much older poem by Cao Zhi (lived from 192 - 232 AD), entitled, The Passage of Sighs. Cao Zhi was the son of Cao Cao, the powerful Prime Minister and warlord who initiated the powerful Wei Kingdom during the Three Kingdoms period of China.
 Alas! This rolling tumbleweed
Living alone in this world Oh why? Oh why? Long have I left my roots and gone Resting never, day nor night From east to west, from south to north. A whirlwind rises, blowing me into the clouds, where I thought was the ends of Heaven But all of a sudden I fall deep into an abyss. I am carried out by a rapid gust. If only it were to take me back to the fields! Southwards I am bound, but it takes me north; Supposing it blows to the east, it turns to the west. Straying, drifting, with nothing to rely on Surely I expire, I say, but my life goes on To wander through the hills and plains Turning, tumbling, with no place to stay Who would understand my agony, I pray? May I be grass growing in a forest To burn when autumn flames rage fiercest! Destroyed by fire know I naught of the pain? Id rather that, but with my roots remain. Here's another poem by Cao Zhi, entitled The Fair Maiden, take a look...
Alluring and shy stands a fair maiden,
Gathering mulberry leaves at the crossroads. The tender twigs rustle; The leaves fall one by one. How white her hands as she bares her arms, A gold bracelet round her wrist! On her head a golden sparrow hairpin; At her waist a green jade pendant, While encompassing her lovely form, Pearls, coral and blue glass beads. In the breeze, her silk blouse flutters And her light skirt flows. Glances reveal her shining eyes; Sighs her breath, orchid sweet. Travellers en route halt their carriages; Those resting forget their refreshment. This next poem is by Tao Yuanming (lived 365 - 427 AD), who lived during the late Jin period. The poem is entitled Begging For Food.  The pangs of hunger drove me from my home;
with no idea of where to go I travelled on for miles until I reached a village, knocked on the nearest door, blurted out some clumsy words. The owner understood my need his warmth dispelled my shame that I'd come empty-handed. We played and sang till sunset, the wine-cups often tilted, with the pleasure of new-found friends we chanted and composed verses. I remember the story of the washerwoman. Ashamed that I lack the skills of general Chinese, how can I show my gratitude? I can only repay him in the world to come. This next one is called Returning to Live in the Country, another one by Tao Yuanming:  Young, I was always free of common feeling.
It was in my nature to love the hills and mountains. Mindlessly I was caught in the dust-filled trap. Waking up, thirty years had gone. The caged bird wants the old trees and air. Fish in their pool miss the ancient stream. I plough the earth at the edge of South Moor. Keeping life simple, return to my plot and garden. My place is hardly more than a few fields. My house has eight or nine small rooms. Elm-trees and Willows shade the back. Plum-trees and Peach-trees reach the door. Misted, misted the distant village. Drifting, the soft swirls of smoke. Somewhere a dog barks deep in the winding lanes. A cockerel crows from the top of the mulberry tree. No heat and dust behind my closed doors. My bare rooms are filled with space and silence. Too long a prisoner, captive in a cage, Now I can get back again to Nature. Bai Juyi (lived 722 - 846 AD) was a poet under the ruling Tang Dynasty of China. Here's a peom of his entitled Passing Tien-men Street of Chang'an and Seeing a Distant View of Chung-nan Mountain.
 The snow has gone from Chung-nan; spring is almost come.
Lovely in the distance its blue colors, against the brown of the streets. A thousand coaches, ten thousand horsemen pass down the Nine Roads; Turns his head and looks at the mountains,--not one man! Here's another one by Bai Juyi, entitled The Charcoal Seller. An old charcoal seller cutting wood and burning charcoal in the forest of the Southern Mountain;
His face, stained with dust and ashes, has turned to the color of smoke. The hair on his temples is streaked with gray: his ten fingers are black. The money he gets by selling charcoal, how far does it go? It is just enough to clothe his limbs and put food in his mouth. Although, alas, the coat on his back is a coat without lining, He hopes for the coming of cold weather, to send up the price of coal! Last night, outside the city,--a whole foot of snow; At dawn he drives the charcoal wagon along the frozen ruts. Oxen,--weary; man,--hungry: the sun, already high; Outside the Gate, to the south of the Market, at last they stop in the mud. Suddenly, a pair of prancing horsemen. Who can it be coming? A public official in a yellow coat and a boy in a white shirt. In their hands they hold a written warrant: on their tongues--the words of an order; They turn back the wagon and curse the oxen, leading them off to the north. A whole wagon of charcoal, More than a thousand pieces! If officials choose to take it away, the woodman may not complain. Half a piece of red silk and a single yard of damask, The Courtiers have tied to the oxen's collar, as the price of a wagon of coal! Very sad indeed!
 On a much lighter note, here's a poem by Li Bai (701 - 762 AD) entitled Down Zhongnan Mountain to the Kind Pillow and Bowl of Husi.
Down the blue mountain in the evening,
Moonlight was my homeward escort. Looking back, I saw my path Lie in levels of deep shadow.... I was passing the farm-house of a friend, When his children called from a gate of thorn And led me twining through jade bamboos Where green vines caught and held my clothes. And I was glad of a chance to rest And glad of a chance to drink with my friend.... We sang to the tune of the wind in the pines; And we finished our songs as the stars went down, When, I being drunk and my friend more than happy, Between us we forgot the world. And another poem of his entitled Drinking Alone With the Moon. From a pot of wine amongst the flowers
I drank alone. There was no one with me Till raising my cup, I asked the bright moon To bring me my shadow and make us three Alas, the moon was unable to drink And my shadow tagged me vacantly But still for a while I had these friends To cheer me through the end of spring I sang, the moon encouraged me I danced. My shadow tumbled after As long as I knew, we were boon companions And then I was drunk, and we lost one another Shall goodwill ever be secure? I watch the long road of the River of Stars And another of his called In Spring. Your grasses up north are as blue as jade
Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches And at last you think of returning home Now when my heart is almost broken Oh breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you Why part the silk curtains by my bed? The Tang Dynasty master of poetry, Du Fu (712 - 770 AD) wrote many great poems in his lifetime. Here's one entitled To My Retired Friend Wei.  It is almost as hard for friends to meet
As for the morning and evening stars. Tonight then is a rare event, Joining, in the candlelight, Two men who were young not long ago But now are turning grey at the temples. ...To find that half our friends are dead Shocks us, burns our hearts with grief. We little guessed it would be twenty years Before I could visit you again. When I went away, you were still unmarried; But now these boys and girls in a row Are very kind to their father's old friend. They ask me where I have been on my journey; And then, when we have talked awhile, They bring and show me wines and dishes, Spring chives cut in the night-rain And brown rice cooked freshly a special way. ...My host proclaims it a festival, He urges me to drink ten cups -- But what ten cups could make me as drunk As I always am with your love in my heart? ...Tomorrow the mountains will separate us; After tomorrow - who can say? This next poem is one written by Su Tung-po (1036 - 1101 AD) of the Song Dynasty. In this poem he is criticizing the Imperial Exams and how they favor rich kids who are able to pass them because they've been tutored their whole life and how corruption gets in the way of governance. He was shunned in his own time by the elite aristocrats he made fun of, but Chinese people in succeeding generations connected with him and found him funny. It is entitled On the Birth of My Son. Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent. I, through intelligence, Having wrecked my whole life, Only hope the baby will prove Ignorant and stupid. Then he will crown a tranquil life By becoming a Cabinet Minister  Lol. Funny guy, that Su Tung-po. Anyways, this next poem is written by Mei Yao Chen (1002 - 1060 AD), and is entitled A Poem to My Late Wife.In broad daylight I dream I Am with her. At night I dream She is still at my side. She Carries her kit of colored Threads. I see her image bent Over her bag of silks. She Mends and alters my clothes and Worries for fear I might look Worn and ragged. Dead, she watches Over my life. Her constant Memory draws me towards death. That's depressing. Well, that's it for now kids. Join me next week when I post more poems like these. Good night, and go to hell. Lol. Late! Eric Edited by Preobrazhenskoe - 27-Oct-2006 at 02:13 |
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