27 August Marion Jones

Marion Jones joined us on the show today. Marion is working on her inter-disciplinary Ph.D at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.

We discussed poetry in translation and the role translators play in the craft of poetry. Marion shared with us her views on the difference between a translation and a version of a given poem.

While we primarily discussed Sufi and Hindu ecstatic poetry, I believe James Wright and Robert Bly's (cooperatively I assume) translation of Neruda's "Era El Otono De Las Uvas" illustrates some of what is often lost in translation. Much is also lost in transcription when your keyboard is not equiped with Spanish punctuaion or accent symbols and the transcriber is a neo-luddite.

Era El Otono De Las Uvas

Era el otono de las uvas.
Temblaba el parral numeroso.
Los racimos blancos, velados,
escarchaban sus dulces dedos,
y las negras uvas llenaban
sus pequenas ubres repletas
de un secreto rio redondo.
El dueno de casa, artesano
de magro rosto, me leia
el palido libro terrestre
de los dias crepusculares.
Su bondad conocia el fruto,
la rama troncal y el trabajo
de la poda que deja al arbol
su desnuda forma de copa.
A los caballos conversaba
como a inmensos ninos: seguian
detras de el los frios durazneros.
El conocia cada rama,
cada cicatriz de los arboles,
y su antigua voz me ensenaba
acariciando a los caballos.

It Was The Grapes Autumn

It was the grape's autumn.
The dense vinefield shivered.
The white clusters, half-hidden,
found their mild fingers cold,
and the black grapes were filling
their tiny stout udders
from a round a secret river.
The man of the house, an artisan
with a hawk's face, read to me
the pale earth book
about the darkening days.
His kindness saw deep into the fruit,
the trunk of the vine, and the work
of the pruning knife, which lets the tree keep
its simple goblet shape.
He talked to his horses
as if to immense boys: behind him
the five cats trailed,
and the dogs of that household,
some arched and slow moving,
others running crazily
under the cold peach trees,
and his ancient voice taught me
while it was stroking his horses.

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