Culture: The Others..
sidheseeker
Mother Machree
> Probably another short thread..
>
> http://oisin51.tripod.com/others.html
That's beautiful.
Thanks for sharing :-)
Cat(h)
> Probably another short thread..
>
> http://oisin51.tripod.com/others.html
I don't think you should misinterpret absence of response with absence
of interest.
I for one always read the poems you post. Sometimes, though, one is
lost for words, or it is just difficult to say anything sensible
beyond "I liked that" - which I did.
Well done for contributing something cultural to SCI :-)
Cat(h)
K E Dennis
> Probably another short thread..
>
> http://oisin51.tripod.com/others.html
Well, now, there you go - a date in a graveyard indeed;-)
In appreciation, here's another on the Other Folk to help encourage a spooky chill as the
days grow shorter [& give you a chance to listen again to the words]:
A sound file of Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill reading ‘Geasa’:
http://www.lyrikline.org/en/ShowPoem.aspx?authorId=nn00&poemId=1956
~~~
Geasa
Má chuirim aon lámh ar an dtearmann beannaithe,
má thógaim droichead thar an abhainn,
gach a mbíonn tógtha isló ages na ceardaithe
bíonn sé leagtha ar maidin romham.
Tagann aníos an abhainn istoíche bád
is bean ina seasamh inti
Tá coinneal ar lasadh ina súil is ina lámha.
Tá dhá mhaide rámha aici.
Tairrigíonn sí amach paca cártaí,
‘An imréofá breith?’ a deireann sí.
Imrímid is buann sí orm de shíor
is cuireann sí de cheist, de bhreith is de mhórualach orm
Gan an tarna béile a ithe in aon tigh,
ná an tarna oíche a chaitheamh faoi aon díon,
gan dhá shraic chodlata a dhéanamh ar aon leaba
go bhfaighead í. Nuair a fhiafraím di cá mbíonn sí,
‘Dá mba siar é soir,’ a deireann sí, ‘da mba soir é siar.’
Imíonn sí léi agus splancacha tintrí léi
is fágtar ansan mé ar an bport.
Tá an dá choinneal fós ar lasadh le mo thaobh.
D’fhág sí na maidí rámha agam.
~~~
The Bond [Translation by Medbh McGuckian]
If I use my forbidden hand
To raise a bridge across the river,
All the work of the builders
Has been blown up by sunrise.
A boat comes up the river by night
With a woman standing in it,
Twin candles lit in her eyes
And two oars in her hands.
She unsheathes a pack of cards,
‘Will you play forfeits?’ she says.
We play and she beats me hands down,
And she puts three banns upon me:
Not to have two meals in one house,
Not to pass two nights under one roof,
Not to sleep twice with the same man
Until I find her. When I ask her address,
‘If it were north I’d tell you south,
If it were east, west.’ She hooks
Off in a flash of lightning, leaving me
Stranded on the bank,
My eyes full of candles,
And the two dead oars.
~~~
Geasa / The Bond
Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill | Translation by Medbh McGuckian
Pharaoh's Daughter
Gallery Books, 1990
~~~
respectfully submitted,
| K. E. Dennis <den...@mail.newsguy.com>
|
| Maireann lorg an phinn, ach nímhaireann an béal a chan
| The trace of the pen lives on, but not the mouth that sang
|
| A little bit of Culture...
| http://frontpage.montclair.edu/dennisk/poetry/home/index.html
Doc Aay
news:gcngr...@news3.newsguy.com...
On 10/9/2008 4:52 PM, sidheseeker wrote:
> Probably another short thread..
>
> http://oisin51.tripod.com/others.html
>Well, now, there you go - a date in a graveyard indeed;-)
>In appreciation, here's another on the Other Folk to help encourage a
>spooky chill as the
?days grow shorter [& give you a chance to listen again to the words]:
Shivers indeed. Thank you, Karen. I'm grateful to have never met that
lady.
Doc
sidheseeker
K E Dennis wrote:
> On 10/9/2008 4:52 PM, sidheseeker wrote:
>
> > Probably another short thread..
> >
> > http://oisin51.tripod.com/others.html
>
>
> Well, now, there you go - a date in a graveyard indeed;-)
>
> In appreciation, here's another on the Other Folk to help encourage a spooky chill as the
> days grow shorter [& give you a chance to listen again to the words]:
>
> A sound file of Nuala N� Dhomhnaill reading �Geasa�:
> http://www.lyrikline.org/en/ShowPoem.aspx?authorId=nn00&poemId=1956
>
> ~~~
> Geasa
>
> M� chuirim aon l�mh ar an dtearmann beannaithe,
> m� th�gaim droichead thar an abhainn,
> gach a mb�onn t�gtha isl� ages na ceardaithe
> b�onn s� leagtha ar maidin romham.
>
> Tagann an�os an abhainn isto�che b�d
> is bean ina seasamh inti
> T� coinneal ar lasadh ina s�il is ina l�mha.
> T� dh� mhaide r�mha aici.
>
> Tairrig�onn s� amach paca c�rta�,
> �An imr�of� breith?� a deireann s�.
> Imr�mid is buann s� orm de sh�or
> is cuireann s� de cheist, de bhreith is de mh�rualach orm
>
> Gan an tarna b�ile a ithe in aon tigh,
> n� an tarna o�che a chaitheamh faoi aon d�on,
> gan dh� shraic chodlata a dh�anamh ar aon leaba
> go bhfaighead �. Nuair a fhiafra�m di c� mb�onn s�,
>
> �D� mba siar � soir,� a deireann s�, �da mba soir � siar.�
> Im�onn s� l�i agus splancacha tintr� l�i
> is f�gtar ansan m� ar an bport.
> T� an d� choinneal f�s ar lasadh le mo thaobh.
>
> D�fh�g s� na maid� r�mha agam.
>
> ~~~
> The Bond [Translation by Medbh McGuckian]
>
> If I use my forbidden hand
> To raise a bridge across the river,
> All the work of the builders
> Has been blown up by sunrise.
>
> A boat comes up the river by night
> With a woman standing in it,
> Twin candles lit in her eyes
> And two oars in her hands.
>
> She unsheathes a pack of cards,
> �Will you play forfeits?� she says.
> We play and she beats me hands down,
> And she puts three banns upon me:
>
> Not to have two meals in one house,
> Not to pass two nights under one roof,
> Not to sleep twice with the same man
> Until I find her. When I ask her address,
>
> �If it were north I�d tell you south,
> If it were east, west.� She hooks
> Off in a flash of lightning, leaving me
> Stranded on the bank,
>
> My eyes full of candles,
> And the two dead oars.
Twin candles lit in her eyes.
What a visual..!
Thanks.. :-)
Sophistry Made Simple
"Gan an tarna béile a ithe in aon tigh,
ná an tarna oíche a chaitheamh faoi aon díon,
gan dhá shraic chodlata a dhéanamh ar aon leaba
go bhfaighead í. Nuair a fhiafraím di cá mbíonn sí,
‘Dá mba siar é soir,’ a deireann sí, ‘da mba soir é siar.’
Imíonn sí léi agus splancacha tintrí léi
is fágtar ansan mé ar an bport.
Tá an dá choinneal fós ar lasadh le mo thaobh.
D’fhág sí na maidí rámha agam.
Not to have two meals in one house,
Not to pass two nights under one roof,
Not to sleep twice with the same man
Until I find her. When I ask her address,
‘If it were north I’d tell you south,
If it were east, west.’ She hooks
Off in a flash of lightning, leaving me
Stranded on the bank,
My eyes full of candles,
And the two dead oars."
I think McGuckian took some liberties with the translation?
K E Dennis
> "K E Dennis" <den...@mail.newsguy.com> wrote...
[snips]
>> In appreciation, here's another on the Other Folk to help encourage a
>> spooky chill as the days grow shorter...:
>
> Shivers indeed. Thank you, Karen. I'm grateful to have never met that
> lady.
No - nor this one, eh?
Madame
Madame laistíos de loch,
do rúmanna geala
ina mbíodh mairt á leagadh
is caoirigh ar bhearaibh.
do chúirteanna aolda
ar oileáin ag imeall na mara
nó ag íor na spéire
a bhíodh de shíor am mhealladh
ó thrath m’óige i leith.
Ní tigh draighin é ná tigh
cárthainn do ionad cónaithe
ach halla airneáin.
Tá fiche troigh i leithead
a dhorais, tá díon
air de chleití éan
dearg is gorm.
Ní gá fuinneoga a dhúnadh
anseo, ná doirse;
is cuma, mar tá
gach aon ní fliuch.
Is tá mo mháthair á treorú
agam i do choinne,
thar dhroichead gloine,
cos ar chos is rícháiréiseach
gach coiscéim a chuireann sí roimpi
ach tá ag éirí linn.
Ag tairseach do ghrianáin soilsigh
tagann fuarallas orm
ar an leac,
ag an doras roithleánach
a bhíonn de shíor is choíche
ag casadh ar mhórdtuathal,
mar éinne a théann suas
do staighre cloch
ní fheictear arís é
go brách.
~~~
Madame
(Translation, Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin)
Lady under the lake
Your bright rooms
Where they are killing bullocks
And sheep are turning on spits,
Your whitewashed courts
On islands near the coast
Or touching the horizon
Have been seducing me
Ever since I was a child.
Your dwelling is no
Tree-house, woven shelter
But a hall to feast in.
The door is twenty
Feet wide, the roof
Made of birds’ feathers
Red and blue
No need here to shut
Windows or doors —
It makes no odds, the water
Enters everywhere.
And I am guiding
My mother towards you
Across a bridge of glass,
With careful steps
A tentative foot forward,
But we are arriving.
In the doorway of your sunny chamber
A cold sweat comes over me
On the doorstep,
At the revolving door
Constantly
Turning widdershins,
For the one that mounts
Your stone staircase
Will never be
Seen again.
~~~
Madame
Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill
Pharoah’s Daughter
pub., 1990 Gallery Books
Translation by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin
K E Dennis
>
> "K E Dennis" <den...@mail.newsguy.com> wrote in message
> news:gcngr...@news3.newsguy.com...
[from Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill's poem ‘Geasa':]
> "Gan an tarna béile a ithe in aon tigh,
> ná an tarna oíche a chaitheamh faoi aon díon,
> gan dhá shraic chodlata a dhéanamh ar aon leaba
> go bhfaighead í. Nuair a fhiafraím di cá mbíonn sí,
>
> ‘Dá mba siar é soir,’ a deireann sí, ‘da mba soir é siar.’
> Imíonn sí léi agus splancacha tintrí léi
> is fágtar ansan mé ar an bport.
> Tá an dá choinneal fós ar lasadh le mo thaobh.
>
> D’fhág sí na maidí rámha agam.
>
> Not to have two meals in one house,
> Not to pass two nights under one roof,
> Not to sleep twice with the same man
> Until I find her. When I ask her address,
>
> ‘If it were north I’d tell you south,
> If it were east, west.’ She hooks
> Off in a flash of lightning, leaving me
> Stranded on the bank,
>
> My eyes full of candles,
> And the two dead oars."
>
>
> I think McGuckian took some liberties with the translation?
O, yeah.
That's something we've discussed here before [for example, see
http://frontpage.montclair.edu/dennisk/poetry/gael/dan005.html]... how in poetry it
becomes particularly obvious that the treacherous work of translation from/to any language
is how the emotional, sensual & aesthetic aspects of the original work can can lost.
After all, poets don't just stumble across their words: their patterns, sounds & affects
are absolutely central to what the writer is creating.
In this case, the fact that the translation is by another poet, another Irishwoman, means
it isn't completely divorced from the linguistic & cultural context, as too often
happens. But McGuckian's personal style is dramatically different from Ní Dhomhnaill's &
can't help influence how she reads this poem into a second language.
Compare, as another example, these different translations of Ní Dhomhnaill's "Oileán":
by Michael Hartnett: http://frontpage.montclair.edu/dennisk/poetry/gael/dan018.html
by John Montague: http://homepage.mac.com/shadoof/oi/oisleand.html#ISLAND
At least most published translations of Ní Dhomhnaill's work into English have been done
by other poets, & that makes a difference in quality, IMHO.
Anyway, here's one more, more or less on this subject:
~~~~
Trén bhFearann Breac / Through The Speckled Land
Colm Breathnach
An Fearann Breac
Coiscéim, Dublin, 1982
~~~~
I
Ní labhraíonn sí a thuilleadh liom, an áit seo,
Is níl aon bhuanaíocht ag mo theanga níos mó inti.
Níor chuaigh mo phréamhacha síos ach fad áirithe
is táid ag dreo anois cheal taca uaithi.
Caitheadh salann ar an scraith uachtair
is treabhadh síos é go dtí an t-íochtar.
Ní féidir léi tál a thuilleadh ar a muirín
ar mo thalamh féin is fás coimhthíoch mé.
II
Ar an mbóthar idir dhá chathair
go bhfuil dhá ainm ar gach ceann acu
léim na focail ar na comharthaí.
Táim ag taisteal trén bhfearann breac
is tá dhá ainm ar gach baile ann
Claonadh – Clane
Cill Dara – Kildare
Baile Dháith – Littleton
Cúil an tSúdaire – Portarlington
an t-ainm dúchais
sa chló iodálach
claoninsint ar stair na háite,
an t-ainm dúchais
sa chló is lú
faoninsint ag dul ó chlos . . .
III
Ag taisteal dom trén bhfearann breac
téim ón dubh go dtí an geal
ag gluaiseacht ar m’aistear claon
is fiar é an bealach a théim.
Is mé an ridire a ghabhann an timpeall
d’fhonn teacht de ruathar aniar aduaidh
ach tá caisleáin ann nach n-ionsód
is cléirigh romham gur mór a mbród
mo ríon féin is baolach nach gcosnód,
táim teanntaithe ag ceithearnaigh sa ród.
IV
Idir dhá dhath
idir dhá fhocal
idir dhá ainm
idir dhá aigne
idir dhá áit
idir dhá theanga
a chaithim mo shaol
idir dhá shaol.
~~~~
Through The Speckled Land
Trans., by Colm Breathnach
I
She won’t speak to me anymore, this place
my tongue is received with poor grace.
My roots penetrated only so far
and they wither for lack of water.
Salt was spread on the upper scraw
and ploughed through to the lower layer.
She can no longer nourish her brood,
In my own land as a stranger viewed.
II
On the road between two cities
each of which has two names,
I read the words on the signs.
I am travelling through the speckled land
and every town here has two names.
Claonadh – Clane
Cill Dara – Kildare
Baile Dháith – Littleton
Cúil an tSúdaire – Portarlington
the native name
in italic script
a biased telling of the lore of place
the native name
in the lesser script
a muted telling, in slow fade . . .
III
As I travel through the speckled land
I move from white to black
my journey is taken aslant
the way I follow is zig-zagged.
I am the knight going the long way round
to attack from behind, to try to confound
but there are castles I can’t assault
and clerics before me, proud and preening,
I can’t protect my own queen even
my road is blocked by lowly pawns.
IV
Between two hues
between two names
between two views
between two words
between two tongues
between two worlds
I live my life
between two lives.
~~~~
Sophistry Made Simple
O, yeah.
***********************************
I see the same thing in films of books that change things so much that you
wonder why they filmed it at all if they disliked so much of the book that
they left most of it out and added so much in. I felt the same when the
further I read towards the end of this poem and then compared the
translation - it's almost dishonest of McGuckian to offer this as a
translation, it has been changed so much that she may as well have gone away
and written it as her own. It's one thing to change colloquialisms to make
them understandable, but that isn't what she did here.
I'm sure it must be frustrating too for anyone coming to any language
wanting to read and understand writings in that language only to find those
translations bearing no relationship in any literal sense to the original.
Thankfully though, neither version read like a Bunratty fridge magnet.
kateh
On Oct 9, 9:52 pm, sidheseeker wrote:
> Probably another short thread..
> http://oisin51.tripod.com/others.html
> I don't think you should misinterpret absence of response with absence
of interest.
No indeed.......
> I for one always read the poems you post. Sometimes, though, one is
lost for words, or it is just difficult to say anything sensible
beyond "I liked that" - which I did.
Well done for contributing something cultural to SCI :-)
Cat(h)
It's been a suprise and pleasure to return and find *not only* the culture
and poetry threads you and Karen have been posting, but also the gorgeous
photos from all-over, Ger and Doc discussing "love & biology". Once I
deleted all the political threads I thought.......damn you people........
:) I may have to stick around!
KateH
kateh
My eyes full of candles,
And the two dead oars.
~~~
Geasa / The Bond
Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill | Translation by Medbh McGuckian
Pharaoh's Daughter
Gallery Books, 1990
~~~
Dang, that's beyond creepy. :)
Thanks for the link to hear it read.
KateH