Verlaine: Sagesse
RVG
This is a first attempt at this text and it may contain errors, so
please tell me. The original french text is copied after this translation.
Just one note: I've chosen to translate "chevalier" by "rider" rather
than "knight" because of the verb "chevaucher" (to ride) that echoes in
the first verse.
For the new year, I've thought of this poem because it's about renewed
hope and life:
Paul Verlaine
WISDOM
Like a good hooded rider who rides in silence
Misfortune pierced my old heart with its spear.
The blood of my old heart made one crimson gush
Then evaporated on the flowers, in the sun.
Shadow turned my eyes off, a cry came to my mouth,
And my old heart is dead in a bitter shiver.
Then rider Misfortune came closer,
Set foot and his hand touched me.
His iron-gloved finger entered my wound
As he certified his law with a harsh voice.
And then at the icy touch of his iron finger
A heart was being reborn in me, a whole heart pure and proud.
And then, fervent with divine candour,
A whole young and good heart was beating in my chest.
Yet, I staid there trembling, incredulous a bit,
Like a man who sees visions of God.
But the good rider, back on his beast,
While riding away nodded to me
And cried to me (I *still* hear that voice):
"At least, take care! T'is all right this time."
Paul Verlaine
SAGESSE
Bon chevalier masqué qui chevauche en silence,
Le Malheur a percé mon vieux cœur de sa lance.
Le sang de mon vieux cœur n’a fait qu’un jet vermeil
Puis s’est évaporé sur les fleurs, au soleil.
L’ombre éteignit mes yeux, un cri vint à ma bouche
Et mon vieux cœur est mort dans un frisson farouche.
Alors le chevalier Malheur s’est rapproché,
Il a mis pied à terre et sa main m’a touché.
Son doigt ganté de fer entra dans ma blessure
Tandis qu’il attestait sa loi d’une voix dure.
Et voici qu’au contact glacé du doigt de fer
Un cœur me renaissait, tout un cœur pur et fier
Et voici que, fervent d’une candeur divine,
Tout un cœur jeune et bon battit dans ma poitrine !
Or je restais tremblant, ivre, incrédule un peu,
Comme un homme qui voit des visions de Dieu.
Mais le bon chevalier, remonté sur sa bête,
En s’éloignant me fit un signe de la tête
Et me cria (j’entends *encore* cette voix) :
« Au moins, prudence ! Car c’est bon pour une fois. »
--
"The imagination is not a State: it is the Human existence itself."
William Blake
http://rvgmusic.bandcamp.com/
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Isabelle Cecchini
L'abréviation légèrement archaïque de « It is » est « 'Tis » et non «
T'is ».
Un autre archaïsme, « staid » au lieu de « stayed », ne me paraît pas
vraiment justifié, mais c'est affaire de choix personnel.
Un autre élément qui m'a fait sursauter dès la première lecture, mais
cette fois pour cause de modernité intempestive dans une ambiance
largement médiévale, est « turned ... off », pour traduire « éteignit ».
C'est pour moi trop mécanique et électrique. Je n'ai pas d'autre
traduction à proposer, hélas.
--
Isabelle Cecchini
Bernard Cordier
blinded, extinguished, blew out?
--
Bernard Cordier
Ressources STG : http://bernard.cordier.pagesperso-orange.fr/
Lanarcam
> Hi,
>
> This is a first attempt at this text and it may contain errors, so
> please tell me. The original french text is copied after this translation.
>
> Just one note: I've chosen to translate "chevalier" by "rider" rather
> than "knight" because of the verb "chevaucher" (to ride) that echoes in
> the first verse.
>
> For the new year, I've thought of this poem because it's about renewed
> hope and life:
>
>
>
> Paul Verlaine
> WISDOM
>
>
> Like a good hooded rider who rides in silence
> Misfortune pierced my old heart with its spear.
>
> The blood of my old heart made one crimson gush
> Then evaporated on the flowers, in the sun.
>
> Shadow turned my eyes off, a cry came to my mouth,
> And my old heart is dead in a bitter shiver.
J'aurais écrit :
And my old heart died in a bitter shiver.
"Et mon vieux cœur est mort dans un frisson farouche." est au passé.
RVG
> Un autre archaïsme, « staid » au lieu de « stayed », ne me paraît pas
> vraiment justifié, mais c'est affaire de choix personnel.
>
> Un autre élément qui m'a fait sursauter dès la première lecture, mais
> cette fois pour cause de modernité intempestive dans une ambiance
> largement médiévale, est « turned ... off », pour traduire « éteignit ».
> C'est pour moi trop mécanique et électrique. Je n'ai pas d'autre
> traduction à proposer, hélas.
>
OK, merci de votre aide, le texte est maintenant disponible ici:
http://bluedusk.blogspot.com/2011/01/paul-verlaine-wisdom-sagesse.html
George Dance
I think you've got the sense of each line down right, so it's a good
first draft. There's some awkward wording, but i wouldn't worry about
it just yet.
I've seen 'translations' like this before, even published ones, so
maybe it's just a personal thing -- but I would not say that you've
translated Verlaine's poem at this poing. For one thinng, he wrote
Sagesse in rhyming couplets; for another, he wrote in Alexandrines;
and there's no indication of either in your Wisdom.
RVG
> first draft. There's some awkward wording, but i wouldn't worry about
> it just yet.
>
> I've seen 'translations' like this before, even published ones, so
> maybe it's just a personal thing -- but I would not say that you've
> translated Verlaine's poem at this poing. For one thinng, he wrote
> Sagesse in rhyming couplets; for another, he wrote in Alexandrines;
> and there's no indication of either in your Wisdom.
>
I've chosen to stick to the words more than the music. I don't believe
that the musicality of one language can translate into another one
except if they share some connections.
For example when T.S Eliott translated Saint John Perse. Perse being
from the Caribbeans used rhythms and metrics from creole language and
poetry that have their equivalent in the American culture.
OTOH when André du Bouchet translated Hölderlin into french, it was
impossible and even absurd to try to keep the german musicality and
metrics, so he kept as close as possible to the choice of words and the
particular syntax of Hölderlin's Bavarian dialect.
For the same reason, you can translate Pushkin's Evgeni Onegin any way
you want, you'll never hear the ballerina dance like a floating snowflake.