(no subject)

[arliss]

The problem with translations is you get the translator's impression of what the poet meant, or actually said. If s/he translates the words and meaning only, one has a lump of words that may not necessarily any longer be a poem. If a poet translates, you get a poem which may not necessarily mean what the original writer meant to say. In my last entry, I posted what is, to me, the One True Translation of this poem. But here are others. Judge for yourself.



Love Song
by Ranier Marie Rilke

How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul?
How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects,
in some dark and silent place that doesn't resonate
when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.

Translated by Stephen Mitchell


The above was formatted so the lines grew shorter in descending order. Here's the Mitchell translation formatted differently:


Rainer Maria Rilke
Love Song

How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws *one* voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.

Translated by Stephen Mitchell


Another:


Love Song

Is there a way to keep my soul
from touching yours? Is there a way
to lift it over you to other things?
I really wish that I could park
it by a lost thing in the dark,
someplace that wouldn't resonate
so much, each time your depths vibrate.
But all that touches you and me
takes us together like a bow
that teases one voice from two strings.
Across what fiddle are we spanned?
What fiddler has us in his hand?
Oh sweet melody.

translated by H. Landman


Yet another:


Love Song

How shall I hold on to my soul, so that
it does not touch yours? How shall I lift
it gently up over you on to other things?
I would so very much like to tuck it away
among long lost objects in the dark
in some quiet unknown place, somewhere
which remains motionless when your depths resound.
And yet everything which touches us, you and me,
takes us together like a single bow,
drawing out from two strings but one voice.
On which instrument are we strung?
And which violinist holds us in the hand?
O sweetest of songs.

Rainer Maria Rilke
New Poems: c. 1907

(tr. Cliff Crego)


And I believe this one was translated by A.S. Kline:


Love-Song

How shall I hold my soul so it does not
touch on yours. How shall I lift it
over you to other things?
Ah, willingly I’d store it away
with some lost thing in the dark,
in some strange still place, that
does not tremble when your depths tremble.
But all that touches us, you and me,
takes us, together, like the stroke of a bow,
that draws one chord out of the two strings.
On what instrument are we strung?
And what artist has us in their hand?
O sweet song.

Ranier Maria Rilke




Of them all, including the previously posted version from Possibility of Being, c.1957, tr. J.B. Leishman, which speaks to you? Which contains the heart of the poet's meaning, and the beat and rhythm of a song or poem?

Comments

[elenabtvs.livejournal.com]

The Landman translation.

I'm not sure why, exactly. The rhythm it creates. The words chosen.

[fufaraw]

The Landman is very intimate, uses simple, ordinary language. It's lovely, but to me it isn't a poem, because it has no form. And though for you it has a rhythm, for me it doesn't.

I love the rhymes in the 'Possibilities' one:

not, forgot, spot (which though internal, still is in the rhyme scheme), waiting, isolating, vibrating, then, when. And the way the scheme changes in the second stanza.

The first line catches me: how does one hold one's own soul? At all, let alone so that it doesn't touch another's?

It's all a matter of preference, anyway, everyone's choice is valid. Mine may merely be because I heard this one first and it's imprinted, and the others are always second-best.

[elenabtvs.livejournal.com]

It is frequently the first one you heard.

And, by heard do you mean read? Because, for me, hearing poetry is far more powerful and lyrical than reading it. And if it is being read by someone talented, that would make all the difference.

[fufaraw]

No, heard is correct. Ron Perlman recited it as Vincent on Beauty and the Beast, more than ten years ago--nearly 20. I probably should be reluctant to admit that it was that show that introduced me to Rilke, embarassed that my schooling didn't include his work, and that I was easily influenced by a tv series.

Perlman painstakingly went through makeup so his voice would sound like Vincent's when he recorded the bits of literature that were used on the show for the CD "Of Love and Hope". His nose was flattened, he wore fangs, and the rubber appliances around his mouth all changed the sound of his voice and his enunciation as Vincent, and he wanted to recreate that for the CD. The quotes were woven into the text of the show, and they chose things that lent themselves to the story. So, yeah, there's an emotional attachment to the versions I heard there. Including the particular translation of the excerpt from Letters to a Young Poet in my sidebar.--->

If you can get your hands on a copy of the CD, it's worth listening to. Perlman reads excellently. But then I freely admit I'm prejudiced.

[elenabtvs.livejournal.com]

Oh, that explains your icon (which I noticed and almost commented on).

Beauty and the Beast was such a romantic show. And anything I heard in Vincent's voice would be my favourite.