![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
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?
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?