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Saturday, January 10th, 2009
The poems in Fully Empowered are kind of perfect for me to read in Spanish -- short stanzas, short lines, so I can hold them in my head while I go over Reid's translation and back over the original. And lots of repetition of words, so I can maybe get some of them into my vocabulary -- building vocabulary has always been the most difficult part of language study for me. The repetitions seem meaningful -- certain words occur in almost every poem, like "línea" (in various senses), "caer" (in various forms), words relating to the water like "mar," "océan," "ola," "espuma,"... There are also frequent references to geography and geometry, to birds,  to movement, to towers... I haven't quite put all this together yet -- the references to water make me think about Neruda being Chilean, seems like the ocean must be a pretty important part of life in Chile. (Jorge, can you speak to this?) The many repetitions of "línea" are making me think about geometry and language and again, the sea, and tying them together. I just love the rhythm of this passage, which totally does not come through in the translation; I haven't been able to make a lot of sense of the passage, with or without the translation, but the sound of it is wonderful. From the second stanza of "Pájaro":
Cuando volví de tantos viajes
me quedó suspendido y verde
entre el sol y la geografía:
vi cómo trabajan las alas,
cómo se transmite el perfume
por un telégrafo emplumado
y desde arriba vi el camino,
los manantiales, las tejas,
los pescadores a pescar,
los pantalones de la espuma,
todo desde mi cielo verde.
posted afternoon of January 10th, 2009: 2 responses
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Looking through Ellen's old poetry books I am glad to find a bilingual edition of Pablo Neruda's poetry, Fully Empowered. (Translations are by Alastair Reid, and I'm making a note to myself to look up this guy whose name is on much of the mid-century Latin American literature that interests me.) Take a look at the first stanza of the first poem in the book.
Deber del poeta
A quien no escucha el mar en este viernes
por la mañana, a quien adentro de algo,
casa, oficina, fábrica o mujer,
o calle o mina o seco calabozo:
a éste yo acudo y sin hablar ni ver
llego y abro la puerta del encierro
y un sin fin se oye vago en la insistencia
un largo trueno roto se encadena
al peso del planeta y de la espuma,
surgen los rÃos roncos del océano,
vibra veloz en su rosal la estrella
y el mar palpita, muere y continúa.
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The Poet's Obligation
To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory or woman
or street or mine or dry prison cell,
to him I come, and without speaking or looking
I arrive and open the door of his prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a long rumble of thunder adds itself
to the weight of the planet and the foam,
the groaning rivers of the ocean rise,
the star vibrates quickly in its corona
and the sea beats, dies, and goes on beating.
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 A couple things -- why does Neruda say "casa, oficina, fábrica o mujer" -- is he meaning a woman is something to keep you cooped up like a house or a factory? This sounds sexist in a pretty retrograde tone which is not something I'd expect from Neruda; but then I don't really know that much about him -- think of him vaguely as progressive, which I take to imply egalitarian. "Adentro de... mujer" leads me to think of a fetus but I'm pretty sure that is not who the poem is addressed to... In the phrase "un sin fin se oye" is "un" a pronoun -- is this literally "something hears itself endlessly" -- I had thought "un" could only be an article, is this a poetic usage? This is beautiful imagery; but I don't think I can read it closely enough in the translation to realy appreciate it -- I expect this is a failing more of my own reading than of the translation. I'm really happy to have read the observation (I think I read it first from Daniel Hahn; I've seen it referenced several places since then, most recently by Katherine Silver, so maybe it is a commonplace) that translation is a form of reading closely -- this is opening up a new understanding of how to read closely for me.
posted afternoon of January 10th, 2009: Respond
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An anxiety dream last night about the code I am maintaining: a customer reported a bug, which on analysis proved to be a corruption in shared memory caused by the customer's input. When a year was specified in the date parameter, the corruption would occur -- if only month and day were specified, everything was ok. It was pretty mysterious how this would not have been discovered years ago as the section of code governing this parameter had not been modified in a long time; but the bug was pretty easy to track down and fix. Except, a little later I was talking to my boss and he thought I had told him the bug was not fixable and we would have to find a workaround. I was going crazy trying to figure out how to respond to this because I had forgotten where I had put the fix in and I had not commented it or kept any records...
 Later in the night, I dreamed I was examining and modifying the source code for my dreams. It was not clear how or whether I would be able to recompile and distribute the fixes to my consciousness.
posted morning of January 10th, 2009: Respond
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Thursday, January 8th, 2009
I watched Innocent Voices Tuesday night, and again tonight. I want to write a post about it but am having a hard time getting my thoughts about it into any kind of postable order. So: maybe I will write about my reaction to it later on. But for now I just wanted to let you know about it; it's very much worth your while and I had not heard about it until just recently. Here is an interview with the screenwriter Oscar Torres, whose childhood is the subject of the film.
posted evening of January 8th, 2009: Respond
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Tuesday, January 6th, 2009
So she flew on, never losing sight of the angels, and gradually as she came closer they took on a clearer shape.They shone not as if they were burning but as if, wherever they were and however dark the night, sunlight was shining on them. They were like humans, but winged, and much taller; and, as they were naked, the witch could see that three of them were male, two female. ...  Ruta Skadi was four hundred and sixteen years old, with all the pride and knowledge of an adult witch queen. She was wiser by far than any short-lived human, but she had not the slightest idea of how like a child she seemed beside these ancient beings. Nor did she know... that she saw them as human-formed only because her eyes expected to. If she were to perceive their true form, they would seem more like architecture than organism, like huge structures composed of intelligence and feeling.
For some reason I am finding this description of the angels very satisfying. I can picture them very clearly in my mind. (And as I was writing this, I realized the image I am picturing is the stone faces of Igor Mitoraj.)Here is a minor thing that has been bugging me about the setup of the worlds in His Dark Materials. Clearly various languages exist, and a similar set of languages exists across the parallel universes, at least those few we have seen. But Lyra doesn't seem to have encountered anybody yet she could not speak to in English. So okay: let's say (a) witches and (b) bears are both non-human, so maybe they are communicating with Lyra via some kind of extra-linguistic mechanism that just seems to be speech; or more simply and implausibly, that witches and bears speak English. And I guess it's reasonable that all the humans Lyra interacted with in the first book could have known English. But the place where Lyra and Will meet is clearly parallel-world Italy, with Italian place names and everything. So at this point you have to just say ok, well the structure of the book demands that everybody speaks English; that's fine, I'll go along with that. But! Joachim Lorenz threw a huge monkey wrench into that psychic construct on p. 135, when he referred to a building as "the Torre degli Angeli, the Tower of the Angels" and to a city as "Cittàgazze. The city of magpies." -- I found this extremely annoying because it indicates that Joachim knows the place names are in a different language than he's speaking in. Well anyway, not a huge deal or anything. End rant.
posted evening of January 6th, 2009: Respond
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 I've seen a few references to Horacio Castellanos Moya's newly translated Senselessness -- sounded interesting and worth checking out. Chad Post of 3% posts about it today as part of his Best Translated Books of 2008 series, with links to reviews and to interviews with Castellanos Moya and translator Katherine Silver. I'm much more interested now after reading these -- and by coincidence I have the movie Innocent Voices currently checked out from Netflix, also about victims of the civil war in El Salvador.
New Directions has an excerpt from the first chapter up on the book's home page. l am not complete in the mind, I repeated to myself, stunned by the extent of mental perturbation experienced by this Cakchiquel man who had witnessed his family's murder, by the fact that this indigenous man was aware of the breakdown of his own psychic apparatus as a result of having watched, albeit wounded and powerless, as soldiers of his country's army scornfully and in cold blood chopped each of his four small children to pieces with machetes, then turned on his wife, the poor woman already in shock because she too had been forced to watch as the soldiers turned her small children into palpitating pieces of human flesh. Nobody can be complete in the mind after having survived such an ordeal, I said to myself, morbidly mulling it over, trying to imagine what waking up must have been like for this indigenous man, whom they had left for dead among chunks of the flesh of his wife and children and who then, many years later, had the opportunity to give his testimony so that I could read it and make stylistic corrections, a testimony that began, in fact, with the sentence I am not complete in the mind that so moved me because it summed up in the most concise manner possible the mental state tens of thousands of people who have suffered experiences similar to the ones recounted by this Cakchiquel man found themselves in, and also summed up the mental state of thousands of soldiers and paramilitary men who had with relish cut to pieces their so-called compatriots, though I must admit that it's not the same to be incomplete in the mind after watching your own children drawn and quartered as after drawing and quartering other peoples' children, I told myself before reaching the overwhelming conclusion that it was the entire population of this country that was not complete in the mind, which led me to an even worse conclusion, even more perturbing, and this was that only somebody completely out of his mind would be willing to move to a foreign country whose population was not complete in the mind to perform a task that consisted precisely of copyediting an extensive report of one thousand one hundred pages that documents the hundreds of massacres and proves the general perturbation.
posted evening of January 6th, 2009: Respond
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I'd love to watch this discussion between Lobo Antunes and his translator. It occurred last September; the web site says (AOTW) that it's "coming soon", which hopefully just means there has been a delay getting it digitized and online. Fingers crossed! I notice that Lobo Antunes has quite a significant body of work to his name before the current novel; I sort of knew this but was not (I think) taking it sufficiently into consideration. This probably means that my response to What Can I Do When Everything's on Fire? is being hampered by a lack of familiarity with his catalog.
posted afternoon of January 6th, 2009: Respond
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Monday, January 5th, 2009
It occurred to me while we were reading just now, that Will's role in this story is comparable in some ways to Lyra's in The Golden Compass. The parallel is not exact, obviously; but as I read about Will realizing that his father had found a dimensional window like the one Will found, I'm responding in a similar way to when I read e.g. about Lyra making the connection from the General Oblation Board to the "Gobblers." Some nice idle free-associations from tonight's reading: Lee had once seen a painting in which a saint of the Church was shown being attacked by assassins. While they bludgeoned his dying body, the saint's dæmon was borne upwards by cherubs and offered a spray of palm, the badge of a martyr.
This somehow reminded me very strongly of the church scene from Saramago's Blindness. On the next page, Lee is trying to get information from Imaq, an "old Tartar from the Ob region":
"What happened to [Grumman]? Is he dead?" "You ask me that, I have to say I don't know. So you never know the truth from me." "I see. So who can I ask?" "You better ask his tribe. Better go to Yenisei, ask them." "His tribe... You mean the people who initiated him? Who drilled his skull?" "Yes. You better ask them. Maybe he not dead, maybe he is. Maybe neither dead nor alive." "How can he be neither dead nor alive?" "In spirit world. Maybe he in spirit world. Already I say too much. Say no more now."
I asked Sylvia if Imaq was reminding her of anyone, thinking as I asked her about Hagrid. She said yes, he was reminding her of "the detective from Moominvalley" -- nice association! I had forgotten about him, he's a character in one of the Moomin comic strip stories, whose signature line is "I shall say no more."
posted evening of January 5th, 2009: Respond
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Sylvia and I are wrapped up in The Subtle Knife. Liking it! I am having a little trouble getting as completely into the world of the novel as I got into The Golden Compass, I think primarily because of the introduction of "dark matter", the attempt to tie the fantasy physics of the first book's world into our world's real physics. It's a nice idea but a significant piece of my mind is refusing to suspend disbelief. OTOH Dr. Malone seems like she's going to be a really nice addition to the cast of characters. Lyra's character has changed in subtle ways -- she is no longer in any sense an ingenue, she knows exactly what's going on and what she needs to do. This is a quality that I disliked about the rendering of Lyra in the movie of The Golden Compass; here it is much more plausible and sensible.
posted evening of January 5th, 2009: Respond
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Sunday, January 4th, 2009
Saramago posts today about writing. Interesting, this is the first I have noticed him blogging about blogging. The usual qualifiers about me not being a great translator apply; he says roughly: Has it been worth the struggle?
Have these commentaries, these opinions, these critiques been worth the struggle?
Is the world better than before? And me, what about me? Is this what I hoped for?
Am I satisfied with the work? To answer "yes" to all these questions, even only to some,
would demonstrate clearly an inexcusable mental blindness. And to respond with
a "no" without exceptions -- what could that be? Excessive modesty? Resignation? Or perhaps
the consciousness that some human labors are nothing more than a pale shadow
of the labors we dream of? It is told how Michelangelo, when he finished the Moses which
we see in Rome, in the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, tapped the statue on the knee with
his hammer and cried: "Speak!" One needn't say that Moses did not speak.
Moses never speaks. In the same way he who has written in this place at length these last few months
has not been more wordy nor more eloquent than that which could possibly be written,
precisely that which the author would like to ask for, murmuring, "Talk,
please, tell me what you are, what you have served for, if it was for anything." They are quiet, they don't respond.
What to do, then? Interrogating words is the destiny of one who writes. An article? A column? A book? It will be done, but already we know that Moses will not respond.
(This is a step forward for me; rather than using Google translator and massaging the output as I've been doing, I worked directly from the Spanish text.)
posted evening of January 4th, 2009: 3 responses
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Judith Flanders 