Friday, April 30, 2010

Slaughters

Today's poem was published online at Jintian on April 15. It's written by Pan Xin'an (潘新安), who I'd not heard of before and couldn't really find any biographical info on. Oh well. This one really struck me in the original, and presented some pretty significant translation difficulties. In particular, there's a portion where he uses what I think is a slang term for gambling - 'killing pigs' - that I couldn't find a proper analogue for in English, so apologies if that section's a bit rough. Also, if anyone knows for certain what's meant here by "放炮子," I'd appreciate hearing it.  I took it to mean cheating, but could it also mean "fired a gun"? The "子" is messin' with my head.
All of which brings me to a big thought about this process - screwing things up. I feel basically certain I will wildly misinterpret at least one thing in each poem I try to translate. But hey, that's life. Any Chinese speakers out there, your guidance is beloved. And English speakers, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this (or any translation in the future) just as a poem in English - what works and what doesn't.

杀戮

我亲眼见过的杀戮
从小时候杀鸡开始
但父亲总是叫我转过脸去
印象最深的一次
是看两个收蛇的异乡人
杀蛇取胆
在恐惧中我睁大了眼睛

日常的杀戮无处不在
被杀白的身体
仿佛是它们自己要捧出自己的
肚腹和心肝
而那些爱玩的人
把时下盛行的赌博也戏称为 杀猪
他们总能把一种血腥
表达得诙谐和风趣

那天他被一帮人追赶
最后砍死在菜场的门口
让真正的屠夫们吃了一惊
据说达三十七刀
他是外地人,在赌场上放炮子
在浴室里放小姐

在这个饱受屈辱的国家
如果你是爱国者
你就必须高喊:杀!杀!杀!
但如果你天生胆小
你就转过脸去


-潘新安
spaceSlaughters

The slaughters I’ve seen
started as a child, with chickens -
but father always made me turn and look away.
The time that affected me most
was seeing two poachers from another town
kill snakes to get their guts,
and in fear I opened my eyes wide.

Everyday slaughter is not to be found
in those slain, white bodies,
looking as though forced to hold with both hands
the weight of their own hearts, and entrails.
And those people who love to play
portray their gambling playfully, calling it  ‘killing pigs.’
They somehow smile at a bloodiness
and take it for humor and wit.

The day he was chased down by a crowd
and hacked to death at the entrance to the market -
that made the real butchers swallow their shock.
It’s said there were thirty-seven knives.
He was from out of town, pulled a con at the casino,
fucked a prostitute in the bathroom.

Here in this humiliated country,
if you’re a patriot,
you must scream: kill! kill! kill!
But if you were born cowardly,
you can just turn and look away.


-Pan Xin’an (t. Rob Voigt)

Thursday, April 22, 2010

lamps and lanterns

Hi there, my name is Rob Voigt, and this will be a blog containing primarily my translations of contemporary Chinese-language poetry, and generally with a bit of background on the poets in question and links to their work. It'll also include some other random ponderings on Chinese literature, professional translations that I like, and so on. There won't be a ton of critical analysis, hopefully things will mostly speak for themselves. I'll be aiming for one post a week.

To start things off, however, we'll have some translations that are not mine - poems from the ubiquitous and super-cool Bei Dao, literally "Northern Island," real name Zhao Zhenkai. Known as one of the "Misty Poets" for his dense, imagistic style, Bei Dao was one of the founders of "Jintian" (Today), an important poetry magazine that ran from 1978 until it was banned in 1980 (though it is currently back in action). He is one of the best-known contemporary Chinese poets in the West, in particular for his poem "The Answer," which was written during the 1976 Tian'anmen square protests and taken up as something of an anthem during the more infamous 1989 protests. At the time he was in Germany, and was thereafter banned from returning to China.

Today's two poems are "We" and an untitled poem, both found in Bei Dao's collection "Landscape over Zero" (零度之下的风景), as translated by David Hinton and Yanbing Chen. They are the poems from which this blog draws its name, "lamps and lanterns." In "We," Hinton and Chen translate "灯笼" as "lanterns," and in the untitled poem, the first character of that word, "灯," is translated as "lamp."

Lamps, lanterns, light, they're common images and sometimes powerful ones, but as a choice for the blog title I'm hoping to highlight the strange and sometimes non-rational decision-making inherent in the translation of poetry. What is it about those two images that caused Hinton and Chen to use lamp here and lantern there? Is it the connotations in the target language? A more accurate portrayal of the source text? For the map/lamp rhyme? Maybe it's a simple way of making the simple distinction between the two similar but non-identical words in Chinese? Or maybe it was just a feeling.

我们

失魂落魄
提着灯笼追赶春天

伤疤发亮,杯子转动
光线被创造
看那迷人的时刻:
盗贼潜入邮局
信发出叫喊

钉子啊钉子
这歌词不可更改
木柴紧紧搂在一起
寻找听众

寻找冬天的心
河流尽头
船夫等待着茫茫暮色

必有人重写爱



无题

人们赶路,到达
转世,隐入鸟之梦
太阳从麦田逃走
又随乞丐返回 

谁与天比高
那早夭的歌手
在气象图里飞翔
掌灯冲进风雪    

我买了份报 纸
从日子找回零钱
在夜的入口处
摇身一变    

被颂扬之鱼
穿过众人的泪水
喂,上游的健康人
到明天有多远


     -北岛

We

lost souls and scattered spirits
holdings lanterns chase spring

scars shimmer, cups revolve
light's being created
look at that enchanting moment
a thief steals into a post office
letters cry out

nails o nails
the lyrics never change
firewood huddles together
searching for an audience to listen
searching for the heart of winter
river's end
a boatman awaiting boundless twilight

there must be some one to rewrite love



Untitled

people hurry on, arrive
return in another life, fade into bird dreams
the sun flees wheat fields
then comes back trailing after beggars

who's rivaled sky for height
that singer who died young
soars in the weather map
flies into snowstorms holding a lamp

I bought a newspaper
got change back from the day
and at the entrance to night
eased into a new identity

celebrated fish
move through everyone's tears
hey, you folks upstream achievers so hale and hearty
how far is it to tomorrow


     -Bei Dao, t. David Hinton and Yanbing Chen