a Dutch spring poem
This is all Grada’s fault. (Scroll down to see her comments on the previous entry.)
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“Mei”, by Herman Gorter (first verse only) |
My translation (with much help from a dictionary) |
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Een nieuwe lente en een nieuw geluid: Ik wil dat dit lied klinkt als het gefluit, Dat ik vaak hoorde voor een zomernacht, In een oud stadje, langs de watergracht — In huis was ‘t donker, maar de stille straat Vergaarde schemer, aan de lucht blonk laat Nog licht, er viel een gouden blanke schijn Over de gevels van mijn raamkozijn. Dan blies een jongen als een orgelpijp, De klanken schudden in de lucht zoo rijp Als jonge kersen, wen een lentewind In ‘t boschje opgaat en zijn reis begint. Hij dwaald’ over de bruggen, op den wal Van ‘t water, langzaam gaande, overal Als ‘n jonge vogel fluitend, onbewust Van eigen blijheid om de avondrust. En menig moe man, die zijn avondmaal Nam, luisterde, als naar een oud verhaal, Glimlachend, en een hand die ‘t venster sloot, Talmde een pooze wijl de jongen floot. |
A new spring and a new sound: I want this song to be pure as the tune I often heard in a summer’s evening In an old village, along the canal. Inside it was dark, but in the still street Twilight gathered; from the shining sky Golden light played over my window. It was then a wandering boy piped his tune, The sound shuddering in the mellow air Like ripe cherries nodding, as a spring breeze Rises up into the woods and begins its travels. He wanders over the bridges, up the bank By slow-flowing water, anywhere he wills. As a young bird sings, unconscious Of his own happiness in the evening stillness. Many a tired man at his evening meal Listens, as if to a beloved old tale And smiles, taking his hand back from the latch To listen longer, while the boy plays. |
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A more literal translation: You can see how close the Dutch is to the English (I wouldn’t have dared translate poetry otherwise)though I have rearranged word order for clarity in a couple of places. |
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A new spring and a new sound: I want that this song sounds like the whistling That I often heard before a summernight In an old small town, along the watercanal In house ’twas dark, but the still street Gathered twilight, on the sky shone late Yet light, there fell a golden bright shine Over the front of my windowframe Then fluted a boy like an organipipe The sound shakes in the air as ripe As young cherries nodding while a spring breeze In the small forest goes up and its travels begin He wanders over the bridges, up pine bank, Of the water, slowly going, everywhere As a young bird flutes, unconscious Of his own happiness in the evening rest. And many a tired man, that his evening meal Takes, listening, as if to an old story Smiles, and a hand that the window latch Tarries a while, while the boy plays. |
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Note: Since first posting this, I’ve made a few small changes in the translations, thanks to some helpful suggestions from Grada on the literal translation. This poem is from 1889, and I don’t really have any sense of how the language has changed, of the older uses of words or, really, of poetic usage in general. There were a couple of places where I misinterpreted which noun an adjective or verb applied to, and the word “als” can be if, when, or as, which makes translation a bit tricky (in fact, Dutch people speaking English make mistakes there all the time). I’ve also taken her suggestion to render “was ‘t” as ” ’twas”, which is literally accurate. (I had thought of it before, and decided it was too precious – but when I looked up the poem’s actual date, it seemed appropriate. ) I’ve changed only four lines in my freer translation, but I think it makes a little more sense now.
July 20th, 2008 at 2:55 pm
Check out what Brent’s been doing, over at http://brentusfirmus.wordpress.com/2008/07/16/forays-into-dutch-poetry/
!
(Read the rest of his blog too, he’s a knitter as well)