Form and Function: Verse Translation in Song
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Collaborative poetic translations from Russian to English and English to Russian are presented in the form of songs within five distinct repertoire strands. Questions of form and function in poetic language are discussed in terms of fidelity to authorial voice and memorability. The role of sung poetry is assessed in terms of its relevance to phraseological development in L2 acquisition.
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Form and Function: Verse Translation in Song
- 1. Form and Function: Verse Translation in Song Thomas A. Beavitt, RAS UB, Institute of Philosophy and Law, tommy@globalvillagebard.org Abstract Collaborative poetic translations from Russian to English and English to Russian are presented in the form of songs within five distinct repertoire strands. Questions of form and function in poetic language are discussed in terms of fidelity to authorial voice and memorability. The role of sung poetry is assessed in terms of its relevance to phraseological development in L2 acquisition. Keywords: song translation, authorial voice, music of language, memory, L2 acquisition, phraseology Introduction The intertwined questions of form and function are central to translation studies. While the functional fidelity of prose translations to the source text in well-defined fields such as law or medicine is discussable in grammatical and semantic terms, nontrivial formal aspects may be harder to isolate. Evaluations of complex formal aspects of translations, e.g. register, tend to reduce to subjective questions, such as the extent to which they read “smoothly” or convey authentic “authorial voice”. However, in verse translation, formal considerations – especially those relating to the sound of the language – are to the fore. Thus, despite the effective disappearance of formal verse from contemporary English language poetry, verse translation remains an important area in translation studies.
- 2. Verse – or poetic – translation has been extensively covered by Russophone scholarship. Chukovsky discusses what is a “good” – i.e. “artistic” – translation, indicating the impossibility of a definitive solution, as follows: “What does it mean to faithfully communicate? And in what consists the poetic originality of the source?”1 According to Gumilev’s prescriptive Acmeist approach, however, the nine formal elements which must be preserved by a poetic translator are: “1) number of lines, 2) metre and measure, 3) alternation of rhymes, 4) character of enjambement, 5) character of rhymes, 6) linguistic register, 7) metaphor type, 8) special devices, 9 ) transitions of tone.”2 Conversely, Nabokov argues that genuine poetic translation is impossible in principle: for him, in formal terms, versions that “conform to the notions and prejudices of a given public” constitute the worst “evil” of translation3 . Despite formal considerations having largely given way to “self-expression” in Anglophone poetry4 , Hofstadter argues for the translation of formal elements in poetic language according to its “music”.5 But what is poetry? According to 1 "Высокое искусство, Корней Чуковский." 2005. 14 May. 2016 <http://www.chukfamily.ru/Kornei/Prosa/Vysokoe/vysokoe.htm> 2 "О стихотворных переводах | Николай Гумилёв | Статьи." 2016. 14 May. 2016 <https://gumilev.ru/clauses/5/> 3 Nabokov, Vladimir. "Problems of translation: Onegin in English." Partisan Review 22.4 (1955): 496-512. 4 "How Self-Expression Damaged My Students - The Atlantic." 2012. 15 May. 2016 <http://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2012/09/how-self-expression-damaged-my- students/262656/> 5 Hofstadter, Douglas R. Le ton beau de Marot: In praise of the music of language. Basic Books, 1997.
- 3. Auden, poetry is language that is “memorable”6 . In considering what formal aspects of language support its memorability, it seems impossible to avoid metre, measure, rhyme, rhythm and melody. Methods In the present study, it is hypothesised that a translation will be good, faithful, authentic, artistic and memorable to the extent that it captures the totality of the music of the original as perceived in terms of authorial voice. Thus, poetry is language that is musical; a poet is a “singer”7 ; and a poem is a song, which may or may not have already been sung. While judgments as to the success of such translations remain subjective, this subjectivity is limitable to an audience’s or reader’s recognition of authorial voice and the extent to which the resultant language is memorable. This is especially true of bilingual audiences evaluating translations of iconic poems and songs from their own language. Translated poetry is presented here in five main strands of bilingual material. Linked by their common birthday (25th January), Burns & Vysotsky compares the poetic voices of the Scottish national bard Robert Burns in Russian translation and Vladimir Vysotsky in English. Saints & Sinners is the result of a collaborative project involving the voices of two Ural poets, Boris Petrov and Alexandr Zyryanov, inspired by visual work from Russian and Scottish painters. The Bard is Not Dead! compares the poetic voice of the Russian poet M.Y. Lermontov with that of his mediaeval Scottish (probable) ancestor Thomas “the Rhymer” Learmonth. War Songs consists of English translations of iconic songs from the 6 Auden, Wystan Hugh, and John Garrett. The poet's tongue: an anthology. Scholarly Pr, 1935. 7 Indo European etymology certainly supports this claim: the English word “poet” is almost identical to the Russian verb form поёт – “he sings”.
- 4. Great Patriotic War. Perch Amongst the Wires: Songs of Exile and Remembrance is a current project involving the present writer’s own authorial (sung) voice as interpreted by a (“crowd-sourced”) plurality of contemporary Russian translators. Gumilev’s nine commandments are generally obeyed; or, if disobeyed, done so knowingly. In particular, the question of linguistic register is addressed at the level of the phrase. However, certain rhythmic substitutions are specifically employed in order to deal with differences in the underlying characters of the source and target languages. These substitutions may be seen in terms of metrical feet8 and/or musical tuplets9 : e.g. a iamb may be substituted by a trochee or anapest; or a duplet may be substituted by a triplet or quadruplet. Particular effects imparting e.g. national character, such as the Scotch snap10 (which appears in the word “Scottish”), may thus accrue. Results The results of the study so far indicate that bilingual audiences (“readers”) experiencing the work of already known and unknown authors through sung translation are able to recognise and remember the translated texts. Conference participants are invited to consider the question of the character of the authorial voice rendered in the sung translation in more detail. 8 Crowhurst, Megan Jane. "Minimality and foot structure in metrical phonology and prosodic morphology." (1991). 9 "Tuplet - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia." 2011. 16 May. 2016 <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuplet> 10 Temperley, Nicholas, and David Temperley. "Music-Language Correlations and the “Scotch Snap”." Music Perception: An Interdisciplinary Journal 29.1 (2011): 51-63.
- 5. Discussion and Conclusions Sung poetry translation is presented for consideration as the primary content of cross-cultural and bilingual creative collaboration approaches. Sung texts are by definition memorable and therefore “poetic” language. Since phraseology is a “key factor in improving learners’ reading and listening comprehension, alongside fluency and accuracy in production”11 , an approach to sung poetry translation and composition that focuses on the use of well-established, appropriate phraseology, including direct quotation, may indicate pedagogic potential for the use of song translation and performance in L2 acquisition. 11 "Phraseology in Language Learning and Teaching. Where to from here ..." 2016. 16 May. 2016 <https://www.researchgate.net/publication/259583211_Phraseology_in_Language_Learning_and _Teaching_Where_to_from_here>
- 6. Георгий Победоносец – Петров Не сотвори себе кумира! А из того, кто всех нас спас? Того, кто с Сотворением Мира Спаситель мира, т.е. нас? Летят века, тысячелетия. Ужели память сохранит Того, кто в смуту лихолетья Стоял за Веру, как гранит? Как забывает мир спасенный, Такой беспечный мир людской, Когда и с кем сражался оный. Да был ли, собственно, герой? Из веры в век, из века в веру. Звенят наперстки там и тут И вместо прошлого- химеры В алтарь истории кладут. Saint George, Arise! Let’s not make a cult out of who is the greater! Which of us here can in this way be saved? Whose deeds are aligned to the will of Creator? Love’s royal road by what labour is paved? The years that have flown by, decades, millennia – What effort of memory could ever retain, Steadfast, ‘midst all the confusion of many a Battle, his faith, and be reaped there like grain? Oh no! Don't kill the dragon, That's bound to our will by the slenderest of threads! Go slow! Don’t spill your flagon! Take up your spear and restrain it instead! To forget, in a world that has lost its Redeemer: Such is the trivial business of men! When and with whom shall we fight the Blasphemer? Will ever we see such a hero again? Through ages of faith to progress by stages: The thimbles of tricksters plied hither and thon. In place of the truth, an abundance of pages; Reliquaries groan from the weight thereupon.
- 7. Судьба героя незавидна - Упасть от вражьего меча Или под царский смех обидный Уйти на плахе палача. И вновь грохочет вражье слово, А мы все слабы, что есть сил. Георгий, ты нам нужен снова - Дракон поверженный ожил. Unenviable fate of the sacrificed martyr – To fall at the stroke of your enemy's sword! Or, mocked by the gales of imperious laughter, To dance at the end of the hangman’s dread cord! Once more there are rumbles of hateful skullduggery – Disgrace of our weakness that liars connived. Saint George, arise, confront this foul thuggery! The dragon you ‘slew’ has again been revived.
- 8. Saint George, Arise! Let’s not make a cult out of who is the greater! Which of us here can in this way be saved? Whose deeds are aligned to the will of Creator? Love’s royal road by what labour is paved? The years that have flown by, decades, millennia – What effort of memory could ever retain, Steadfast, ‘midst all the confusion of many a Battle, his faith, and be reaped there like grain? Oh no! Don't kill the dragon, That's bound to our will by the slenderest of threads! Go slow! Don’t spill your flagon! Take up your spear and restrain it instead! To forget, in a world that has lost its Redeemer: Such is the trivial business of men! When and with whom shall we fight the Blasphemer? Will ever we see such a hero again? Through ages of faith to progress by stages: The thimbles of tricksters plied hither and thon. In place of the truth, an abundance of pages; Reliquaries groan from the weight thereupon. Георгий, вернись! – Фейгин Зачем нам творить себе разных кумиров Кого из нас это могло бы спасти? Дела чьи угодны Создателю Мира? Дорогу любви кто к вершине мостил? Года пролетают и тысячелетия, Чьи подвиги сердце извечно хранит? Того, кто и в смуту и в лихолетия За веру и правду стоял как гранит. О нет. Убить ты не должен Дракон разлетится как тысяча птиц Стой, стой. С ним будь осторожен Каким обернётся из множества лиц? Но в мире спасённом короткая память Присуща беспечной, глумливой толпе Куда и зачем гордо нёс своё знамя, Герой, что когда-то исчез в темноте? И в прошлом, и в нынешнем бурном столетии Напёрстки летают под носом зевак. Трактовка истории, правда бессмертная Как шарик катается в ловких руках.
- 9. Unenviable fate of the sacrificed martyr – To fall at the stroke of your enemy's sword! Or, mocked by the gales of imperious laughter, To dance at the end of the hangman’s dread cord! Once more there are rumbles of hateful skullduggery – Disgrace of our weakness that liars connived. Saint George, arise, confront this foul thuggery! The dragon you ‘slew’ has again been revived. Героя судьба быть завидна не может Сражён ли ударом лихого меча, Или под ухмылки царя и вельможей На плахе казнён был рукой палача. И вновь как и прежде, звучит вражье слово Впадают в нас реки из грязи и лжи Георгий, вернись, ты так нужен нам снова Дракон, тобой битый, внезапно ожил.
- 10. Охота на Волков Рвусь из сил и из всех сухожилий, Но сегодня - опять, как вчера, - Обложили меня, обложили, Гонят весело на номера. Из-за елей хлопочут двустволки - Там охотники прячутся в тень. На снегу кувыркаются волки, Превратившись в живую мишень. Идёт охота на волков, идёт охота! На серых хищников - матерых и щенков. Кричат загонщики, и лают псы до рвоты. Кровь на снегу и пятна красные флажков. Не на равных играют с волками Егеря, но не дрогнет рука! Оградив нам свободу флажками, Бьют уверенно, наверняка. Волк не может нарушить традиций. Видно, в детстве, слепые щенки, Мы, волчата, сосали волчицу И всосали - «Нельзя за флажки!» Наши ноги и челюсти быстры. Почему же - вожак, дай ответ - Мы затравленно мчимся на выстрел И не пробуем через запрет? Волк не может, не должен иначе! Вот кончается время моё. Тот, которому я предназначен, Улыбнулся и поднял ружье. Who’ll come a hunting for the wolf? With all the strength that bursts from our sinews – It's the same old story again; When you see them, there’s something within you Makes you cluster like sheep to a pen. From the forest the guns start to rumble, From bushes, where hunters lie low. Claws scratch ice as wolves rush and tumble Living targets with nowhere to go. Who'll come a’ hunting for the wolf, who'll come a’ hunting? Who'll shoot and be a man, some cub or suckling dam? As the beaters wave, the slavering hounds confront ‘em Blood on the snow and rows of fluttering scarlet flags. They fixed the match, their servile lieutenants: So superior, so sure of our route. Bounds on liberty set with red pennants, With their rifles held steady to shoot! For the wolf cannot break with tradition: When as cubs in our lair we’d entwine, With our milk we conceived the ambition Not ever to cross the red line. Are our jaws and our paws so extraneous? Our leader – so fixed in his mind! To permit these red flags to contain us Why don’t we break out of this bind? Wolves must not step over the border Thus my life blood must ebb in the snow And the one for whom I’m an order Lifts his rifle, his face all aglow.
- 11. Я из повиновения вышел За флажки - жажда жизни сильней! Только сзади я радостно слышал Удивлённые крики людей. Рвусь из сил, из всех сухожилий, Но сегодня - не так, как вчера! Обложили меня, обложили, Но остались ни с чем егеря!! I transgressed, stepped over the boundary For my life is worth more than their lies! Behind me, no longer around me Come shouts of frustrated surprise. All the strength has burst from my sinews – But that old story changes today: I’m alone, my wolf nature continues But my hunters were robbed of their prey!! ! ! !
- 12. Гроб Оссиана Под занавесою тумана, Под небом бурь, среди степей, Стоит могила Оссиана В горах Шотландии моей. Летит к ней дух мой усыпленный Родимым ветром подышать И от могилы сей забвенной Вторично жизнь свою занять!… Ossian’s Tomb Beneath a swirling shroud of mist, A louring sky, upon the moor, Ossian's tomb shall aye persist Among the Scottish hills obscure. My wearied spirit flies to her My native breath doth there respire The soul that men shall once inter Shall thus a second life acquire!...
- 13. Желание Зачем я не птица, не ворон степной, Пролетевший сейчас надо мной? Зачем не могу в небесах я парить И одну лишь свободу любить? На запад, на запад помчался бы я, Где цветут моих предков поля, Где в замке пустом, на туманных горах, Их забвенный покоится прах. На древней стене их наследственный щит И заржавленный меч их висит. Я стал бы летать над мечом и щитом И смахнул бы я пыль с них крылом; И арфы шотландской струну бы задел, И по сводам бы звук полетел; Внимаем одним, и одним пробуждён, Как раздался, так смолкнул бы он. Yearning If I were a raven, a raptor of the plain, Whirling far above this earthly brain; If I could only my desires betake to wing And all at once my heart were free to sing. To the west, to the west, I’d be gone in an hour! Where the fields of my sires are in flow’r, Where in a bare keep ’neath the swirling of mists, Their oblivious bones are lying at rest. Where on ancient walls ancestral shields hang Above a broad sword, rusty and lang. I would fly over the sword and the shield, Brushing the dust of ages as I wheeled; Grazing the neglected Scottish harp strings As, again, through the chamber it rings And is heard by the one who awakes – And as it reverberates... so the spell breaks.
- 14. Но тщетны мечты, бесполезны мольбы Против строгих законов судьбы. Меж мной и холмами отчизны моей Расстилаются волны морей. Последний потомок отважных бойцов Увядает средь чуждых снегов; Я здесь был рожден, но нездешний душой... О! зачем я не ворон степной?... But disconsolate dreams, unfulfillable yearning Against the strict edicts of fate not returning; Between me and the hills of my native land Billowing furrows lie twixt either strand. The last scion of a race that routed foes Desiccating here amongst th’ alien snows; Ach, I was born here – but I would be fain... O! Why am I not a raptor of the plain?
- 15. Темная ночь Темная ночь, только пули свистят по степи, Только ветер гудит в проводах, тускло звезды мерцают. В темную ночь ты, любимая, знаю, не спишь, И у детской кроватки тайком ты слезу утираешь. Как я люблю глубину твоих ласковых глаз, Как я хочу к ним прижаться теперь губами! Темная ночь разделяет, любимая, нас, И тревожная, чёрная степь пролегла между нами. Верю в тебя, в дорогую подругу мою, Эта вера от пули меня темной ночью хранила... Радостно мне, я спокоен в смертельном бою, Знаю встретишь с любовью меня, что б со мной ни случилось. Смерть не страшна, с ней встречались не раз мы в степи. Вот и теперь надо мною она кружится. Ты меня ждёшь и у детской кроватки не спишь, И поэтому знаю: со мной ничего не случится! Dark is the Night Dark is the night, only bullets that whine o'er the steppe, Just the cold wind that hums in the wires, stars that twinkle so dimly. On this dark night, darling, I know that you cannot sleep, By the cradle, a tear glints your cheek, in the lamplight so homely. How I adore the depths of your tender dark eyes – Depths I’d explore if I were to be near my Venus! Dark is the night, that holds back the golden sunrise, And that gloomy, mysterious steppe that lies sprawled out between us. I trust in you, in my darling, my sweetheart, my wife – And to know that you’re true, on this night, saves me from deadly weapons... Gladly, for me, in this knowledge I daunt deadly strife I know I can rely on your love, no matter what happens. Death, where’s thy sting, when I know there’s an angel that keeps Wearing my ring, now the chaos is whirling round me… Knowing you’re there, by the cradle, my sweetheart who weeps – And your tear lets me know that your love will always surround me.