The English poet this year is Catherine Kidd (you can read her poem here); the French poet is Patrick Coppens. The Coppens poem was fun to recast into English: I did that last weekend. I don't know if it's an extract from a larger work, or meant to be a complete poem in itself. Here's my translation, followed by the original:
Secret Notebooks
of Agathe Brisebois
Patrick Coppens
******
of Agathe Brisebois
Patrick Coppens
******
I work for eternity,
in evanescence.
Space invades forms
mind intimates colors
…regarding colors,
those that fade
were not made to last.
Sleigh: words. Bells: chill.
Poetry puts in disorder
my forgotten memories.
*****
He asked me the time.
I refused.
At his befuddlement, I said:
worry not, it will come.
It was noon.
One day, I lived my life,
the next day, yours.
Then it was done.
in evanescence.
Space invades forms
mind intimates colors
…regarding colors,
those that fade
were not made to last.
Sleigh: words. Bells: chill.
Poetry puts in disorder
my forgotten memories.
*****
He asked me the time.
I refused.
At his befuddlement, I said:
worry not, it will come.
It was noon.
One day, I lived my life,
the next day, yours.
Then it was done.
"I think you are a poet
but you will never find the new,
that is to say, the essential,
except in contemplating your own naval."
(Max Jacob,
letter to Francois Gachot, May 7, 1926)
*****
Don’t forget the photos,
us dancing in Sospel,
near Merlanson.
Summer love
a gooseberry in the head.
Mysteries breed
like rabbits. Hat!
Don’t forget the photos,
us dancing in Sospel,
near Merlanson.
Summer love
a gooseberry in the head.
Mysteries breed
like rabbits. Hat!
"The assemblage of illusion and reality
in the same subject made him
the disturbing mirror of our inner selves. "
(Bernard Noël,
Les peintres du désir, 1992)
I love abstraction
in the interstices of the real.
*****
Anonymity,
some days, weighs on me,
on others, hurts;
I welcome it all the same:
none can take that away from me.
But when I write, when I draw,
I am the Queen, adulated by my subjects.
Pleasing exhausts
those who do not love themselves enough.
*****
Style.
What can I do?
LUCK IS A PAINTING
BY WINNING NUMBERS
in the interstices of the real.
*****
Anonymity,
some days, weighs on me,
on others, hurts;
I welcome it all the same:
none can take that away from me.
But when I write, when I draw,
I am the Queen, adulated by my subjects.
Pleasing exhausts
those who do not love themselves enough.
*****
Style.
What can I do?
LUCK IS A PAINTING
BY WINNING NUMBERS
-- translation by Brian Campbell ©Mar. 2008
Carnets secrets
d'Agathe Brisebois
Patrick
Coppens
*****
Je travaille pour l'éternité,
mais dans l'évanescence.
formes occupées d'espace
raison intime des couleurs
À propos des couleurs,
celles qui passent
n'étaient pas faites pour durer.
Froid de grelots, traîneau des mots.
La poésie met du désordre
dans mes souvenirs oubliés.
*****
Il s'approcha pour me demander l'heure,
Je lui refusai.
Devant son air interloqué, je précisai :
ne t'inquiète pas, elle viendra.
Il était midi.
Un jour, j'ai vécu ma vie,
et le lendemain, la tienne.
Apres, c'était fini.
« Je crois que tu es poèted'Agathe Brisebois
Patrick
Coppens
*****
Je travaille pour l'éternité,
mais dans l'évanescence.
formes occupées d'espace
raison intime des couleurs
À propos des couleurs,
celles qui passent
n'étaient pas faites pour durer.
Froid de grelots, traîneau des mots.
La poésie met du désordre
dans mes souvenirs oubliés.
*****
Il s'approcha pour me demander l'heure,
Je lui refusai.
Devant son air interloqué, je précisai :
ne t'inquiète pas, elle viendra.
Il était midi.
Un jour, j'ai vécu ma vie,
et le lendemain, la tienne.
Apres, c'était fini.
mais tu ne trouveras du nouveau,
c'est-à-dire l'essentiel,
qu'en contemplant ton nombril à toi. »
(Max Jacob,
lettre à François Gachot, 7 mai 1926)
*****
Ne pas oublier les photos ;
celles où nous dansions à Sospel,
au bord du Merlanson.
amours d'été
une groseille dans la tête
Les mystères se reproduisent
comme des lapins. Chapeau !
Ne pas oublier les photos ;
celles où nous dansions à Sospel,
au bord du Merlanson.
amours d'été
une groseille dans la tête
Les mystères se reproduisent
comme des lapins. Chapeau !
« L'assemblage de l'illusion et de la réalité
dans un même objet fait de lui
le miroir troublant de notre intériorité. »
(Bernard Noël,
Les peintres du désir, 1992)
J'aime l'abstraction
dans les interstices du réel.
*****
L'anonymat,
certains jours, me pèse,
d'autres, me chagrine;
je m'en réjouis tout de même
car personne ne peut m'en priver.
Mais quand j'écris, quand je dessine,
je me sens reine, adulée par mes sujets.
Plaire épuise ceux
qui ne s'aiment pas assez.
*****
Le style.
Qu'y puis-je ?
LA CHANCE EST UNE PEINTURE
À NUMÉROS GAGNANTS.
dans les interstices du réel.
*****
L'anonymat,
certains jours, me pèse,
d'autres, me chagrine;
je m'en réjouis tout de même
car personne ne peut m'en priver.
Mais quand j'écris, quand je dessine,
je me sens reine, adulée par mes sujets.
Plaire épuise ceux
qui ne s'aiment pas assez.
*****
Le style.
Qu'y puis-je ?
LA CHANCE EST UNE PEINTURE
À NUMÉROS GAGNANTS.
Just came back from Words on the Move. It was a fascinating event, where at least 8 translations of each poem were read out. The translations differed quite widely -- but I tell you, there were phrases from each one I would steal, and quite viable ones that would never have crossed my mind. Makes one think that composite translation would be the best approach. Will add some highlights to the post below.
Most, I imagine, would think that it would be tedious to hear and read 8 versions of the same poem -- but really, quite the opposite is true. It helps one to improve one's own prowess, to think outside the box of one's own perceptions.
Here are some highlights from other translations:
Where I translated,
Maxianne Berger wrote,
Where I translated,
Maxianne Berger translated
and Hugh Hazelton translated
Karin Montin
and Greg Kelm wrote
Where I translated,
Maxianne wrote,
and Hugh Hazelton wrote,
and Greg Kelm wrote,
Where I (and others) wrote, quite literally
Maxianne wrote
Jonathan Kaplansky wrote
and Claire Maryniak
and Greg Kelm
And for the final line, where I wrote
Maxianne wrote
Jonathan Kaplansky
while Karin Montin wrote,
and Aviva Shimelman
Most, I imagine, would think that it would be tedious to hear and read 8 versions of the same poem -- but really, quite the opposite is true. It helps one to improve one's own prowess, to think outside the box of one's own perceptions.
Here are some highlights from other translations:
Where I translated,
I work for eternity,
in evanescence
in evanescence
Maxianne Berger wrote,
I towards forever
but within evanescence.
but within evanescence.
Where I translated,
Sleigh: words. Bells: chill.
Maxianne Berger translated
Chill of sleighbells, sledding words.
and Hugh Hazelton translated
Shivering bells, sleighing words.
Karin Montin
jingling cold, sleighful of words
and Greg Kelm wrote
Jingle jangle, words in a tangle.
Where I translated,
Poetry puts in disorder
my forgotten memories.
my forgotten memories.
Maxianne wrote,
Poetry makes a muddle
of the memories I don't recall.
of the memories I don't recall.
and Hugh Hazelton wrote,
Poetry messes up
my forgotten memories.
my forgotten memories.
and Greg Kelm wrote,
Poetry jumbles up
my forgotten memories.
my forgotten memories.
Where I (and others) wrote, quite literally
Summer love
a gooseberry in the head
a gooseberry in the head
Maxianne wrote
summer love
pudding head
pudding head
Jonathan Kaplansky wrote
summer loves
giddy-headed
giddy-headed
and Claire Maryniak
summer loves
berries for brains
berries for brains
and Greg Kelm
summer love
a currant in my brain.
a currant in my brain.
And for the final line, where I wrote
LUCK IS A PAINTING
BY WINNING NUMBERS
BY WINNING NUMBERS
Maxianne wrote
BY NUMBERS THAT WIN
Jonathan Kaplansky
WHOSE NUMBERS HAVE WON
while Karin Montin wrote,
FORTUNE IS A PAINT-BY-NUMBER KIT
WITH LUCKY NUMBERS
WITH LUCKY NUMBERS
and Aviva Shimelman
LUCK IS A PAINT-BY-NUMBERS
MASTERPIECE
MASTERPIECE
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