A first attempt at translating my own work.

As an exercise for myself in French, I attempted a straight translation of my last posted poem, And sometime drink whiskey with me. I made no attempt to carry over anything but the most basic of senses - the words themselves and the meanings of the clauses. It helped that it was a fairly simply poem to begin with. Here is the French version:


Et un jour bois whisky avec moi
pour que je vais te dire de
ma cache de mots ramassé
secrètement soigneusement
plumé
d'un bouche-piège de grand-père de quelqu'un. Ce Vieux Babillard Mâchoire-Fente-là.

Ou je vais te dire autres baliverne, mensonges, comme la soir fuit de façon précipitée.



I found to my surprise that the rhythm I uncovered with the English version, though modified, still seems to work. The syllables in lines four and five match perfectly. The hardest part was figuring out how to say "That Old Jawing Slit". I settled on, with help from two dictionaries, something that translates more literally as "That Old Talkative Jaw-Slit." I wish I knew French well enough to invent words - I just don't have a good enough grasp of the morphological nuances to do so.

The impossible part was what to do with line seven in the original poem, the line with the three words drawn out of the cache. I considered finding straight translations, but the actual meaning of those three words is secondary to their impact (though they were chosen for specific reasons) as dusty old relics. And I definitely do not know enough French to tackle those sort of nuanced pragmatics.

In retrospect, I would have tackled a different poem for my first go - one that didn't rely so much on lexical precision. My next goal, besides my own work, is to try a translation of e.e. cummings i will wade out, which I have also written about here.

cummings' "i will wade out"

Until recently I've never been a fan of e.e. cummings. I had read some poems, been largely unimpressed, thought the weird capitalization use was merely gimmicky.

I have reconsidered my position.

His poem, "i will wade out" is, as I let it slow-cook in my mind, becoming more and more the sort of brilliance that humanity needs. Here is the text:

i will wade out
                  till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                 Alive
                                           with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                 in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                      Will i complete the mystery
                                      of my flesh
I will rise
         After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
       And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

I.
The first noticings should include its seventeen lines, the deliberate use of indentation to set off certain lines, and the use of capitalization. Taking each capital letter (and the beginning of the poem) as the start of a new sentence (as a syntactic item), we should see a total of eight sentences:

(a) "i will wade out / till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers"
(b) "I will take the sun in my mouth / and leap into the ripe air"
(c) "Alive / with closed eyes / to dash against darkness / in the sleeping curves of my body"
(d) "Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery / with chasteness of sea-girls"
(e) "Will i complete the mystery / of my flesh"
(f) "I will rise"
(g) "After a thousand years / lipping / flowers"
(h) "And set my teeth in the silver of the moon"

One problem with setting the sentences such is that we are left with stranded clauses. (c) and (g) lack a subject and a verb, where (d) has a verb screaming for a subject (or object, as we will see).

If the constraint to have non-fragmented sentences is to be followed, one possible fix is to ignore (for the most part) the capital letters and attempt such a reading as this:

(a') "i will wade out / till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers"
(b') "I will take the sun in my mouth / and leap into the ripe air/ Alive / with closed eyes / to dash against darkness"
(c') in the sleeping curves of my body / Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery / with chasteness of sea-girls"
(d') "Will i complete the mystery / of my flesh"
(e') "I will rise / After a thousand years / lipping / flowers / And set my teeth in the silver of the moon"

One of the three central points presented in the new reading are whether "to dash against darkness" is superordinate to "with closed eyes" (the eyes are closed so as to dash against darkness) or does it stand with "shall enter fingers..." (i.e. in order to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body, fingers of smooth mastery shall enter with the chasteness...).

Also present is a question of whether "fingers of smooth mastery" is the subject or object of whatever sentence it belongs to, that is: are the fingers entering or being entered?. In the previous paragraph, the provided paraphrase has the fingers as a subject. There are other options, as shown below.

The other wrench in the works is whether "with chasteness of sea-girls" modifies "Shall enter fingers..." or does it modify (d'). This is perhaps more important, because if the former is true, than (d') is a question. If the latter, than it is a statement.

I find this to be quite crucial to deciphering/decoding/unwinding/knowing the poem: is the author questioning or sure about the mystery of his flesh?

II.
Addressing the more technical issues of cummings poem, it is of interest to note that nine of the seventeen lines are not indented, whereas eight are. The non-indented form a pattern of one-space-two-space-space-one-space-two-space-space-one-space-two-space.

Of the eight indented, only two are on the same indentation: the line (e/d') that presents an enigma above. All others are slightly different than each other. An interesting reading can be achieved by rearranging the lines into two sections, the non-indented and indented:

(a+)
i will wade out
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
to dash against darkness
(I) Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
I will rise
lipping
flowers

(b+)
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
Alive
with closed eyes
in the sleeping curves of my body
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
After a thousand years
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Now (a+) has four sentences: each one beginning with "i/I" except for "Shall enter" which, in the new construction, begs desperately for a subject. The parallel architecture of "i will wade," "I will take," and "I will rise" demand that the subject be "I" and that "fingers" be the object of "enter". This suggest that there is a missing "i" in line (d).

Nothing is done, however, to alleviate the issue of (d'). While (b+) suggest that it is indeed a statement (of method), the unique setting of those two lines and the fact that only (d') of all the lines in (b+) contains a "I" mandate that they be taken on their own terms.

III.
Further observation shows the poem to be exactly one hundred syllables. The fiftieth syllable is "shall," but would be the missing "I/i" of line (d), were that present. This would suggests a lovely symmetry of 101 syllables, the middle most being "I/i." The absence (and demanding context) of the word makes it all the more promising that we should consider it's impact on the poem.

There are also a total of twenty-three letter i's in the poem, four instances of the personal pronoun "i/I," five instances of "my," and five instances of "in." There is also a possible homonym in the word "eyes," as "eye'" is commonly used in a double meaning for the first person pronoun "I".

The plural nouns are thighs, flowers, eyes, curves, fingers, sea-girls, years, flowers (again), and teeth (though this is technically a non-count noun).

The singular and non-count nouns are sun, mouth, air, darkness, body, mastery, chasteness, mystery, flesh, silver, and moon.

The verbs are wade, take, leap, dash, enter, complete, rise, lipping, and set. Lipping is technically a gerund, though pragmatically it is used as a progressive verb without a {be} auxilary.

The adjectives are steeped, burning, ripe, alive, closed, sleeping, and smooth.

Besides "i/I" and various function words (which include the important auxilary verb "will), the only repeated words are flowers, which appear at the opposite ends of each other (the second and the second to last line; the end of the line and the begining). The notion of rising is present twice in "leap" and "rise."

Most lines end with a noun, the exceptions are out, alive, rise, and lipping.

IV.
cummings sets before us, in this poem, a mystery: the mystery of his/my/your flesh. As far I can see, the mystery and poem centers around a missing "i" in the center.




"i will wade out" by e. e. cummings
From Tulips and Chimneys
New York: Thomas Seltzer, 1923

Bull Elephants

We didn't know what to do with bull elephants, but here was this crazy barbarian, hands dusted white, telling us to sidle up from the back and from the left, until we could touch the cold skin of his flank. Just approach, he said, and get a feel for him. Try to notice the way he moves. As if something so massive had anything to offer but bulk and grandeur. There was nothing cached or hidden in his eyes, no small wonders in the crevices. Nothing secret to be shared between us - awe and mystery, but impenetrable.

Of course, back in the camp we had seen many of these creatures, shot between the eyes and carved. Laid out in neat blocks on the table for the anatomist, the vivisectionist. Here an eye, labeled an eye; there a tusk, labeled a tusk. Tail, intestine, stomach, heart, liver, kidneys, lung left, lung right, cranium, skull cap, trunk sections, ears, feet, paws, tanned hide, teeth arranged in rows, spinal vertebrae, womb in one jar, phallus in another. Tidy Latin text on little sticky notes detailing the whole structure of an elephant.

The Scientists were perfect. Dispassionate, rigorous. Not just with the anatomy, but everything. Everything you ever wanted to know about elephants but didn't want to ask. A book of answers on every shelf. Grant money poured into whitewashed little huts with gasoline generators. Perfect.

We Tourists, we Safarists, we trembling explorers with six pairs of socks in ziplock bags, we watched the whole process of bull elephant disassembly with an appropriate mix of shock and appreciation. Look, dear! Look how he handles the knife, knows just where to cut. I wonder where he learned to do that. For we Tourists, the Scientists too were beyond our ken. Alien. Gods. Themselves impenetrable.

The Natives had little opinion in the matter. Elephantry was outside the scope of their survival, their everyday, their life, their ontology. The Scientists held magic to net and kill and dissect the monsters in the jungle - the Scientists were sorcerers and could do as they please; the Natives had no interest in letting the expedition intersect their lives.

So we Tourists and the Natives were not so different - except that the Natives didn't understand elephants and didn't want to; while we pretended to understand the Science that explained the elephants. But it was a lie. We didn't understand the Science or the elephants or even the Scientists themselves. Awe and mystery, impenetrable.

But here we were, tourists, now outside the camp and in that jungle with the monsters; and here was this madman, our guide, neither scientist nor native, showing us elephants directly. The scientists only came out to watch or capture, never approached the animals. Detect, observe, note, net, shoot, carve, label. But our friend the barbarian loved them. He watched and noticed without notepad, without recorder, without malice. He wanted elephants dangerous and in the wild, not pinned down and safe. And now it was my turn to sidle up and run my fingers along the biggest living thing I have ever touched. I approached, unsure. A little drunk (in my fear I had nipped at a bottle), I heard every crack and crunkle of twig and leaf beneath my boots.

Two yards. The madman behind me whispering, go on go on, it's no use living if you never touch life. This is big life, this is abundant life.

One yard. I think of how much blood must be running through those veins; veins the size of garden hoses. The toes are huge. All I can see is the toes. The little cracks in the toes. And I'm there, reaching out beyond my center of gravity so that I don't have to step closer; just get one little touch and I can be done with this and go back to the camp.

And he moves away, leaving my fingers brushing air. The mass of him just shifts and he takes a step. He's really not heavy on his feet but he's so big it seems like the earth is moving. I think of Moses' ten spies, terrified. There are giants in the land.

The world, the giant, takes another step away and I can't follow. Our insane guide grabs me by the shoulder, friendly, but white chalk from his hands clouds around my face and I try not to cough - still terrified of the size of the elephant.

Not the size. The impenetrability. That's really what I was afraid of, I think. It wasn't the possible injury or possible death or the strangeness of such a creature or really even my own ineptitude in dealing with it. I wasn't afraid of being the fool. There was just no approach to that sort a thing. I know now why the scientists had to shoot and carve to understand - it's easier to dissect than to love. But love is knowing life, dissection just shows us the bits after life.

My guide smiles at me, his own bulk showing through his sweater. Let's try a smaller one, he says, and leads our group to another herd. This one, he says, may look like a baby, but he has so much to offer - I've been making friends with him for years and I can't imagine how little I really know.

This time I go first, and though just as unsure and clumsy, I manage to touch it. Him. I feel that cold skin, and yes its cold - but with life underneath. Big Life, Life abundant. And this bull elephant, whose name is Digging, I myself have come back to again and again to notice and to make friends. To penetrate, not with bullets or scalpels or academia or dissertation proposals, but with love. Not to pierce the skin, but the heart of the thing.

Digging goes,

Between my finger and my thumb...