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The Poem as Translation–Leah Goldberg’s “About Myself”

May 29th, 2010by Haim Watzman · 3 Comments · Culture and actually place to buy viagra online Ideas

Haim Watzman

It’s always easy to tear a translation apart, and the easiest kind of buy cheap cialis without a prescription translation to tear apart is poetry. Vladimir Nabokov, who lived multilingually and thought a lot about translation, was one of the best, and funniest, critics of other people’s renditions of Russian classics into English—as can be seen now in his ”Art of Translation”, a article from 1941 available on The New Republic’s website.

But Nabokov’s translation of Pushkin, which he mentions working on in this piece, didn’t come off so well, because he got overly concerned about following rules he set for himself. Any translation of a poem has to give up on entire swathes of what makes the verse intriguing and worth reading in the original, but it can’t work on any level if it doesn’t stand as a poem on its own terms. But to do that, as Nabokov notes, the translator needs to see the world, as best he can, through the cialis cheapest price for sale poet’s eyes.

A mistake of cialis soft that sort came up in an evening on the classic Israeli poet Leah Goldberg that I attended last week. A lecturer read the first section of a poem called “About Myself,” which I offer in my own inadequate translation here:

About Myself
Leah Goldberg
i.
My seasons are etched in my verse
As a tree’s are in its rings
As my years are in furrowed skin.

I have no hard words—
To hamper my visions.
My images
Are as clear as a church’s window.
Through them
One can see
The changes in the light outside
How my loves
Like dead birds fall
From the sky.

The lecturer, Rachel Ofer, took the word “clear” literally; the poet stands inside a church and looks out through the window; she compares her poetry to a transparent window that allows the reader to read her metaphors unambiguously.

My guess is that Goldberg, who grew up in Lithuania, was thinking of stained-glass windows, or at least the heavy, thick kinds of windows one finds in old and venerable buildings. Such windows distort and color the sumycin without a prescription viagra prescriptions online light; you can’t, in fact, get a good idea of what’s going on outside if you look through them. Indeed, church architecture usually aims to focus your attention inside and not to allow outside distractions in.

If that’s correct, then Goldberg’s use of the word “clear” (shekufot in Hebrew, literally “transparent”) is ironic rather than declarative. The reader, then, stands within the church; Goldberg’s life is outside; the window is the poem, and through it the reader can get, despite the supposed clarity of the poet’s language, the reader can receive from the poem only the vaguest idea of the poet’s experience. It’s not even clear whether her lovers fall dead from the skies is the poet’s experience, or the reader’s distorted understanding of that experience. Even if the reader correctly sees the core of that experience, the horrible tragedy of the loss of all her loves gets translated by the window into the tranquility of the church interior. The reader only reads; he does not experience the true pain of loss.

The poem itself, then, is a failed translation. Even the clearest poem, Goldberg says, cannot truly convey meaning. Yet, ironically, Goldberg’s poem makes her point.

So perhaps there is hope for translation, and poetry, after all.

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3 responses so far ↓

  • 1 Gregory Pollock // May 30, 2010 at 2:23 am

    I suspect there is naught but translation, the act of speaking, of saying what others meant. Push back to that other and cialis order you find s/he translating from some echoed other, trace in a trace. It is the act of speaking that is the going, keeps things going. If we stop speaking reality sets in, fixed; only these deaths, lives, places. There is a (paraphased) line from the Qur’an: “We could have made you all the order cialis 5 mg online same, but then the matter would have been determined.” The End of Days (which, alas, Islam affirms) kept at bay through plurality, incompleteness. I am no Muslim, but think it past time that we take that Book as seriously as the others. To not do so stops the talk; and then things are determined, reality cement, all all done.

  • 2 Suzanne // Jun 2, 2010 at 3:10 am

    Thank you for Lea Goldberg. I heard one of her poems sung by Chava Alberstein and decided to get a book of her poetry in translation- my only hope of knowing her better. Usually, when reading a work in translation, I like to have more than one version to refer to. This helps somewhat but then again maybe it’s better to go with one good translation, if you know which. Reading Victor Hugo (Les Miserables) in translation, I feel lucky to have Norman Denny for instance and would look for no other.

  • 3 mel scult // Feb 5, 2013 at 4:33 pm

    I visit Jerusalem regularly to see my ten grand children and five great grand children. On one trip i happened by a used bookstore and saw a copy of Leah Goldberg’s diary . I have spent much time reading and studying the diary of mOrdecai Kaplan and so diaries interest me I bought it and cheapest price for cipro have spent many joyful hours seeing the world through Leah Goldberg’s eyes. It is not translated but should be.

    Best

    Mel Scult

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