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After Gerard Manley Hopkins:
"Spring and Fall: To a Young Child"
Margaret Unsprung
(The Sin against the Holy Ghost)
Hush now, Margaret, stop your grieving
over leaves that all are leaving.
You are spring: that's why you can
pity leaves like things of man.
Time will pass and you won't care:
One leaf here and one heart there.
Through the fall of hearts you'll fly,
Mounds of manmeal passing by,
Then you will know, why you cry:
In your fall you'll cry for spring.
Outside leave and inside sting
Prosody to Margaret bring.
[Verses sprung and fell, but then,
Spring and fall commit again]
Sin against the Holy Ghost:
Self becoming Margaret's Host.
This, my child, was what you're born for:
Unsprung Margaret's verse to mourn for.
As we all know, the Sin Against the Holy Ghost (and that other holy ghost as well) is the one sin that our Heaven (and our Hierarchy) can not forgive. So I must ask for my readers' absolution instead.
Ok, ok, I'll do penance, then. Yes, indeed - and for penance I shall transcribe Hopkins' immortal poem for the big screen.
Here it comes, in that infernal
language from html, with all those damned "&...acute;" characters:
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Spring and Fall:
To a Young Child
Márgarét, are you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
My penance not enough? I should translate the original as well?
But I can't! Not if I stick to my translator's creed of keeping foot and flow, rhythm and rhyme alive.
A grave of my own making? And I am literary history anyway?
Good point. Indeed, I need to make sure the suicide is final:
Ok, so I'll translate Hopkins into English. Sprung verse to common verse, I mean. Forget the content I can't fathom. At least that will give me a working copy.
And from that, you see, I can translate into German.
Hopkins gets lost in multiple transitions? Well, that's what happens to Jesuits moonlighting in poetry. More importantly, that's what happens to translators. Comes with the job in both cases, you might say.
But, I admit, I must be the slowest of that bunch: What others achieve in a single pass takes me multiple tries. Rape isn't as easy as our phantasy would have it.
Guilty? Me? Hell, no!
If you want to accuse somebody,
then (vide supra)
spring your gall
on John, the Lionhearted,
who, in the fall,
started it all!
After Gerard Manley Hopkins:
"Spring and Fall: To a Young Child"
Margaret's Grief
(The Original Sin)
Margaret, Margaret, do you grieve
all the golden leaves that leave?
Do you mourn, as children can,
falling leaves like things of man?
Time will cool your heart, and then
it won't grieve for leaves again.
Without second thought or sigh
worlds of leafmeal you'll pass by -
Weep you will, but then know why.
Never mind then what to call
sorrows springing from the fall.
Neither mind nor mouth expressed
what the heart alone has guessed:
Mankind's fall meant Margaret born:
Margaret is it whom you mourn.
Whether I understood the poem, you ask? Of course not. Otherwise, could I have translated it four times?
Translating a poem one doesn't understand is a sin against the Holy Ghost, you say? Sure, what else?
Am I not human, hence subject to man's original sin? Man is curious and transgresses boundaries. What else is he to do? Give up being man and return to paradise?
But - hell and damnation! - it still bothered me that I could not "access" Hopkin's poem. After all, it is standard fare in college courses, and it belongs to the most beautiful and well-loved of the English tongue.
So I invited four friends, all with English as their mother tongue, all with a good college education, all with an interest in poetry. I broke out the Dalwhinnie, to cleanse and mellow their souls before the trial. And then I asked them to translate Hopkins' poem from sprung verse into plain English, line by line, meaning by meaning.
Unfair? Ah, you surmise what's coming. Exactly this: four different translations, four different worlds. The sparkling poem turned into a glass darkly, mirroring the shadows of four, completely different personalities.
And none, by the way, like my own...
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Nach Gerard Manley Hopkins:
Frühling und Herbst: Einem jungen Kinde
Das Ausgesprungene Gretchen
(Die Sünde wider den Heiligen Geist)
Gretchen, Gretchen, weine nicht,
Wenn das Blatt vom Baume bricht.
Du bist jung, drum tut dir leid
Blattverlust in Herbstlichkeit.
Doch schon bald, du wirst es sehn,
Herzen wirds wie Blättern gehn.
Durch der Herzen Fall zu schreiten,
Über Berge Mannszeug reiten:
Weinen kannst du dann beizeiten,
Tränen deinem Frühling senden,
Außen lassen, innen wenden...
Gretchen muß ihr Versmaß schänden.
[Sprungvers sprang, doch voll der Zweifel,
Und das Wortspiel war beim Teufel!]
Sünd'gen widern Heil'gen Geist
Dient dem Selbst nur, wie du weißt.
Dies, mein Kind, war deine Sendung:
Gretchens Vers beweint die Wendung.
As we all know, the Sin Against the Holy Ghost (and that other holy ghost as well) is the one sin that our Heaven (and our Hierarchy) can not forgive. So I must ask for my readers' absolution instead.
Ok, ok, I'll do penance, then. Yes, indeed - and for penance I shall transcribe Hopkins' immortal poem for the big screen.
Here it comes, in that infernal
language from html, with all those damned "&...acute;" characters:
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Spring and Fall:
To a Young Child
Márgarét, are you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
My penance not enough? I should translate the original as well?
But I can't! Not if I stick to my translator's creed of keeping foot and flow, rhythm and rhyme alive.
A grave of my own making? And I am literary history anyway?
Good point. Indeed, I need to make sure the suicide is final:
Ok, so I'll translate Hopkins into English. Sprung verse to common verse, I mean. Forget the content I can't fathom. At least that will give me a working copy.
And from that, you see, I can translate into German.
Hopkins gets lost in multiple transitions? Well, that's what happens to Jesuits moonlighting in poetry. More importantly, that's what happens to translators. Comes with the job in both cases, you might say.
But, I admit, I must be the slowest of that bunch: What others achieve in a single pass takes me multiple tries. Rape isn't as easy as our phantasy would have it.
Guilty? Me? Hell, no!
If you want to accuse somebody,
then (vide supra)
spring your gall
on John, the Lionhearted,
who, in the fall,
started it all!
Nach Gerard Manley Hopkins:
Frühling und Herbst: Einem jungen Kinde
Margaretes Klage
(Die Erbsünde)
Margarete, tun dir leid
Bäume ohne Blätterkleid?
Schmerzt dich, Kind, der Blätter Tod
wie des Menschen Todesnot?
Warte nur: Dein Herz wird älter,
dein Gefühl für Blätter kälter.
Keinen Schmerz wird dir bereiten
über tote Blätter schreiten.
Weinen wirst du andre Zeiten.
Andre Zeiten, andre Namen.
Woher all die Tränen kamen?
Keiner hat es ausgesprochen
was des Menschen Herz gebrochen:
Sündenfall fürs Menschenherz,
Margarete, ist dein Schmerz.
Ob ich das Gedicht verstanden hätte, fragen sie mich? Natürlich nicht. Hätte ich es sonst viermal übersetzen können?
Ein unverstandenes Gedicht zu übersetzen sei eine Sünde wider den Heiligen Geist, sagen sie? Ja, was denn sonst?
Bin ich nicht ein Mensch und damit der Erbsünde hörig? Der Mensch ist neugierig und überschreitet die Grenzen. Was sollte er denn sonst tun? Seine Menschennatur aufgeben und ins Paradies zurückkehren?
Aber - Faust und Verdammnis! - es hat mich nicht ruhen lassen, daß mir dieses Gedicht den Eintritt verweigerte. Schließlich wird es in vielen Literaturvorlesungen gelehrt und gehört zu den schönsten und beliebtesten Gedichten der englischen Sprache.
So lud ich mir denn vier Freunde ein, alle mit Englisch als Muttersprache, alle mit Universitätsausbildung, alle mit Interesse an Poesie. Ich machte einen Dalwhinnie auf, um ihre Seelen für die bevorstehende Prüfung zu reinigen and nachgiebig zu stimmen. Und dann bat ich sie, das Gedicht aus dem Sprungvers in einfache englische Prosa zu übersetzen, Zeile für Zeile, Aussage für Aussage.
Unfair? Ah, sie ahnen schon was kommt. Genau dieses: Vier verschiedene Übersetzungen, vier verschiedene Welten. Das Gedicht wurde zum dunklen Glas der Bibel, in dem sich die Schatten vierer, vollkommen verschiedener Charaktere spiegelten.
Und keiner, um es zu erwähnen, glich dem meinen...
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