It happens sometimes that I read poems in English and begin to listen to simultaneous translation in my mind like an echo, a deeper voice, eager for water in English homeland.
Certain words now In Our Knowledge We Will Not use again, and we will never forget Them. We Need Them. Like the back of the picture. Like Our marrow, and the color in Our veins. We shine the lantern of Our sleep on Them, to make sure, and There They Are, trembling Already for the day of witness. They Will Be Buried with us, and rise with the rest.
outline a version. Although some nuances I am not convinced.
There are words we know that we will not ever use, and never forget. The need. As the back of the photo. As the sap and the color of our veins. Reflect the light of our dream with them, to cheer, and there they are, trembling before the day of witness. Will be buried with us and rise with the rest.
guess who disagree with me every other word. It is right and necessary. Up to translate marrow by sap, did not ask permission from any source.
But How do you translate something as concise without being a perfect traditore ? Tell me how you look for words that do not resuscitate connotations from the specific location of our mind where the poem makes a great noise at the first reading. Not that the child or the language again. Not that every story is not dead. Dressed reality language is sometimes awkward representation. It's like the color of the veins, as he says Mervin-secret, deep, and can even give fright if you think carefully.
The language, while personal property is half and half common heritage unique. As the readings of poems. As the memories flash. The translation, as I sense this morning, has little to do there. It tries, period.
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