Saturday, April 20, 2013

Day 17: a phonetic translation?

Today we are writing translation poems as described on the NaPoWriMo blog. This is a bit of an odd one, which ended up like this:


Skullhammer

Haggard ones of Burville
with laudanum wit, even a Sultan goers numb
a summer of heavy guitar
and here are hired diners

Hands on a fast-held din, a seat
of gothic add-ons, after
instinct; you, I, everyone is lost.

A whore’s karma stands, a rapier left behind
I, vegetarian continuum
once of an old spy tower
Little Skullhammer, I eventually tire of you
of life, of her
amid prattle and common laughter
up, I walk
and become blind.

___________________________________________

So, this weirdness was based on this poem, the real translation is below. I was really pleased to read the translation and find that I particularly liked this poem.

NORÐUR
Hægt eins og búrhveli
líðum við gegnum sortann
sem er hvítur
hér á heiðinni

Hann er fastheldinn á sitt
og gefur aðeins eftir
eina stiku í einu

Örskamma stund leiftra þær
í vegarkantinum
eins og eldspýtur
litlu stúlkunnar í ævintýrinu
og lýsa okkur
þar til við komum aftur
upp í vök
að blása

North
Slow as sperm whales
we glide through the gloom
which is white
here on the heath

It holds fast to its own
conceding only
one post at a time

For an instant they flash
on the side of the road
like the little girl’s matches
in the fairytale
lighting us
until we return
to the hole in the ice
to breathe




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