Translation of Poetry

Translation of Poetry

Translation is of two types:
• Literary and non-Literary translation
Literary translation
• Literary translation, especially poetry is more problematic to translate, due to its use of rhetoric/figure of speech.
Is Poetry Translatable?
• There are two views concerning translation of poetry:
• One view is that when poetry is translated its essence is lost, as Robert Frost said: “poetry is what gets lost in translation.”
• Prof. H. G. Widdowson, in his book: Systems and the Translation of Poetry (1975) presents his view that translation of poetry is extremely difficult due to its “patterning of sound and sense into a single meaning.”
• So the opponents say that when poetry is translated, its meter is distorted and its tone is disturbed and pleasure disappears, as every language has its own meter and music. As poetry abounds in figure of speech and it has its own unique syntactic, semantic and phonological pattern. It involves both linguistic
( sound pattern of words, rhythm, rhyme etc) and non-linguistic aspects ( ideas, images, symbolism etc.)
• It is easier to translate poems in free verse than those poems that follow strict meter and rhyme. As in the case of classical poetry or ancient poetry.
• But those who favour translation of poetry say that if poetry is untranslatable, then we would be deprived of large number of poetical works that are masterpieces. But they have also view that poetry should be in verse translation, when it is in prose it loses its effect.
Why poetry is difficult to translate?
• Difficult to find Exact Equivalence
• It is very difficult to find exact equivalence, even if translator has profound knowledge if SL and TL. He can’t produce replica of the original text.
Form and Structure are Inseparable
• It is difficult to find equivalence both in structure and meaning.
• What poetry requires retaining is the emotions, feel of language, hidden meanings and stylistic devices.
Grammatical Differences
• Grammatical differences also pose certain problems as every language follows different pattern in prose and poetry.
Stylistic Peculiarities
• Stylistic peculiarities need to be preserved in poetry, as it embodies the psychological and emotional effect. Translator needs to create total effect of the text.
• Poetic structure should also be retained. Rhythm, rhyme and meter, sounds, onomatopoeia, tone etc are very important devices in poetry and that should be retained in TL to retain the aesthetics of the verse.
Nuances of Word’s Meanings
A translator should be careful about the nuances of word’s meanings.
• A translator can be confused which from the numerous meanings can be used.
• He can have also difficulty in finding equivalent in the target language.
Connotations
• It involves semantic structure of both individual words and texts. It might be text bound or culture bound. Cultural and contextual figurative devices like metaphor, metonymy and allusion, allegory involve analysis at manifold level. As the use of black is used as metaphor for unnaturalness, cruelty, infidelity etc.
• It involves deep structure and hidden meanings.
• Cultural, historical and ideological references work in interpretation of connotations. Metaphorical expressions might be universal are cultural specific that might be or different in various cultures.




Translation of Works
THE HOLLOW MEN
by T. S. Eliot
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when 5
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar 10
Shape without form shade without colour,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes to death's other Kingdom
Remember us--if at all-- not as lost 15
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.











Paradise Lost
By Milton
Of man’s first disobedience, and the Fruit
Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste
Brought Death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat, [ 5 ]



Faiz Ahmad Faiz

Faiz Ahmad Faiz
Last night, your lost memories crept into my heart
as spring arrives secretly into a barren garden
as a cool morning breeze blows slowly in a desert
as a sick person feels well, for no reason.


My Heart, My Traveler
Translated by Hamid Rahim Sheikh
My heart, my fellow traveler
It has been decreed again
That you and I be exiled,
go calling out in every street,
turn to every town.
To search for a clue
of a messenger from our Beloved.
To ask every stranger
the way back to our home.

In this town of unfamiliar folk
we drudge the day into the night
Talk to this stranger at times,
to that one at others.

How can I convey to you, my friend
how horrible is a night of lonliness *
It would suffice to me
if there were just some count
I would gladly welcome death
if it were to come but once.









Perveen Shakir Poems Translated by Alamgir Hashmi





A Message

It’s the same weather.
The rain’s laughter
rings in the trees, echoes.
Their green branches
wear golden flowers
and smile thinking of someone.
The breeze is a scarf, again the light-pink.
The path to the garden that knows us
is looking for us.
The moment of moon-rise
is waiting for us.








Pink Flowers
Pink flowers blossomed
in the season I met you.
With your attentions they are opening again,
though these wounds had healed already.
How long could the columns support
these houses shaken to their foundations?
That old strangeness came back,
as if our meetings had been done.
The body was still hotfoot with its infatuations,
the feet bruised on the way.























Shikwa:
by Allama Iqbal
Why should I abet the loss, why forget the gain,
Why forfiet the future, bemoan the past in vain?
Hear the wail of nightingale, and remain unstirred,
Am I a flower insensate that will not say a word?
The power of speech emboldens me to speak out my heart,
I'll sure be damned, I know, if fault my God.

Hear, O Lord, from the faithful ones this sad lament,
From those used to hymn a praise, a word of discontent.
Enternally were you present, Lord, eternally omniscent,
The flower hung upon the tree, but without incense.
Be Thou fair, tell us true, O fountsin head of grace,
How could the scent spread without the breeze apace?

The world presented a queer sight ere we took the stage,
Stones and plants in your stead were worshipped in that age.
Man, being inured to senses, couldn't accept a thing unseen,
How could a formless God impress his senses keen?
Tell me, Lord, if anyone ever invoked Thy name,
The strength of Muslim arm alone restored Thy fame.

There was no dearth of peoples on this earth before,
Turkish tribes and Persian clans lived in days of yore;
The Greeks and the Chinese both bred and throve,
Christians as well as the Jews on this planet roved.
But who in Thy holy name raised his valiant sword,
Who set the things right, resolved the rigmarole?

We were the warrior bands battling for Thy cause,
Now on land, now on water, we the crusades fought.
Now in Europe's synods did we loudly pray,
Now in African deserts made a bold foray.
Not for territorial greed did we wield the sword,
Not for pelf and power did we suffer the blows.

Had we been temped by the greed of glittering gold,
Instead of breaking idols, would have idols sold.
We impressed on every heart the oneness of our mighty Lord,
Even under the threat of sword, bold and clever was our call.
Who conquered, tell us Thou, the fearful Khyber pass?
Who vanquished the Imperial Rome, who made it fall?

Who broke the idols of the primitive folks?
Who fought the kafirs, massacred their hordes?
If the prayer time arrived right amid the war,
With their faces turned to Kaaba, knelt down the brave Hejaz.
Mahmud and Ayaz stood together in the same flank,
The ruler and the ruled forget the difference in their rank.

The rich and poor, Lord and slave, all were levelled down,
All became brethern in love, with Thy grace crowned.
We roamed the world through, visited every place,
Did our rounds like the cup, serving sacred ale.
Forget about the forests, we spared not the seas,
Into the dark, unfathomed ocean, we pushed our steeds.

We removed falsehood from the earth's face,
We broke the shackles of the human race.
We reclaimed your Kaaba with our kneeling brows,
We pressed the sacred Quran to our heart and soul.
Even then you grumble, we are false, untrue,
If you call us faithless, tell us what are you?

You reserve your favours for men of other shades,
While you hurl your bolts on the Muslim race.
This is not our complaint that such alone are blesse,
Who do not know the etiquette, nor even can converse.
The tragedy is while kafirs are with houries actually blest,
On vague hopes of houries in heaven the Muslim race is made to rest!

Poverty, taunts, ignominy stare us in the face,
Is humiliation the sole reward of our suffering race?
To perpetuate Thy name is our sole concern,
Deprived of the saqi's aid can the cup revolve and turn?
Gone is your assemblage, off your lovers have sailed,
The midnight sights are no more heard, nor the morning wails;

They pledged their hearts to you, what is their return?
Hardly had they stepped inside, when they were externed.
Thy lovers came and went away, fed on hopes of future grace,
Search them now with the lamp of your glowing face.
Unassuaged is Laila's ache, unquenched is Qais's thirst,
In the wilderness of Nejd, the wild deer are still berserk.

The same passion thrills the hearts, enchanting still is beauty's gaze,
You are the same as before, same too is the Prophet's race.
Why then this indifference, without a cause or fault?
Why with your threatening looks dost thou break our heart?
Accepted that the flame of love burneth low and dim,
We do not, as in your, dance attendance on your whims;

But you too, pardon us, possess a coquettish heart,
Now on us, now on others, alight your amorous darts.
The spring has now taken leave, broken lies the lyre string,
The birds that chirped among the leaves have also taken wing;
A single nightingale is left singing on the tree,
A flood of song in her breast is longing for release.

From atop the firs and pines the doves have flown away,
The floral petals lie scattered all along the way.
Desolate lie the garden paths, once dressed and neat,
Leafless hang the branches on the naked trees.
The nightingale is unconcerned with the season's range,
Would that someone in the grove appreciates her wail.

May the nightingale's wail pierce the listeners' hearts,
May the clinking caravan awaken slumbering thoughts!
Let the hearts pledge anew their faith to you, O Lord,
Let's re-charge our cups from the taverns of the past.
Through I hold a Persian cup, the wine is pure Hejaz,
Thought I sing an Indian song, the turn is of the Arabian cast.