Nancy Naomi Carlson – Five Translations from the French of Abdourahman A. Waberi
Axis
just a cluster of cells
set upright again by the sun of a glance
forcing open the lock of living things
just a gift from others
lifted by love
storming the sleeping citadel
blowing the trumpets of Jericho
just a present from Providence and chance
epiphany snatched like a kiss
before crumbling
in turn
into dust
in truth
I tell you
just a clandestine gift
midday’s child
and abandon’s ecstatic delight
Axe
juste un amas de cellules remis
debout par le soleil d’un regard
forçant la serrure du vivant
juste un don par d’autres
ravi par l’amour
prenant d’assaut la citadelle endormie
faisant sonner les trompettes de Jéricho
juste un cadeau de la Providence et du hasard
l’épiphanie volée comme un baiser
avant de tomber
à son tour
en poussière
en vérité
je vous le dis
juste un don clandestin
l’enfant de midi
et l’extase de l’abandon
Daily Awakening
he’s reportedly distant above
on a cloud
and we’re like a new bird
perched on our hill
compelled by the duty to love
the delight of painting life black
my own blood pulses
a splendid part
makes me simply a man among men
an elder without a crown
a bulbous stone in the wilderness
Adam mired in the mud
is blind to the shooting star
the seed that bursts out of humus
the lotus that blooms in manure where old Job made his honey
then pried open the Buddhas’ lips
on the brink of jouissance
they say he’s a major no-show
up there by himself
they say there’s a hitch
next time
he too will leave behind his skin
the ancient tortoise slow to evolve
with a swallow resolved to ride on his back
L’éveil de chaque jour
on le dit distant là-haut
sur un nuage
et nous comme un oiseau neuf
perché sur notre coteau
habité par le devoir d’aimer
la joie de noircir la vie
mon propre sang qui bat
la part la plus belle
qui fait de moi juste un homme parmi les hommes
un aïeul sans couronne
un caillou bulbeux dans le désert
Adam empêtré dans la gadoue
n’a pas d’yeux pour l’étoile filante
la graine qui jaillit de l’humus
le lotus du fumier là où le vieux Job fit son miel
avant d’aller desceller les lèvres des Bouddha
si proches de leur jouissance
on le dit absent majeur
là-haut tout seul
on sent qu’il y a un os
la prochaine fois
il y laissera aussi sa peau
de vieille tortue évolutive
surmontée d’une hirondelle vive
Slantwise
write the war not here
no longer here
by degrees
in bursts on the winged beats of words
in place of the stranger who comes
slantwise as well
how many stories swell under my quill
there’s no excuse—just rust lying in wait
erosion of conscience
concealed by the deepest gloom
why on earth try
why on earth try
time’s up
À l’oblique
écrire la guerre qui n’est pas là
qui n’est plus là
à petits pas
par saccades à coups d’envolées
à la place de l’inconnu qui vient
à l’oblique aussi
combien d’histoires se pressent sous ma plume
ce n’est pas prétexte mais rouille qui guette
usure des consciences
à l’ombre de la plus belle ténèbre
à quoi bon
à quoi bon
temps mort
It’s A Girl
I hold baby close
and my heart floods all over again
grateful for what I behold
braced against headwinds and years
the layout of life
child’s play, art
giving birth
laboring on with no guarantees
the road to Kabul
the body’s unfinished design
the racing breath
an entire lifetime’s froth
for this hope
I lend my flesh, my pen and my bones
C’est une fille
je prends bébé dans mes bras
encore une fois le coeur débordant
reconnais l’évident
contre vents et années
le tracé de la vie
l’enfance, l’art
la maternité
le travail sans la sécurité
la route jusqu’en Afghanistan
l’épure du corps
la course du souffle
l’écume de toute une existence
à cette promesse
je prête ma chair, mon stylo et mes os
Yes, But What Do You Say About This, My Daughter?
fill the doorway to your mind
get out into summer’s brightness and warmth
leave the slime and abyss behind
put on some music in cut-time
it’s the hour to roar
to once again find
the secret of joy—
I’ll be truthful with you—
is before your eyes
listen to birds sing
in the setting sun facing
Aleppo’s citadel
have a good time
see you later, my love
Oui mais tu en dis quoi, ma fille?
occupe-toi l’huis de la tête
sors dans la chaleur et l’allégresse de l’été
quitte ainsi la boue et l’abîme
mets de la musique qui bouge
c’est l’heure de rugir
redécouvrir
le secret du bonheur
je vais être honnête avec toi
est sous tes yeux
écoute l’oiseau qui chante
au soleil couchant devant
la citadelle d’Alep
fais-toi plaisir
à tantôt ma chérie
Translator’s Statement
For each poem, Carlson creates what she calls “sound maps,” color-coded charts that track alliteration, assonance, and syllabic stresses in the original verse. She replicates these rhythms and sound patterns as best she can, attempting to preserve the poem’s musicality. Of course, certain linguistic limitations are unavoidable, which Carlson negotiates with a bit of creative license. “You can’t get the exact sound for a line in French,” she said. “Many of the sounds—the nasals—don’t exist in English, so I couldn’t possibly do that. But if I can maybe get another sound pattern going, and maybe it happens to be on this line instead of that line, if it’s infused in there, then I’ve done my job.” Eventually, these words, sounds, and meanings are stitched seamlessly together, ideally creating a text that is at once accurate and beautiful. And yet, “There’s always going to be a flaw,” said Carlson. No matter how long you might work at it, “It’s always going to be imperfect.” She invoked a quote by Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko: “Translation is like a woman. If it is beautiful, it is not faithful. If it is faithful, it is most certainly not beautiful.”
http://arts.gov/sites/default/files/nea_arts/NEA-Arts_Number-1_2014.pdf (p.17)
Abdourahman A. Waberi is a prize-winning writer from Djibouti, a tiny country in the Horn of Africa about the size of Massachusetts, squeezed between Somalia, Ethiopia, and Eritrea. Muslim by birth, Waberi’s themes include living a simple life based on meditation and spirituality, the nomadic life, Arabic language and culture, religious tolerance as opposed to extremism, and Djibouti’s harsh climate and civil wars. In recognition for his commitment to the values of multiculturalism and linguistic, ethnic, and religious diversity, he was awarded the 2016 Words to Change Prize.
Nancy Naomi Carlson, winner of an NEA literature translation grant, and shortlisted for the BTBA for her poetry translations of Abdourahman Waberi, is the author of seven titles (translated and non-translated). Her work has appeared in such journals as APR, FIELD, The Georgia Review, and Poetry. These poems come from NAMING THE DAWN, forthcoming from Seagull Books (distributed by the U of Chicago Press) in early 2018. More at: Nancynaomicarlson.com.