LL-L "Translation" 2003.10.29 (04) [E/S]

[Lowlands-L]

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L O W L A N D S - L * 29.OCT.2003 (04) * ISSN 189-5582 * LCSN 96-4226
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A=Afrikaans Ap=Appalachian B=Brabantish D=Dutch E=English F=Frisian
L=Limburgish LS=Lowlands Saxon (Low German) N=Northumbrian
S=Scots Sh=Shetlandic V=(West)Flemish Z=Zeelandic (Zeêuws)
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From: Sandy Fleming [sandy at scotstext.org]
Subject: "Holidays"

> From: R. F. Hahn <lowlands-l at lowlands-l.net>
> Subject: Holidays
>
> Thanks, Sandy.  I love the revision.  Nice bits of alliteration
> and the like
> ...  I particularly like the "Hae!" at the end.  Nice touch!  Too bad,
> though, that the warrior fell through the cracks.
>
> Oh, and thanks for the phonetic transcription.
>
> You wrote: "The cauld haes clauchtit ..."  So you think it's the
> *cold* that
> has seized those things, not that *it* has been seized by the bracken?

I'v had a more careful look at the grammar (not that I know any Old Irish,
though my Welsh helps a bit) and I think you're right, it is the cold that's
being gripped. However it seems to me that it's the wings of the bird that's
gripping it - unless the last two verses are a tortuous grammar that I can't
follow. So perhaps:

Haes clauchtit the cauld
the wings o the bird,
the icy while...
thir's my wittins. Hae!

or more naturally in Scots:

The wings o the bird,
haes clauchtit the cauld
the icy while...
thir's my wittins. Hae!

Does this make more sense? I may be wrong and the lines are not as connected
as I would expect them to be, but the line "the wings of the bird" seems to
get meaninglessly isolated any other way. Perhaps a clear prose translation
by someone who knows the language would help me to get it right.

The "Hae!" is obviously my personal interpretation of this, but the last
line sounded resigned as if saying, "you'll just have to accept it".

> Have fun in Whitby!  Any chance of a picture or two of you in your holiday
> getup?

Well, I'm a 24/7 goth so you can't expect to see me in anything I wouldn't
wear down to the supermarket on any ordinary afternoon! Think "fine" rather
than "outrageous". I mean I see a lot of outrageous stuff in the clubs and
then the next afternoon you meet them and they turn out to be grey-haired
guys in golfing sweaters by light of day! Last week I bought a poet's shirt
(but black...) where the seams were all laced together with cords. Today I
bought twelve feet of much higher-quality cord and it'll probably take an
hour to unlace it all, iron it, and put it back together again with the good
cord. And it probably won't even show up on camera! Or maybe I should have
bought red or purple cord... but... but that wouldn't be black!! As Dr.
Frank N. Furter would say, "It's not easy, having a good time"!  :)

Sandy
http://scotstext.org/

----------

From: Brian Holton <ctbah at polyu.edu.hk>
Subject: LL-L "Holidays" 2003.10.24 (01) [E/S]

ay man, Ron,
 the glossary's a grand notion. gin A hae a meenit, A'll gie't anither
crack.

here's a wee preein o whit A've been plouterin about wi: it's frae an auld
auld Chinese poem (mebbes 700BC): it's that auld, the words is gey near aa
kittlie - we juist hardlie ken whit the names o the flouers an trees an aa
that denotes. sae the'r a grand freedom for the owresetting o't.
A wis ettlin ti mak the Scots as kittle for modren readers as the Chinese is
for them nouadays at  reads the auld stuff.

Aa o the poems wir mebbes uised in deid-messes, or, at onie rate, for some
kin o liturgy, we think, an the'r a shamanic kin o feel aboot them, wi the
gods an the shamans takin turn ti speak.

The saicont ane hes for its title a Chinese twa-syllable speak wi the sense
o "them at dee'd owre young for the sake o their kintra": sae hou ti owreset
that? weill the auld Selkirk coronanch, "The Flouers o the Forest"  wis
nearhaun by, sae A uised that. It's a wee thing auld-farrant, gin ye pey
onie heed ti modren Translation Theory ti 'domesticate' as muckle as this,
bit  - hou no, eh?
aye

b
guidwyfe O THE BEN

it’s like the’r a bodie, see, i the lirk o the ben
happit wi the bindwuid, ay, beltit wi the leddy-fern
een hauflins steikit, see, an a bonnie smile
ye’re browdent on me, ay, gleg ti beglamour me
caain the reid panthers, see, follain the lyart tods
magnolia cairtie, ay, cannel-weavit pensel
happit wi the spykarie, see, beltit wi the lilly-flouer
poukin rare perfumes, ay, ti gie ti her jo
A byde i the derk shaws, see, at niver sees the cairrie
sair an unchancie the road, ay, an me come ahint-haun
staunin ma lane, see, at the heid o the hill
rowin cluds, ay, aa ablow me
i the howe o the derk, see, mirk in braid day
easslin wunds risin, ay, douncome o ferlie rain
the Carline dawdles blythelike, see, an disremembers ti gang hame
the year’s that worn doun, ay, whaur’s ma flouers nou?
A’ll pouk the treeple orchids, see, in atween the bens
whaur clintie’s the stanes, ay, mang rammels o the brier
A grein for Himsel, see, an disremember ti gang hame
ye think lang on me, see, but haena onie by-time
the bodie mang the bens, ay, i the scug o cypress an pine
ye think lang on me, see, but ye’re switherin yet
thunner’s dirl-dirlin, see, an mirksome ‘s the rain
yatterin o puggies,ay, apes yowlin under nicht
gurlie an gowstie’s the wund, see, hushlin mang the shaws
A think lang on Hersel, ay, an tuim’s ma dule an wae

flouers o the forest

grippin swuirds frae the south, ay, an jacks o the leather
wheel-nave ti wheel-nave, see, the gullie-men yoke thegither
pensells smoor the sun, ay, faes like fleein cluds forgaither
arras faa in ilka airt, see, sodgers warslin forrit
they brash throu the array, ay, strampin on the lines
the land-horse is deid, see, an the fore ane’s dung doun
baith wheels lairit in glaur, ay, and the fowersome aa fanklt
grip the jade tipper, see, an touk the roarin drum
the day’s weirin doun, ay, an the great gods are beilin
they’re slauchtert aa an haill, see, forhooiet on the field
they gaed out an niver cam in, ay, gaed an niver wan hame
they hap aa the haughs, see, hyne an hyne awa
braid swuirds at their sides, ay, they grippit norlan bous
tho heids frae bouks wis sindert, see, aa their hairts wir leal
salwart ti the last, ay, nane can them miscaa
tho cauld be their corps, see, on life are their speirits
sodgers, yir sowls, ay, are heroes ayont the graff

----------

From: R. F. Hahn <lowlands-l at lowlands-l.net>
Subject: Translation

Thanks for the update, Sandy.  You may be on to something.  I'll have to
mull it over.

Ay, Brian!

Thanks for yer owersettins!  Guid tae ken that thare's anither body that
owersets poetry frae a "major" leid intae a "minor" ane.  A'll vizzie yer
owersettins efter a wee the day or the morra, but A can yit say that they
leuk grand tae me.  Can ye post the oreeginal versions or airt us tae a
wabsteid wi thaim postit?  Thare's a wee curn o us on Lowlands-L that can
read Chinese.

A'm wirkin on a smyte o owersettins o Tang-dynasty poems intae Lawlands
Saxon (Laich German) an German.  Ablow is a swatch.

Guidwull tae aa!
Reinhard/Ron

***



   荒城

   驅馬度荒城
   荒城動客情
   é«˜ä½Žèˆ é›‰å ž
   大小古墳塋
   自振孤蓬影
   長凝拱木聲
   所嗟皆俗骨
   仙史更無名

        寒山

   Spoleerde Stadt

   Ik jaag' mien Peerd an 'n spoleerde Stadt vörbi,
   An 'n Stadt wrack un daal, de Geföhlen upwaakt –
   Tinnen up un daal ut 'n lang vergahne Tied,
   Wied un sied steenolde Graffknülls, grote as lütte,
   'nääm Steppenlöperschadden sik vun sülven röögt
   Un grote Bööm ähr Stimmen up ewig swiestert.
   Ik sücht œver de Knaken vun all de lütten Lüüd'.
   Up keen Unstarvlichenlist  ndst jüm ähr Naams.

                 Han Schan (7/8. Jh. A.D.)

   Spoleyrde stad

   Ik jaag' myn peyrd an 'n spoleyrde stad vörby,
   An 'n stad wrak un daal, dey geföylen upwaakt –
   Tinnen up un daal uut 'n lang vergane tyd,
   Wyd un syd steynolde gravknüls, grote as lütte,
   'neem Steppenlöyperschadden sik vun sülven röygt
   Un grote böym eer stimmen up ewig swystert.
   Ik sücht över dey knaken vun al dey lütten lüyd'.
   Up keyn unstarvlichenlistv ndst jüm eer naams.

              Han Schan (7/8. Jh. A.D.)

German:

   Zerstörte Stadt

   Ich jage mein Pferd an einer zerstörten Stadt vorbei,
   An einer verwüsteten Stadt, die Gefühle aufwühlt –
   Hoch und niedrig Zinnen aus lang vergangener Zeit,
   Überall uralte Grabhügel, sowohl große als kleine,
   Wo Steppenhexenschatten sich von selbst bewegen
   Und Stimmen großer Bäume für alle Zeit raunen.
   Ich seufze über die Knochen all der einfachen Menschen,
   Deren Namen auf keiner Unsterblichenliste stehen.

              Han Schan (7/8. Jh. A.D.)

A stab at an impromptu English translation:

   Ruined City

   I am spurring my horse past a ruined city,
   A destroyed city that stirs up feelings—
   Up and down battlements from times long gone,
   Everywhere grave mounds, both small and large,
   Where tumbleweed moves about by itself
   And large trees' voices whisper for ever.
   I'm sighing over the bones of all the ordinary people
   Whose names you will find on no list of immortals.

              Han Shan (7/8th cent. C.E.)

***

   閨怨

   蘼蕪盈手泣斜暉
   聞道鄰家夫婿歸
   別日南鴻纔北去
   ä» æœåŒ—é›åˆå—é£›
   春來秋去相思在
   秋去春來信息稀
   扃閉朱門人不到
   ç §è²ä½•äº‹é€ç¾…å¹ƒ

             魚玄機

   Kummer in 't Froensgemaak

   Mit ähr Hannen vull Unkruud snückert se vör sik hin.
   De Lüüd' vertellt, de Mann vun ähr Naversch is trügg.
   Eerst letztdaags trecken de Swaans un Göös' noordwarts.
   Vunmorgen kemen se wedder; süüdwarts treckt se nu.
   Vörjahr kümmt. Harvst geiht ... De Kummer blifft trügg.
   Harvst geiht. Vörjahr kümmt ... Noch jümmer keen Breev.
   Klack. Se schüfft d'n Peck apen. Nä, nüms ... Nüms is kamen.
   Höörst Wäschebœkern. Wenneer schall se de Gardinen waschen?

              Yü Hsüän-Dji

   Kummer in 't vroensgemaak

   Mit eer handen vul unkruud snükkert sey vör sik hin.
   Dey lüyd' vertelt, dey man vun eer naversch is trüg.
   Eyrst letstdaags trekken dey swaans un göys' nourdwarts.
   Vunmorgen keymen sey wedder; süydwarts trekt sey nu.
   Vörjaar kümt. Harvst gayt ... Dey kummer blivt trüg.
   Harvst gayt. Vörjaar kümt ... Noch jümmer keyn breyv.
   Klak. Sey schüvt d'n pek apen. Ne, nüms ... Nüms is kamen.
   Höyrst weschebökern. Wenneyr schal sey dey gardinen waschen?

              Yü Hsüän-Dji (ca. 844–871 A.D.)

   German:

   Kummer im Frauengemach

   Mit Händen voll Unkraut weint sie leise vor sich hin.
   Man sagt, der Mann der Nachbarin sei wieder daheim.
   Neulich erst waren Schwäne und Gänse nordwärts gezogen.
   Heute Morgen kamen sie wieder, diesmal südwärts ziehend.
   Frühling kommt. Herbst geht ... Der Kummer bleibt hier.
   Herbst geht. Frühling kommt ... Noch immer kein Brief ...
   Klack. Sie entriegelt die Haustür. Niemand ist gekommen.
   Sie hört Wäscheschlagen. Wann soll sie die Gardinen waschen?

              Yü Hsüän-Dji (ca. 844–871 A.D.)

A stab at an impromptu English translation:

   Sorrow in the Women's Chamber

   She weeps silently, with her hands full of weeds.
   They say her neighbor's husband is back home.
   Only recently did swans and geese migrate north.
   This morning they returned, now migrating south.
   Spring comes. Autumn goes ... Sorrow remains.
   Autumn goes. Spring comes ... Still no letter ...
   Click. She slides back the bolt. No one has come.
   The sound of laundry pounding. When shall she wash the curtains?

              Yu Xuanji (ca. 844–871 C.E.)

***

   吾心似秋月

   吾心似秋月
   碧潭清皎潔
   ç„¡ç‰©å ªæ¯”å€«
   教我如何說

             寒山

   Mien Hart is as de Harvsttiedmaand

   Mien Hart is as de Harvsttiedmaand:
   Heel un deel hell up depest Dümpelgröön.
   Dat is as niks anners in düsse Welt.
   Nu segg: Woans verklaarst di dat?

                 Han Schan (7/8. Jh. A.D.)

   Myn hart is as dey harvsttydmaand

   Myn hart is as dey harvsttydmaand:
   Heyl un deyl hel up deypest dümpelgröyn.
   Dat is as niks anners in düsse welt.
   Nu seg: Woans verklaarst dy dat?

                 Han Schan (7/8. Jh. A.D.)

German:

   Mein Herz ist wie der Mond im Herbst

   Mein Herz ist wie der Mond im Herbst:
   Vollkommen hell auf tiefstem Tümpelgrün.
   Nichts kommt ihm gleich auf dieser Welt.
   Sag mir: Wie erklärt sich das?

                 Han Schan (7/8. Jh. A.D.)

And another stab at an impromptu English translation:

   My Heart is like the Harvest Moon

   My heart is like the harvest moon:
   Quite bright on a pond's darkest green.
   There's nothing like it in the world.
   Tell me: how is this explained?
                 Han Shan (7/8th cent. C.E.)



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