Ποιητικομεταφραστικά απωθημένα, άκρως παρωχημένα
- Thread starter Themis†
- Start date
Συγχαρητήρια Έλσα! Είναι πράγματι ο Μίλο Μανάρα, με το κανονικό του όνομα Maurillo Manara (το Milo είναι ψευδώνυμο). Συμμετείχε στην πολύτομη απόδοση σε κόμικ της ιστορίας της Γαλλίας Histoire de France en bandes dessinées, των εκδόσεων Larousse (1977-1983).
Μα ελάτε επιτέλους, όλα εσείς τα ντροπαλά αγόρια, είναι δυνατόν να μην αναγνωρίσατε τον κατεξοχήν υμνητή της γυναικείας μορφής; Οι κοπέλες στο πρώτο καρέ δεν σας θυμίζουν τις γυναίκες του Μανάρα; Αύριο θα σας βάλω να δείτε την Άννα Κομνηνή.
Μα ελάτε επιτέλους, όλα εσείς τα ντροπαλά αγόρια, είναι δυνατόν να μην αναγνωρίσατε τον κατεξοχήν υμνητή της γυναικείας μορφής; Οι κοπέλες στο πρώτο καρέ δεν σας θυμίζουν τις γυναίκες του Μανάρα; Αύριο θα σας βάλω να δείτε την Άννα Κομνηνή.
Υπάρχει μια σύμπτωση, αλλά βρίσκεται αλλού, λίγο παραδίπλα, σ' έναν άλλον από τους αγαπητούς τού αγαπητού Εαρίωνα (και όχι μόνο), τον ΧιΟύγκο Πρατ:
“I know thirteen ways of telling my life,” claims Hugo Pratt in his autobiography. Although that may be true, it is undeniable that he was born in 1927, in the Italian city of Rimini, and spent his early years in Venice.
On his father’s side, he descends from Englishmen who left England in 1745 due to religious matters (they were Catholics) and settled in France. His paternal grandfather, who drew military buildings for a living, later found a teaching job in Venice. He named Pratt’s father Rolando, after the poem Chanson de Roland, due to his love for French literature. Rolando would later pass this love of literature to Hugo.
[...]
Όπως καταλαβαίνετε, οι γραμμές των αποπάνω μού θύμισαν τον Πρατ κι άρχισα να ψάχνω το μεσημέρι, μέχρι να μ' αρπάξει απ' το γιακά το άγχος της δουλειάς.
Κι επειδή μια αναζήτηση αφήνει πάντα παραπροϊόντα και σήμερα φαίνεται πως είναι του αγίου Κουιζίου (βοήθειά μας), μήπως μπορεί κανείς να βρει βίντεο με το τραγούδι που έχει γράψει ένας άλλος μέγας και πολύ αγαπητός μου για τον Ρολάνδο, το οποίο τελειώνει με τους εξής στίχους:
Roland, the song is ended,
Roland, the Song has only just begun.
Εύκολο να βρείτε ποιος - να 'ναι καλά το γκουγκλίζειν (Roncevaux - Van Der Graaf Generator) - αλλά το τραγούδι έφαγα τον κόσμο να το βρω, όμως τελικά αναγκάστηκα να καταφύγω στο βινύλιο.
Elsa
¥
Τα μανάρια του Μανάρα κολάζουν και καθολικές καλόγριες, όχι μόνο αγοράκια... :inno:
...
The Ruin is an elegy in Old English, written by an unknown author and published in the 8th century in the Exeter Book, a large collection of poems and riddles. The poem evokes the former glory of a ruined city by jumping from present to past.
Anglo-Saxon and Norse poems, edited and translated by Nora Kershaw, Cambridge University Press, 1922
archive.org/stream/anglosaxonnorsep00chadrich#page/50/mode/2up
Για ακουστικούς τύπους:
An alternative rendition of the poem in Modern English, was set by Peter Hammill to music as the song "Imperial Walls", on his 1979 album pH7.
Strange to behold
is the stone of this wall
broken by fate.
The strongholds are bursten,
the work of giants decaying;
the roofs are fallen,
the towers are tottering,
mouldering palaces roofless,
weather-marked masonry shattering.
Shelters time-scarred,
tempest-marred,
undermined of old.
Earth's grasp holdeth
its mighty builders
tumbled, crumbled,
in gravel's harsh grip
till a hundred generations
of men pass away.
Till a hundred generations of men pass away,
Till a hundred generations of men pass away.
Another version, by Michael Alexander, was set by Nicholas Maw as his piece 'The Ruin' for double eight-part chorus and solo horn. Michael Alexander's translation was also used in both Paul Keenan's The Ruin and A Field of Scarecrows.
Well-wrought this wall: Wierds broke it.
The stronghold burst.…
Snapped rooftrees, towers fallen,
the work of the Giants, the stonesmiths,
mouldereth.
..........................Rime scoureth gatetowers
..........................rime on mortar.
Shattered the showershields, roofs ruined,
age under-ate them.
........................And the wielders & wrights?
Earthgrip holds them — gone, long gone,
fast in gravesgrasp while fifty fathers
and sons have passed.
........................Wall stood,
grey lichen, red stone, kings fell often,
stood under storms, high arch crashed —
stands yet the wallstone, hacked by weapons,
by files grim-ground…
…shone the old skilled work
…sank to loam-crust.
Mood quickened mind, and a man of wit,
cunning in rings, bound bravely the wallbase
with iron, a wonder.
Bright were the buildings, halls where springs ran,
high, horngabled, much throng-noise;
these many meadhalls men filled
with loud cheerfulness: Wierd changed that.
Came days of pestilence, on all sides men fell dead,
death fetched off the flower of the people;
where they stood to fight, waste places
and on acropolis, ruins
....................................Hosts who would build again
shrank to the earth. Therefore are these courts dreary
and that red arch twisteth tiles.
wryeth from roof-ridge, reacheth groundwards.…
Broken blocks.…
...................................There once many a man
mood-glad, goldbright, of gleams garnished,
flushed with wine-pride, flashing war-gear,
gazed on wrought gemstones, on gold, on silver,
on wealth held and hoarded, on light-filled amber,
on this bright burg of broad domination.
Stood stone houses; wide streams welled
hot from source, and a wall all caught
in his bright bosom, that the baths were
hot at hall’s hearth, that was fitting…
…………
Thence hot streams, loosed, ran over hoar stone
unto the ring-tank.…
…It is a kingly thing
…city….
Anonymous
translated by Michael Alexander
Only a fragment of this anonymous poem from 10th-century England has survived, but the description of a once great civilisation devastated by war still resonates strongly in the 21st century. The poet’s technique of linking two unrelated words together to create a new one — earthgrip, goldbright, gravesgrasp — is characteristic of the Old English language in which this was originally written.
www.trinitycollege.com/gallery/anthologyonline/download.php?id=349
The Ruin is an elegy in Old English, written by an unknown author and published in the 8th century in the Exeter Book, a large collection of poems and riddles. The poem evokes the former glory of a ruined city by jumping from present to past.
Anglo-Saxon and Norse poems, edited and translated by Nora Kershaw, Cambridge University Press, 1922
archive.org/stream/anglosaxonnorsep00chadrich#page/50/mode/2up
Για ακουστικούς τύπους:
An alternative rendition of the poem in Modern English, was set by Peter Hammill to music as the song "Imperial Walls", on his 1979 album pH7.
Strange to behold
is the stone of this wall
broken by fate.
The strongholds are bursten,
the work of giants decaying;
the roofs are fallen,
the towers are tottering,
mouldering palaces roofless,
weather-marked masonry shattering.
Shelters time-scarred,
tempest-marred,
undermined of old.
Earth's grasp holdeth
its mighty builders
tumbled, crumbled,
in gravel's harsh grip
till a hundred generations
of men pass away.
Till a hundred generations of men pass away,
Till a hundred generations of men pass away.
Another version, by Michael Alexander, was set by Nicholas Maw as his piece 'The Ruin' for double eight-part chorus and solo horn. Michael Alexander's translation was also used in both Paul Keenan's The Ruin and A Field of Scarecrows.
Well-wrought this wall: Wierds broke it.
The stronghold burst.…
Snapped rooftrees, towers fallen,
the work of the Giants, the stonesmiths,
mouldereth.
..........................Rime scoureth gatetowers
..........................rime on mortar.
Shattered the showershields, roofs ruined,
age under-ate them.
........................And the wielders & wrights?
Earthgrip holds them — gone, long gone,
fast in gravesgrasp while fifty fathers
and sons have passed.
........................Wall stood,
grey lichen, red stone, kings fell often,
stood under storms, high arch crashed —
stands yet the wallstone, hacked by weapons,
by files grim-ground…
…shone the old skilled work
…sank to loam-crust.
Mood quickened mind, and a man of wit,
cunning in rings, bound bravely the wallbase
with iron, a wonder.
Bright were the buildings, halls where springs ran,
high, horngabled, much throng-noise;
these many meadhalls men filled
with loud cheerfulness: Wierd changed that.
Came days of pestilence, on all sides men fell dead,
death fetched off the flower of the people;
where they stood to fight, waste places
and on acropolis, ruins
....................................Hosts who would build again
shrank to the earth. Therefore are these courts dreary
and that red arch twisteth tiles.
wryeth from roof-ridge, reacheth groundwards.…
Broken blocks.…
...................................There once many a man
mood-glad, goldbright, of gleams garnished,
flushed with wine-pride, flashing war-gear,
gazed on wrought gemstones, on gold, on silver,
on wealth held and hoarded, on light-filled amber,
on this bright burg of broad domination.
Stood stone houses; wide streams welled
hot from source, and a wall all caught
in his bright bosom, that the baths were
hot at hall’s hearth, that was fitting…
…………
Thence hot streams, loosed, ran over hoar stone
unto the ring-tank.…
…It is a kingly thing
…city….
Anonymous
translated by Michael Alexander
Only a fragment of this anonymous poem from 10th-century England has survived, but the description of a once great civilisation devastated by war still resonates strongly in the 21st century. The poet’s technique of linking two unrelated words together to create a new one — earthgrip, goldbright, gravesgrasp — is characteristic of the Old English language in which this was originally written.
www.trinitycollege.com/gallery/anthologyonline/download.php?id=349