Translation from English

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Romani and French Poems Translated by A Z Foreman


 

Poems Found in Translation: “Ilija Jovanović: Poor Black Skin (From Gurbet Romani)” plus 1 more

Link to Poems Found in Translation

Posted: 30 Sep 2016 04:04 PM PDT
Poor Black1 Skin
By Ilija Jovanović
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Poor black skin
it sticks in the white of the eye
like a needle
like a nail
like a knife

A little black man
didn't want to be alone anymore.
His back loaded with books,
he went to live among white people.
He wanted to study with them,
to live with them.

They asked each other
with hardened looks:
what's that black doing here?

Poor black skin
it sticks in the white of the eye
like a knife
like a needle
like a nail.

Notes:

1 - The word for black, kalo, is used as an endonym by some Roma groups such as those of Finland and Spain. 

The Original:

Čoři Kali Morči

Čoři kali morči
pusaves e parnen ande jak
sar jek čhuri
sar jek dopo
sar jek suv.

Jek cikno kalo
či kamla maj but
korkořo te trajil.

Lija pese lila
talaj khank
gelo maškar e parne manušo
lensar te trajil
lensar te sičol.

Von phučle pes
e zoraja
so čerel kadava kalo
kadathe.

Čoři kali morči
phusaves e parnen ande jak
sar jek suv
sar jek čhuri
sar jek dopo.
Posted: 30 Sep 2016 07:24 AM PDT
The Gift of Languages
By Jean-Yves Masson
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Walk toward the light, the light that will not betray you,
O my friend, in tingles and in tears,
across blind landscapes, amid sighing bodies,
in the dark of flesh, in the vagaries of pleasure.

By evening on a dreamer sea, the sails waken
and tremble by the thousand like words, like flames:
Ah, word sails where a promised sun takes shelter!

Walk forth toward the light, the light that will not betray you.

Among the songs, the dances, get drunk on tongues unknown,
ask the dead tongues, the extinguished syllables
for the key to their slumber.


The Original:

Le Don des Langues

Marche vers la lumière, celle qui ne te trahira pas,
ô mon ami, dans les frissons et dans les larmes,
à travers les paysages aveugles, au milieu des corps qui soupirent
dans les ténèbres de la chair, dans les méandres du plaisir.

Le soir, sur une mer songeuse, les voiles se réveillent
et tremblent par milliers comme des mots, des flammes:
ah! voiles de paroles où s'abrite un soleil promis!

Marche vers la lumière, celle qui ne te trahira pas.

Parmi les chants, les danses, enivre-toi des langues inconnues,
demande aux langues mortes, aux syllabes éteintes,
la clé de leur sommeil.