Elisabeth Eybers: 'Poëtica'

  

POËTICA

 

Geslaagde spronge wat my pen soms maak

kan 'k slegs met moeite tuisbring of vermom

asof ek doelbewus die kluts bewaak;

nouliks van die geboorteskok bekom,

moet ek ontreddering blindelings vertrou

om hier en daar 'n oop seer aan te raak

per toeval iets herkenbaar te ontvou.

 

 

POETICS

 

Successful leaps my pen may sometimes make

are tricky to locate or to disguise

as if I’d rigged things for the actual take;

scarcely recovered from the birth-caused daze,

I have to place all trust in disarray

so here and there from some still stinging graze

a chance for recognition comes your way.

 

 

And now comes the dénouement: I have found this poem on the internet here.

It reveals that the poet herself made an English translation of it. Here is a translation of the remarks made by Hendrik-Jan de Wit:

“The English equivalent ‘Poetics’ has the same narrative in a different language, without being a literal or slavish translation of it. For a translator this must be a highly achievable ideal, but this would detract too much from the originality of the poem. The remarkable combination of the two elements results in two unique poems that evoke the same emotion.”

 

The difference between the two English versions is a striking example of how differently a poet-translator and a poetry translator operate. I always avoid looking at any existing translations of a poem before attempting my own – I find they distract me. Here the distraction is even worse – for if I happen to use a same word in my translation, I will probably be accused of having ‘stolen’ it from Eybers, so I almost have to study her translation in order to avoid words. If I had used phrases like ‘glinting in my eyes’ and ‘lingering hurt of sting’, I would have been accused of adding new elements not in the original poem.

This is untenable. I have therefore kept the original text right up close to my eyes and followed it, without, I hope, doing so slavishly.

 

Here is Eyber’s own translation:

 

POETICS

 

The hit my pen occasionally scores

is difficult to pin down or disguise

as if I'd neatly plotted it before;

the shock of birth still glinting in my eyes,

I have to trust what feels like floundering:

each time I touch a lingering hurt of sting

something might light up that you recognize.