Loosed in Translation discussion

This Chilean poet has been translated by a few people. I'm gonna highlight a few of the different translations and compare them.

First up, comparing Langston Hughes to a new translation by Stephen Tapscott:

Sweetness (tr. Langston Hughes)

Because of the sleeping child I carry, my footsteps have grown silent. And my whole heart is reverent since it bears the mystery.

My voice is soft like a mute of love, for I am afraid to awaken it.

With my eyes in passing faces now, I seek this pain of mine in other entrails, hoping that seeing me, others understand why my cheek is pale.

I stir the grasses where quail nestle, tenderly afraid. And through the countryside I go quietly, cautiously: I believe that trees and things have sleeping children over whom they hover watching.

Sweetness (tr. Stephen Tapscott)

Because of the sleeping child I carry, my footstep has turned cautious. And my whole heart is religious, since it carries this mystery.

My voice is soft, as if quieted by love, and it's just that I fear awakening it.

In the faces I see I search for signs of an inner pain, so that others might see and understand why my cheek has turned pale.

In tender fear, I pick my way through the grasses where the quails nest. And I pass through the quiet countryside, heedfully. I believe that the trees and material things hold sleeping children, over whom they keep watch.

---

What Will It Be Like? (tr. Langston Hughes)

What will it be like? For a long time I looked at the petals of a rose. I touched them with delight; I would like their softness for his cheeks. And I played in a tangle of brambles, because I would like his hair dark and tangled that way. But if it is brownish, with the rich color of the red clays that potters love, I won't care either, or if his stringy hair is as plain as was my life.

I watch the hollows in the mountains when they are filling with mist, and from the mist I make the shape of a little girl, a very sweet little girl: that mine could well be.

But, more than anything else, I want its look to have the sweetness that he has in his look, and may the light timbre of its voice be like his when he speaks to me, for in the one that is coming, I want to love the one who kissed me.

What Will He Be Like? (tr. Stephen Tapscott)

What will he be like? I gazed for a long time at the petals of a rose, and I touched them delightedly: I would want that softness for his cheeks. And I played in a tangle of brambles, because I would want his hair to be like that, dark and curling. But it won't matter if it is bronze colored, with the rich color of red clay that potters love, or if his smooth hair is as simple as my whole life.

I watch the hollows in the mountains as they fill with fog, and I sketch with the fog the silhouette of a girl, a very sweet little girl: my child could be like that too...

But, above all, I want that face to share the sweetness he has in his face, and that voice to share the timbre of his voice when he speaks to me: for in the one who is to come, I want to love the one who kissed me.

----

Now comparing Langston Hughes's translations with Ursula K. Le Guin's:

---

Larks (tr. Langston Hughes)

They came down in a patch of wheat,
and, as we drew near,
the flock flew away
and left the startled field quite empty.

In the thicket they look like fire;
when they rise, like silver darting.
And they go by even before they go,
cutting through your wonder.

Our poor eyes, knowing only
that the whole flock has gone,
cry "Larks!" to those who rise,
and are lost, and sing.

In the sorely wounded air
they leave us full of yearning,
with a wonder and a quiver
in body and in soul...

Larks, son! Above us sweep
the larks across the plain!

Larks (tr. Ursula K. Le Guin)

They were in the scattered wheat.
As we came near, the whole flock
flew, and the poplars stood
as if struck by a hawk.

Sparks in stubble: when they rise,
silver thrown up in air.
They're past before they pass,
too quick for praise.

Eyes are too slow to see
the whole flock's taken wing,
and we shout, "Larks!"
at what's up--lost--singing.

In the air they wounded
they've left us with a longing,
a tremor, a wonder
half of the body, half of the soul.

Larks, child--see,
larks rise from the wheat!

---

Richness (tr. Langston Hughes)

I have a true happiness
and a happiness betrayed,
the one like a rose,
the other like a thorn.
To that taken from me
I was not betrothed:
I have a true happiness
and a happiness betrayed.
And I am rich in purple
and rich in melancholy.
How well loved the rose!
And what a lover the thorn!
Like a double image
of fruits that are twins,
I have a true happiness
and a happiness betrayed.

Riches (tr. Ursula K. Le Guin)

I have a faithful fortune
and a fortune lost.
One's like a rose,
the other a thorn.
What was taken from me
I still possess:
the faithful fortune
and the fortune lost,
and I'm rich in purple
and unhappiness.
Oh how I love the rose
and how the thorn loves me!
Like round twin apples
after the frost:
the faithful fortune,
the fortune lost.

---

What do y'all think? I personally prefer Langston Hughe's translation of all of these except for "Richness/Riches" which I liked Ursula K. Le Guin's translation more.

I also favor the Hughes over Tapscott. These lines clinched it for me:

Hughes: And my whole heart is reverent since it bears the mystery.
Tapscott: And my whole heart is religious, since it carries this mystery.

In the second poem the impersonal "It" by Hughes vs. the "He" by Tapscott is, I think, a better choice for the unborn baby. In fact the lines point toward uncertainty in the gender of "the one that is coming". In the first paragraph it's a boy, in the second a girl.

For the second set of poems, I appreciate how each of the two translators tried to reproduce the repetitions, rhythms, and internal rhymes of what must have been in the original.

I agree with the He/It point you made... it's interesting that some languages use the same word for it/he and in this case it really was ambiguous.

Also, what convinced me were the lines right after the ones you cited.

Tapscott: My voice is soft, as if quieted by love
Hughes: My voice is soft like a mute of love

MUTE OF LOVE, god what a phrase! I wish I came up with that. Totally kicks "quieted by love"'s ass ;)

Moving on...

I found it interesting in the last poem that these lines were translated so differently:

Hughes: To that taken from me
I was not betrothed:

Le Guin: What was taken from me
I still possess:

To me, the first seems to say "i was not attached to these things" as in, she could take it or leave it.

And the second seemed to me "I still possess them" (implying maybe that owning something is more of a mental attitude than a physical state... what has been taken can still be possessed in the mind?).

Anyway, to me these are radically different meanings, but both interesting... Le Guin's more so, I think, but I wonder what the original said.

For the riches/richness translation, what are their meanings?