Companion Spider: Essays

A Translational Understanding of Trilce #I

A Translational Understanding o/Trilce #1 Over the years, I have come to believe that while it is possible to do a fine translation of a single poem, or a group of poems, translation that establishes an accurate and compelling image of a foreign poet can only occur through the translator taking on a complete collection, and doing all of it, including the secondary poems that would probably not be included in an anthology. The translator is also responsible for scholarly research, so as to bring to bear upon the translation as much background information as possible. Especially in the case of poems with a deep structure but an opaque surface, such as one finds in Cesar Vallejo's Trilce, this research may make the difference between a coherent and an arbitrary translation. When I began to translate Trilce in 1989,1 collected all of the previous English and French versions, and typed them up, with all the same lines together. While I was working on Trilce, two more translations were published. Here I offer sixversions of the opening couplet of #1in chronological order: Who's making all that noise, and disinherits the islandsthat stay behind —David Smith, 1973 Who is so shrill and keeps the remainingislands from their lastwill. —Edward Dorn/Gordon Brotherson, 1976 Who is so noisy that he keeps The islands that remain from testifying —Reginald Gibbons, 1976 This piecewas published in the September 1993 issue of AWP Chronicle. 154 C O M P A N I O N S P I D E R Qui fait tout ce vacarme,et ne laisse meme pas testamenter les iles demeurantes. —Gerard de Cortanze, 1983 Who makes so much noise, and doesn't let the islands that go on lingering make awill. —prospero saiz, 1990 Who makes so much noise, and disinherits the islandshe keepsleavingbehind. —Rebecca Sieferle, 1992 Also, while studying these other translations, it appeared that none of them had taken into consideration two important information sources: Juan Espejo Asturrizaga's Cesar Vallejo, Itinerario delHombre (1965), and Giovanni Meo Zilio's Neologismos en lasPoesia de Cesar Vallejo (1967). Espejo Asturrizaga'sbook, still the only memoir we have of Vallejo's years in Peru (1892-1923), offers some commentary on the relationship between events and poems. Meo Zilio's work (which has been critiqued and extended by Andre Coyne, Juan Larrea, and Americo Ferrari) analyzes the neologisms in Vallejo's poetry, manyof which are so subtle that without Meo Zilio's perceptions they go unnoticed. In discussing my translation of Trilce #1, I'd like to stress that without consulting these scholars' work, it is next to impossible for a translator to contextualize the poem and, armed with aviewpoint, do coherent translating. Espejo Asturrizaga comments that #1is one of eight poems that Vallejo wrote while incarcerated in the Central Trujillo Jail from November 1920 to February 1921 (112 days). He tells us that the inmates were taken outside to use the latrines four times a day,and that instead of allowing the men to take their time, the guards shouted at them, mocking and reviling them, and demanding that they hurry up. The first two stanzasof a later poem in Trilce, #L, indicate that this is not gratuitous but quite pertinent information: Cerberus four times a day wieldshis padlock, opening closing our breastbones, withwinks we understandperfectly. With his sad, baggy-assed pants, boyish in transcendental scruffiness, A Trtmslational Understanding of Trilce #/ 155 standing up, the poor old man is adorable. He jokeswith the prisoners, their fists jammed into their groins. And evenjolly he gnaws some crust for them: but always doing his duty. Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the Greek underworld, is here the jail warden.The four times a day that he "wields his padlock" must refer to the four times a day Espejo claims the men were taken out to the latrines. The second stanza is probably a commentary on the activities of the standing warden and the squatting men. While Cerberus is "baggy-assed" (sloppy but at least dressed), the men are squatting and straining, their forearms pressed down upon their thighs, hands doubled up into fists jutting down between their thighs.1 If we now look at the opening couplet from #1, several things immediately become pretty clear that without Espejo and the backup information from #L would be utterly puzzling: Quien hace tanta bulla, y ni deja...