- British Comparative Literature Association/British Centre for Literary TranslationWinners of The 2007 Dryden Translation Competition
SEVIN SEYDI and MAURICE WHITBY, for their translation from the Turkish of OĞUZ ATAY, ‘Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow’
Note: For copyright reasons, Comparative Critical Studies is unfortunately unable to reproduce the prize-winning translation by Sevin Seydi and Maurice Whitby. The poem submitted for the Dryden Prize appears in Chapter VII of the novel Tutunamayanlar (The Disconnected) by Oguz Atay. It is hoped that the English translation of the book, already completed, will be published in the near future.
COLIN ANDERSON, for his translation from the Latin of HORACE, ‘Odes I’
FLAVIA COSMA and CHARLES SIEDLECKI, for their translation from the Romanian of FLAVIA COSMA, ‘In the Arms of the Father’ [End Page 99]
- ‘Odes I’ by Horace (excerpts)
Maecenas, son of kings, scion of Tuscany,my stout rampart and shield, source of my dignity:some men find their delight out in the hippodromechurning dust as they drive, shaving the turns in afiery whirl of their wheels, lured by the laurels thathoist them high to the sky; gods cannot better them.This man basks in the praise turbulent citizenslavish, vying to raise him to great eminence.That one’s pride is in wheat, cramming his silos withevery last little grain swept from the threshing floor.Young men, happy to hoe fields of their families,can’t be tempted to sign contracts of labour tocrew a Cyprian bark bound for Heraklion,even though for their fears they’d be paid handsomely.Traders sailing for Cos dread the waves stirred by theLibyan gales, so extol leisurely life in thecountry towns they once knew; yet they will soon refitshattered ships, profit’s loss loath to accommodate.Others happily sip Massican vintageswhen most folk are at work, spending the summer’s daylazing, languidly stretched under an arbutus,or close by a cool spring’s upwelling sanctity.Army life many love, bugled reveilles andblaring trumpets of war, hated by mothers ofconscript sons. Sullen dawn under a freezing skyfinds the hunter still out, careless of gentle wife,should his dogs sight a hind, keening their loyalty,or if fine-woven nets rip when a boar attacks.For my part, it’s the bard’s chaplet of ivy a-bout my brow that will rank me with the gods; for my [End Page 100] woodland verse, singing nymphs dancing with satyrs, willmark me off from the crowd, that is, if Euterpegoes on playing her pipe, and Polyhymniakeeps her Lesbian lyre artfully tuned for me.But should you choose to rate me among lyricists,I will buffet the stars, so lifted up am I.
Iam satis terris
Now the Lord has sent enough snow and loathsomehail upon this land, and with blazing arm hasstruck the citadel on the holy mount to cower the city.Thus he warns all men to avoid revivingPyrrha’s dreadful age, full of weird portents,when old Proteus drove glossy seals and dolphins up to the mountainswhere a myriad fish clung aloft in elm-trees,perches that were, once, the abode of pigeons,while the panicked deer had been swept away by towering waters.We have seen, flung back from the Tuscan bank, thetawny Tiber, turgid with roiling currents,surging through King Numa’s old palace, and the temples of Vesta.Unrestrainéd vengeance he wreaks, vainglorioushusband, sprawling wide through the quarters near theForum, heeding Rhea’s demands to punish Rome, despite heaven.Youth, now much diminished by sins their fatherswrought, will hear how swords had their edges honed bycitizens, who should have been killing Parthians, not one another.Will a god give heed to the prayers the peopledesperately casts up as the nation crumbles?Can the hallowed virgins’ appeals win over stony-eared Vesta?Who will take Jove’s charge to atone our evilenmities? Pray you come at last among us,alabaster shoulders encloaked with cloud, great seer Apollo. [End Page 101] Or...