Translated Literature - Tumblr Posts

Me reading/watching translated works knowing damn well that I'll never understand the nuanced emotions and hidden meanings behind the original text

Before the coffee gets cold

Toshikazu Kawaguchi

(I hate the 30 # limit with a passion :p anywho, I'm omw to go back to reading from a slump that lasted most of my Bachelors so time to read all I can, for the sake of reading, and for pleasure, before entering Masters. I love literature but GODDAMMIT I became a book collector. Time to go back to book reading, actually READING a book and not an ao3 fanfic cause ofc I am easily distracted by hannigram 😩 and anything on YouTube. YES, I did go through all 10 stages of grief with ao3 being down. Yes, I know there are only five :))) Doesn't stop a girl from being completely insane 🙂 And yes, I have revived the flow of the frozen blood in this blog cause one gotta do silly things every now and then on our beloved hellsite UwU)

Najwan Darwish, “Sleeping in Gaza” from his eponymous poetry collection Sleeping in Gaza, available for download here

Sylvia Plath // Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"Death must be so beautiful. to lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. to have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. to forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. you can help me. you can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is" with such ease? to touch my soul so casually?

— Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

Sylvia Plath – A vékony emberek

Mindig velünk vannak, a vékony emberek

Dimenziók híján mint a szürke emberek

A tévéképernyőn. Azt

Mondjuk, nem valóságosak:

Csak egy filmben volt, csak

Egy háborúban volt, gonosz főcímeket alkotva, amikor

Kicsik voltunk, hogy éheztek

És olyan véznára nőttek és nem kerekedtek

A szalmavékony végtagjaik a béke ellenére se ki

Az egerek gyomrát felpuffasztották

A leghitványabb asztal alatt.

A hosszú éhharc során volt, mikor

Rátaláltak a képességre, hogy a

Soványságban maradjanak fenn, hogy később

Eljöjjenek a rémálmainkba, a fenyegetésük

Nem fegyverek, nem erőszak,

Hanem egy vékony csend.

Bolha-irtott szamárbőrökbe csomagolva

Panasz nélkül, örökké

Ecetet iszva bádogpohárból:

A kisorsolt bűnbak elviselhetetlen

nimbuszát viselték. De olyan sovány,

Olyan csenevész faj nem maradhatott csak az álmokban

Nem maradhatott idegen áldozatokként

A fej beszűkült országában

Ahogy az öreg asszony a vályogkunyhójában sem

Tudta megállni, hogy ne kanyarítson

Ki egy zsíros szeletet a nagylelkű holdból

Amikor az az udvarába lépett éjjelente

Míg a kése a holdat

Kis fényű héjjá nem vágta.

Most a sovány emberek nem törlik

El magukat, mikor a hajnal

Szürkéje megkékül, megvörösödik, és a világ

Körvonala kitisztul és színnel telik.

Tovább időznek a napsütötte szobában: a tapéta

Káposztarózsa és búzavirág fríze megsápad

Vékony-ajkú mosolyuk,

Sorvadó királyságuk alatt.

Hogy feltámogatják egymást!

Nincs elég gazdag és mély vadonunk

Hogy erődként szolgáljon merev

Zászlóaljaik ellen. Nézd, hogy laposodnak el a fák törzsei

És vesztik el szép barnaságukat

Ha a vékony emberek egyszerűen csak megállnak az erdőben

Olyan vékonnyá válik tőlük a világ mint egy darázs fészke

És még szürkébbé; még csak csontjaikat sem mozdítják.

Saját fordítás, eredeti cím: The Thin People

― Hiromi Kawakami, The Briefcase

ਮੈਮ ਤੁਹਾਨੁ ਪਿਆਰ ਕਰਦੀ ਹੈ।. 사랑해. أحبك. አፈቅርሃለሁ.Ես սիրում եմ քեզ.মই আপোনাক ভাল পাওঁ. 我愛你。. আমি তোমাকে ভালোবাসি. я цябе кахаю. איך האב דיר ליב. हम तोहसे प्यार करेलीं. Обичам те. မင်းကိုချစ်တယ်။. تۆم خۆش دەوێت. 我爱你。އަހަރެން ތިބާ ދެކެ ލޯބިވަން. में तुगी हिरख करना. ខ្ញុំ​ស្រលាញ់​អ្នក. Сени сүйөм. я тебе люблю. მიყვარხარ.Σ'αγαπώ. હું તને પ્રેમ કરું છુ. אני אוהב אותך. تۆم خۆش دەوێت. I love you.

- HB

—  Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

"Poems are not written...", Andrey Voznesensky (translated by metamorphesque)

...

Calm down, my dear, calm down, calm down. Do you remember me? Remember me? You were my only and my last love. Calm down, I'm here. Think of me, and I'll be here, with you, because even if we loved eath other for only a moment, it is eternal... Do you remember me? Remember me, remember me?.. Oh, I can feel your tears... Calm down... My dreams are sweet, so sweet, so sweet.

- translation of one of the scenes from "The garnet bracelet" by Alexander Kuprin.

We just read this story in our lit class, and thanks god it was online bc I cried. This is one of the verses for L. van Beethoven. Son. № 2, op. 2. Largo Appassionato, the composition that main character asked to play if the heroine remembered him.

He was hopelessly in love with her for over 7 years, but she was married, didn't love him, didn't want to know him and only saw him as an annoying admirer. For her birthday he sent her a garnet bracelet with stones from one of his family's heirlooms. He never asked her to accept his feelings or tried to pursue her, just for her to be happy. After her husband visited him with the bracelet, returning it and threatening to call authorities, asking to never again approach his wife, he commited suicide. He never wanted to interfere with their lives, but he couldn't get rid of his feelings, and saw this as an only way out.

After his death the heroine read the letter he sent right before it with the permission from her husband, thanking her for being the only light of his life, apologizing for intruding in her life, wishing for her to live happy life and play or ask to play this sonata if she ever remembered him because she loved music and it was one of her favorite pieces. She asked one of her servants to play piano, knowing that it would be that particular piece, and the motives of his letter seemed to entwine into the verses declaring his love for her - and not a hint of bitterness: only adoration and gentleness. She cried and mourned him, the man who loved her with all his heart and couldn't imagine his life without her, and the music kept playing, as if it was whispering the words of comfort from the one that got away.

It was like he swung the door open, stepped through, then looked back, smiled that small, sad, but oh so gentle smile and carefully closed it behind him, quietly whispering his farewells.

There are no villains, no irredeemably bad people in this story - all of them had their own concerns, no one acted out of malicious intents - just so happened that Fate, while trying to weave her canvas, has tangled the strings so bad that it seemed that the only way to fix it was to snap one of them, so she could try to unravel the others. That string just happened to be his.

Some more quotes:

"And now I feel like I so rudely intruded in Your life. If You can, I hope You will forgive me for it..."

"But I won't cause you grief. I am leaving silent and alone, as was foretold by God and fate"

"This is love, the one that God rewarded me with for some reason"

"But what else was left to do? Move to another city? It would have been useless, because my heart would still be with You, beneath Your feet, every moment being filled with You, with thoughts of You, dreams of You, with these... sweet delusions. Frankly, I am very embarrassed and sorry for my bracelet - well, a mistake, really..."

And all verses:

"And now I'll show you the life in gentle chimings, the one that obediently and cheerfully doomed itself for torment, misery and death. No plain, nor blame, nor pain of vanity I did not know. I'm here before you - and with my only prayer: "Hallowed be Your name"

Yes, I foresaw the suffering, the blood and death. And I think the soul and body wish not to part, but still, oh Precious, I sing praise to you, passionate praise and quiet love. "Hallowed be Your name"

Remembering your every step, your smile, your gaze, the sounds of your strides. With sweet sorrrow, oh so quiet, lovely sorrow are coated all my last memories. But I won't cause you grief: I'm leaving silent and alone, as was foretold by God and fate. "Hallowed be Your name"

In my last hours I pray to you. The life could have been wonderful for me too. Don't grumble, my poor heart, don't do it. My soul is calling to death, my heart is singing to you: "Hallowed be Your name"

You, oh you, and all the ones around you, you never knew how beautiful you are. But clocks are chiming, time has come. Dying, in mournful hour of my leave I still sing to you - hallowed be Your name.

There it is, the all-consuming death, but I still say - hallowed be Your name.

...

Calm down, my dear, calm down, calm down. Do you remember me? Remember me? You were my only and my last love. Calm down, I'm here. Think of me, and I'll be here, with you, because even if we loved eath other for only a moment, it is eternal... Do you remember me? Remember me, remember me?.. Oh, I can feel your tears... Calm down... My dreams are sweet, so sweet, so sweet."

Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

Brief Musings on Passion & the Passage of Time ⛩️

Original artwork "Torii to an Open Sky"/short prose "Sakura Reflections" Ⓒ Claire Kroening.

Truth is... I cannot live with my own heart

It was just that... there was so much loneliness in adult life, so much loss. If she thought about it, Annie could make a whole timeline of her life with the things she had lost as she grew up:

At first, she lost things she didn't care about anyway, like clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Then, she lost toys and blankets and beds as she grew a bit older. Then, she lost friends—both sides forced to separate because of changes in their parents' lives (Annie believed that was why there was so much rebellion in adolescence: nothing but a desperate struggle for a bit of control so that the losses weren't so many, so extensive, so painful, to make things stop disappearing just for a second).

Then, suddenly, people were no longer so kind, so lenient. Suddenly, an adventure was just a trip, Christmas was just another celebration, songs became a little less magical—things started to become duller, less bright than they once had been to her childish eyes, things were no longer a mystery to be discovered. Suddenly, the people who had always been around her started to disappear, leaving only an irreparable void inside her.

But for Annie, the most devastating loss of adulthood was what everyone seemed to call so confidently independence, though to Annie it just sounded like loneliness; it was the belief that because she was an adult now, she should know what to do with all those feelings, with all those emotions, with all those sensations and those situations, with all that life that she didn't fully understand; it was the dichotomy between placing the responsibility of being an adult on her shoulders, but doubting her ability to be one competently with every step she took.

But more than all that, it was the complete and desperate loneliness of being left alone with her own emotions as if they were a messy room she needed to clean up, but that only kept getting messier no matter how much she tried. Alone because other people had their own messy rooms to clean up and Annie could no longer depend on them. There was so much loneliness in being an adult—no more mother's lap for you, because if you need help, it's because you're not ready. No more hands to support you while you walk, no more training wheels while you ride, no more of everything you took for granted yesterday.

Annie was only twenty-one years old, but she was already tired—no, exhausted—of adult life, because it was too many losses from all sides, it was too much emptiness, and it made her understand why adults accepted any desperate form of love that came their way just so they wouldn't have to face that life, that world, with the awareness of that loneliness.

Sometimes I translate random stuff...

Харуки мураками - охота на овец

Бах, прикуривая от массивной зажигалки. - Прекрасно тебя понимаю. Разрушить горы, построить дома; останками гор засыпать море - и опятв  понастроить дома... Некоторые идиоты до сих пор считают это прекрасной идеей.

Haruki Murakami - A Wild Sheep Chase

Bach, lighting a cigarette from a massive lighter. - I understand you perfectly. Destroy mountains, build houses; to fill the sea with the remains of mountains - and again build houses ... Some idiots still consider this a great idea.

This is a random paragraph of a random page of a Russian translation of Haruki Murakami's 'A Wild Sheep Chase' (in Japanese: 羊をめぐる冒険).

I probably made some mistakes with translating it.