Stephen Spender Prize 2006 - for poetry in translation - Stephen Spender Trust
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Stephen Spender Prize 2006
for poetry in translationStephen Spender Prize 2006
Joint winners of Winners of the Winners of the
Matthew Spender’s 18-and-under category Open category
14-and-under prize
Louisa Dawes First First
from Aeneid II
Alice Malin Jane Tozer,
by Virgil
‘An Instant, Engraved’ ‘Lament of the
(Latin)
by Wulf Kirsten Lovely Helmet-Fettler’
DAVID PRYOR
(German) by François Villon
(medieval French)
Joseph McCrudden Second Joint Second
Catullus X
Anna Thornton Kit Fan
(Latin)
‘Pygmalion’ ‘Thatched House
from Metamorphoses X Destroyed by an Autumn
by Ovid Storm’ by Du Fu
(Latin) (classical Chinese)
Third Duncan Forbes
‘On the Ceiling’
Adrian Pascu-Tulbure
by Michelangelo
‘Impromptu Quatrains’
Buonarotti
by George Toparceanu
(Italian)
(Romanian)
Commended Commended Commended
Ella Kirsh Jeremy Cliffe Nigel Cooper
from Aeneid II ‘Inventory of Places ‘Th’ Bowgy Mon’
by Virgil Fit for Love’ by C Knapp
(Latin) by Ángel González (Alsace German)
(Spanish)
Henrietta Nehmzow Mark Leech
‘The Hen and the Carp’ Leo Davidson ‘Lament for the Bullfighter
by Heinrich Seidel from Aeneid II Ignacio Sanchez Mejias’
(German) by Virgil by Lorca
(Latin) (Spanish)
John O’Shaughnessy-Gutierrez
‘Morning Awoke’ Amelia Penny Allen Prowle
by Rafael Alberti from Antigone ‘The Swan’
(Spanish) by Sophocles by Baudelaire
(ancient Greek) (French)
Caleb Thompson
Satires III Laura van Hove Cecilia Rossi
by Juvenal, ‘Maths’ ‘Approximations’
and Catullus X and ‘A Briton’ by Alejandra Pizarnik
(Latin) by Herman de Coninck (Dutch) (Spanish)
Charles Wood
‘Nala and Damayanti’
by Vuara
(Sanskrit)Introduction
What a year! A record number of translations from a record 34 has made an immeasurable difference. Thanks must also go to the
languages and almost a thousand requests for booklets. This year’s teachers who mobilised their classes of twelve and thirteen year
judges – Josephine Balmer, Susan Bassnett, Wynn Thomas and olds; the exuberant and entertaining commentaries from this group
Daniel Weissbort – faced a Herculean task over the summer but suggest that they enjoyed what for many was their first attempt at
each read every entry before debating the winners with exemplary translation, and it is with them in mind that we are producing a
tact. Thank you to them for their hard work and wisdom. translation handbook for teachers. More information can be found
The Stephen Spender Memorial Trust is enormously grateful at the back of this booklet.
to the Drue Heinz Trust, which has so generously sponsored the Robina Pelham Burn
prize for the past two years, and to The Times, whose promotion Director, Stephen Spender Memorial Trust
Judges’ comments
The experience of judging educationally sidelined. Indeed it was There was some excellent
the Stephen Spender cheering to see so many entrants in this work submitted this year in
Prize for the first time has category choosing to enter poems far from the younger categories and
been both fascinating and their A level syllabuses, such as Laura van the judges found much to
rewarding. There was an Hove’s translations from Dutch. commend. Thankfully, the
impressively wide range In the Open category, despite many tendency to use archaisms
of interests and languages sure-footed entries, we found ourselves was not much in evidence,
on offer, while the mostly thoughtful and moving away from classical Greek and and in contrast, a number of translators
incisive commentaries revealed an admirable Latin to classical French and Chinese, with opted to give a very contemporary feel
enthusiasm for the task of translation, Jane Tozer’s wonderfully feisty versions of to ancient works. We had hip hop and
whether from students, professionals or Villon and Kit Fan’s movingly elegant Du rap Catullus, references to Pete Doherty
promising first-timers. With such poetic Fu proving that poetry sometimes needs in ancient Rome and some startlingly
diversity before us, it was imperative to judge to make us both laugh and cry. It was contemporary renderings of ancient Greek.
the translation per se and not be swayed by good, too, to see so many contemporary Interestingly, as can be seen from
any opinion of the original poem, putting translations making an appearance on the these examples, some of the most exciting
aside our own, all very different, poetic winners’ list, with excellent versions of translating was of classical poetry, while
tastes. In addition we realised how difficult it German, French and Spanish including some of the dullest was of nineteenth
is to decide the relative merits of, say, a short, a highly original Erl King, a luminous and twentieth century French poets. This
simple poem against an extract from a longer Baudelaire, a sensual Lorca and a thought- raises a question: is the teaching of classical
and often more complicated work. provoking Pizarnik. I was also impressed literature now geared to discovering
This was particularly the case for the by translations from modern Greek, contemporary references, and is this
youngest entrants; how to compare a including Bob Newman’s version of beginning to come out in new and vigorous
beautifully executed version of a German George Seferis’ technically challenging ways? In contrast, is the lack of excitement
nursery rhyme with a competent extract ‘Pantoum’, which, in a strong field, didn’t evident in much of the translation from
from Greek tragedy? It was heartening, quite make the final list. On a slightly French a sign of uneasiness with French
however, to see so many entrants engaging less encouraging note, after the excellent literature that comes from a very reduced
with the poetics of their original, finding efforts of school students in the previous syllabus at GCSE and A level?
impressively creative strategies to reproduce categories, it was disappointing to see What was clear in many of the entries in
semantic, structural and even phonic how few university students and younger the 18-and-under and 14-and-under groups,
effects. In the end our prizewinners in the translators had entered. Poetry translation however, was some very good rendering
14-and-under category both offer very it seems (or at least the entering of poetry of sonoric patterns and a willingness to
different versions of classical literature, a translation prizes) is the preserve of the experiment with sound and rhythm. This
rap Catullus and a stately Virgil, reflecting retired, perhaps reflecting the time-greedy may reflect the involvement of young
the unique possibilities that classical nature of the task. people with popular music and oral culture,
translation allows. Such freedom is further All in all I found that the judging process but was both refreshing and very apposite
witnessed in Ella Kirsh’s commended taught me much about my own profession. for many of the poems chosen.
version of the Laocoön story from the In particular I understood more fully how In all categories, there were some very
Aeneid which makes a highly readable difficult a task we set ourselves and just how good, very thoughtful comments on the
poem in its own right. treacherous language can be; how a single processes of translating. Entrants had clearly
Extracts from classical epic also figured jarring word can throw an entire piece out spent a lot of time thinking about how
prominently on the 18-and-under prize- of kilter, emphasising the need, as in all they had approached their poets, and it was
winners’ list with Anna Thornton’s literary endeavour, for constant editing and fascinating in some cases to read about the
translation of a passage from Ovid’s revision. That said, when everything chimes very personal impulses that had led to the
notoriously tricky Metamorphoses one of together – diction, tone, music – the result selection of one poet over another. Some
my own favourites. In contrast, our winner, is inspiring, enriching our lives, as so many entrants submitted translations from several
Alice Malin, gave us a welcome example of of the commentaries testified, as well as our languages, some focused on a particular
a short poem exquisitely translated from literary tradition. poet. We were delighted to see translations
modern German, a language that has been Josephine Balmer from a broad range of languages, including
3Judges’ comments
Sanskrit, Old Manx and Old Norse, also a of the saying, the vividness of image and competition of this kind would have been
number of fine translations from Welsh. We phrase, that they scanted attention to the rewarding enough had it made possible only
hope in future years to see more translations generative music and movement of the encounters with translations such as these.
from other minority languages of the British original text.
Isles, both ancient and modern. For the adjudicator another pleasure, all M Wynn Thomas
The issue of how translators select their the more welcome because unlooked for, is
material is an intriguing one. Some entrants provided by the commentary each entrant I was again impressed by
opted for very well-known poems, others is invited to submit. Not only is this often a the range of approaches,
for unknown work and a few for poems lucid reflection on the process of translation and especially by the
that had never been translated into English as experienced by the individual, it can also interest in translating
before. We discussed the relative merits of – and even more valuably – take the form of an classical Latin and Greek
such a selection: is it more challenging to explanation of the personal significance of the texts. In addition, there
attempt a poem that is well-known and poem for the translator. At a time when poetry were some enterprising
of which there may even be a canonical has become an increasingly marginalised art translations from Sanskrit, for instance,
translation, or is it harder to translate a form, relegated primarily to the dreary confines which made me regret my own linguistic
work for which there are no precedents? In of the education syllabus, to discover how ignorance. Almost all entries evinced
the end, we decided to judge each translation poems can still form part of the most intimate genuine concern for the source material, as
on its own merits. weave of a person’s life is to be surprised by joy the translator deployed whatever linguistic
In determining the final list, we did not as one experiences the youthful transformative skills he or she possessed. The opportunity
find it too arduous to reach a consensus. We energies of one of the most ancient art forms. translation offers to explore one’s own
have looked for translations that work as And it is clear from the commentaries that the literary resources is possibly the greatest
poems in English, as a first criterion, and for youngest entrant is quite as appreciative as the immediate gain of its practice. But this
translations that balance commitment to the oldest of the unique and complex ministry that is not the only benefit; engagement with
original with a flair for writing and a desire poems can still offer. a source text also obliges a translator to
to reach out to new readers. Translation is, The weakest poems in this year’s examine intensely that text’s own internal
in one sense, a form of archaeology, in that it competition tended to be in the 18-and- structure and working.
recovers works that have come into existence under section, where insufficient attention I have only one query and I voice it
somewhere else, at some other time, but it is was sometimes paid to the complex formal with some hesitation. It concerns the
also a form of writing that is rooted in the challenges that any translation presents. fondness of many of the entrants for what
here and now, a writing practice that enables That said, this section also featured the historically is called ‘imitation’, based on
us to reach out to other cultures and, by so single most welcome innovation, in the the source text, but updating, presenting
doing, to understand more about the world number of translations from Sanskrit that it in plausible contemporary garb; this
in which we live. were entered. Several younger entrants, by practice verges on parody, which of course
Susan Bassnett contrast, were refreshingly alive to the play is also a form of translation. The approach
of language from which all poetry derives. has a long history and its appeal is obvious.
One of the pleasures of As for the section for those over eighteen, it However, it also encourages a somewhat
judging a competition proved forbiddingly capacious, with entries unhistorical way of reading old or ancient
like this is that it reminds ranging not only across the languages of texts, applying an often problematical
us that poetry is a world Europe (the translations from the Dutch parallelism. While the challenge to the
language by reintroducing were particularly memorable) but also much imagination is clear, and the chance of
us to compelling poems further afield. A good dozen of these were of finding sympathetic contemporary readers
from a great variety of the very highest standard, and as many again is enhanced, I venture to suggest that some
different cultures. Produced under very were of publishable quality. caution is called for and translators should
different social and personal conditions It is a kind of tribute to the standard examine their motivations and objectives
they nevertheless conform to a single of entries that the winners were agreed as and contextualise the parallels drawn.
constant truth, that poetry is a unique much by preponderance as by unanimity In general, though, I feel positive about
form of human understanding where the of opinion among the judges. Some of my the competition and am pleased that it shows
understanding is always inseparable from particular favourites failed to make the final signs of prospering, believing that it offers
the form. The challenge to any translator cut. I was enchanted when a young entrant encouragement both to faculty and students.
is therefore to reproduce that informing set a hen incessantly clattering, nattering and It becomes clearer than ever that translation
life of the original by whatever equivalent chattering; a translation of a passage from the is a powerful educational tool. Pushkin called
means a different – and sometimes radically Aeneid that had Dido trembling ‘break-steel translators ‘the carthorses of civilisation’. It
different – language is able to offer. And in rigid, black-hole furious’ at that rat Aeneas’ is legitimate to hope that among the growing
the process of translation the structure imminent departure seemed to me to capture number of entrants to this competition will
and resource of both languages involved the raw violence of the anger; a latter-day be found some of the important translators
in this singularly intimate transaction are Ophelia threatening to walk Russian streets of the future. Although I cease to be a judge
laid revealingly bare. There were very ‘like a bare-arsed tart’ obviously had a from this year, I shall continue to follow
few entries this year that failed to register whole lot going for her; and passages taken this competition. It has been a privilege to
this challenge and attempt to respond to expertly from the Italian evoked a landscape be involved and has provided me with food
it. More common were those entrants by Paolo Uccello shimmering with the for thought and encouragement in my own
who – particularly when translating from beauty that a beautifully moulded English work as a translator.
Spanish – were so dazzled by the colour had newly bestowed upon it. Judging a Daniel Weissbort
4Aeneid II, lines 199–240
Hic aliud maius miseris multoque tremendum Now we witnessed a greater omen
obicitur magis atque improvida pectora turbat. that shook us to our very hearts which, until then, had been innocent.
Laocoon, ductus Neptuno sorte sacerdos, Laocoön, having been chosen as priest of Neptune,
sollemnis taurum ingentem mactabat ad aras. was at the altar, sacrificing a huge bull.
ecce autem gemini a Tenedo tranquilla per alta But look at the sea (the thought still sends a shiver up my spine)!
(horresco referens) immensis orbibus angues Thick, dark coils are twisting up from the depths;
incumbunt pelago pariterque ad litora tendunt; twin creatures, advancing towards the shore
pectora quorum inter fluctus arrecta iubaeque on the black waves, their bloody crests rising
sanguineae superant undas, pars cetera pontum high over the turbulent water; their bodies
pone legit sinuatque immensa volumine terga. beating the sea to a swirling mass, their backs
fit sonitus spumante salo; iamque arva tenebant arching into immense folds.
ardentisque oculos suffecti sanguine et igni The sea crashed as the snakes wrenched themselves from the water
sibila lambebant linguis vibrantibus ora. onto land, their eyes flashing with blood, flickering with fire
diffugimus visu exsangues. illi agmine certo and their quivering tongues flitting about their mouths.
Laocoonta petunt; et primum parva duorum We scattered at the sight. They made straight for Laocoön;
corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque first taking the little bodies of his sons
implicat et miseros morsu depascitur artus; into their coils and snatching away their limbs in one bite;
post ipsum auxilio subeuntem ac tela ferentem then they turn on him as he draws weapons
corripiunt spirisque ligant ingentibus; et iam and bind him in their huge loops: and now,
bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum their bodies knotted around his middle twice,
terga dati superant capite et cervicibus altis. their scales pressed against his neck, their great heads tower
ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos above him – and he claws at the coils,
perfusus sanie vittas atroque ueneno, his sacred circlets steeped in black poison
clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit: as he screams to the heavens
qualis mugitus, fugit cum saucius aram like a wounded bull which fled sacrifice
taurus et incertam excussit cervice securim. and shook the axe from its neck.
at gemini lapsu delubra ad summa dracones But the twin snakes shrink away from the shrine
effugiunt saeuaeque petunt Tritonidis arcem, and head for Tritonia’s citadel
sub pedibusque deae clipeique sub orbe teguntur. where they vanish between the goddess’s stony feet and shield.
Virgil Translated from the Latin by Louisa Dawes
Louisa Dawes’s commentary
I translated this section of Aeneid II because original text; the vocabulary used in the (and resulting in a loss of this tension), and
I thought that it was a good representation Latin version is not necessarily the best, in writing it so graphically that there could be
of how powerful Latin poetry can be, and literal translation, for an English version. no further, higher dramatic point later on in
wanted to explore creating that same effect Around line 203, when the snakes are the poem as the snakes make for Laocoön.
in English. first mentioned, the Latin avoids using I would have liked to have paid more
The main difficulty I found in translating the word serpens until several lines later attention to continuity in my style of
this passage was that Latin does not easily – which is obviously a way of creating writing, as at times I was completely true
translate into natural-sounding English; I suspense as the creatures emerge from the to the Latin but this was not consistent
therefore thought it more suitable to keep depths – but I found it particularly hard throughout my translation; less change in
the central ideas and narrative form of the to find the balance between making the this area might have made the poem carry
poem intact than be absolutely loyal to the description of the creatures too ambiguous greater dramatic effect.
5Catullus X Catullus Rap
Varus me meus ad suos amores Varus had taken me Even though it was crap,
visum duxerat e foro otiosum, To see his girl, I couldn’t pick up
scortillum, ut mihi tum repente visum est, After he had found me Eight decent guys!’
non sane illepidum neque invenustum. Hanging round. (In truth I never got me,
huc ut venimus, incidere nobis A smooth, cool girl Nor got me now
(Or at first I thought). A single guy who
sermones varii, in quibus, quid esset When we got there Could even carry
iam Bithynia, quo modo se haberet, We’s began to chat, The broken foot
et quonam mihi profuisset aere. ’Bout lots of stuff, Of used bed on his back.)
respondi id quod erat, nihil neque ipsis Bythinia with it, Then she,
nec praetoribus esse nec cohorti What it’s like The twisted bitch that she was
And how it’s layin’. Said, ‘Oh please, Catullus,
cur quisquam caput unctius referret, Also how much Lend me those guys,
praesertim quibus esset irrumator I got me For a little while.
praetor, nec faceret pili cohortem. I told them what it’s like I want to be carried
‘at certe tamen,‘ inquiunt, ‘quod illic Nothing to be nickin’, To Serapis’ rave.’
natum dicitur esse, comparasti Neither the bosses I said to the snake,
Nor the grunts, ‘Hang on a minute,
ad lecticam homines.’ ego, ut puellae No way to come back When I said I
unum me facerem beatiorem, Loaded at all. Owned these guys...
‘non’ inquam ‘mihi tam fuit maligne, Especially when you have I completely forgot...
ut, provincia quod mala incidisset, A prat of a praetor Me mate, Cinna,
non possem octo homines parare rectos.’ Who couldn’t care less Gaius Cinna,
About his lowers. Got them all.
at mi nullus erat nec hic neque illic ‘But you must,’ they quizzed me, It’s just that we share them.
fractum qui veteris pedem grabati ‘Have got you a couple I can use them
in collo sibi collocare posset. Of litter bearers, Like they was mine.’
hic illa, ut decuit cinaediorem, The easy buy, they say.’ What a twisted,
‘quaeso’ inquit ‘mihi, mi Catulle, paulum So just to make the girl Sick animal you are,
Think I wasn’t too low A man can’t say a thing
istos commoda; nam volo ad Serapim I said, ‘It wasn’t so bad that, When you’re around.
deferri.’ ‘mane,’ inquii puellae,
‘istud quod modo dixeram me habere, Translated from the Latin by Joseph McCrudden
fugit me ratio: meus sodalis--
Cinna est Gaius--is sibi paravit
verum, utrum illius an mei, quid ad me?
utor tam bene quam mihi pararim.
sed tu insulsa male et molesta vivis,
per quam non licet esse neglegentem.’
Catullus
Joseph McCrudden’s commentary
I translated this poem because it had so girls, the latest gossip and fashions) and it no brilliant philosophical undertones to be
many connections with today’s society. is written in a more slangy type of Latin, carefully preserved so the poem could be
Without the references to places and names which means it can be converted easily into translated roughly and then arranged and
this could have been written yesterday today’s slang in a rap form. polished.
without a single person even wondering The problems in translating the language My approach to the poem was one of
otherwise. This poem is a refreshment from of the poem were mainly in the more informal looking at a surprisingly modern poem
some of the more traditional poets I have style of the poem, a version of Latin that and converting it into the particular style
encountered and is a really good read and I had not been taught in school. However of today. I saw it as something that was
fun to play around with. Also this poem once the slang had been worked out I found fun, to be played with and enjoyed. I did
converts very well in to a rap because it it a very enjoyable poem to translate. not try to keep any metre or rhyme as I
is the Roman equivalent of a rap. It is It was not something that had to be was converting it into a different style so I
about everyday happenings (relationships, kept in a particular style and there were would create my own metre.
6unvergesslicher augenblick an instant, engraved
der sommer schlaegt sein gruenes dach summer meshing its green thatch
ueber den feldweg over the path through the fields,
bis auf die steinigen weinbergaecker. halted at the vineyards’ stoniness.
waldwaerts zwei raederzeilen, tief towards the forest, the twin scorings of wheels,
in den lehm geschnitten. deep-carved in the clay.
mutter im gespraech mit Lorenz, dem backergesellen, mother in conversation with Lorenz, our baker’s boy,
spaziergaenger unter kirschbaeumen. a stroller under cherry-trees.
meine augen starren auf wadenstruempfe, my eyes transfixed by his calf-length socks –
geschmueckt mit flauschigen bommeln, decked with fleecy bobbles,
sonntaeglich weiss. pristine Sunday white.
gesicht und stimme vergessen. his face and the sound of his voice forgotten.
auf den wortlaut of what he said
gab ich nicht acht. I had no idea.
der baecker musste einruecken. the baker, conscripted,
blieb an der ostfront verschollen. was missing on the Eastern Front, presumed dead.
gefuehrt von anderen haenden, grasped by other hands,
schnellt sein brotschieber his paddle, its load of loaves, jolts
ueber die fussgrube. over the ruts foot-worn into the path.
die kirschallee ist abgehaun. now, the cherry-lane’s cut down,
der wind hat freie bahn. the wind ploughing its own tracks.
ich seh mich an der hand der mutter I’m watching myself – hand in hand
in der allee. with my mother in that lane.
ein schattengang voller laubfrische. a shadowparing, full of the freshness of leaves.
ein gespraech unterm kirschbaum, a conversation under some cherry-tree
belebend belanglos. reawakened, of hardly any consequence at all.
Wulf Kirsten Translated from the German by Alice Malin
Alice Malin’s commentary
I chose this poem because of its haunting, of the poem, such as the fussgrube and translatable word. My greatest obstacle was
elegiac simplicity and its nostalgia in its precise the raederzeilen seemed to suggest, literally, the word brotschieber. Although it literally
recreation of the unvergesslicher augenblick. an engraving onto the landscape. Although translates as ‘peel’, which is apparently an
The short sentences seemed to create it’s a controlled, apparently detached poem, instrument for getting bread in and out of the
photographic snapshots of each different there’s a lot of pathos as, through the brevity oven, it’s quite technical and not very poetic,
aspect of the meticulously remembered of the phrases, Kirsten forces us to read so I changed it to ‘his paddle, its load of
scene, and that’s why my title is ‘an instant, meaning between, and into, every line. loaves’, because ‘paddle’ is a more recognised
engraved’, both because it is engraved on the The problem of the German was its word and brot implies that, obviously, it
poet’s memory and because of this artistic compactness, and, specifically, how to would have loaves on it. In my approach,
delineation of the picture, as if sketching translate words such as laubfrische, which I tried to create the same atmosphere of an
out a little more in each phrase. Elements seemed to me more of a concept than a intensely remembered picture.
7‘Pygmalion’
(from Metamorphoses X)
quas quia Pygmalion aevum per crimen agentis Wicked women spent their lives in base, disgraceful crime,
viderat, offensus vitiis, quae plurima menti Indulging every loathsome vice innate to female nature.
femineae natura dedit, sine coniuge caelebs Pygmalion, disgusted, dwelt unmarried and alone,
vivebat thalamique diu consorte carebat. For many years a bachelor, no partner in his bed.
interea niveum mira feliciter arte But meanwhile, with astounding skill, he carved of ivory
sculpsit ebur formamque dedit, qua femina nasci A snow-white form more beautiful than any mortal girl;
nulla potest, operisque sui concepit amorem. And, looking at his sculpted work, the sculptor fell in love.
virginis est verae facies, quam vivere credas, The features were so like a girl’s you’d think it was alive,
et, si non obstet reverentia, velle moveri: And, though restrained by nature’s laws, it seemed to want to move:
ars adeo latet arte sua. miratur et haurit Such artistry lay in his art. Pygmalion was awed
pectore Pygmalion simulati corporis ignes. By the shape that he’d created; passion’s flame devoured his heart.
saepe manus operi temptantes admovet, an sit His hand reached out to feel if it was ivory or flesh,
corpus an illud ebur, nec adhuc ebur esse fatetur. Unwilling to admit that it was only ivory.
oscula dat reddique putat loquiturque tenetque He kissed it, and imagined that it kissed him in return;
et credit tactis digitos insidere membris He spoke to it and held it; he believed his fingers’ touch
et metuit pressos veniat ne livor in artus Would press into soft skin, and feared that bruises might arise.
et modo blanditias adhibet, modo grata puellis At times he whispered in its ear sweet nothings, or he brought
munera fert illi conchas teretesque lapillos The sort of gifts a girl would like: bright seashells, polished stones,
et parvas volucres et flores mille colorum Small birds, and thousand-coloured flowers, lilies, coloured balls,
liliaque pictasque pilas et ab arbore lapsas And drops of amber, tears shed by the daughters of the sun.
Heliadum lacrimas; ornat quoque vestibus artus, He draped its limbs in finery, long robes and jewellery,
dat digitis gemmas, dat longa monilia collo, He gave its fingers rings, he gave its neck long necklaces,
aure leves bacae, redimicula pectore pendent: And polished pearls hung in its ears, and bands hung on its breast.
cuncta decent; nec nuda minus formosa videtur. These suited it – that’s not to say that nudity did not.
conlocat hanc stratis concha Sidonide tinctis He placed it on a couch with sheets of royal purple hue,
adpellatque tori sociam adclinataque colla With downy pillows for its head, as though that head could feel,
mollibus in plumis, tamquam sensura, reponit. And lay beside it, calling it his partner in his bed.
8‘Pygmalion’
(from Metamorphoses X)
festa dies Veneris tota celeberrima Cypro The festival of Venus came: all Cyprus now rejoiced.
venerat, et pandis inductae cornibus aurum Men brought unblemished heifers, crooked horns encased in gold;
conciderant ictae nivea cervice iuvencae, They struck the snow-white necks to make a sacrifice to Love;
turaque fumabant, cum munere functus ad aras They burned sweet-smelling incense. When he’d made his offering,
constitit et timide ‘si, di, dare cuncta potestis, Pygmalion stood shyly at the altar, and he said:
sit coniunx, opto,’ non ausus ‘eburnea virgo’ ‘O gods, if you can really grant desires, I wish to wed – ’
dicere, Pygmalion ‘similis mea’ dixit ‘eburnae.’ Afraid to say ‘my ivory girl’ ‘ – one like my ivory girl.’
sensit, ut ipsa suis aderat Venus aurea festis, Golden Venus heard and understood his unsaid wish,
vota quid illa velint et, amici numinis omen, And sent a sign to indicate her favourable will:
flamma ter accensa est apicemque per aera duxit. A flaming crown of fire three times flashed blazing through the air.
ut rediit, simulacra suae petit ille puellae Pygmalion came home, and went to find his statue girl,
incumbensque toro dedit oscula: visa tepere est; And lay beside her, giving her a kiss. Her face was warm.
admovet os iterum, manibus quoque pectora temptat: Again he kissed her face; his trembling hand caressed her breast:
temptatum mollescit ebur positoque rigore Underneath his fingers’ touch, the ivory grew soft.
subsidit digitis ceditque, ut Hymettia sole All hardness melted, ebbed, subsided, faded fast away,
cera remollescit tractataque pollice multas Like wax, which, softened in the sun, is moulded by men’s hands
flectitur in facies ipsoque fit utilis usu. And sculpted into many forms, made fit for use by use.
dum stupet et dubie gaudet fallique veretur, Astounded, filled with doubtful joy, afraid of some mistake,
rursus amans rursusque manu sua vota retractat. He reached a loving hand out to his object of desire.
corpus erat! saliunt temptatae pollice venae. Yes – it was flesh! He felt a pulse that throbbed beneath his thumb.
tum vero Paphius plenissima concipit heros Pygmalion, profoundly grateful, lavishly gave thanks
verba, quibus Veneri grates agat, oraque tandem To Venus; and at last he pressed his lips to living lips.
ore suo non falsa premit, dataque oscula virgo The maiden coloured shyly at the feel of his embrace;
sensit et erubuit timidumque ad lumina lumen She lifted up her shining eyes towards the light above
attollens pariter cum caelo vidit amantem. And, seeing for the first time, saw the sky and saw her love.
coniugio, quod fecit, adest dea, iamque coactis The wedding Love created was attended by her too;
cornibus in plenum noviens lunaribus orbem And, when the moon had nine times passed its cycle through the sky,
illa Paphon genuit, de qua tenet insula nomen. She bore a daughter, Paphos; and the city bears her name.
Ovid Translated from the Latin by Anna Thornton
Anna Thornton’s commentary
Ovid’s Metamorphoses is frequently a leads to their being turned to stone), and comfortably in lines of four, five, or seven
grim, bleak narrative of human wickedness, ends with his divinely sanctioned love for a feet. Hence my use of heptameter; but this
punishment, and suffering. Transformation woman that has been turned from stone to meter seems to demand diaeresis, so I have
into a beast or a plant is a fate considered as flesh. Pygmalion’s astonishment at the sight used enjambment much less frequently
dreadful as death, and it is often the divinely of the transformed statue (and, indeed, his than Ovid has. I have also omitted epithets
decreed penalty for sexual misdemeanours. wandering fingers) mirrors his reaction – Sidonian purple, Hymettian wax, Paphian
The story of Pygmalion (to be found at when he first fell in love with it. Pygmalion – where I felt that they would
lines 243–297 of Book X) is a little ray of The lines in my translation correspond only obstruct the non-classical reader’s
sunshine in the midst of all this, reversing roughly to those of the Latin. Latin poetry understanding, although I have left in the
both the transformation process and is heavily rhythmical, so I decided to use a reference to ‘tears shed by the daughters of
attitudes towards sexuality. It begins with strong, regular rhythm in the translation. the sun’, because it leads the curious reader
Pygmalion’s disgust at female licentiousness However, while the Latin is in dactylic to the story of Phaethon (told in Books
(the ‘wicked women’ are specifically the hexameters, English is suited neither I and II of Metamorphoses), which is not
Propoetides, whose penchant for human to dactyls nor to hexameter – it tends only a first-rate story but also very well
sacrifice, impiousness, and prostitution naturally towards iambs, and sits most known.
9Catrene improvizare (ilustrului Taslaoanu) Impromptu quatrains (to a journalist)
Ca o cometă fără coadă O Hack! in comets’ fine apparel
Ai apărut pe firmament Proud on the firmament you stood,
Cu-al tă u Luceafăr pus pe sfadă, – Your rising star ready to quarrel –
Dar n-ai talent. But you’re no good.
Ai tot ce-ţi trebuie: hârtie, You’ve all you need: a press; cash; paper;
Cerneală , public indulgent, Ink; the belief the public would
Parale şi tipografie, – Indulge your journalistic capers –
Dar n-ai talent. But you’re no good.
Te-ai instalat în Capitală Bright-eyed and poison-penned, you sauntered
Ca să creezi şi tu curent. Into the Press’s neighbourhood;
Vrei să te-afirmi ca cap de şcoală, – You tried to set our trends, but faltered –
Dar n-ai talent. For you’re no good.
La cafenea când vii alene You lounge in modish cafes, scheming
Îţi iei un aer grav, absent... To advertise your distant mood,
Satisfă te umfli-n pene, – Self-satisfied and yet bohemian –
Dar n-ai talent. But you’re no good.
Iar când te duci să scrii acasă And when you go back home to scribble
Un nou articol vehement, A line that’s sharp and well construed,
Te strâmbi urât, te-aşezi la masă... You sit and scratch and scowl and squiggle –
Dar n-ai talent. For you’re no good.
Avântul tău şi idealul Your zest for showmanship and business
Plasat în ţară cu procent Is notable, agreed. One could
Îţi saltă-ntruna capitalul, – Give honour to your rates of interest –
Dar n-ai talent. But you’re no good.
Constaţi de două ori pe lună Your favourite bank’s twice-monthly letters
Că-ţi dă bilanţul excedent. Confirm your cash spawns, as it should;
Negustoria merge strună, – Your salesmanship could not be bettered…
Dar n-ai talent! But you’re no good.
Eşti fără scrupul şi măsură Unscrupulous, you damn in torrents
Când vrei să scapi de-un concurent. When out to get a rival stewed.
Îţi fierbe sufletul de ură, – Your soul boils over with abhorrence –
Dar n-ai talent. But you’re no good!
Nu ne distruge dintr-o dată, Don’t scorch us with your column’s fire!
Catone, fii mai indulgent! Indulge us; show you understood!
Tu ai o mutră indignată, – Your features seethe with righteous ire,
Dar n-ai talent... But you’re no good…
George Toparceanu Translated from the Romanian by Adrian Pascu-Tulbure
Adrian Pascu-Tulbure’s commentary
From Swift’s ‘How very mean a thing’s is mentioned in the last stanza. Since restrictive for a poem dealing with a universal
a duke’ to Browning’s ‘Gr-rr – there go, Toparceanu’s language is a combination sentiment. The more abstract notion of ‘the
my heart’s abhorrence’ to Belloc’s ‘Remote of the formally aggrandising and the town’ struck me as far too eighteenth-
and ineffectual Don…’, poetry has long informally deflating, I chose to drop the century. Eventually I compromised on ‘the
provided an opportunity for the author specific dedication and start by addressing Press’s neighbourhood’ – central and yet
to vent their spleen and for the reader the unfortunate journalist as ‘O hack!’; the universal.
to be thoroughly amused by it. I found ‘O–!’ is in the same tone as ‘illustrious’ and The repetition of the final line, ‘But
the combination of Toparceanu’s technical is read, at the same time, in the context of you’re no good’, also poses problems for
mastery and deflation brilliant in its the colloquial ‘hack’ and the patronising the translator, who has to come up with
restrained vitriol; in such a situation, others second person singular – then, as now, a numerous rhymes for the same word. This
may punch, but Toparceanu, far more sign of disrespect, even more so than in led to several half-rhymes, but I do not feel
successfully, pricks. His pincer sans rire French. Combining these two elements is these detract from the style: Toparceanu
attitude was for me the main attraction of crucial to the poem: although we may ‘give himself used them, even in the first and third
the poem; the main difficulty in translating honour’, it is only to the rate at which his stanza, rhyming coada with sfada and then
it I found to be rendering it universally money ‘spawns’. Capitala with scoala. I have, however, been
appealing, which meant sacrificing some of The typically Romanian notion of ‘the faithful to the original feminine endings,
the local colour. Capital’, the equivalent of the Roman urbis, which I think are integral to what is, as
The poem is dedicated to ‘The illustrious is difficult to translate culturally. ‘London’ well as brilliantly funny, a rhythmically
Taslaoanu’, whose first name, Caton, clearly would not do; ‘Bucharest’ seems too harmonious poem.
10Les Regrets de La Belle Heaulmière The Lament of the Gorgeous Helmet-Fettler
(stanzas 55–59) (stanzas 55–59)
The Gorgeous Helmet-Fettler was once a famous prostitute. In old age, she’s wretched, sick and down-and-out. In
earlier stanzas, she has told us that in her youth she was famous for her beauty and skill. When young, she loved
(was seduced by?) a no-good pimp who beat her up. Now she’s old, penniless, with nothing left to live for.
‘Or il est mort, passé trente ans ‘... If he broke all my bones I wouldn’t care
Et je remains vielle, chenue. I loved him still. One kiss would set me free
Quand je pense, lasse, au bon temps, Of all my pain. He’d wheedle me to bed
Quelle fus, quelle devenue, With some new trick, and soon I’d cry for more.
Quant me regarde toute nue The lusty hog was rotten to the core
Et je me voys si tres changiee, Lord love him, dead some thirty years or more.
Povre, seiche, megre, menue,
Je suis presque tout enragiee. ‘I brood on glory days I can’t forget.
God, he was something. Stole me, heart and all.
‘Qu’est devenu ce front poly; What did he leave me? Bugger all, that’s what!
Cheveulx blons; ces sourcils voultiz; Except a life of shame, a sin-stained soul
Grand entroeil; ce regard joly, – Even the priest has had me, like as not –
Dont prenoie les plus subtilz; And not an ounce of faith to make me whole.
Ce beau nez droit grand ne petiz; Stripped to this body, withered, grey and old
Ces petites joinctes oreilles; A bag of bones. Completely lost the plot.
Menton fourchu; cler vis traictiz,
Et ces belles levres vermeilles? ‘You should have seen my bright unwrinkled brow
The tumbling golden locks. I’d toss my head
‘Ces gentes espaulles menues; And give one sidelong glance – like this – just so
Ces bras longs et ces mains traictisses; I’d flash my baby-blues and knock ’em dead.
Petiz tetins; hanches charnues, Had hardened cynics begging me to bed.
Eslevees, propres, faictisses That straight and perfect nose – where is it now?
A tenir amoureuses lisses; Such dainty ears, my face a cameo
Ces larges rains; ce sadinet A dimple fit to kiss. Lips coral-red.
Assis sur grosses fermes cuisses
Dedens son petit jardinet? ‘My shoulders, soft and fragile, pleased the eye.
Long shapely arms, fine smooth unblemished hands,
‘Le front ridé; les cheveulx gris; Sweet budding breasts, my haunches firm and high
Les sourcilz cheus; les yeulx estains, The loins well-muscled, nifty to withstand
Qui faisoient regars et ris, And parry in the joust and thrust of love.
Dont mains meschans furent attains; Well-rounded hips, thighs parting to disclose
Nez courbes de beaulté loingtains; My pretty little rosy quelque-chose
Oreilles pendantes, moussues; Hidden inside its fragrant bushy grove.
Le vis pally, mort et destains;
Menton froncé, levres peaussues: ‘Just see me now. Quite broken down, world-weary
A forehead crazed with lines. Hair – hanks of grey.
Once-shapely eyebrows sparse, and eyes grown bleary
That with a look drew moneyed men my way.
This broken nose is not a pretty feature
Nor heavy earlobes tufted with thick moss
A pallid, moribund, pathetic creature
With toothless wizened mouth. Fancy a kiss?
continued…
11Les Regrets de La Belle Heaulmière The Lament of the Gorgeous Helmet-Fettler
(stanzas 55–59) (stanzas 55–59)
‘C’est d’umaine beaulté l’issue: ‘This way goes human beauty, and all flesh.
Les bras cours et les mains contraites, Cramped limbs; distorted fingers clenched with pain
Les epaulles toutes bossues; Shoulders and back hunched forward in distress
Mammelles ... quoy? Toutes retraites, The tits and arse just pitiful remains.
Telles les hanches que les tetes; Blotched salami thighs; brittle bones like sticks.
Du sadinet, fy! Quant des cuisses, My little wotsit? Huh! You cheeky sod,
Cuisses ne sont plus mais cuissettes Don’t even go there, mate. I know your tricks.
Grivelees comme saulcisses. Remember – this is how I’ll meet my God.
‘Ainsi le bon temps regretons ‘All huddled up, a bunch of sad old bags
Entre nous, povres vieilles sotes,
We hunker down to mourn those happier days
Assises bas, a crouppettons,
Squat on our bum-bones, foul-mouthed mad old hags
Tout en ung tas comme pelotes
Our weedy hemp-stalk fire, no roaring blaze.
A petit feu de chenevotes,
Tost allumees, tost estaintes. We’re wisps of wool, a spinner’s teased-out rolags.
Et jadis fusmes si mignotes!... The fire burns out. The wind blows us away.
Ainsi en prent a maints et maintes.’ We were so lovely, once, us poxed-out slags.
This mortal city. No abiding stay...’
François Villon
Translated from the medieval French by Jane Tozer
Jane Tozer’s commentary
English versions enjoy Villon’s wild poem. ‘La Belle Heaulmière’ deserves this and chenevotes sound mordant compared
scurrility. They often miss another defining courtesy. The translations are all by men; I to mains traictisses, sadinet and jardinet.
characteristic, his non-judgmental com- sometimes detect misogynistic revulsion. I’ve given the Helmet-Fettler a wide
passion. The ancient prostitute really lived; Her description of her young self follows register of speech which may seem
was once the fancy-woman of a canon of conventional blazons of beauty. Then she’s incongruous. The inconsistency is
Notre Dame, who installed her in the cloister. more revealing. In French, con is not taboo, deliberate, insofar as a voice in the head
Villon knew her when she was very old. yet she invents the girly word sadinet can be premeditated. I rationalise it by
Others would have made this a cautionary – ‘charming little thing’. There’s pathos in saying that she’s lived a long time, and
tale, like The Three Living and The Three her remembered come-on line. I think of has come down in the world, socially as
Dead. Villon not only takes the Cartier- child-prostitution and human trafficking. If well as economically. Seen everything, done
Bresson photo, he does the interview and she’d said ‘cunt’, ‘pussy’ or ‘quim’ I’d have everything and everybody.
writes the reportage. He listens to her. translated it. But she doesn’t; Villon doesn’t. But really I’m just hoping François
I can’t hear a human voice in some Language changes as she regards her bought her a mug of tea and a good
published versions of this unforgettable decrepit body and outcast life. Croupettons sandwich, and shared his pickings with her.
12茅屋為秋風所破 Thatched House Destroyed
by an Autumn Storm
八月秋高風怒號 In September, on a high-sky autumn day,
卷我屋上三重茅 the gale’s angry howl blows the heavy
thatch from the house. Straws and reeds
茅飛渡江灑江郊 fly across the bank, scattering in the fields;
高者掛罥長林梢 some hang in the upper branches, some swirl
and sink into the puddle-ponds.
下者飄轉沉塘坳 Knowing I am old and frail, the children
南村群我老無力 from the southern village gang together
openly, gathering the reeds in their arms,
忍能對面為盜賊 and disappear into the bamboo forest.
公然抱茅入竹去 I shout and scream, my throat dry, my lips
burnt, but they don’t return. I walk home,
唇焦口燥呼不得 leaning on my walking stick, talking to myself.
歸來倚杖自嘆息
Suddenly the wind drops.
俄頃風定雲墨色
The ink-clouds turn the autumn sky
秋天漠漠向昏黑 into a dark desert. The threadbare quilt
布衾多年冷似鐵 is cold as iron. My son’s not sleeping well;
he kicks and tears the quilt apart.
嬌兒惡臥踏裏裂 The bed’s wet, the house leaks, there’s nowhere dry.
床頭屋漏無乾處 The rain’s tight as linen, won’t stop.
雨腳如麻未斷絕 It’s been hard to sleep since the war began,
自經喪亂少睡眠 these long wet nights, and no sign of dawn.
I wonder how many houses we’d need to build
長夜沾濕何由徹 to shelter the world’s shivering poor,
安得廣廈千萬間 like a mountain weathering every storm.
Will such houses ever see the light of day?
大庇天下寒士盡歡顏 If I could see them, I think I’d die happy,
風雨不動安如山嗚呼 even here in the cold, under this tattered thatch.
何時眼前突兀見此屋
Translated from the classical Chinese by Kit Fan
吾廬獨破受凍死亦足
杜甫
Du Fu
Kit Fan’s commentary
When the Tang Dynasty was torn apart by urban and agricultural pollution, and to the capital, where he was financially
during An Lushan’s rebellion of 755–759, any sense of rural seclusion tends to dependent on his friend Yim Mu. Years
the poet Du Fu escaped capture and was be disturbed by tourism? How can we of nomadic life followed, as Yim Mu
forced into exile. He drifted from town visualise Du Fu’s mountains and waters, unexpectedly retired. Du Fu returned to
to town, witnessing bombed farmhouses, without idealising them as nostalgic poetic his thatched house briefly for a last time in
unfed children and mutilated corpses beside idylls? The challenge was to imagine them 765, before moving homelessly from town
the roads. Sick and utterly impoverished, as real places and landscapes where the poet to town. In 768, he fell ill and died on a
he arrived at Chengdu, Sichuan in October actually lived. boat, on his way travelling south, seeking
759. He spent several weeks without any In the poem, the destruction of the another ‘home’.
shelter, before earning enough money to set thatched roof by a storm is less dramatic The poem I have translated speaks of
about building a simple thatched house by a than that caused by hurricane Katrina, but homes and homelessness, and of political
stream. The building work took a year, and Du Fu, like so many of the unfortunate and environmental destruction, in a way
he finally moved in spring 761. people in Louisiana, was living precariously that records a crisis in Du Fu’s life, but
How could I recast Du Fu’s poetry in at the very edge of things. Indeed, in the still speaks across times and cultures,
21st century terms, when the countryside, winter of 762, he was too poor to stay and, hopefully, across the barrier between
in China and elsewhere, is being devastated on in the thatched house and moved back English and Chinese.
13I’ ho gia fatto un gozzo On the Ceiling
in questo stento (to Giovanni da Pistoia, c. 1510)
I’ ho già fatto un gozzo in questo stento, I’ve grown a goitre from this twisted pose I’m in
come fa l’acqua a’ gatti in Lombardia like a Lombardy peasant in a hovel that’s boggy
o ver d’altro paese che si sia, or any other district similarly soggy
c’a forza ’l ventre appicca sott ’l mento. because my belly is underneath my chin.
La barba al cielo, e la memoria sento My beard points skyward and my skull is crippling
in sullo scrigno, e ’l pett fo d’arpia, my neck as I twist my chest in this enslavement
e ’l pennel sopra ’l viso tuttavia and the paintbrush dripping and constant stippling
mel fa, gocciando, un ricco pavimento. have messed up my face like a decorated pavement.
E’ lombi entrati mi son nella peccia, My haunches are digging up into my gut
e fo del cul per contrapeso groppa, so I shift my arse like a horse’s pack
e’ passi senza gli occhi muovo invano. and vainly I paddle my feet down below.
Dinanzi mi s’allunga la corteccia, In front my skin is leather-like and taut
e per piegarsi adietro si ragroppa, but it wrinkles behind as I arch my back
e tendomi com’arco sorïano. bending my spine like a Syrian bow.
Però fallace e strano So stronger and fainter
surge il iudizio che la mente porta, my judgements grow in this mental spiral.
ché mal si tra’ per cerbottana torta. You can’t shoot straight through a crooked barrel.
La mia pittura morta My painting’s a goner.
difendi orma’, Giovanni, e ’l mio onore, Fight for it now, Giovanni, and my honour.
Non sendo in loco bon, né io pittore. I’m in a bad way and I’m no painter.
Michelangelo Buonarotti Translated from the Italian by Duncan Forbes
Duncan Forbes’s commentary
Oh my belly, oh my bum! Michelangelo’s of occasions over the past ten years and that this version will bring the grumpy
tailed Sonnet Number 5 strikes me as a hope I have now got closer to the irritable, maestro of paint and stone to fresh life
wonderfully vigorous expression of self- irreverent and even comically despairing through his words. I have tried to reflect
pity and a delightfully witty footnote to spirit of Michelangelo’s Italian. The the intricacy and immediacy of the original
art history. It’s a reminder of the ‘Divine’ original is written with vernacular verve in my own rhymed version, though I could
Michelangelo’s human frailties and some and great skill. At the same time, however, not hope to match the Italian, which has
of the pissed-off feelings that accompanied it underlines the struggle which all artists feminine rhymes throughout!
the creation of the much admired ceiling have with their recalcitrant materials, In the original manuscript of the sonnet
and murals of the Sistine chapel, an whether they are working with paint, sent to Giovanni da Pistoia, there is
acknowledged masterpiece at which we words or whatever. apparently a drawing which illustrates the
tourists now gawp in our Vatican droves. Not everyone who knows of tortured posture of the artist as described in
I have previously attempted and failed Michelangelo as the world-famous painter the poem. I have yet to trace the sketch but
to catch the sonnet’s colloquial vigour and sculptor realises that he could also be I’d love to see it. The irony of Michelangelo’s
and its formal structures on a number a witty poet and sombre sonneteer. I hope last line is of course delicious.
14About the Stephen Spender Memorial Trust
Stephen Spender – poet, critic, editor and translator of poetry – lived from 1909 to 1995. The Trust was
set up in his memory to promote literary translation and to widen knowledge of 20th century literature,
with particular focus on Stephen Spender’s circle of writers.
The Times Stephen Spender Prize Studies) and Daniel Weissbort, (co-founder Representing around one million words of
The aim of this annual prize, launched in with Ted Hughes and long-time editor of mainly essays and journalism, the archive
2004, is to draw attention to the art of literary Modern Poetry in Translation). The book, covered 70 years, from 1924 to 1994. It was
translation and encourage young people to to be published in 2007 and provisionally compiled by postgraduates, financed by a
read foreign poetry at a time when literature titled How to Read, Write and Translate, grant from the British Academy, and was
is no more than an optional module in A will go free to every school and sixth-form supervised academically by Professor John
level modern languages. Entrants translate college in the country and will be available Sutherland and by Lady Spender. The 821
a poem from any language – modern or to download from the Trust’s website; items, from 79 published sources in Britain,
classical – into English, and submit both additional hard copies will be available Europe and the USA, are catalogued
the original and their translation, together from the Trust. chronologically and also alphabetically by
with a commentary of not more than 300 source. The Trust’s online version can be
words. There are three categories (14- Translation grants searched and sorted according to a variety
and-under, 18-and-under and Open) with Since its inception, the Trust has given of categories via the Trust’s website: www.
prizes in each category, the best entries approximately £42,000 in grants for the stephen-spender.org
being published in The Times and in a translation of contemporary writers into Lady Spender is currently collating and
commemorative booklet produced by the English. Recipients include Index on annotating Stephen Spender’s journals,
Trust. The prize is promoted by The Times Censorship for two special issues of creative which will be published by Faber.
and received Lottery funding from the Arts work, one on banned fiction and the other
Council in 2004. The Trust is very grateful on banned poetry; Modern Poetry in Events
to the Drue Heinz Charitable Trust for its Translation; the Harvill Press, for a bilingual The Institute for English Studies, University
generous sponsorship in 2005 and 2006. edition of poems by Rutger Kopland; The of London, hosted a successful one-day
Way We Are, a multilingual anthology symposium in January 2001 on ‘Stephen
Translation handbook of writing by children and young people Spender and his Circle in the l930s’
Although a shaping force in literature from Waltham Forest; the Aldeburgh with contributions on Edward Upward,
and history, translation no longer features Poetry Trust, to bring to the festival exiled Isherwood, Auden, Spender and MacNeice,
in GCSE or A level modern languages. Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti, the Iraqi with an unpublished article on these poets
Translation provides a way of reading and poet Fadhil Al-Azzawi, and Aharon Shabtai written in the Thirties by Isaiah Berlin; the
understanding a foreign text, and of entering with his translator, the poet Peter Cole; the speakers were a combination of those who
into another culture; it is also an interesting British Centre for Literary Translation, to knew Spender and his circle at first hand
and useful intellectual exercise in its own bring five Eastern European translators to and scholars working on them today.
right, which teaches one to self-edit and seminars and the BCLT’s summer school; In May 2004, three of the Trust’s
revise. Inspired by the success of translation the Great Women Poets tour, which Committee members – Seamus Heaney,
exercises in creative writing classes, the brought translation workshops to schools Tony Harrison and Harold Pinter –
Trust is producing a translation handbook around the country; and the Children’s very generously agreed to celebrate the
aimed at teachers. Clear and practical, with Bookshow Outside In: Children’s Writers publication of Spender’s New Collected
explanations and suggested exercises, it in Translation, which saw foreign writers Poems with a reading of his poetry and
will be written by two of the translation and illustrators taking part in events in some of their own. They were joined by
prize judges, both of whom have written seven cities, with workshops in 40 schools. Jill Balcon (widow of Stephen Spender’s
and lectured extensively on translation: friend, C Day Lewis) and Vanessa
Susan Bassnett (Pro-Vice-Chancellor The archive programme Redgrave. The 90-minute programme was
of Warwick University and founder and In May 2002 the Trust presented the devised by Lady Spender and directed by
director of Warwick University’s Centre British Library with a collection of Stephen Joe Harmston; all 900 seats of the Queen
for Translation and Comparative Cultural Spender’s non-fictional, published prose. Elizabeth Hall sold out.
Contacting the Trust
For further information about the Stephen Spender Memorial Trust
and its activities, please contact the Director of the Trust:
Robina Pelham Burn,
3 Old Wish Road,
Eastbourne,
East Sussex, BN21 4JX
tel: 01323 452294
e-mail: info@stephenspender.org
www.stephen-spender.org
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