TEXT FOR TRANSLATION DUEL /DUEL DE TRADUCTION - Festival of Literary Diversity
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The Festival of Literary Diversity 2020
TEXT FOR TRANSLATION DUEL /DUEL DE TRADUCTION
Sponsored by the Governor General’s Award
A NIGHT IN LITTLE CHICAGO UN SOIR AU PETIT CHICAGO ONE NIGHT IN LITTLE CHICAGO
Translated by Wayne Grady By Edem Awumey Translated by Rhonda Mullins
It’s mid-autumn. Our little city of Hull, also Au cœur de l’automne, notre petite cité In mid-fall, our little city of Hull, nicknamed
known as Little Chicago, is burning, de Hull surnommée Petit Chicago, reste Le Petit Chicago, or Little Chicago, is still
throbbing with life. The year 1941 rolls by fiévreuse, palpitante. L’année 1941 fevered, pulsating. The year 1941 is slowly
slowly across the Ottawa River, which s’écoule lentement, de l’autre côté de la ticking by, and on the other side of the
flows past our famous town, where the city rivière des Outaouais qui borde notre Ottawa River that runs alongside our
of Ottawa appears totally grey and sad fameux bourg, la ville d’Ottawa parait infamous town, the city of Ottawa looks
compared to us. Little Chicago, where bien grise et triste au contraire du Petit gloomy and grey, unlike Little Chicago,
there’s no prohibition, is a vibrant city Chicago où ne sévit nulle prohibition, where there is no prohibition, a white-hot
governed by sex, alcohol, murder and ville brûlante où régent le sexe, l’alcool, city where sex, booze, murder and music
music. Especially music, which is always le meurtre et la musique. Surtout la reign. Particularly music, between revelry
somewhere between a party and a musique, entre la fête et le drame, and tragedy, like a scene I stumbled onto
spectacle. Like the scene I witnessed comme cette scène à laquelle j’ai assisté as I was going to see the inimitable Ella
accidentally on my way to hear the malgré moi en m’en allant écouter Fitzgerald, who was appearing tonight at
incomparable Ella Fitzgerald sing at l’incomparable Ella Fitzgerald qui, ce Standish Hall.
Standish Hall. soir, chante au Standish Hall…TRANSLATION BY WAYNE GRADY ORIGINAL STORY BY EDEM AWUMEY TRANSLATION BY RHONDA MULLINS
Two blocks from the Standish, I saw two À deux rues de cette bâtisse, à l’ombre Two streets away from the venue, in the
guys stab another man right before my d’un frêne, j’ai vu deux types en shadow of an ash tree, I saw two men stab
eyes. They were in the shadow of an oak poignarder un troisième. Devant mes a third. My eyes caught the flash of the
tree, but light from a streetlamp flashed off yeux, le reflet des réverbères sur la lame streetlights on the blades of their knives.
their knife blades and caught the poor guy de leurs couteaux. Et le malheureux qui And the poor guy collapsing at the base of
as he slid to the base of the tree… And the chute aux pieds de l’arbre… Et les deux the tree. And the two murderers taking off,
two assassins who ran off laughing. I froze assassins qui s’en vont, glorieux. Je suis in all their glory. I was frozen in my corner
in my shadowy nook at the corner, hidden figé dans mon angle de murs, au coin de where two walls meet, on the corner of the
behind a trashcan dripping garbage, la rue, caché derrière une benne street, hiding behind a bin dripping with
ashamed… Could I have stopped them, dégoulinante d’ordures, honteux… Car filth, ashamed. Because maybe I could
shouted to draw a crowd and cause the peut-être aurais-je pu intervenir, criant have done something, shouted to alert
killers to flee before the coming tragedy? pour ameuter du monde et faisant fuir anyone within earshot and to scare off the
That’s Little Chicago in a nutshell, violence les malfrats devant la tragédie culprits before the tragedy occurred.
and reverie and the blessing of the stars. annoncée?... C’est cela, notre Petit That’s what Little Chicago is like: violence
In the end I just left, hoping Ella’s voice Chicago, de la violence et du rêve avec and trance under the blessing of the stars.
would clear my mind of the drama I’d just la bénédiction des étoiles. J’ai fini par I ended up leaving the scene, hoping that
witnessed. quitter les lieux, en espérant que la voix Ella’s voice would help me forget the
d’Ella me ferait oublier le drame. tragedy.
Ella had the voice of a child-woman,
prematurely old but retaining the fresh Sa voix, celle d’une jeune-femme déjà Her voice, young woman’s voice that was
timbre of adolescence, of a child who, at mûre mais qui a su préserver la fraicheur already mature but that still had the sweet
sixteen, strutted so sublimely onto the du timbre de cette adolescence qui a timbre of a sixteen-year-old, a sublimeTRANSLATION BY WAYNE GRADY ORIGINAL STORY BY EDEM AWUMEY TRANSLATION BY RHONDA MULLINS
stage of the Apollo Theatre, in Harlem. For seize ans, portait, sublime, son chant sur portrait, her singing on the stage of
us she sang “If You Can’t Sing It, You’ll la scène de l’Apollo Théâtre de Harlem. Harlem’s Apollo Theatre. She sang If You
Have to Swing It,” and other magical Elle chanta If You Can't Sing It, You'll Can't Sing It, You'll Have to Swing It and
songs. But her voice was also seeped in Have to Swing It et d’autres chants other enchanting songs. But her voice was
sadness, with the pain of a child who magiques. Mais il s’agit aussi d’une voix laced with sadness, the sorrow of a child
wandered the streets of racist America. empreinte de tristesse, peine d’une wandering the streets of America with all
But then her singing quickly morphed from enfant égarée dans les rues d’une its racism. And them the song of sadness
sadness to resistance, in an epiphany of Amérique raciste. Toutefois, bien vite, le morphed into a song of the resistance, in
sublime notes and octaves, between chant de la tristesse s’est an epiphany of sublime notes and octaves,
swing and bebop. And then there were her métamorphosé en celui de la résistance, between swing and bebop. And the way
improvisations, and her moving, dans une épiphanie de notes et she improvised, her stirring, awe-inspiring
impressive scats. d’octaves sublimes, entre le swing et le scats.
bebop. Et il y eut aussi ses
improvisations, ses scats touchantes,
Her pure, crystalline voice, singing up a impressionnantes. The pure, crystalline voice, which sang of
morning of promise, returned me to my mornings of promise, took me back to my
childhood. I saw myself running across a childhood. I saw myself running through a
field, swept up in a whirlwind of dazzling Et la voix pure, cristalline, qui chantait un meadow, carried on the gust of dazzling
octaves. She strung together songs and matin de promesses m’a renvoyé à octaves. Ella went through song after
improvs in an order and a disorder that l’enfance. Je me suis vu courir dans un song, improvising, in an order and disorder
brought back a time when I listened to pré, pris dans le souffle d’éblouissantes that took me back to a time when I listened
nothing but the voice of my own dreams octaves. Ella a enchainé les chants, les only to the voice of my dreams and my
and follies. I forgot the glass of scotch I’d improvisations, dans un ordre et un passions. I didn’t even touch the scotch I
ordered, drank in only the light and désordre qui m’ont ramené à ce temps had ordered; I was already drinking in theTRANSLATION BY WAYNE GRADY ORIGINAL STORY BY EDEM AWUMEY TRANSLATION BY RHONDA MULLINS
salvation of Ella’s songs. “A Tisket, a où je n’écoutais que la seule voix de mes light and salvation of Ella’s song. A Tisket,
Tasket,” what a perfect cradle that song is! rêves et folies. Et j’en ai oublié de a Tasket, the sublime lullaby. She also
She also gave us “Just a Simple Melody,” toucher au verre de scotch que j’avais performed Just A Simple Melody, Holiday
“Holiday in Harlem,” This Love of Mine,” commandé, je buvais déjà la lumière et In Harlem, This Love of Mine, Jim, The
“Jim,” “The Starlit Hour,” “Deedle Dee le salut, le chant d’Ella. Comme A Ticket, Starlit Hour, Deedle Dee Dum, What’s the
Dum,” “What’s the Matter with Me?” and a Tasket, sublime berceuse que ce Matter With Me and other splendours.
so many others marvels. morceau-là! Elle nous offrit aussi Just A
Simple Melody, Holiday In Harlem, This
love of mine, Jim, The Starlit Hour, Shortly before dawn, I resigned myself to
It was almost dawn when, reluctantly, I left Deedle Dee Dum, What’s the matter with me leave Standish Hall, three hours after
the Standish, even though Ella had ended me et bien d’autres merveilles. Ella had left the stage. I walked through
her concert at least three hours earlier. I the sleeping streets happy and carefree –
walked the quiet streets, happy, carefree – the fear of the knife in the night forgotten –
my fear from the night before of being Un peu avant l’aube, je me suis résigné like my friends and fellow denizens of Little
knifed on my way home forgotten. I was à quitter enfin le Standish Hall même si Chicago, people who, in their immoderate
with all my friends and citizens of Little cela faisait au moins trois heures qu’Ella way, know how to appreciate the passing
Chicago, who, in their own excessive way, a terminé son concert. Dans les rues days. And the war was a distant thing, on
knew how to make the most of the passing endormies, j’ai marché, heureux et the other side of the Atlantic. Yes, I am
days. The war was far away, on the other insouciant – oubliée, la peur d’un enthralled by our Petit Chicago, by the
side of the Atlantic. And yes, I’m still couteau dans la nuit - comme tous mes carefree energy and the senseless
amazed by our Little Chicago, by the amis et citoyens du Petit Chicago, ces confidence of people who have so little,
heedless energy and foolhardy confidence gens qui, à leur manière bien excessive, who have backbreaking work, evenings
of a people who, although they have little, savent apprécier les jours qui passent. carousing and music to keep reimagining
and work at exhausting jobs, still know Et puis elle est loin, la guerre, de l’autre hope.TRANSLATION BY WAYNE GRADY ORIGINAL STORY BY EDEM AWUMEY TRANSLATION BY RHONDA MULLINS
how to drink away their nights and let côté de l’Atlantique. Oui, je reste fasciné
music sing their hopes back to life. par notre Petit Chicago, par l’énergie
insouciante et la confiance folle de ses
gens qui pourtant n’ont pas grand-
chose, qui n’ont qu’un travail épuisant,
des soirs de beuverie et la musique pour
réinventer continuellement l’espoir.You can also read
