Of all the translations of the title of this poem, Romance de la pena negra, Loughran's (1994) "Ballad of The Black Anguish," is the closest to getting the same nuance as "Black Dread." However, to understand why the more common "Ballad of Black Pain," while an accepted, literal, traditional translation, doesn't seem to work for me, we must look at the figure that appears in the poem, Soledad Montoya.
Humphries (1953) literally translates Soledad as "Solitude." No dictionary will fault him; however, this is completely missing the point of the allegory Garcia Lorca is demanding of us. In his introduction to Deep Song, Lorca says Soledad is the embodiment of la Pena sin remedio, de la pena negra. In other words, Soledad is Nietzschian existential angst walking down by the seashore. Lorca goes on to clarify what this pena actually is: "No es angustia, porque con pena se puede sonreír, ni es un dolor que ciega, puesto que jamás produce llanto." It is as Havard (1990) puts it in his notes:
[Soledad] "embodies incurable pain, the black pain we cannot get rid of except by taking a knife and opening a deep buttonhole in the left side. The pain of Soledad Montoya is the root of the Andalusian people. It is not anguish, for in pain one can smile, nor does it blind, for it never produces weeping. It is a longing without an object, a keen love for nothing, with the certainty that death (the eternal care of Andalusia) is breathing behind the door." (page 137)
Our simple English word "pain" does not sum up this emotion. That is why I find "Black Pain" as a title lacking. This is terror; however, terror with a heavy erotic nature, a wild, consuming dread. Havard goes on to point out that this poem falls into the Spanish genre of serranillas; that is, a bawdy folk story of a mountain girl, ferocious with desire, wandering the steppes with her hair undone, her clothes in rags, seeking for her forsaken lover. Havard writes: "The key element is the isolation of the female on her barren mountain height. Hence the name Soledad, Loneliness, and hence the universal appeal." (ibid.) Solitude, black pain, yes, but a queer, mad, (dare I say) loco kind of pain.
Romance de la pena negra
Federico Garcia Lorca |
Ballad of Black Dread
translated by ZJC |
|
Las piquetas de los gallos
cavan buscando la aurora,
cuando por el monte oscuro
baja Soledad Montoya.
Cobre amarillo, su carne,
huele a caballo y a sombra.
Yunques ahumados sus pechos,
gimen canciones redondas.
Soledad, ¿por quién preguntas
sin compaña y a estas horas?
Pregunte por quien pregunte,
dime: ¿a ti qué se te importa?
Vengo a buscar lo que busco,
mi alegría y mi persona.
Soledad de mis pesares,
caballo que se desboca,
al fin encuentra la mar
y se lo tragan las olas.
No me recuerdes el mar,
que la pena negra, brota
en las tierras de aceituna
bajo el rumor de las hojas.
¡Soledad, qué pena tienes!
¡Qué pena tan lastimosa!
Lloras zumo de limón
agrio de espera y de boca.
¡Qué pena tan grande! Corro
mi casa como una loca,
mis dos trenzas por el suelo,
de la cocina a la alcoba.
¡Qué pena! Me estoy poniendo
de azabache carne y ropa.
¡Ay, mis camisas de hilo!
¡Ay, mis muslos de amapola!
Soledad: lava tu cuerpo
con agua de las alondras,
y deja tu corazón
en paz, Soledad Montoya.
*
Por abajo canta el río:
volante de cielo y hojas.
Con flores de calabaza,
la nueva luz se corona.
¡Oh pena de los gitanos!
Pena limpia y siempre sola.
¡Oh pena de cauce oculto
y madrugada remota!
|
Frenetic axes of cocks
digging in search of the dawn
when down from the dark foothills
comes Soledad Montoya.
Yellow copper of her flesh
smelling of horses and murk.
Smoky anvils of her breasts,
wailing out rounded songs.
"Soledad, who are you calling for,
all alone, at this hour?"
"Do not worry who it is,
what is this to you, anyway?
I want whatever I want,
my body and my joy."
"Soledad, dreadful one,
the stallion that runs free
finds at last the sea
only to be swallowed by the waves."
"Do not speak to me of the sea,
for the black dread surges out
from the land of the olive tree,
under the rustling of its leaves."
"Soledad, what anguish you have
what horrendous pain!
You wail lemon juice,
bitter from the lips with longing."
"Ai, what anguish! I drift
around my house,
from kitchen to bedroom,
my braids undone, on the floor.
Ai, what terror! My clothes
and flesh are fading into black.
Ai, my linen nightgowns!
Ai, my poppy thighs!"
"Soledad, wash your body
in skylark water.
Let peace into your heart,
Soledad Montoya."
*
Downhill the river sings:
mantle of leaves and sky.
The new light is crowned
in wild pumpkin flowers.
Ai, the pain! Pain of the gypsies,
clean pain from a hidden stream
and from the endless dawn! |
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November 20th, 2005 at 12:23 am
Soledad: lava tu cuerpo
con agua de las alondras,
y deja tu corazón
en paz, Soledad Montoya…..
…..maybe that that allows my wailing is not soledad, perhaps because I am not Andalusean, but it is the bridge… to my step self, that beautiful hidden, rarely touched and appreciated dimension of me…thank you ana belen, thank you federico, thank you michael camilo…what a beautiful website, thank you….
November 20th, 2005 at 12:33 am
Soledad:… Lloras zumo de limón…
lava tu cuerpo
con agua de las alondras,
y deja tu corazón
en paz, Soledad Montoya…..
…..maybe that that allows my wailing is not soledad, perhaps because I am not Andalusean, but it is the bridge… to my step self, that beautiful hidden, rarely touched and appreciated dimension of me…thank you ana belen, thank you federico, thank you michael camilo…what a beautiful website, thank you….nevermind your poppy thighs….