Myth of Arrival

Pizarnik’s Árbol de Diana

To my best knowledge, there have been only two full translations of Alejandra Pizarnik's Árbol de Diana; that is, Graziano (1987) and Bassnett (2002). Now I shall add my version of The Tree of Diana to the mix.

I am so much more comfortable with the ancient religions than I am with the modern ones. Pizarnik seems so too. It is the goddess Diana, the face on the other side of the mirror, the shadowy "other" she keeps searching for. The Encyclopedia Mythica has this to say about Diana:

Originally a goddess of fertility … [Diana] was worshipped mainly by women as the giver of fertility and easy births. Under Greek influence she was equated with Artemis and assumed many of her aspects. Her name is possibly derived from 'diviana' ("the shining one"). She is portrayed as a huntress accompanied by a deer. Diana was also the goddess of the Latin commonwealth.

Never mind how difficult this poem is to translate. Never mind the psychological borders one must cross in order to begin to understand what it is Pizarnik attempts to communicate. One must start by listening. Slavoj Zizek compares Pizarnik's poem with Plato's Theory of the Cave, concluding¹:

… Recall Nietzsche's complaint in Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Prologue, 5): "Must one smash their ears before they learn to listen with their eyes?" Is this complaint about the difficulty of teaching people how to listen not ambiguous? Does it mean that it is difficult to learn to listen with one's eyes, or that it is simply difficult to learn to truly listen? In other words, if we follow Wagner's Tristan (who, while dying, shouts: "I see her /Isolde's/ voice"!) and accept, as one of the definitions of modern art, that one has to listen to it with eyes, does this mean that one can truly hear (hear the silence, the silent Message-Thing covered up by the chatter of words) only with one's eyes? Is, consequently, modern painting (as it is indicated already by Munch's Scream) not a "sound of silence", the visual rendering of the point at which words break down? And, incidentally, this is also how the critique of ideology (whose Platonic origins one should unabashedly admit) functions: it endeavors to smash our ears (hypnotized by the ideology's siren song) so that we can start to hear with our eyes (in the mode of theoria).

This is only the first eighteen stanzas of the poem. I will conclude the rest tomorrow when I have more time. Still, how ahead of her time was Pizarnik? Or perhaps I should say, how easy would she be able to slide into our conversations, our discourse, had we let her in? Compare all this with a quote from Gina Franco, who writes in her blog:

The kids are watching Labyrinth. Am noticing this little turn of phrase (gaze?) for the first time:

"Your eyes can be so cruel
Just as I can be so cruel"

What the eyes I. "I can't live within you."

Yes, I should conclude this as follows: what curious orbs, smash our ears so that the ancient primal force can be let in, so we can start to hear once again.

I should.

Árbol de Diana Alejandra Pizarnik	The Tree of Diana translated by ZJC
1. He dado el salto de mí al alba. He dejado mi cuerpo junto a la luz Y he cantado la tristeza de lo que nace. 2. Éstas son las versiones que nos propone: un agujero, una pared que tiembla … 3. sólo la sed el silencio ningún encuentro cuídate de mí amor mío cuídate de la silenciosa en el desierto de la viajera con el vaso vacío y de la sombra de su sombra 4. AHORA BIEN: Quién dejará de hundir su mano en busca del tributo para la pequeña olvidada. El frío pagará. Pagará el viento. La lluvia pagará. Pagará el trueno. 5. por un minuto de vida breve única de ojos abiertos por un minuto de ver en el cerebro flores pequeñas danzando como palabras en la boca de un mundo 6. ella se desnuda en el paraíso de su memoria ella desconoce el feroz destino de sus visiones ella tiene miedo de no saber nombrar lo que no existe 7. Salta con la camisa en llamas De estrella a estrella. De sombra en sombra. Muere de muerte lejana La que ama al viento. 8. Memoria iluminada, galería donde vaga la sombra de lo que espero. No es verdad que vendrá. No es verdad que no vendrá. 9. Estos huesos brillando en la noche, estas palabras como piedras preciosas en la garganta viva de un pájaro petrificado, este verde muy amado, esta lila caliente, este corazón sólo misterioso. 10. un viento débil lleno de rostros doblados que recorto en forma de objetos que amar 11. ahora en esta hora inocente yo y la que fui nos sentamos en el umbral de mi mirada 12. no más las dulces metamorfosis de una niña de seda sonámbula en la cornisa de niebla su despertar de mano respirando de flor que se abre al viento 13. explicar con palabras de este mundo que partió de mí un barco llevándome 14. El poema que no digo, el que no merezco. Miedo de ser dos camino del espejo: alguien en mí dormido me come y me bebe 15. Extraño desacostumbrarme de la hora en que nací. Extraño no ejercer más oficio de recién llegada. 16. has construido tu casa has emplumado tus pájaros has golpeado al viento con tus propios huesos has terminado sola lo que nadie comenzó 17. Días en que una palabra lejana se apodera de mí. Voy por esos días sonámbula y transparente. La hermosa autómata se canta, se encanta, se cuenta casos y cosas: nido de hilos rígidos donde me danzo y me lloro en mis numerosos funerales. (Ella es su espejo incendiado, su espera en hogueras frías, su elemento místico, su fornicación de nombres creciendo solos en la noche pálida.) 18. como un poema enterado del silencio de las cosas hablas para no verme	1. I have jumped from my body to the dawn. I have left myself fixed to the light I sang the grief of what is being born. 2. These are the versions that are proffered to us: a hole, a wall that shudders … 3. only this thirst silence never stumbled upon caution, my love caution toward this silent one, out in the dunes, this traveler with her empty glass and all the shade of her shadow. 4. HOWEVER: Who will surrender stop sinking her fist in hunting for a forgotten tribute for the girl. The cold will pay. The wind will pay. The rain will pay. The thunder will pay. 5. for only a minute in this unique, brief life with open eyes, only for a minute, to see in my brain, small flowers dancing like words in the mouth of the silent. 6. she strips naked in the paradise of her memory she is ignorant of the ferocious destiny of her visions she is terrified of not knowing how to name all that does not exist. 7. She leaps with her shirt in flames star to star. From shade to shadow. She is the one who dies a distant death the one in love with the wind. 8. Illuminated memory, vague gallery where dwells the shadow of my hope. It is not truth that will come. It is not truth that will not come. 9. These bones flaming at night, these words like precious stones in the living throat of a paralyzed bird, this beloved green, beloved, this warm lilac, warm, this single, mysterious heart. 10. a feeble wind full of doubled faces that I trim into the forms of objects to love. 11. now in this innocent hour I and the one that I was, seated in the threshold of my stare. 12. no more candies metamorphosis of a silken girl a sleepwalker in the fog's cornice she will not wake up to find a breathing hand or flower that opens to the wind. 13. to explain with words this world a boat that pulled away from myself, taking me away. 14. The poem that I can not utter, the one that I do not deserve. Fear of being two pathways in the mirror: somebody dormant in me eating me and drinking me. 15. Extraordinary, to discourage myself from the hour in which I was born. Extraordinary, not to play out the role of one who just arrived. 16. you have constructed your house you have feathered your birds you have struck at the wind with your own bones you have finished alone what nobody could begin. 17. Days where a distant word seizes me. I go through those days like a sleepwalker, transparent. The beautiful robot sings to herself, enchanting herself, she talks of cases, things: rigid threads nest where I dance for myself, I cry for myself in numerous funerals. (She is alive in her burning mirror, her cold bonfire of delay, her mystical element, her fornication with names growing alone, pale at night.) 18. like a poem aware of the silence of things you speak to shut me out.

Árbol de Diana
Alejandra Pizarnik

The Tree of Diana
translated by ZJC

1.
He dado el salto de mí al alba.
He dejado mi cuerpo junto a la luz
Y he cantado la tristeza de lo que nace.

2.
Éstas son las versiones que nos propone:
un agujero, una pared que tiembla …

3.
sólo la sed
el silencio
ningún encuentro

cuídate de mí amor mío
cuídate de la silenciosa en el desierto
de la viajera con el vaso vacío
y de la sombra de su sombra

4.
AHORA BIEN:
Quién dejará de hundir su mano en busca del
tributo para la pequeña olvidada. El frío pagará.
Pagará el viento. La lluvia pagará. Pagará el
trueno.

5.
por un minuto de vida breve
única de ojos abiertos
por un minuto de ver
en el cerebro flores pequeñas
danzando como palabras en la boca de un mundo

6.
ella se desnuda en el paraíso
de su memoria
ella desconoce el feroz destino
de sus visiones
ella tiene miedo de no saber nombrar
lo que no existe

7.
Salta con la camisa en llamas
De estrella a estrella.
De sombra en sombra.
Muere de muerte lejana
La que ama al viento.

8.
Memoria iluminada, galería donde
vaga la sombra de lo que espero. No es
verdad que vendrá. No es verdad que
no vendrá.

9.
Estos huesos brillando en la noche,
estas palabras como piedras preciosas
en la garganta viva de un pájaro petrificado,
este verde muy amado,
esta lila caliente,
este corazón sólo misterioso.

10.
un viento débil
lleno de rostros doblados
que recorto en forma de objetos que amar

11.
ahora
en esta hora inocente
yo y la que fui nos sentamos
en el umbral de mi mirada

12.
no más las dulces metamorfosis de una niña de seda
sonámbula en la cornisa de niebla
su despertar de mano respirando
de flor que se abre al viento

13.
explicar con palabras de este mundo
que partió de mí un barco llevándome

14.
El poema que no digo,
el que no merezco.
Miedo de ser dos
camino del espejo:
alguien en mí dormido
me come y me bebe

15.
Extraño desacostumbrarme
de la hora en que nací.
Extraño no ejercer más
oficio de recién llegada.

16.
has construido tu casa
has emplumado tus pájaros
has golpeado al viento
con tus propios huesos
has terminado sola
lo que nadie comenzó

17.
Días en que una palabra lejana se apodera de mí. Voy por esos días sonámbula y transparente. La hermosa autómata se canta, se encanta, se cuenta casos y cosas: nido de hilos rígidos donde me danzo y me lloro en mis numerosos funerales. (Ella es su espejo incendiado, su espera en hogueras frías, su elemento místico, su fornicación de nombres creciendo solos en
la noche pálida.)

18.
como un poema enterado
del silencio de las cosas
hablas para no verme

1.
I have jumped from my body to the dawn.
I have left myself fixed to the light
I sang the grief of what is being born.

2.
These are the versions that are proffered to us:
a hole, a wall that shudders …

3.
only this thirst
silence
never stumbled upon

caution, my love
caution toward this silent one, out in the dunes,
this traveler with her empty glass
and all the shade of her shadow.

4.
HOWEVER:
Who will surrender stop sinking her fist in
hunting for a forgotten tribute for the girl.
The cold will pay. The wind will pay. The rain
will pay. The thunder will pay.

5.
for only a minute in this unique, brief life
with open eyes,
only for a minute, to see
in my brain, small flowers
dancing like words in the mouth of the silent.

6.
she strips naked in the paradise
of her memory
she is ignorant of the ferocious destiny
of her visions
she is terrified of not knowing how to name
all that does not exist.

7.
She leaps with her shirt in flames
star to star.
From shade to shadow.
She is the one who dies a distant death
the one in love with the wind.

8.
Illuminated memory, vague gallery where
dwells the shadow of my hope. It is not
truth that will come. It is not truth that
will not come.

9.
These bones flaming at night,
these words like precious stones
in the living throat of a paralyzed bird,
this beloved green, beloved,
this warm lilac, warm,
this single, mysterious heart.

10.
a feeble wind
full of doubled faces
that I trim into the forms of objects to love.

11.
now
in this innocent hour
I and the one that I was, seated
in the threshold of my stare.

12.
no more candies metamorphosis of a silken girl
a sleepwalker in the fog's cornice
she will not wake up to find a breathing hand
or flower that opens to the wind.

13.
to explain with words this world
a boat that pulled away from myself, taking me away.

14.
The poem that I can not utter,
the one that I do not deserve.
Fear of being two
pathways in the mirror:
somebody dormant in me
eating me and drinking me.

15.
Extraordinary, to discourage myself
from the hour in which I was born.
Extraordinary, not to play out
the role of one who just arrived.

16.
you have constructed your house
you have feathered your birds
you have struck at the wind
with your own bones
you have finished alone
what nobody could begin.

17.
Days where a distant word seizes me. I go through those days like a sleepwalker, transparent. The beautiful robot sings to herself, enchanting herself, she talks of cases, things: rigid threads nest where I dance for myself, I cry for myself in numerous funerals. (She is alive in her burning mirror, her cold bonfire of delay, her mystical element, her fornication with names growing alone,
pale at night.)

18.
like a poem aware of
the silence of things
you speak to shut me out.

The translation of this on-line essay is not mine, so I did not bother to "clean" it up, rather I found the translation itself a curious tool in and of itself [back]

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 29th, 2005 at 1:42 pm and is filed under Scantily Clad Info Dump, Translations, Spanish Translations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Pizarnik’s Árbol de Diana

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