Myth of Arrival

One of the draw backs of the book I have put out is that it is not a bilingual edition. It is wholly in English. I am not as knowledgeable as I should be with copyright law but there is debate as to how much of Garcia Lorca's work is still protected under copyright law.

One interpretation of the law states that, "A translation is a derivative work, and only the copyright owner can authorize a translation that will be distributed. This envisions a work that is translated into another language and distributed in parts of the world where that language is spoken. Derivative works are infringing if they are not created with the permission of the copyright holder." However, prior to the passing of the United States 1976 Copyright Act, many "copyrighted literary works, movies and fictional characters are soon to pass into the public domain due to their 56 year maximum copyright terms."

In other words, the book of Federico's poetry I was translating from, published in Buenos Aires in 1945, has passed the 56 years of copyright protection (it's been 63 years since 1945) and so, theoretically, has passed into public domain. However, what makes this insanely complicated and the reason I left out the original texts was that the Garcia Lorca estate in Spain has been attempting to reestablish copyright ownership over some of Federico's poetry in American courts. The attempt was made in 2006 and so far (as far as I can tell) there has been no verdict. It is one reason I put out the book now, since it falls into this gray zone of legal doubt. But I want to be in good faith if suddenly the Garcia Lorca estate is successful and retains copyright protection. I suppose if I was getting my book published through a large publishing house then I could find out what I could do and not do; self-publishing comes with its own dangers, it seems.

I thought that one way of getting around the whole issue of using original texts or not, but keeping the book true to the idea of a bilingual text (what I really, really want) is to present two translations, one in English and one in a third language, say Italian or French. I am terrible in languages (even English) but I have friends who offer me suggestions once in a while and if I was successful I could offer something to the reading public no one (to the best of my knowledge) has done. Sure, you can go down to Barnes and Noble and buy an English translation of Federico's poetry but an English and Italian and Chinese (with one version in Eastern Armenian thrown in)? That would be worth $9.99 I think.

So here is three new experimental attempts at reworking Garcia Lorca's Adivinanza de la guitarra. One in English:

Riddle of the Guitar

At the round
crossroads,
6 maidens
dance.
3 of flesh,
3 of silver.
Dreams from yesterday pursue them,
but they are held fast by
a Polyphermus of gold.
Ai!, the guitar!

In French:

Devinette de la Guitare

Au carrefour
tout rond,
6 jeunes filles
dansent.
3 de chair
et 3 d’argent.
Les songes d’hier les cherchent,
mais elles sont
au bras
d’un Polyphème d’or.
Ai!, la guitare!

In Italian:

Indovinello della chitarra

Nel rotondo
crocicchio,
6 donzelle
ballano.
3 di carne
3 d'argento.
I sogni di un tempo le cercano,
ma le tiene avvinghiate
un Polifemo d'oro.
Ai!, la chitarra!

And in Portuguese:

Adivinanza de la guitarra

Na redonda
encruzilhada,
6 donzelas
bailam.
3 de carne
e 3 de prata.
Os sonhos de ontem procuram-nas
porém têm-nas abraçadas
um Polifemo de ouro.
Ai!, guitarra!

I first fell in love with Hayao Miyazaki's work when my brother Eli took me in L.A. to see Princess Mononoke on the big screen. From the opening credits, with the words: "in ancient times, the land lay covered in forests, where from ages long past, dwelt the spirits of the gods …" I was bewitched. Miyazaki is brilliant; I love his tales of enviornmental concern, his use of strong female characters, his ability to blend Shinto belief into his plots without being heavy-handed.

What does this have to do with Petrarch? you ask. Good question. Last night I watched Miyazaki's latest film, Howl's Moving Castle. It too was lovely. This morning I began to translate Petrarch's per fare una leggiadra sua vendetta and both, the sonnet and the movie, gave me a rather interesting insight to behavior I have been taking for granted. The metaphor of love as a violent act certainly shines through the film, if not directly then in the act of putting the story in the middle of a World War I-like backdrop. However, this very metaphor, that love is a violent act, similar to an arrow lodged deep in the chest, is an ancient idea. That is what I found in my translation, Petrarch might not have been the first to come up with the idea, but the second sonnet in Canzoniere certainly gave me pause when I was done with it.¹

Violent love, war-like love (regardless if you agree or disagree) has been a staple of Western thought for a very long time. Perhaps this is why I am comparing the two, the film and poem, since the source material for Howl's was the fantasy book by Diana Wynne Jones, which gave Miyazaki a very different working philosophy to play around with. Regardless, I recommend the film to anyone … and the poem?

Let us just say it is a curiosity.

II.

overo al poggio faticoso et alto
ritrarmi accortamente da lo strazio
del quale oggi vorrebbe, et non pò, aitarme.

2.

To make a vendetta a graceful art
punish a thousand wrongs at once, Amour
secretly took up his long bow once more,
like men plotting the time and place to start.

My life power was contained in my chest,
my own simple defense, but in my eyes
was where the mortal blow lodged and now lies,
where no other arrow had yet to rest.

So, confused by the first of Love's arrow,
my defense had no fortune or vigor
to take up arms when it was needed. What

could it do? Withdraw me to a narrow,
steep hill, out of the slaughter?
It might have wished to save me but cannot.

1. I used the source material from the following books:

   Young, David. The poetry of Petrarch. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (2004)

   Bergin, Thomas G. (ed.) Selected Sonnets, Odes and Letters. Northbrook, Il.; AHM Publishing Corporation (1966) [back]

I don't like everything but Debussy's L'après-midi d'un faune ("The Afternoon of a Faun") is spinning away on the stereo. It is a ballet and seems interesting enough. The Encyclopedia Mythica says this about satyrs and fauns:

[Satyrs are] deities of the woods and mountains. They are half human and half beast; they usually have a goat's tail, flanks and hooves. While the upper part of the body is that of a human, they also have the horns of a goat. They are the companions of Dionysus, the god of wine, and they spent their time drinking, dancing, and chasing nymphs. The Italian version of the satyr is the faun, while the Slavic version is the Ljeschi.

There are paintings of different artist's ideas of what they might have looked like. The famous Russian ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky made L’Après-midi d’un Faune famous in Paris (1911) by dancing as satyr.

Here is some art I find interesting, the first is a painting by the Art Deco painter Leon Bakst. The ballet was a great scandal, the people of the time thought it terribly pornographic and rude. One critic wrote, "We have had a faun … with vile movements of erotic bestiality and gestures of heavy shamelessness." Yes, I want to be bestial and shameless, too. Instead I became self-indulgence and reflective. That is how Narcissus' Lament came about. Still, I found an actual photo of Nijinsky taken years and years ago, my! What fun!

I never told you, but when I was much younger I wanted to be a ballet dancer. Of course I never did, I ended up working with words instead of muscles. My friend Marco De Ambrogi translated my little poem into Italian for me. Now if I could only get Nijinsky to dance it:

"Lamento di Narciso"

Tu non puoi
Guardarti in queste
Onde, tutto
Si muove così veloce. La mia
Faccia, sciupata
Da galleggianti
Fiori marini.