Docsity
Docsity

Prepare-se para as provas
Prepare-se para as provas

Estude fácil! Tem muito documento disponível na Docsity


Ganhe pontos para baixar
Ganhe pontos para baixar

Ganhe pontos ajudando outros esrudantes ou compre um plano Premium


Guias e Dicas
Guias e Dicas

Atrás da Tradução de Poesia: O Caso de Nemesio, Manuais, Projetos, Pesquisas de Design

Este texto discute a complexidade da tradução de poesia portuguesa, utilizando o caso de nemesio como exemplo. O autor aborda a intima ligação entre a linguagem e a expressão poética, além da dificuldade de alcançar a versão definitiva. O texto também explora as tonalidades e formas variadas presentes na poesia de nemesio.

O que você vai aprender

  • Quais são as tonalidades e formas presentes na poesia de Nemesio?
  • Qual é a importância do papel do tradutor na tradução de poesia?
  • Qual é a importância da linguagem na poesia portuguesa?
  • Como Nemesio aborda a questão da existência e da linguagem na sua poesia?
  • Por que a tradução de poesia portuguesa é considerada uma tarefa complexa?

Tipologia: Manuais, Projetos, Pesquisas

2022

Compartilhado em 07/11/2022

Luiz_Felipe
Luiz_Felipe 🇧🇷

4.4

(175)

222 documentos

1 / 67

Toggle sidebar

Esta página não é visível na pré-visualização

Não perca as partes importantes!

bg1
The Poetry of Vitorino Nemesio: ABilingual Anthology
Translations by Kelly Washbourne
Statennent by the Translator
My criteria for the selection of Vitorino Nemesio’s poetry' for translation fol-
lowed amethodical hierarchy of considerations: 1) the greatness or fame of
the poem; 2) its potential effect in English; 3) its representativity within his
oeuvre; 4) its intertextual or generational place in Portuguese letters; 4)
chronological variety; and 5) the balance of poem lengths, forms, and the-
matics. Methods are always impositions, however; Iconfess my personal
afhnity for Nemesio’s Aspera Vida sequence, for example, and so it is amply
represented. Some poems are simply prohibitive for atranslation project
(e.g., “Cantigas AIlha Terceira. .from Festa Redondo), in part because their
portnguesidade \^ tied so intimately to the mode of expression; their poetry lies
in the word rather than resulting from it. In the case of the Heideggerian
“Casa Do Ser” (from OVerbo EAMorte), amajor poem that might have been
included, several drafts simply failed, appearing labored where the Portuguese
is spontaneous, and it is my belief that even when translation is of the so-
called overt VMVty, in which awork calls attention to its own status as atrans-
lation, atranslator should take pains not to sound deliberate or mechanical.
This holds especially for Nemesios poetrypoetry of dynamic, tidal, trans-
formations. In the selections below, Iabove all strove to represent afull
palette of Nemesio’s tonalitiesoceanic ode, moody threnody, metapoetic
ars, searching epic; the literary and the oral, the intimate and the declama-
tory, the mythic and the local. When he Is at his most vigorous is when he
Portuguese Literary &Cultural Studies 11(2007): 353-419.
©University of Massachusetts Dartmouth.
pf3
pf4
pf5
pf8
pf9
pfa
pfd
pfe
pff
pf12
pf13
pf14
pf15
pf16
pf17
pf18
pf19
pf1a
pf1b
pf1c
pf1d
pf1e
pf1f
pf20
pf21
pf22
pf23
pf24
pf25
pf26
pf27
pf28
pf29
pf2a
pf2b
pf2c
pf2d
pf2e
pf2f
pf30
pf31
pf32
pf33
pf34
pf35
pf36
pf37
pf38
pf39
pf3a
pf3b
pf3c
pf3d
pf3e
pf3f
pf40
pf41
pf42
pf43

Pré-visualização parcial do texto

Baixe Atrás da Tradução de Poesia: O Caso de Nemesio e outras Manuais, Projetos, Pesquisas em PDF para Design, somente na Docsity!

The Poetry of Vitorino Nemesio:^ A^ Bilingual^ Anthology

Translations by Kelly Washbourne

Statennent by the Translator

My criteria for the selection of Vitorino Nemesio’s poetry' for translation fol-

lowed a methodical hierarchy of considerations: 1) the greatness or fame of

the poem; 2) its potential^ effect^ in^ English;^ 3) its^ representativity^ within^ his

oeuvre; (^) 4) its intertextual or^ generational^ place^ in^ Portuguese^ letters;^ 4) chronological variety; and (^) 5) the balance of poem lengths,^ forms,^ and^ the- matics. Methods are always impositions, however; I confess my^ personal

afhnity for Nemesio’s Aspera Vida sequence, for example, and so it is amply

represented. Some poems are simply prohibitive for a translation project (e.g., “Cantigas A Ilha Terceira.. from Festa Redondo), in part because their portnguesidade ^ tied so intimately to the mode of expression; their poetry lies

in the word rather than resulting from it. In the case of the Heideggerian

“Casa Do^ Ser”^ (from^ O Verbo^ E^ A^ Morte),^ a^ major^ poem^ that^ might^ have^ been

included, several drafts simply failed, appearing^ labored^ where^ the^ Portuguese

is spontaneous, and it is my belief that even when translation is of^ the^ so- called overt VMVty, in which a work calls attention to its own status as a^ trans-

lation, a translator should take pains not to sound deliberate or mechanical.

This holds especially for Nemesios poetry—poetry of dynamic, tidal, trans-

formations. In the selections below, I above all strove to represent a full

palette of Nemesio’s tonalities—oceanic ode, moody threnody, metapoetic

ars, searching epic; the literary and the oral, the intimate and the declama-

tory, the mythic and the local. When he Is at his most vigorous is when^ he ©^ Portuguese University^ Literary of Massachusetts^ &^ Cultural^ StudiesDartmouth.^1 1 (2007):^ 353-419.

354 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 1

1

lends himself most to translation (rhythm is rhythm in all languages; rhythm

exists before language). It is in those works in which his power lets itself be

felt that we are witnessing a strong poet’s command not just of language but of its ties to emotion, its hypnotic potential, a phenomenon common to all sacred texts, he they prohmely sacred—poetry—or religious. A translator of Nemesio is an actor “playing” Nemesio; the actor exists for the authorizing presence behind his performance. Some in the audience will

see and hear comparatively, “stereo-optically,” to use Marilyn Gaddis Rose’s

term; others must suspend disbelief and hear the interpretation phenomeno-

logically—as it manifests itself (^) to the (^) senses or the intellect. It is always, though, one of many possible readings. This is the melancholy truth of the craft and, too, the law of its perpetual existence: the definitive version is always out of reach, as it is, perhaps, for poets themselves: In Nemesio’s

poetry the quest for this “definitive version” takes the form of his desire to

reconcile thingio word, even to finally inhabit language, to resolve his existence

into it. Evidence of this urge spans from “Another Will and Testament”

(“This well-worked skeleton I leave behind in lines: / My civil death will be

street theater; / Words, lands^ where^ I^ live,^ / I^ will^ never^ leave^ you”),^ to^ the

Adamic “I Name the World,” to the^ later^ poem,^ “Requiescat”^ (1971) (“My pay is a trifling coin, / Fruit of my labors, and I pay for the bread owed to me, / I buy the silence that is my due / For having kept my word,^ / Toiled^ in words, / And through them earned the right to an effortless earth”).

^

Notes

Nacional/Casa^ ^^ Sources^ forda Moeda,primary 1989-^ texts: [2000])^ Vitorino and^ Nemesio,Vitorino^ Nemesio,Ohms^ Completas Poesias de(Lisbon: Vitorino^ Imprensa Nemesio

mission^ (Lisbon: (^) toEd. reproduce^ Comunicagao, the poems.^ 1983).^ We^ gratefully^ acknowledge^ the^ publishers^ for^ granting^ per-

o silencio^ ^^ “Retiro que^ umase me^ moeda deve^ de/ For^ nada, ter^ /^ cumpridoFruto^ do^ meua palavra,^ suor,^ e/^ pagoTrabalhado^ o^ pao^ que nas^ se palavras,^ me^ deve, /^ /E^ Compropor elas

merecido a terra leve.”

356 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 11

O Canario^ de Giro Se deixo entrar este canario de oiro Que me espreita e debica

(Ell que sou ossos, a gaiola,

Debil passarinho loiro! Eli, professor, como um menino de escola!)... Pois sim: Canta. Fica. E entao, para que tudo em mim (^) se honre (^) e execute (Voz, penas e dejectos Do canario),

Dou-lhe, sens passeadores, os mens afectos.

As minhas veias duras para grades:

Dentro delas, contrario,

Ele se embeleze e lute.

Ah, (^) que o canario (^) e o meu sangue talvez! Mas entao isto que e? Que violino engoli? Que frauta rude aveludou a minha noite? Em que prato de cobre bateti o no do a^oite? Tao exacto, meu Deus, so vibrado por ti. Musical, todo fogo, em mim me vou e expando; Cada lagrima cai de mim como harmonia: De quatro em quatro, vao a minha dor jogando

Essas lagrimas vas no tapete do dia.

Que Poetas serias sao estas coisinhas^ de soar,

que vos^ is,

Soldados Escolhendo velhos, na morte uma farda e um^ lugar! Somos Desenvolvidos aqueles imbecisnos espelhos, Ai, Da nossala espelhosonde um paralelos de nos^ e sozinho^ a^ cantar!

VITORINO NEMESIO AND THE AZORES 357

The Golden Canary

If Who 1 let spies^ in^ this on^ goldenme and^ canary pecks (I who am^ hones,^ cage, Feeble little^ yellow^ bird! 1, a prof-essor, like^ a schoolboy!)... So be it: He sings.^ He^ stays. And so, so that everything in me is honored and carried^ out

(Voice, feathers and feces

Of the canary), I give him perches, my affections. My hard veins for bars:

Within them,^ otherwise.

He would preen and fight. Ah, perchance the canary is my blood! But then, what is this? What violin have I swallowed? What crude flute has velveted my night? On what copper plate did the whip’s tip strike? So true^ to the mark,^ my God, if only sounded by Thee.

All afire and musical, I set out into myself, expanding;

Each teardrop falls from me like harmony: In 4/4 time my pain is shedding These vain tears in the meadow grass of day. How serious these tuneful things are.

Poets that you are.

Old soldiers.

Choosing in death a uniform and a place!

We are those idiots

Matured in the mirrors.

Ah, in the parallel mirrors

Of the sitting room where one of us sits singing all alone!

POEMS

VITORINO NEMESIO AND THE AZORES 359

We have^ gone^ up^ in^ smoke,^ yellowed, From so^ much^ reading^ and^ raving. We were useless,^ poets.

I mean: like orange rinds or egg whites.

Which are neither orange nor egg:

It still remained to he seen

II unmoving rot

Are not salt and new growth. What eagle brought down from the sky my iron diapason? What falcon brought lorth my flesh in his beak? What hand, in error, woman. Rent my heart that I devote to you? Who was that from whom I drew this hardy blood. This trickle of music?

Death suckled on the vein,

and fattened up at man’s expense.

Who (^) was that woman in white

With the buttressed breasts

And the pure womb whence I emerged And the eyes set high and far apart?

She of fire and of bile, cloistered and sullen?

She whose strings I never played on, for she was closed up tight?

And the lion-hearted angel, pure (^) light, the other fellow.

In what flame did he dip his haughty wing?

What kingfisher (^) coated his breast with platinum And left (^) him wounded?

I would ask.

If there were more sphinxes.

What (^) pillar of salt did she who took the false guise of Mary turn into. She (^) who promised me my heart’s desire?

POEMS

360 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 11

Ah, aves de parabolica plumagem,

Anjos de materia nenhuma e de toda a arrogancia, Miilheres e homens de qiie sou a iiltima viagem Comec^ada no mar que me salgou a infancia!

Ah, ovo que deixei, bicado e quente,

Vazio de mim, no mar,

E que ainda hoje deve boiar, ardente

Ilha!

E que ainda hoje deve la estar!

Ah, Sete Espadas, minhas primas,

Estrelas nitidas e diversas,

Pioes, pombas, bara^as, e ate as Sr.^ Simas

Todas quatro alteando as suas toucas perversas!

Onde? quando? ja? outra vez? ou ainda nao?

O tempo gasta a minha voz como se fosse o seu pao.

E ele,^ e ele o que tern tudo escondido, Ele o que A desviou e A violou no vento, Ele o que fez de mim o menino perdido E me deu a navalha com que me fiz violento! Ele leva para o alto as cordeiras e come-as,

Ele esconde no vale os lobos reduzidos,

Ele pede-nos as coisas emprestadas e some-as, Ele gasta-nos a voz, os olhos e os ouvidos.

Tempo, ladrao, da-me conta do fardo:

As saudades prali! as promessas prMi!

O que te vale e o escuro: Eu ainda ardo;

Minhas estopas sao embebidas por ti.

Ai, a cordeira preta, a do velo maior,

Um palmo de gemido, onde a terias posto?

362 PORTUGUESE LITERARY^ & CULTURAL STUDIES 11

Tinha os galhinhos entre a la: e melhor

Desenri<;a-los do meu desgosto.

Tempo, molde de todos os lugares,

Pegada de quern desaparece,

Esquema de bocejos e de esgares,

Frio de tudo o que arrefece.

Tempo que levas meu Pai morto, Com catorze cavalos, todos de musculo solar, E, para o ano, quinze! e crescendo! e ele absorto! E os cavalos cada vez mais empinados! Morto... Com que jarrete ou asa o hei-de eu alcangar? (O Bicho Harmonioso 136-39)

VITORINO NEM^SIO AND THE AZORES 363

She had little horns all caught in her wool: You’d better

Untangle them from my grieving!

Time, pattern^ of^ all^ places,

Footprint of the vanished.

Design of yawns and grimaces.

Chill in all that grows cold.

Time who carries off my dead Father,

With fourteen horses, solar-muscled all.

And by year’s end, fifteen! And counting! and he enraptured! And the horses ever haughtier! Dead... With what hamstring or wing shall I ever reach him?

POEMS

VITORINO NEMESIO AND THE AZORES 365

The Living Dream Into the gathering silence oi the night,

Into its spent and lowly matter

(Not even memory taints it,

Not a single^ phosphorescence^ shone...^ a^ star

Perhaps, in its^ depths!

Only the impassioned well^ of^ the^ unconscious^ stirs).

The hand of my sleep—breaks out.

Feels around, and finds.

And from unfinished experiences. And from visions that in the light of day destroy all evidence.

It raises up Her body.

It feels in Her hands the faint dampness^ of^ Her^ blood.

With resistance that is but a bit of balmy energy and perhaps the^ night^ air

That was given to throb.

But that gives me the awaited sign from afar: Here I am. And now, my Father, because you yourself have come —When I know that you are more impossible^ than^ She,

To appear to me too. To assure me that the nightmare is only a nightmare because it weighs me down And it makes my temples pound because I stung you with words?

For it is not true that you saw Her hands in mine.

Like the limpets with heaving bodies in the shells I had put out to dry

And from which I later made, as if from castanets, A random noise to rouse and revive the roads: The limpets, shells and roads of our Island, my Father?

For is it not true that Her head is like a wave from on high

And that (^) Her hair has the hint and the smell and the farawayness Of (^) the winds whipping off the sea, beating against our window panes on [winter nights?

POEMS

366 PORTUGUESE^ LITERARY^ & CULTURAL^ STUDIES^11

E que os seus olhos sao como as po(;as azuis dos baldios E como as estrelas que la se reflectem e que os novilhos, ao

[beberem, enfiam nos cornos vagarosos

(Uma centelha verde que se acendia e apagava—e tao bonita!

[era da baba dos bois ou da estrela?),

E que na sua boca ha uma violenta humidade De que os filhos antigamente nao podiam falar a seus pais, Mas que agora vemos ambos corajosamente hiimida

E nao podendo mais^ com^ um beijo^ que cresce e rebenta

Como esta ultima lagrima em que te dissolvo sem querer?

.AJt! Estas coisas vem com certeza guiadas

For uma mao que se move no escuro e que as nao ha-de perder.

Montpellier, 1935

(O Bicho^ Harmonioso^ 160-61)

368 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 1

1

Ode Ao Mar

Vejo-me so, de pelo e pele, nLima ilha negra.

Mens irmaos homens desertaram Com os docLimentos em regra Nos barcos qLie me roLibaram. Sim, porqLie eLi era o rei da ilha em questao. Ai nascera. La, Lima vaga dera Uma pancada rara

(A vaga minha madrinha),

Nao sei com que for^a oli vara:

Sei que a pancada vinha

Direita ao meu coragao, Que ainda hoje a reprodLiz. Minha Mae deu-me de mamar, Santo nome de Jesus!

Eli vinha SLijo da viagem,

Vinha na ponta da vara

(Que a vaga la brand!

u

Com sua ampla coragem Em minha Mae, cara a cara) Como urn bichinho do mar, Uma coisinha de nada Que a vaga arrancou, cobriu

E troLixe, a vaga do mar.

Nas praias (^) me criei Dos peixes (^) e das lotas, Comendo Ensinado o podre e o fresco, das gaivotas, Que sao o meu parentesco.

VITORINO NEM^SIO AND THE AZORES 369

Ode To The Sea

I see myself alone, only hair and skin, on a dark island.

My fellow men deserted

With their papers in order

On the ships they stole from me.

Yea, for^ I^ was^ the^ king^ of^ the^ island^ in^ question.

There 1 had been born.

There a wave had

Crashed unusually hard

(My godmother wave), I do not know under what power or on whose authority: I know that the blow was coming Right for (^) my heart.

That I relive it over and over even today.

My mother suckled me. Holy name of Jesus!

I arrived dirty from the voyage,

I caught a sea creature

(For the wave

With great boldness

Shook (^) my Mother, face to face) On the sharpened tip of a stick, A trifling little thing The wave plucked up, engulfed And rendered up, a wave out on the sea. On the beaches I was raised

By the fish and the fish auctions.

Eating the rotten and the fresh.

The disciple of gulls. Who are kin to me.

POEMS

VITORINO NEM^SIO AND THE AZORES 371

There I^ was^ raised^ and^ there^ I^ played;

There—seashells,^ sounds,^ nudity^ and^ plunges.

They stuck grains^ of^ salt^ and^ hlth

To the king’s skin

So he would wash off his pride:

And I —dirty, dirty, every day! Clear, blue with a blue-eyed blue. Or green like a discontented mouth. The sea filled me with love: 1 would^ descend^ right^ into^ it,^ and^ it^ would^ rise^ in^ me

And 1 laid^ hold^ of^ its^ rose.

Its great rose of salt and love.

Broad, full, drowning.

Clothed In a manly blue I was drinking down.

In the sea I was declared

King, and then anointed

Due (^) to doubts that surfaced. Ah, faithful underlings in attendance.

Fish of fantastic colors circling, crowning me,

Mermaids making off with my veins for hair. And the coral baobab, from Orestes’ far-flung kingdom. Drawn by the Six Tritons of the Sandbank!

Motion of the sea, you distilled yourself for me,

Savor of the sea that burst on your tongue in me.

Briny (^) imperial expanse to which I am heir,

Drop of water that crossed the North Atlantic

Only to wind up glistening on my left nipple!

Edge For and urgeless breaker

all this you hurled at me And when I was a child you grew in me, you took hold of me. Making my heart race,

O sea!

POEMS

372 PORTUGUESE LITERARY & CULTURAL STUDIES 11

Agua siibita, rente e transparence nexo

Urdido por aqtieles peixinhos por criar,

Qiie, vendo-me de papo ao ar, sobrio em minha colunas, Vinham picar-me o sexo! (Oferendas leais, men mar, delicadas como estas,

Mestre, tinham de ser tuas filhas e alunas).

E assim os madeiros rolados, cheios de fiiros e de frestas

Brtitalidades flutiiantes, Utilidades manifestas

Cobertos de lagrimas e bicos duros

De tetas antigas e funestas De certas sereias honestas: E nos impuros, e nos impuros! Mar, amplo como o Aro de ti mesmo, Estirado como aquele qiie da com a mica no chao, Alto como o respingo inviolavel,

Profundo, doce e aravel

Como terra de pao! Mestre de angustia, mar! como Lima pedra no peito (E so agua!); Mestre de coragem—diante^ a terra,^ ali^ direito! (E tudo isto, com agua!); Mestre de limpeza—o sujo de todos os vestigios Que vai, com o peito exposto e de cristal cortado, Desafiando os prestigios

Provocando os prodigios

E atirando as vezes por desprezo a terra um afogado! E depois—mar parado, neutro, fosco... Uma tenaz qualquer, de pedra—e eis a bacia;

Ai esta I'ntimo connosco.

Ali e pobre: ate se via