Poetry Translations

i just got this from a bit of Jerusalem [portuguese and back]: It brings me that arched mine of burning hot gold he brings me my arrows of the desire bring me my Oh spear! the clouds unfold bring me mine chariot of the fire thanks liana, the long winter evenings now seem much less forbidding...

brilliant idea! must give this a try. I've just thought of a great poem to use...... I'll report back in due course.

Laydeeees an gennelmen....... I bring you the delectable, translated into french and back again - Eating Orange by ivoryfishbone (both versions for those who haven't seen it before):Eating Orange You have eaten oranges the same way. At thirteen you would peel, segment, then strip away, removing every string of pith - and the bare fruit, on the arm of the chair lined just so ...curve behind curve behind curve. At seventeen - a wicked age - you'd take the biggest kitchen knife, cutting exactly those great rolling juice balloons. watch two halves rock to standing on the top. You'd suck and tear at those, bite out the flesh til inside out, picked clean skins, like old bra cups ... lay hollow and immodest by you. Now ...you don't eat oranges ..they're too large all that excessive juice ... you can't enjoy: spray in your throat, how your mouth corners sting. Though unbuttoned you might allow your old, wild self ..the odd unassuming satsuma. You ate oranges the same way.To thirteen you would peel, segment, eliminate then far, removing each character string of marrow - and the naked fruit, on the arm just thus... of the curve striped by chair behind the curve behind the curve. To seventeen - a bad age - you would take the largest kitchen knife, cutting exactly rock of these the large one of juice bearing of balloons halves of the watch two to be held on the top. You would suck and tear with those, bite out of the flesh until inside outside, selected clean skins, like the old configuration of cups of will bra... hollow and presumptuous by you. Now... you do not eat the oranges..they' Re too Great Whole what the excessive juice... you cannot appreciate: pulverize in your throat, how your mouth drives back the puncture. Unbuttoned however could allow you your old woman, wild satsuma unassuming odd of the individu..the.

< unbuttoned however could allow you your old woman > Wonderful :o)))

hollow and presumptious ... hahahahahahaa ....

Sounds like my bra :o)

Another of Fish's Poems, "Insider" as recommended on the front page this week.... English to French and back again gives this: Initiate He is inside it like his clean crackles of blood through each synapse wets each molecule of breath streamings to the bottom its Window of morning it finds it in the regroupings on its sill or the faced inspection of the mirror two it is in its skin - each pore blocked each follicule charged with him to raise its hair in the greeting, with the goosebump it is in fibre woven of it of clothing and to stop along each axis of the hair like the insulation it is under each nail - a dark forensics of bark would find it its ADN to coil far with his to close the zip fastener in one: transferred would find space between its cells filled of the vapor of him it sweats and cries it and the microscope of small layers of him detach and derive while it withdraws it clothing it weighs twice more with him taking each cavity soiling the aqueous humour of its eye its nuance if she died in this moment the pathologists would find the image of him in the stems and the cones put fire except function they would find its image on its retina its voice to always type on the tiny bones in its ear.

barking!

Oh Liana...what can of worms have you opened here? I have just cancelled an extra shift at the hospital this afternoon (Christ, I need the overtime as well!) to play around with this Joy! Linsi (giggles with glee)

a veritable can of worms ...can just see it now ... loads of poems vastly improved by being translated to croatian and back ...

Er...you got there before me, Fish. ('cept yours of course!) Grovel

i was counting mine andrea ... hahahaha ...

tsk tsk, like a bunch of bairns with a new toy :)

So what's wrong with that, then? Could be worse, could be murdering people indiscriminately.

http://rinkworks.com/dialect/ If you like the translation-retranslation bit, take a look at this. For example, you can "dialectyze" your poem into Elmer Fudd speak, or any of several other "dialects." Have Fun.

Andrea, much as I like free speech GIVE IT A FUCKING REST WILL YA! ta. stormy - the enema for rhetoric (of the right and left hands)-

actually that was unfair. my remark should have been addressed to everyone of dogmatic persuasion. how about we all refrain from spouting the same old leftie - rightie twaddle that means diddly squat nowadays. only tangental views (no, not the third way) allowed to be posted? anything else gets auto fatwah'd?

I just translated that into german and back. It now reads much better: was that really unfairly my note should at everyone of dogmatischer conviction have been addressed like approximate all we spraying same old leftie - rightietwaddle to take, diddly squat nowadays meant only the seaweed valley opinions (No., not the third way) could be communicated? still something receives Selbstfatwah'd?

heheh...Nice one Stormy! "Sea weed valley opinions!"

Recognise the end of this poem anyone? (translated from German to English so slightly different) They listened have she ugly short Her diaries before thee. The archer seemed afraid; Does Would have lesson soon Be taught? What makes the man coils Mary so?. The eager nation cried. She gets him off the hook, you know. Goal this time he.s inside

it rings a faint bell.

I like the 'spraying the old leftie' bit best. Yep, promise to keep me mouth shut from now on, Stormy (although it *was* only tongue-in cheek). Sorry I upset you so much...

Heheheh...Nice one Andrea!!!

Fey, this has been lovingly trasnlated into "cockney" for you!! Thanks to Justyn_tyme recomendation Yer 'ave the bloomin' sea in yor mince pies, I, right, the land We shape meanin' in silence so as ter understand Were this late afternoon rain yors this mornin', isit? ffese pansy purple clouds outside me window grown in yor view, eh, mate? Oh, right, did yer spot this rainbow far oray, isit?