lunes, 2 de septiembre de 2013

SNOILSKY'S LÜTZEN IN ENGLISH

I have finally translated Snoilsky's poem on the Battle of Lützen into Shakespeare's language (having already translated it into Spanish three months ago), and I have dedicated it to a teacher of mine:

THE BATTLE OF LÜTZEN
A historical tableau by Carl Snoilsky
translated from the Swedish by Sandra Dermark
on the 2nd of September 2013


(Dedicated to Juan Carlos Ruiz with sincere admiration)


With thunder and lightning, two armies have clashed
at daybreak, one autumn morrow.
Through thick gray fog, gunfire has violently flashed,
stifling the wounded’s cries of sorrow.


On winning, on winning, on daring to dare
is hell-bent the mind of each rider,
though he lose the grip on the reins of his mare,
and rashly dismount, in a stride, her.


As the heavy cuirassier falls to the ground,
the pikeman, who would stand defeated,
sees his chance and thrusts his blade, turning around:
thus, rider and steed are mistreated.

The common soldier rushes into the fray:
his duty reads “dying or slaying”.
The commander watches his men the game play,
and soon heavy cards he’s seen playing.


There he rides, his blue plume flutters! Lovely lad!
Cool eyes, every muscle in tension!
The tall, dashing figure in bright doublet clad
draws friends’ and enemies’ attention!


Thus he takes command of his faltering wing,
exposed like a leader of twenty.
Like a young lieutenant, risks takes the blond king:
his sword’s drawn, his scabbard is empty.


He’s shuttled by thunderstorm wings through the ranks,
into the fog, into the fire.
Like hail, many a bullet on a breastplate clanks
where enemy units conspire.
“Onward, my brave Swedish cavalry!
Onward, comrades of German breeding!”
In vain… they can’t catch up… their leader don’t see...
then, suddenly, hear: “The King’s bleeding!”


Into the dark bosom of Wallenstein’s troop
no one the wounded rider followed.
The yellow doublet was, at one fell swoop,
by the clanking iron wave swallowed.


Then, a rising clamour sears flesh and bone:
“Gustavus! Our father! Our leader!”
Thus, his brigades combine: he won’t die alone.
They roar, rushing forward, dear reader.


Croatians retreat and Walloons take to flight,
and, buried in heaps of slain sinners,
the Friedlander’s cannons are hidden from sight:
the martyr’s men shall be the winners.


The last word was missing in his epic song:
the word that crowns every achievement.
The mourners have done their duty, right or wrong:
they wrote it in blood and bereavement.


They’ve won. On the fields, with a lovely parade,
they honour their beloved leader,
but most of them have fallen within the glade:
the living are few, my dear reader.


On the plains of Lützen, by faint evening light,
in cold, foggy early November,
I saw such a bloody, violent sight,
that I, to this day, still remember.





8 comentarios:

  1. UTTAM: Yes.
    It's like the war poems we have in Sanskrit.

    ResponderEliminar
    Respuestas
    1. UTTAM:
      Although I can't quite read Sanskrit, I know they are great pieces of literature.

      Eliminar
    2. I: Like something from the Ramayana or Mahabharata?

      Eliminar
    3. UTTAM: I won't comapare it in that level.
      Ramayana ans Mahabharata are so full of imageries, and stylistics, the ones that I have not found, partly due to my undereducation perhapss, in Western literature.

      Eliminar
  2. UTTAM:
    I can see that.
    The thing is quite vividly and most beautifully expressed.
    One can feel the heat of the battle field :
    in cold, foggy early November,
    I saw such a bloody, violent sight,
    that I, to this day, still remember.
    and find the emotion and human feelings in the parts like:
    Cool eyes, every muscle in tension!

    ResponderEliminar
    Respuestas
    1. Overall: A very accurate portrayal of the war.
      I think the language is urgent and passionate, a bit despondent at times, given the immensity and the duality of war, both victory and loss at the same time.
      I don't have special knowledge about the rhythm but the rhymes and all seem fine to me.

      Eliminar
    2. Said Uttam
      And I replied: And the way the plot unfurls, up to the disappearance and offscreen death of Gustavus and to the Swedes' Baratheon-furious revenge and the mournful funeral in the aftermath?

      Eliminar
    3. UTTAM: I think the poem is like "O Captain, My Captain by Walt Whitman. I assume you are familiar with the poem.
      I: Like O Captain, indeed, but full of sound and fury and of more rage. The narrator cradling the Captain was desperate and powerless, while the Swedes at Lützen react like, well, righteous berserkers.
      UTTAM: You see, I had to recite the poem in my sixth grade in an elocution competition.

      Eliminar