Parting
Green mountains rise to the north;
white water rolls past the eastern city.
Once it has been uprooted,
the tumbleweed travels forever.
Drifting clouds like a wanderer's mind;
sunset, like the heart of your old friend.
We turn, pause, look back and wave,
Even our ponies look back and whine.
Commentary
Yesterday’s poem leads into this week’s theme, translated poetry:
Translated by Sam Hamill.
Quite a few poets have essayed their own translations of Li Po’s poem. Here’s the inimitable Ezra Pound:
“Parting”
Blue mountains to the north of the wall,
White river winding about them;
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.
Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance
Our horses neigh to each other
as we are departing.
– Ezra Pound
And here’s his Imagist colleague Amy Lowell:
“Parting”
Clear green hills at a right angle to the North Wall,
White water winding to the East of the city.
Here is the place where we must part.
The lonely water-plants go ten thousand li;
The floating clouds wander everywhither as does man.
Day is departing--it and my friend.
Our hands separate. Now he is going.
"Hsiao, hsiao," the horse neighs.
He neighs again, "Hsiao, hsiao."
– Amy Lowell and Florence Ayscough
My favourite translator, though, is Sam Hamill; there’s something about his style - simple, unaffected, yet intensely evocative, which resonates with my idea of what Li Po’s marvellous poems should be like. Hamill’s 1993 anthology “Endless River: Li Po and Tu Fu, A Friendship in Poetry” is especially ecommended.
I’m told that Vikram Seth has some exquisite translations of Li Po, Tu Fu and Wang Wei in his anthology “Three Chinese Poets”; I haven’t read them myself, though. Several other translations of this particular poem can be found on Ken Hope’s impressive website, at
http://www.northshore.net/homepages/hope/LiboLeaving.html
— Thomas
Links
Once again, let me plug Ken Hope’s pages dedicated to Li Po1, which are part of his large and very comprehensive poetry website2. I especially recommend the Story of the Yellow Crane3, which, although it has no direct connection with Li Po, is very beautiful. Also not to be missed is Hope’s own introductory essay on Li Po4, an essay which brims over with enthusiasm and delight.
Li Po has featured on the Minstrels before; check out
Poem #70, "The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter"
Poem #504, "About Tu Fu"
Poem #683, "To Tu Fu from Shantung"
all of which can be found on the Minstrels website,
The Wondering Minstrels
On the Theme
Spare a thought for translators: they have to balance painstaking craftsmanship with original expression; insightful criticism with deep and abiding sympathy for the works they criticize; poetic licence with faithful tribute. If the poet is the bold and innovative composer of symphonies, the translator is the maestro who conducts them, bringing his own interpretation to the concert hall while taking care never to obscure or misrepresent the creative genius behind them. It’s a hard task, and a thankless one; how many translators can you name? This week’s theme attempts to redress the balance by highlighting some poems (and poets) who’ve benefited from having wonderful translators. As usual, if you have any suggestions you’d like to share with the rest of the list, do write in.
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Colm Maccrossan · 10 April 2001
I recognised this poem when it appeared, but not the name. It is included in an anthology called ‘The Rattle Bag’, edited by Seamus Heaney & Ted Hughes (Faber & Faber, 1982). The title of the version they include, though, (Ezra Pound’s) is ‘Taking Leave of a Friend’, and it is credited to Rihaku.
I know nothing about either poet (or if they are the same) but find the different title can greatly affect the rest of the poem. It has the effect of focusing the event more on the speaker who is ‘taking leave’ and gives the ‘friend’ a less than equal role. But it also develops the relationship of the human characters (and equally the horses) beyond the slightly distant ‘acquaintances’ which Pound uses where both Hamill and Lowell use ‘friend’.
I don’t know which title is Pound’s own, but the difference shows not only the challenge facing a translator but also the importance to all poets of choosing their titles, because of how it can affect the way the whole piece is read. Differing translations can be good tools for demonstrating basics of poetry like this because rather than just examining a poem on its own merits it can be compared to a different version and subtleties of language choice (‘friends’ vs. ‘acquaintences’) show up where in the normal course of reading the poet’s possible alternatives don’t necessarily suggest themselves. It is a similar excercise to comparing finished poems with earlier drafts.
Going back to this specific poem, I personally prefer Pound’s version to Hamill’s if only because he treats the horses more as independent beings rather than just reflections of their riders. For me, this makes the image that much stronger and the emotion that much more natural. But then Lowell & Ayscough don’t draw the comparison directly at all and also ditch the awkward “sunset like” image which is, well, awkward in both other versions. This may be best of all.
Other than that I just want to say how good ‘The Rattle Bag’ is: several hundred poems in English but sourced from many languages (including Serbo-Croat, Navajo, Yoruba, Gaelic and others). As for English-language poets it includes the ‘greats’ like Yeats and Keats and Shakespeare, but also Ogden Nash, Allen Ginsberg, and 40-50 poems with no known author. Good for idly flicking through, exploring and sharing.
Ito Ryusuke · 24 July 2002
BTW,
Rihaku is a Japanese pronounciation of the Chinese characters spelling: Li Po or Li Bao.
—ryuito
Ito Ryusuke · 24 July 2002
Although the reference to the “east” or “eastern” is omitted and the poetic aesthetics of it may be suspect, I believe the following is a more accurate translation in literal as well as alluded meanings. “Ten thousand li” is translated as “A thousand miles” since it sounds more natural and conveys the same meaning. Some poetic licence is used in making the ponies “neigh in response” whereas the original just had the men waving and the ponies neighing.
Blue mountains rise to the north;
white waters flow by the city.
Bidding farewell to this land
to wander for a thousand miles.
Clouds above drifting like your heart;
but this sunset reflects my own.
At your deparature we wave,
as the ponies neigh in response.
—ryuito