translation is tricky work

Translation is such a tricky business, particularly instantaneous translations done on the fly early in the morning pre-café. Once again I am reminded that I can take nothing for granted when I translate: so many times I've "gone on my nerve," to quote Frank O'Hara, only to find I've missed an idiomatic expression or my brain has not-so-helpfully filled in a gap, reading one word as another.

Anyway, I apologize for mistranslating Captain Haddock's juron "Flibustier" as "filibuster." While using filibuster as an insult is certainly interesting, Flibustier is something else altogether. Having not learned my lesson, a rough translation sans dictionary reveals that the Flibustiers were actually a bunch of "aventuriers" (may I infer pirates?) who in the 16th and 17th centuries messed (incredibly bad translation here) with Spanish holdings in America. I'm leaving it at that until I get my hands on a dictionary because their history looks fascinating (and apparently the etymology of "Flibustier" is related to "free booter). I wonder what Peter Lamborn Wilson (aka Hakim Bey) has to say on these folks!

More soon. In the meantime, Saturday we went to a book party for two new translation releases. John Ashbery's translation of Pierre Reverdy's Maison Hantée, or Haunted House, has finally been published by John Yau's Black Square Editions, alongside an edition of Ron Padgett's translation of Reverdy's prose poems. I was disappointed that the poets didn't read at the party (the party was held at Cue Gallery in Chelsea and it's true that art galleries do make abominable venues for poetry readings--the echo! The echo!); however, you can hear readings and interview here.

Reverdy is woefully undertranslated, with only "some poems" in English, including "some" from his Quelques poèmes, originally published in 1916, translated by Ron Padgett in Some Translations, Some Bombs in 1963 (a translation followed quickly by Some Things in 1964 by Padgett, Ted Berrigan, and Joe Brainard--the French influence upon the New York School is a perennial interest to me).

Also saw Lydia Cortés and Andres Clerici at the FACE OUT book party, where we discussed Borges, Marquez, and the declining interest of magical realism. Lydia is reading Monday--today!!!--at the Poetry Project, with Mendi + Keith Obadike, so be sure to go. Andres has promised to email me materials on writers like Xul Solar, a teacher to Borges, so stay tuned.

Espèce de bayadère de carnaval!

My dear friend Olivier in Paris sent me for my birthday a compilation of Captain Haddock's "jurons," or insults, with accompanying explicatory texts. For those of you unfamiliar with Captain Haddock, he is the salty foul-mouthed foul-tempered alcoholic sea captain who accompanies junior reporter Tintin on various adventures. My father faithfully read this serial when he was a child and made sure to acquaint me with this essential part of French culture in turn (I can't imagine having to wait for each installment like he did--some parts were so unbearably thrilling). Such a pairing would never happen nowadays--Captain Haddock would be a most unsuitable companion for a young lad today (despite all the money he inherited from his ancestor, Francois de Hadoque).

Anyway, so this morning first thing upon waking I'm flipping through the list of Haddock's infamous insults (one example, roughly translated: "Brutes! Filibusters! Mussels with fries! Autodidacts!) when I stumble upon a word I was trying to research for an essay on John Ashbery's And the Stars Were Shining, recently published in Conjunctions as part of their homage to M. Ashbery (or Jonas Berry, the pseudonym he used to translate French murder mysteries because it was how the French pronounced his name). That word was bayadère.

Here's the original excerpt from my essay:

…the razor, lying at an angle
to the erect toothbrush, like an alligator stalking
a bayadère; the singular effect of all things
being themselves, that is, stark mad

(from “Ghost Riders of the Moon”)

Who hasn’t found their razor lying at an angle to their toothbrush (and beware,
teeth!), but what is a bayadère and why is it/she/he being stalked by an
alligator? Bayadère is missing from my more contemporary French-English
dictionaries, but according to an older one, it is defined as an “Indian dancing
girl.” The Internet reveals that La Bayadère was a ballet choreographed by
Marius Petipa that premiered at the Maryinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg in 1877.
(Actually, it’s not clear whether Petipa choreographed or produced the ballet.)
In any case, the music was composed by Ludwig Minkus. However, none of the plot
synopses mention the chasing of a bayadère by an alligator. Even more
problematic, there are no alligators in India (in which the ballet is set), only
crocodiles. But Ashbery nimbly excuses himself from the situation he’s gotten
himself into: After all, things—crocodiles, alligators, bayadères, toothbrushes,
razors—being themselves, are stark mad, and “alligator” sounds nicer paired with
“stalking” anyhow.

Obviously, I was having some trouble tracking down a satisfactory definition of bayadère, and here it is in all its glory in L'Intègrale des jurons du Capitaine Haddock. Not only do I discover that bayadères ordained Hindu temples and sang in processions, but that it was one of the very rare Haddockian insults addressed to a woman (the others can be counted on the fingers of one hand: péronnelle, perruche bavarde, tigresse, diablesse).

I don't know why I didn't start my research with Tintin in the first place. Lesson learned!