Download A String of Flowers, Untied . . .: Love Poems from The Tale by Murasaki Shikibu, Jane Reichhold PDF

By Murasaki Shikibu, Jane Reichhold

Expressions of ardour and heartbreak, written through Murasaki Shikibu 1,000 years in the past, go beyond time and tradition during this new translation of the poetry within the first 33 chapters of the story of Genji. it's the dating among the novel's characters and the poetry that creates the wonder and sustained erotic tone of woman Murasaki's tale. For the 1st time, those four hundred+ poems are offered within the more and more renowned structure of tanka (5-7-5-7-7), besides prolonged notes that demonstrate the hidden information and intensity of that means in Murasaki's actual and fictional worlds.

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The fifty one poems are each one imprinted on the recto of a web page whose verso continues to be white, developing the influence of an en face translation--with this distinction, that the English displays a clean unique, an empty web page. Given Mr. Hocquard's intentions, the presentation is an apt one. His afterword, "Grammatical Unrest," describes concept of Tables as a "continuation" of the author's translation of Michael Palmer's Baudelaire sequence into French. because the English model of the current poem has been rendered by means of this self-same Mr. Palmer, we'd additionally infer that Palmer's concept of Tables is usually a continuance of Baudelaire Series--his personal continuation. notwithstanding which may be, the connection among translation and unique, among unique and its resource of idea, is particularly a lot at factor. Accuracy isn't the element; that's, the booklet itself, giving one textual content purely, in a single language, doesn't invite the reader to gauge discrepancy, to make comparability. comparability, discrepancy, accuracy--what i'd name tabular reading--are issues of the series, yet no longer its aspect. To learn in a tabular style could suggest coming into the paintings, whereas Mr. Hocquard's goal--and probably Mr. Palmer's also--is to maintain the reader at an admiring distance, with consciousness serious about the skin. (The version is painting--looking at work in a museum. ) let's imagine even more in this topic, yet area doesn't allow. This, at the least, is Mr. Hocquard's Theory.

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Translation as writing is Hocquard's after which Palmer's subject during this publication, a approach created from an archaeological bricolage undertaken whereas on holiday. this is often the idea of tables. Hocquard describes how in the summertime of 1989, he begun gathering pebbles at the Greek islands of Delos and Paros; every one pebble he put in an envelope on which he marked the date, position, and time the pebble used to be amassed. He persisted his accumulating in Leningrad and Moscow, and on the volcano at Madeira. Hocquard writes within the "Afterword" to concept of Tables:

At domestic, I emptied individually the contents of the envelopes onto tables, and immersed myself within the contemplation (theory) of pebbles. For months I saw them and devoted my observations to writing. I had develop into, in sum, the translator of pebbles.

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Extra info for A String of Flowers, Untied . . .: Love Poems from The Tale of Genji

Sample text

I cried, 'Come out of the shadow, king of the nails of gold! And tell of your goodly household and the goodly works of your hands, That we may muse in the starlight and talk of the battles of old; Your questioner, Oisin, is worthy, he comes from the Fenian lands. ' Half open his eyes were, and held me, dull with the smoke of their dreams; His lips moved slowly in answer, no answer out of them came; Then he swayed in his fingers the bell-branch, slow dropping a sound in faint streams Softer than snow-flakes in April and piercing the marrow like flame.

We galloped; now a hornless deer Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound All pearly white, save one red ear; And now a lady rode like the wind With an apple of gold in her tossing hand; And a beautiful young man followed behind With quenchless gaze and fluttering hair. ' 'Vex them no longer,' Niamh said, And sighing bowed her gentle head, And sighing laid the pearly tip Of one long finger on my lip. But now the moon like a white rose shone In the pale west, and the sun's rim sank, And clouds arrayed their rank on rank About his fading crimson ball: The floor of Almhuin's hosting hall Was not more level than the sea, As, full of loving fantasy, And with low murmurs, we rode on, Where many a trumpet-twisted shell That in immortal silence sleeps Dreaming of her own melting hues, Her golds, her ambers, and her blues, Pierced with soft light the shallowing deeps.

We will tear out the flaming stones, and batter the gateway of brass And enter, and none sayeth 'No' when there enters the strongly armed guest; Make clean as a broom cleans, and march on as oxen move over young grass; Then feast, making converse of wars, and of old wounds, and turn to our rest. S. PATRICK On the flaming stones, without refuge, the limbs of the Fenians are tost; None war on the masters of Hell, who could break up the world in their rage; But kneel and wear out the flags and pray for your soul that is lost Through the demon love of its youth and its godless and passionate age.

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