Friday 17 October 2014

Two Collections




Here are links to the Amazon pages for the forthcoming Bloodaxe collections One Evening in October I Rowed out on the Lake by Tua Forsström and Salamander Sun and Other Poems by Pia Tafdrup, both in my translation. Both books are scheduled for publication on January 25, 2015.

Friday 10 October 2014

Tove Jansson: Work and Love

I now have an advance copy of my translation of Tuula Karjalainen's biography of Tove Jansson, which will be published by Penguin's Particular Books imprint on November 27. Am pleased with the production of the book, and the clarity of the illustrations and artwork.

Tove Jansson Letters

My translations of selected letters of Tove Jansson and an introductory essay by Pia Ingström are now online at the Books from Finland website.

Tuesday 7 October 2014

Pia Tafdrup: Snow Flowers

SNOW FLOWERS

The snow has settled on the branches, filled
the empty bird nests in trees and bushes along
roads that all lead to the church.
The March sun dazzles, the snow on the ground dazzles,
shadows fall where we walk,
flocks of crows circle high up above us.

The cold in the church, the cold round our feet, silence
swirls giddily in the vaulted space,
where no sounds from outside
penetrate.
Having to lose is what we can’t make ourselves ready for.

The dead woman
we have come to bury is not here. No tracks
lead anywhere.
An invisible frontier is crossed, a part
of our life is gone,
a chapter of Europe’s history over.

We must bury the body she left behind,
she herself carried on,
though we see her in the open coffin, give thanks for
what we received.

We see the dead woman,
see her dressed in travel clothes, see the dead woman
with  mouth closed and lips pressed together,
though in life she was always laughing and talking,
muscles robbed of movement, skin like stone.

There was a time when it was to us
she laughed and talked.
The loss we must all bear, it
does not make it any less hard.

We see and don’t understand. We are present here
and don’t understand.

We lay flowers, stand
in the smell of incense with lighted candles.
Except that her head is not tilted,
the dead woman resembles

the image of the Virgin Mary in the icon
that is placed in the open coffin.

The funeral is
for the living, the dead woman's soul
has already gone.
Several days ago it vanished for us.

Dear soul,
We bury your body, but you are free.

The language we speak is not the same as before,
the snow falls into me,
snow flowers drift cold in the blood.
We look and look at the dead woman.
The sight of her face is imprinted
forever, the wax candles are burning down.

Now it is us. Now loneliness shines.
Star-visited night,
many-multiplied arrival,
frost-lit fields, ice-bound soil,
loss burns itself into the mind,
a strange and unfamiliar freedom.


SNEBLOMSTER

Sneen har lagt sig på grenene, fyldt
de tomme fuglereder i træer og buske langs
veje, der alle fører til kirken.
Martssolen blænder, sneen på jorden blænder,
skygger falder, hvor vi går,

flokke af krager cirkler højt oppe over os.
Kulden i kirken, kulden om fødderne, stilhed
hvirvler svimmelt i det hvælvede rum,
hvor ingen lyde udefra
trænger ind.
At skulle miste kan vi ikke gøre os klar til.

Den døde,
vi er kommet for at begrave, er her ikke. Ingen spor
fører nogen steder hen.
En ikke synlig grænse er passeret, en del
af vores liv er væk,
et kapitel af Europas historie slut.

Vi skal begrave legemet, hun efterlod,
selv fortsatte hun,
skønt vi ser hende i den åbne kiste, takker for
hvad vi fik.

Vi ser den døde,
ser hende iført rejseklæder, ser den døde
med lukket mund og læberne presset sammen,
skønt hun i live altid lo og talte,
muskler berøvet bevægelse, hud som sten.

Der var en tid, hvor det var til os,
hun lo og talte.
Tabet skal vi alle bære, det
gør det ikke mindre svært.

Vi ser og fatter ikke. Vi er til stede her
og fatter ikke.

Vi lægger blomster, står
i duften af røgelse med tændte lys.
Bortset fra at hovedet ikke hælder,
ligner den døde

billedet af Jomfru Maria på ikonet,
der sættes i den åbne kiste.

Begravelsen er til
for de levende, den dødes sjæl
er allerede rejst.
For flere dage siden forsvandt den for os.

Kære sjæl,
Vi begraver din krop, men du er fri.

Sproget, vi taler, er ikke det samme som før,
sneen falder i mig,
sneblomster fyger koldt i blodet.
Vi ser og ser på den døde.
Synet af hendes ansigt prentes ind
for altid, vokskærterne brænder ned.

Nu er det os. Nu lyser ensomheden.
Stjernebesøgt nat,
mangedoblet ankomst,
frostbelyste marker, isbundet jord,
tab brænder sig ind i sindet,
en sær og fremmed frihed.

(from Smagen af stål [The Taste of Steel], Gyldendal 2014)

translated from Danish by David McDuff

Marie Under: Poems

SPRING

4.

Now once again on us these white nights fall,
no sleep is had by heavens, land or sea,
or the expectant blood of this humanity:
desire like embers burning in the soul.

These white nights are like silver fetters, chains:
and all the scents in flowers’ silk embrace
have woken trembling in their secret place
as from afar the waters bring refrains.

Then golden hair flies streaming in the breeze
and large eyes sparkle with a secret glow –
Who wove these dreams around me in the air?

And red and redder swell my lips with ease –
No one can kiss away and make them go,
the countless kisses that have ripened there.


KEVAD

4.

Nüüd jälle tulevad need valged ööd,
kus und ei saa ei taevas, maa, ei meri,
ei inimlaste ootus-ärev veri,
kus ihad hinges hõõguvad kui söed.

Need valged ööd kui hõbevalged keed:
kõik lõhnad õite siidilises süles
on sala värisedes ärgand üles,
ja mingit kauget laulu toovad veed. 

Siis kuldseis juustes lehitsemas tuuled
ja suuris silmis salaline sära –
Kes kõik need unelmad mu ümber palmind!

Ja puna-punasemaks paisumas mu huuled –
ei suuda keegi suudelda neilt ärä,
mis lugemata suudlusi sääl sääl valmind.



SOMEWHERE

Over a lonely path
half bent in two I walk,
always keeping my eyes
on time’s hurrying clock.

Beside the lonely path
the last flower freezes in air.
Death reaps time and fortune,
somewhere, somewhere...

Somewhere a house is waiting
Remember it where you stand!
Endure now, endurer,
waiting somewhere is a land.

Somewhere a house is waiting,
waiting somewhere is a land –
Endure now, endurer:
the heart will not ease its demand.


KUSAGIL

Üle üksiku raja
kõnnin poolkummargil,
silmad alati aja
ruttaval osutil.

Ääres üksiku raja
külmetab viimne lill.
Surm niidab õnne ja aja
kusagil, kusagil...

Kusagil ootab üks maja –
Mäleta mäleta!
Kannata, kannataja,
kusagil ootab üks maa...

Kusagil ootab üks maja,
kusagil ootab üks maa –
Kannata, kannataja:
südänt neist lahti ei saa.


poems translated from Estonian by David McDuff