Posts filed under 'French poetry'

There Must Be a Poem: A Conversation With Alí Calderón, Founder of Círculo de Poesía

February 1, 2024  |  in Interviews  |  by René Esaú Sánchez

. . . this is the best time for poetry: there were never as many readers as there are today. . .

Mexican poet and scholar Alí Calderón is one of the founders of Círculo de Poesía, an online poetry journal that celebrated its fifteenth anniversary in 2023. From the very beginning, the project aimed to diversify the cultural panorama of Mexico and has now established a publishing company that explores world literature. In this interview, I spoke with Calderón about the nature of translation, the importance of dialogue with other cultures, and how publishing can be an alternative to sustain literary projects. 

René Esaú Sánchez (RES): You have mentioned in other interviews that Círculo de Poesía was born as a project to perceive Mexican poetry from other angles. Why was that necessary?

Alí Calderón (AC): When we talk about Mexican poetry, it is a deceiving category; we think of it as something inclusive when it’s not. Just by analyzing the indexes of poetry anthologies or by seeing who receives certain scholarships, we realize that it is more of a cultural elite. 

In 2008, with the birth of the internet and other forms of media, we decided to reinvent culture from other sources. We started working against the tide, promoting poetry from other states of México, like Puebla, Sinaloa or Colima; we decentralized it.

That’s how the journal was born: with the intention of democratizing poetry and making it more visible. But we didn’t do it only with Mexican poetry: we included poetry written in other Spanish-language countries and, out of curiosity, in other world languages.

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Translating “Aucun homme ne t’a défendue”: A Conversation with Emily Graham

April 12, 2023  |  in Interviews  |  by Marina Dora Martino

I felt like the words fell into place on their own . . . They have the same brutality and intimacy, just transposed onto a different soundscape.

In Asymptote’s most recent Winter Issue, translator Emily Graham brought Linda Maria Baros’s visceral and enigmatic poem “Aucun homme ne t’a défendue” into English as “No man has defended you.” This “transitional” poem comes from Baros’s collection La nageuse désossée. Légendes métropolitaines (The Deboned Swimmer: Metropolitan Legends), which combines a folkloric atmosphere and militaristic ideas to create a resonant call to action. In the following interview, Asymptote contributor Marina Dora Martino speaks with Emily Graham on her experience bringing the “allure” of Baros’s poetry into English. 

Marina Dora Martino (MDM): “No man has defended you” is a powerful stand-alone piece, but I am curious about how it relates to the rest of The Deboned Swimmer. Can you tell us a bit more about where the poem stands in the collection?

Emily Graham (EG): “No man has defended you” is the final poem in “Tarmac,” the section that opens The Deboned Swimmer. The collection is broken up into several of these sections, all named after areas or details of an urban landscape, like “Walls,” “Roofs,” “Underground.” Each section ends with an italicised piece that is at once part of the section and apart, a moment of transition. And this is what “No man has defended you” is, though the poet decided to lose the italics once the poem was taken out of context. Each of these end-of-section transitional poems goes back to the figure of the enigmatic swimmer. In these poems, there is often a sense of strife and oppression, but there is also a yearning. These swimmers seem to have something that the narrator craves and wants to be a part of, and each italicised poem seems to add to her pursuit in reaching it. “No man has defended you” is very interesting in this sense, as the contrast between this undercurrent of violence and the narrator’s admiration for the swimmers is particularly strong. 

MDM: In your translator’s note, you talk about how there is no gender-specific word for “swimmer” in English, but the nageuses in Baros’s French original are definitely marked as female. How important is it for the swimmers in this poem to be identified as women?

EG: It is very important for the poet—the swimmer figure is explicitly gendered from the very title, La nageuse désossée. There being no English equivalent, it was a little hard to navigate this gender-specific word, and I really had to take it poem by poem and line by line. For instance, I was planning to translate “les vestiaires des nageuses” as “women’s locker room,” operating a choice on which side to bring forward in that line, but when I spoke to Baros about it, she was adamant that the swimmers had to be present in the poem, so I decided on the non-gendered “swimmer’s locker room.” It preserves a certain cohesion of sense and sound, and I thought, better to have a line that sounds right and has a little side note than to mess up with the rhythm and the imagery! 

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“Translation involves dressing up the original text in a different outfit”: An interview with Canadian writer and translator Émile Martel

September 15, 2022  |  in Interviews  |  by Sheela Mahadevan

The translator should be polite and courteous to the poem, showcasing what he finds, and being faithful to its spirit.

Earlier this year, Sheela Mahadevan had the honour of meeting award-winning Canadian writer and translator Émile Martel in Montréal. In this interview, he provides fascinating insights into his multilingual experiences, the creativity involved in literary translation, and the intersections between translation and creative writing. He also describes the unique experience of familial and collaborative translation in the process of translating the much lauded Life of Pi, written by his son Yann Martel, into French.

Sheela Mahadevan (SM): Émile, you live in Montréal, a city in which code-switching between French and English is commonplace, and you have spent your career writing between various languages: French, English, and Spanish. Could you say a little about your relationship to all these languages, and why you employ French as your literary language? 

Émile Martel (EM): Several thousands of us here in Québec are descendants of the first French colonists who came to this region at the start of the seventeenth century. Our collective identity has always been linked to the fact that we speak French; along with the Catholic religion, this is the bond which has enabled us to survive, especially after the English conquest in the middle of the eighteenth century.

I believe that French is the most bountiful of all languages, for it always faithfully provides me with the words I need to describe a particular emotion, object, or location. And I find it musical when it is read aloud. I don’t think I’ve ever begun composing a literary text in English or Spanish spontaneously and unconsciously; not only would my vocabulary be more limited, but I’d feel like I was translating.

My relationship with Spanish is that of an adopted child. When I came to learn Spanish, I was already somewhat competent in English, but I really wanted to read the works of Federico García Lorca in the original language. My professors at Laval University fueled my enthusiasm; I was granted a scholarship to study in Madrid from 1960–1961 at the age of nineteen, and I spent that year entirely immersed in the Spanish language.

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Reaching for a New Home: An Interview with Alexander Dickow

May 23, 2022  |  in Interviews  |  by Lee Yew Leong

I’d rarely encountered a work that seemed to draw at once on so many different registers and languages; it’s an incredibly heteroglossic work.

Longtime readers may remember our Close Approximations international translation contest, which saw Asymptote give away more than USD20,000 to twenty-five best emerging translators (over four iterations in 2014, 2016, 2017, and 2019)—some of whose translations we promoted to a wider readership through our partnership with The Guardian. One of my thrills as editor-in-chief is to see texts that we have championed—with money we raised by ourselves, or out of our own pocket, since we are not supported by any institution—find permanent homes with publishing houses. Among these is Alexander Dickow’s translation of Sylvie Kandé’s The Neverending Quest for the Other Shore, which judge Eliot Weinberger picked as runner-up in the inaugural contest back in 2014, and which was finally released as a book with Wesleyan University Press three months ago, eight years after its debut on our website. Naturally, I was curious about the journey Dickow, also a former Communications Manager between 2017 to 2020, undertook to publication. Here is the conversation that ensued after I reached out to him.   

—Lee Yew Leong, Editor-in-Chief

How did you first encounter Sylvie Kandé’s poetry and what drew you to translate her The Neverending Quest for the Other Shore?

In fact, poet Susan Maurer posted an excerpt on a listserv—WOMPO, the Women in Poetry listserv, I believe. I’d rarely encountered a work that seemed to draw at once on so many different registers and languages; it’s an incredibly heteroglossic work. I was impressed enough with the excerpt that I sought The Neverending Quest out shortly after, and then reached out to Sylvie to compliment her on such a remarkable epic. We entered into conversation, and I ended up translating the portion for Asymptote’s contest without the intention of translating the whole book—but then got drawn into the project further, and decided to tackle the entire thing.

Much like, say, Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America, Neverending Quest offers readers an alternate history—in this case, what would have happened had explorers dispatched in pirogues by Malian Emperor Abubakar discovered America before Christopher Columbus; in the final canto, though, there is a fascinating pivot: from the ordeal of the fourteenth-century voyager to that of the twenty-first-century migrant crossing treacherous waters. What do you think the poet is trying to achieve with this?  

As for the comparison with modern-day migrants, it postulates that Abubakar’s outsized heroism (dangerously close to pure folly) is similar to the heroism of these men and women searching for their destiny. A common misperception is that African migration happens because of economic or political desperation. But in fact, that migration, which mostly happens within the African continent, is more a kind of initiation, an Adventure! rather than an act of desperation, and that’s true even when economic or political hardship may be present also. Alassane, the migrant of whose name we are unsure and whose name echoes that of Ulysses, is very much this kind of hero: we see him leaping into the ocean to swim for shore, evading the coast guard and deportation. Does he make it to shore? I don’t know! But he is likely to look more and more like a hero in days which will see huge numbers of climate refugees striving for a home. Alassane is reaching for a new home. Abubakar also, or the people of Mali who accompany him, in their own way. Aren’t we all?

I want to give credit where credit is due: the above response comes as much from hearing Sylvie speak, and from conversations with her, as it does from my own imagination.

The edition that Wesleyan University Press released three months ago sets the French original with your English translation side by side, and it was great to be able to compare the two. It’s thrilling to see how much you were able to get across in the English translation—plus, it also sings! What were some of the challenges you faced in the translation process? I’m eager to find out about the nuances that were perhaps sacrificed, in your opinion. 

Nuances I sacrificed: at the end of certain “laisses” (groups of verses of unequal length that constitute the epic’s segments, modeled on the laisses of the Song of Roland for instance), Sylvie turns to metrical verse. I decided that would be a bit jarring in some cases for Anglophone readers. In other works, such as my translation of Max Jacob’s Central Laboratory (Wakefield Press, forthcoming around July 2022), I translate in metrical verse, as well as I can. But it didn’t seem worth the risks in this case. I waffle about whether that was the right decision, and still can’t really decide. Another thing that doesn’t translate as well are the Africanisms of the French, borrowed from linguistic habits of West Africans who speak French, particularly in Senegal. I did my best, but there are obviously no direct equivalents. The same ultimately goes for some ordinary French colloquialisms—slang and the like is always challenging in translation! READ MORE…

“Now You Fly and Sing”: Alice Paalen Rahon’s Shapeshifter in Review

October 14, 2021  |  in Reviews  |  by Georgina Fooks

Paalen Rahon embodied the far-ranging imaginations of surrealist pursuit: a shapeshifter.

Shapeshifter by Alice Paalen Rahon, translated from the French by Mary Ann Caws, New York Review Books, 2021

Surrealism has left an indelible mark on our cultural imagination, a defining umbrella term for the experimental and the dreamlike, from poetry to imagery. Though a litany of artists come to mind when we think of surrealism—from its founder figures André Breton and Philippe Soupault to visual exponents such as Salvador Dalí, Max Ernst, or René Magritte—the legacy, albeit impressive, remains overwhelmingly, and perhaps erroneously, masculine.

Some work has been done in recent years to revise that history—such as through new translations and a number of exhibitions for British-born Mexican artist Leonora Carrington. Now, translator and professor Mary Ann Caws has curated and translated the works of poet and painter Alice Paalen Rahon to further our reach towards the women of surrealism, in the volume Shapeshifter.

The visual arts have long dominated the conversation around surrealism, despite its origins as a literary term—coined first by poet and theorist Guillaume Apollinaire in 1917, then used in two manifestos in 1924, of which Breton’s has stood the longest and is now seen as definitive. Breton described Surrealism as “psychic automatism in its pure state, by which one proposes to express—verbally, by means of the written word, or in any other manner—the actual functioning of thought. Dictated by thought, in the absence of any control exercised by reason, exempt from any aesthetic or moral concern.” Though first staked in terms of the “written word,” the paintings of Dalí or Magritte may now serve, for many, as the first introduction to Surrealism. This domination of visuality in Surrealism has also affected Paalen Rahon’s legacy. Her artwork has long been appreciated in her adopted home of Mexico, celebrated with a large retrospective in 2009 at the country’s Museum of Modern Art. However, with the arrival of Shapeshifter, we can gain valuable insight into this remarkable poet who was one of the best of the Surrealists, despite the lack of wider recognition.

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Translation Tuesday: “The Buddha” by Jules Boissière

March 24, 2020  |  in Translations  |  by A. Z. Foreman

The Buddha gave our wolfish men a smile.

This week’s Translation Tuesday presents a chilling and challenging poem by Jules Boissière, translated from the Occitan. At turns uncomfortable to read yet undeniably skilful in its imagery and structure, the poem’s deft enjambment and linguistic precision belies the speaker’s cultural ignorance (e.g., the suggestion that the Buddha is revered as a god) and his complicity in colonial terror. It’s admittedly difficult to make sense of the colonizer’s mindset, which at once mourns a seemingly indifferent universe while confirming the wolfish volition of his compatriot soldiers.

Also noteworthy is the poet’s insistence on writing in Occitan rather than French. Writes translator A.Z. Foreman: “It is only in Occitan that Boissière allows himself to be honest about life as a colonial soldier. This poem gives a soldiers’-eye view of terrorized civilians running for their lives from a home in flames, followed by a macabre meditation. We are more accustomed to poetry that describes the effect of brutality on those who suffer from it. This poem, though, conveys the effect on a man who inflicts it. The coarsening of the mind, brought on by acceptance of the horrific.”  

The Buddha

Our soldiers won, then torched a domicile.
The owner with his sons ran half a mile
Under gunfire. On the ancestors’ altar
Not guarding the old creeds or their old shelter,
The Buddha gave our wolfish men a smile. READ MORE…

Mother-Daughter Collaboration: An Interview with Jean Paira-Pemberton and Catherine Piron-Paira

January 3, 2020  |  in Interviews  |  by Lou Sarabadzic

This was what we could share together at this time in her life; I think it added much tenderness between us.

I met Catherine Piron-Paira last June in Paris at the annual poetry market, and at the time was already aware of Éditions des Lisières, a remarkable independent press committed to translation and multilingualism. I had recently read their latest bilingual English-French release, Seeds in My Ground/Ma terre ensemencée by Jean Paira-Pemberton, and discovered that the translator (or co-translator), Catherine Piron-Paira, was the author’s daughter. Many poems were substantially re-written in their French translation, suggesting a very creative working relationship. The press’ website says the text is “adapted” rather than merely translated, and the book itself indicates that the French version was developed “in collaboration” between Jean and Catherine. A few months later, all three of us scheduled a video chat. Jean and Catherine were then sent the condensed and edited transcript of this interview for approval and final edits, and it is now our great pleasure to bring it to Asymptote’s readers.

Lou Sarabadzic (LS): In the foreword, Catherine, you explain that your mother, Jean Paira-Pemberton, “is a nomad between two languages, two cultures, two countries.” Could you tell us a bit more?

Catherine Piron-Paira (CPP): Mum settled in France in 1952, but she continued going to England for reasons of both business and pleasure. She also went from Strasbourg to Saverne every day for work. There was a place where we went for holidays: Chapeau Cornu, near Lyon. We used to go from Strasbourg to Lyon, from Lyon to Strasbourg. As for “nomad,” how do you feel about that?

Jean Paira-Pemberton (JPP): Well, I have a relationship now with French, which is almost like the relationship with a mother tongue. I think I am completely bilingual. I can use both languages for practically everything, except poetry. Poetry is only in English.

LS: Why do you think that is?

JPP: Because English is my mother tongue, and I have wanted to be a poet ever since I learnt how to write, so it goes back to way before I learnt French. I started to learn French in secondary school, when I was eleven. It is very much a second language. I have never written poetry in French. I have written lots of other texts in French, of course, as part of my job; I was a university teacher, and I published articles and all sorts of things on linguistics in French–my thesis about John Clare’s life was in French. But not poetry. READ MORE…

Desirable Impossibilities: On Henry Weinfield’s New Translation of Gérard de Nerval’s Chimeras

November 27, 2019  |  in Essays  |  by Alexander Dickow

Weinfield remains the best of these translations, and this is thanks to his sensitivity to rhythm, meter, and rhyme.

Poets and their translators have often agonized over the exhausting task of translating the ineffable poetics of their work, of which every word, punctuation mark, break, pause, and sound is a contributing factor; it goes without saying that the journey from one language to another somewhat impedes upon this delicate balance. In this following essay, Asymptote‘s Alexander Dickow expertly dissects an overarching complication: the act of translating metric verse. In dialogue with a newly published translation of Gérard de Nerval’s famed Chimeras and their predecessors, larger questions of poetics and translations emerge: just how impossible is translating music, and what can be accomplished in an impossible task?

The contemporary preference for unrhymed, free-verse translations of poetry generally has little to do with readability, and much to do with lack of ambition; with the belief, perhaps sanctioned by laziness, that capturing the rhythm of an original with any admirable degree of purity is a fool’s errand, a quixotic fantasy: impossible, and therefore undesirable. The French theorist of translation and poet Henri Meschonnic spent years defending metrical and rhythmic translation, arguing that rhythm is the mark of subjectivity in language and therefore essential to the enterprise of translation. He made this impassioned defense largely in vain, but the proof is in the pudding: whatever one thinks of Meschonnic’s theories of translation and rhythm generally—and he has no lack of critics—the translations of Shakespeare’s sonnets he offers in Poétique du traduire seem, at least to the author of the present essay, indisputably more accurate and powerful than any of the other examples (Meschonnic quotes some five to six examples of other translations for each sonnet he translates into French). Admirable and accurate verse translation is not impossible; even if it were, should the translator’s ambition yield before that impossibility? Is not reaching for the impossible the definition of worthy literary ambition? (See Georges Bataille.) Excessive humility may be a more typical translator’s flaw; perhaps it is time to consider a bit of pride in the “little art,” as Kate Briggs recently called translation, with a hint of tender irony. In fact, translation is an irreducibly arrogant and presumptuous endeavor in the first place—utopian, as Ortega y Gasset has argued. One might as well own that presumption, and aim for the heights: what do we have to lose? The worst that can happen is a bit more failure, which there is no lack of in translation, metrical or otherwise. One may certainly sacrifice too much for a rhyme, but one may sacrifice too much for any formal effect in a poem, and this is not sufficient cause, in my view, to jettison meter and rhyme entirely. Nor is “updating” a text for our own era and its prose and free-verse dominance. For is it not the foreignness of another age that we in part admire in a text of the past? And in resigning ourselves to “updating” a metrical text, are we not capitulating once more to our imprisonment in history (that “impossibility” again, this time of transcending the zeitgeist) and to the anxiety of audience expectations? READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: Excerpts from Proofs of the Living by Andrée Chedid

November 26, 2019  |  in Translations  |  by Lauren Peat

Groan / without a voice / in our accents

This week’s Translation Tuesday features the work of Andrée Chedid. Expertly translated for sound and content by Lauren Peat, these poems crack like a conceptual whip—the poet writes, “The cry of being / Rattles our targets / Unweaves our wefts.” With a density of imagery and sound as well as a commitment to a somber reflection on modern consciousness, these poems recall the poetry of the French Symbolists, who constructed dense systems of meaning that evoke magnitudes from the mundane or eerie. The vaguely mathematical nature of the poems, captured in “proofs,” means that the reader is driven towards a certain point, or climax, without realizing exactly where they have arrived. Sometimes the subject matter is haunting; at all times it is captivating.

proofs of being

The call of every birth
Cracks the world order

Its verb looks for us
Its breath divests

Planted into marrow
Pulling speech from the field of words
The cry of being
Rattles our targets
Unweaves our wefts
Flips the streaming hourglass
Holds us to the path———— READ MORE…