(Neon)
kaum erschienen
erkaltet das neue schnell. daran bindet uns nichts
zu rasch
verdirbt sein blasses blut unter dem rasenden tagen.
wir saufen´s
träge schon wieder heiter entfärben sich letzte nachrichten
das grelle
mark der röhren saugen wir aus unseren knochen.
(Aluminium)
mittags klappern
halbleere blechnäpfe hundertfaches seufzen kratzt über die tellerböden
vierfingrig gabelt sich
in geballten
fäusten verzweifelte dichte dampfen aus den bechern schwerere
ketten dann wieder
zum stanzen
ausschlagen pressen schweißen das gießen erfordert besondere sorgfalt
die zeit endlich
eine folie
aus der erinnerung gerissen wird an die kruste
der erde draußen.
(Chrom)
von blitzen
ist nichts zu erwarten und von der rede
von blitzen nichts mehr. wer glück hat steht
abseits oder ist daneben am
leben.
reden wir
von etwas davor viel eher in der nähe
davon. wie die sonnenblumen in ihrem blöden öl
wie daneben die immer waren
danach
bilder eben
nach der natur. nicht ihrer. der leuchtenden krankheit
sich erst am dunkeln zu bewegen. sie blühten
vorher nie. wir sehen ihre
therapie.
Auszug aus >Periodischer Gesang<
Sylvia Geist
Listen to the poems read in the original German by the author:
Translation is always interpretation and adaptation, a cover version in which the associations, resonances, history, etymology and semantics of one language replace those of another to make a new poem that is recognisably related to the original. "As close as possible, as far away as necessary". But the object should always be to make a translation that works as a poem in its new language. That said, there is the question of how far such constraints as rhyme and metrical pattern can or should be replicated. Sometimes such constraints are inherent to the poem in translating, say, a Shakespeare or Petrarch sonnet or Rilke's 'Neue Gedichte'; recreating the rhyme scheme must be done cunningly and well, for if it is too heavy-handed and calls attention to itself, the poem can be ruined.
Translating these poems by Sylvia Geist involved a different kind of constraint, but one that enhanced the challenge no end. They are part of a series based on the elements in the Periodic Table, and the number of words in each poem's stanza matches the number of the element in the table. So the number of words in the translation has to be the same as in the original – it's the structural raison d'être of the poems. And that's where the fun begins. What do you do with a one-word preposition like 'aus', the English match of which is the two-word 'out of'; or declined articles like 'des' (of the) or 'dem' (to the)? Not to mention the German way of forming compound nouns that sometime need a sentence to render into English? Fortunately English has its own tricks and elisions; used properly, the apostrophe is a wonderful tool; and a hyphen can make compounds in English too.
Finally, translation is also a dialogue between poet and translator, and where possible I like to involve the poet in the process, providing explanations and clearing up misunderstandings where necessary, especially where the word-number constraint has made the German text particularly dense. And it reduces the risk of the poet throwing up her hands in horror and complaining, "That is not what I meant at all!"
Translating these poems by Sylvia Geist involved a different kind of constraint, but one that enhanced the challenge no end. They are part of a series based on the elements in the Periodic Table, and the number of words in each poem's stanza matches the number of the element in the table. So the number of words in the translation has to be the same as in the original – it's the structural raison d'être of the poems. And that's where the fun begins. What do you do with a one-word preposition like 'aus', the English match of which is the two-word 'out of'; or declined articles like 'des' (of the) or 'dem' (to the)? Not to mention the German way of forming compound nouns that sometime need a sentence to render into English? Fortunately English has its own tricks and elisions; used properly, the apostrophe is a wonderful tool; and a hyphen can make compounds in English too.
Finally, translation is also a dialogue between poet and translator, and where possible I like to involve the poet in the process, providing explanations and clearing up misunderstandings where necessary, especially where the word-number constraint has made the German text particularly dense. And it reduces the risk of the poet throwing up her hands in horror and complaining, "That is not what I meant at all!"
Sylvia Geist was born in Berlin, Germany, in 1963. She is a poet, novelist, translator and networker. Geist studied literature and art history as well as chemical sciences, a combination with a beneficial effect towards her understanding of literature. In her work science and poetry constantly seem to reflect each other. She has published five volumes of poetry and two books of prose. She has edited several anthologies of Eastern European literature and is also known as a translator. She translated Chirikure Chirikure's first German collection Aussicht auf eigene Schatten. Sylvia Geist has received numerous awards for her work, including the Meran Poetry Prize, a fellowship at the Künstlerhaus Edenkoben, the Adolf Mejstrik Award of the German Schiller Foundation and a Sylt-Quelle residential fellowship.
Catherine Hales lives in Berlin and works as a translator. Her books include hazard or fall (Shearsman 2010), a bestiary of so[nne][r]ts (Oystercatcher Press 2010) and feasible stratagems (Veer Books 2013), and as translator, Berlin Fresco – Selected Poems of Norbert Hummelt (Shearsman 2010). She is also included in the 2010 and 2012 Shearsman anthologies Infinite Difference, edited by Carrie Etter, and Sea Pie, edited by Peter Hughes. Recordings of her readings are available in the Archive of the Now. Her poems have been translated into German and Czech. She was co-ordinator of the Berlin Poetry Hearings festival.
