Inspiration in languages

Today, I have been inspired by languages.

I went to a poetry event dedicated to one of Spain’s most prominent Spanish poets, Federico García Lorca (1898-1936), a fact which, in itself, is not that amazing, albeit certainly special. The amazing part was… The event took place in Germany.

Sure, it was in the context of a Spanish learning class. But still. We are talking about some of the most complex poetry Spanish literature has seen. And yet, as soon as those complicated words were accompanied by a guitar and sung by the amazing vocal chords of an opera singer, everyone – and I mean everyone, Spanish speakers and non-Spanish speakers alike- understood it perfectly. Or, more likely, they felt it.

Poetry is a whole other dimension of language. A dimension where words are as important as their rhythm and their musicality, even if they are not meant to be put into a song. And translating these can be the work of a lifetime, or an eternal nightmare.

I have never translated poetry. I have never had the chance, but I really don’t know if I would be able to do it. It just requires a little too much of just one person: it requires not only the total dominance of a language, but juggling it to fit the cadence of a verse, not missing the subtleties of the original language, the metaphors and the hidden messages. Generally speaking, poetry is made in and for a language, and trying to change that, for many, is impossible. That’s probably why García Lorca’s work was recited in Spanish… Even in the heart of Germany.

But the beauty of it is that, if it’s done right, if it’s given the attitude it is supposed to have, even those who are not familiar with the language do feel its meaning. If, by trying to make it more understandable, we translate a poem to other languages and, in doing so, we manage to make it lose this quality, that translation is a failure.

Or maybe poems are not meant to be translated at all. Maybe there is such a thing as a message impossible to translate. Or maybe the language of poetry is just untranslatable in itself.

Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

This is a haiku by eminent Japanese poet Matsuo Basho (1644-1694). It was translated by American poet Robert Hass as follows:

The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.

I guess one has to be a poet to understand the secret technique of translating a poem. A world reserved for a chosen few. I will continue to admire their works from afar – they deserve it.