Translation Review of Sheds/Hangars by José-Flore Tappy, translated from the French by John Taylor

Published by Bitter Oleander Press, 2014

 

 

José-Flore Tappy (1954) is that rare thing to find in contemporary poetry, a poet with a Heraclitean sensibility to the nature of things in the world which surrounds her.

 

                     Il suffit juste

                     de tendre l’oreille

 

                     de capter

                     sous la lave des rêves

                     quelques syllabes

 

                     dans l’ouïe

                     leurs notes légères

                     comme pluie               (from Elémentaires)

 

 

Ouïe, in French, meaning very finely attuned hearing. There is no comparable word in English, and Taylor, playing it very finely, manages to suggest the idea here.

 

For readers such as myself, who are unfamiliar with the Swiss poet, this is Tappy’s first appearance in book form in English. Sheds/Hangars houses all of her six collections to date, so its appearance is a significant event. The twin title is interesting, both variants being places where things, or creatures, are housed: livestock and aircraft! This signals the very Heideggerian notion of language itself being a place to house Be-ing, or notions of Self - and considering the almost pre-Socratic attachment to elements which Tappy’s entire oeuvre encompasses, this should come as no surprise.

 

                        Passez le seuil en feu

                        et pénétrez

                        sous la fraîcheur des voûtes

                        où sèche le temps

                        pendu dans l’âtre

 

 

The above sequence is taken from Tappy’s debut collection Errer Mortelle/Wandering Mortal which won the Ramuz Prize in 1983. Again, it shows the same themes and concerns as those of her more recent works, which, for the reader, is very comforting.

 

                        Un seul regard une seule

                        pensée tournés vers

                        l’arrière

                        à jamais glacent

                        les plus brûlants désirs

 

                         Ses yeux remplis

                         de froids cristaux

 

                         On lui crache au visage

                         on lui crache au genoux

                         petrifiés

 

                         on passe outre   (from Poèmes de l’ombre)

 

 

All the poems included come in the same form of sequencing, without any of the trappings of punctuation, and add to the further continuum of content.

 

 

                         Looking or

                         thinking back

                         just once

                         chill forever

                         the most burning desires

 

                         Her eyes full

                         of cold crystals

 

                         They spit in her face

                         they spit on her petrified

                         knees

 

                         they walk right past her    (from Shadow Poems)

 

 

The tension which all along underscores these texts, from the very first verse on the first page to the very last upon the last, erupts at times before the reader, the poet breaks into the domestic.

 

                             L’eau douce

                             de ta voix coule

                             dans ma gorge altérée

                             et le matin entre avec le vent

                             dans le ciel peigné fin      (from Errer mortelle)

 

 

The soft guttural vowels of the French fall gently, almost effortlessly, from the tongue, immediately captivating the reader in the original. Taylor’s challenge is clear. How to render as faithfully as one possibly can, yet without compromising the quiet vehemence which Tappy beautifully keeps in check in the original?

 

All good translation is a high wire act, without any safety nets. In other words, the translator, in order to be ‘faithful’ to the poet s/he is working on, must, at the very least, attempt to embody the spirit which informs the text. Words are mere residual matter to Be-ing, thus are expendable. In other words the decision, or force, which informs Tappy must somehow pass through Taylor.

 

The word douce is deceptive in French to the English reader, collocated as it is with L’eau. The two together simply meaning fresh water, as that which flows in a river or in a lake, as opposed to the sea. However, Tappy’s context, being poetic, is far from ordinary. And yet, this is how Taylor chooses to translate it.

 

                            The fresh water

                            of your voice flows

                            into my thirsty throat

                            and the windy morning enters

                            the smoothly combed sky

 

 

The tension has immediately dissolved, and we are presented with a rather dull attempt at a literal translation, which is really a shame. If the translator, who is a working poet himself, had only remained more faithful at maintaining the underlying tension throughout, and concerned himself less with the literalness of his intent. Why thirsty and not ‘altered’? The fresh started it. Taylor chose to embed himself in the literalness of the text, thereby denying the English reader the flight of Tappy’s wonderful linguistic play on metaphor.

 

But this is perhaps being very harsh, as John Taylor has done a very wonderful thing translating the entire work of this most complex and universal poet. While reading through her, I was reminded of Yves Bonnefoy, in both her treatment of form and content. But also, rather delightfully, Jules Laforgue!

 

                             La lune seule me suit

                             si légère

                             voliage comme du papier

                             on dit qu’elle préfère

                              divaguer dans l’espace

                             quand la mer jette ses vagues

                             contre la nuit violacée   (from Lunaires II / Lunar Poems II)

 

 

Taylor is precise.

 

                               Only the moon follows me

                               so lightweight

                               fluttering like paper

                               it supposedly likes

                               rambling through space

                               when the sea throws its waves

                               against the purplish night

 

 

He should be commended for introducing her into the English speaking world, which so very badly needs to hear more voices like this. Alors Monsieur Taylor - Chapeau!