A description of what started this particular blog can be found in its first entry --Feb. 9, 2009. It's about healing.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sometimes
Parfois, Il est bon de sortir De ma propre Langue, agenouillez à un Perspective imparfaite Grâce à un trou de serrure. Dans sa minuscule laiton liés Lumière je etude devenir Un imbécile. Bon!
First off, since I never studied French, I wonder if this Google Translate captures the meaning:
Sometimes It is good to get out From my own Language, to kneel Imperfect perspective Through a keyhole. In his tiny brass bound I become light study A fool. Good!
One of the things that confused me is that the sense in which you mean "fool"is--AFAIK from literary references I'm familiar with--usually translated as "fou" rather than "imbécile" so I wonder why you chose the other sense.
Other than that, I love the sense and sensibility of your poem!
I like the Google translation but it's somewhat out of sequence. Babelfish produced this:
Sometimes, It is good to get out of my own Language, kneel to one Imperfect prospect Through a keyhole. In its tiny brass bound Light I study to become An imbecile. Good!
But all translations are invited equally in poetry as they comment validly upon my meaning and imbecility. Sometimes in surprising ways, which is fun!
First off, since I never studied French, I wonder if this Google Translate captures the meaning:
ReplyDeleteSometimes
It is good to get out
From my own
Language, to kneel
Imperfect perspective
Through a keyhole.
In his tiny brass bound
I become light study
A fool.
Good!
One of the things that confused me is that the sense in which you mean "fool"is--AFAIK from literary references I'm familiar with--usually translated as "fou" rather than "imbécile" so I wonder why you chose the other sense.
Other than that, I love the sense and sensibility of your poem!
I like the Google translation but it's somewhat out of sequence. Babelfish produced this:
ReplyDeleteSometimes,
It is good to get out of my own Language, kneel to one Imperfect prospect Through a keyhole. In its tiny brass bound Light I study to become An imbecile. Good!
But all translations are invited equally in poetry as they comment validly upon my meaning and imbecility. Sometimes in surprising ways, which is fun!