Victor Jara - translation

[Isagel]

I´ve found this translation of Victor Jaras last song, written while he was wating to be killed, together with five thousand other on a stadion. But unfortunately it is a very bad translation. The lasty verse in english, for exemple does not seem to be anything like the last verse in the original version. I´ve posted the original under it, and perhaps somebody can help me and write a better translation? /Love, Isagel

Song, How Imperfect You Are!

We are five thousand
Confined in this little part of town
We are five thousand
How many of us are there throughout the country?

Such a large portion of humanity
With hunger, cold, horror and pain
Six among us have already been lost
And have joined the stars in the sky.

One killed, another beaten
As I never imagined a human being
could be beaten
The other four just wanted to put an end
To their fears

One by jumping down to his death
The other smashing his head against a wall
But all of them
Looking straight into the eyes of death.

We are ten thousand hands
That can no longer work
How many of us are there
Throughout the country?

The blood shed by our comrade President
Has more power than bombs and machine guns
With that same strength our collective fist
Will strike again some day.

Song, How imperfect you are!
When I most need to sing, I cannot
I cannot because I am still alive
I cannot because I am dying

It terrifies me to find myself
Lost in infinite moments
On which silence and shouts
Are the objectives of my song

What I now see, I have never seen
What I feel and what I have felt
Will make the moment spring again.



Canto, Que Mal Me Sales!
Somos cinco mil
En esta pequeña parte de la ciudad.
Somos cinco mil
¨Cuántos seremos en total?

*Cuánta humanidad
Con hambre, frío, pánico, dolor
Seis de los nuestros se perdieron
En el espacio de las estrellas.

Un muerto, un golpeado como jamás creí
Se podría golpear a un ser humano.
Los otros cuatro quisieron
Quitarse todos los temores.

Uno saltando al vacío
Otro golpeándose la cabeza
La cabeza contra el muro
Pero todos con la mirada fija de la muerte.

Somos diez mil manos menos
Que no producen
Quién sabe cuantos seremos
En toda la patria.

La sangre del compañero Presidente
Golpea más fuerte que bombas y metrallas
Así golpeará nuestro puño nuevamente
Asi golpeará nuestro puño nuevamente.

*Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Cuando tengo que cantar espanto!
Espanto como el que vivo
Como el que muero espanto.

De verme entre tanto y tantos
Momentos del infinito
En que el silencio y el grito
Son las metas de este canto.

Lo que veo nunca vi,
Lo que he sentido y lo que siento
Hará brotar el momento
Hará brotar el momento.

Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Cuando tento que cantar espanto.
Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Ay, canto qué mal me sales.

Poema: Victor Jara
Estadio Chile, Septiembre 1973

[crisaor]

Isagel, the one you posted it's not that bad a translation. There are some minor mistakes, but the general message is there. I could try and translate the whole poem for you if you like, but it wouldn't be much different from the one you've already posted.

[Isagel]

You are right, when looking at it more closely – I see that it´s just that there are parts of the poem that are just missing in the translated version – the poem in english stops here:

What I now see, I have never seen
What I feel and what I have felt
Will make the moment spring again.

But in the original in this part has one more line, and one additional verse:
Lo que veo nunca vi,
Lo que he sentido y lo que siento
Hará brotar el momento
Hará brotar el momento.

Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Cuando tento que cantar espanto.
Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Ay, canto qué mal me sales.

I´m not really sure about the translation of the last piece of this verse- the repeating , songlike ending is gone. But I´m not sure how to translate it differently–

The blood shed by our comrade President
Has more power than bombs and machine guns
With that same strength our collective fist
Will strike again some day.

La sangre del compañero Presidente
Golpea más fuerte que bombas y metrallas
Así golpeará nuestro puño nuevamente
Asi golpeará nuestro puño nuevamente.

It´s strange. Somehow the english translation cannot make me feel the emotional impact of this song , as much as the original version or the swedish translation does. For some reason english – one of the mose poetic of languages- does not work well with Jara. Somehow english takes away the raw sorrow and horror, that strikes like a cry or a fist in the stomach. Or perhaps it´s just me. I would be glad for your translation. My spanish is not nearly good enough.

[crisaor]

it´s just that there are parts of the poem that are just missing in the translated version – the poem in english stops here:

What I now see, I have never seen
What I feel and what I have felt
Will make the moment spring again.

But in the original in this part has one more line:
Lo que veo nunca vi,
Lo que he sentido y lo que siento
Hará brotar el momento
Hará brotar el momento.

The line missing is a repetition of the last one in english ("Will make the moment spring again"). I don't know why it's missing...

and one additional verse:
Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Cuando tento que cantar espanto.
Ay, canto qué mal me sales
Ay, canto qué mal me sales.

This one would be something like:

Song, how imperfect you are
When I have to sing fright!
Song, how imperfect you are
Song, how imperfect you are

The second line is somewhat confusing, as it doesn't make much sense in the original in this way. I'm guessing there's a comma between sing and fright, so as to say that when he is about to sing, fear overcomes him. Otherwise, he'd be saying that he has to sing fright (?).

It´s strange. Somehow the english translation cannot make me feel the emotional impact of this song , as much as the original version or the swedish translation does. For some reason english – one of the mose poetic of languages- does not work well with Jara. Somehow english takes away the raw sorrow and horror, that strikes like a cry or a fist in the stomach. Or perhaps it´s just me. I would be glad for your translation. My spanish is not nearly good enough.

It's funny, I thought the same thing when I first looked at the poem in your initial post, and this was one of the reasons I was reluctant to translate it directly, because I perceived that much was lost in the process. My guess is that english is a much richer (and formal) languaje than spanish, and when dealing with translations, what comes to mind first is the literally equivalent, not the context one.

[Isagel]

It could just be a comma missing, but actually I don´t think it sounds so strange to "sing fright." He needs to sing the horror, the fear to let it out and perhaps to take comfort. If you can sing the blues, why shouldn´t you be able to sing fright? But in this moment, when he most needs to sing, when he needs the comfort, the song turns into a small and useless thing for him. It gives him nothing. The song lets one of the greatest singers down on the time of his death. Art can not comfort him when faced with a brutallity that beats a person "as I never thought a person could be beaten". It is a horryfing testimony. But the violence in the Estadio ended, and the song is still here.

I´m glad that you shared my opinion about the translation. Somehow in english the songs sound more like the traditional protestsongs of the seventies. I like protestsongs, but Jaras poetry is more than that. I wonder if there is a better translation then this one.