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livAnd it's religious poetry, at that. I'm probably going to regret putting this in public, but I'll spare you the wibbling about whether I ought to write this post or not and just write it.
So there's a piyyut (liturgical poem) by Ibn Gabirol (1021-1056) which we use in the Shabbat morning service. I've always liked it, and I'm also fascinated by the structure of it. And some lines came to me while I was doing boring experiments, and I found myself rather liking the idea of trying a verse translation, so I forced the rest. This is the result:
As morning breaks I seek You,
Protecting rock of mine,
Setting out to greet You
Prayers at their proper time.
Before Your awesome greatness
I stand and feel afraid,
For I know Your eye can see
My every secret thought.
What then I ask You may
My heart or tongue achieve?
Even more, I doubt the strength
Of spirit in myself.
And yet I know You love
The song of mortal man,
Therefore I shall praise you while
God's soul yet breathes in me.
For comparison, the first verse of a couple of other verse translations:
And a literal translation (mine, and not very wonderful):
I keep on seeking You [at daybreak | at the time for the morning prayer]
My rock and my protector.
I arrange [before you | in your presence]
My morning prayer and also my evening prayer.
Before Your greatness
I stand and I tremble,
For Your eye sees
All the thoughts of my [heart | mind].
What is it that
The [heart | mind] or the tongue
Can do? And what is the strength
Of my spirit deep inside my organs?
Behold, You regard as good
The religious song of a mortal, therefore
I shall continue to give thanks to you as long as
the [soul | breathing part] of God is in me.
I was trying to do various things with this. Firstly, to preserve the original metre; the Reform translation I cite is not far off it, and can be sung to the same tune as the Hebrew at a stretch, whereas the Liberal translation, while metrical, has no connection with the original metre (and is sung to an entirely separate tune, since Liberals tend to go in for liturgical singing in English, quite often using tunes borrowed from Christian hymns). The metre is apparently simple, but the more I got into it, the more I realized it isn't. Also, writing this was an exercise in defeating the dactylic demons that beset a lot of the poetry I try to write!
Following on from that, I'm trying to bring out structural elements. So it's quite intentional that the first verse half rhymes and has a very strict metre, while the structure kind of unravels throughout the hymn, with the remaining three verses losing the rhyme, getting looser in metre, and being increasingly disrupted by enjambement. I think a lot of what's wrong with my effort is that I've been too pedantic about this. Anyway, the attempt, if not my poor execution of it, is rather influenced by Hofstadter's views on translation, particularly Le ton beau de Marot.
And then I wanted to put across some of the depth of language, the double meanings of the words, and their liturgical connotations. I'm not sure I've really succeeded in that. And I'm not sure I've succeeded in writing a poem with its own aesthetic merit and that reads well as English, mainly because I prioritized the first couple of goals too much.
Anyway, what is effectively a filk of Ibn Gabirol is really frighteningly hubristic anyway, since he is generally agreed to be the greatest of the payytanim. He's most famous for writing Adon Olam ('Eternal Lord'), the hymn which ends the Shabbat morning service. He has a really amazing sense of language which never degenerates into the kind of self-conscious cleverness you get from a lot of his contemporaries. And what I really love about him is his knack for making liturgy personal; he really gives a sense of the individual's relationship with God, and he does it by slightly changing the context of well-known liturgical phrases. This piece is a good example of that, it grapples with the paradox of trying to relate to, much less worship, an all-powerful and infinite God, and yet it is intensely personal, you really get a sense of the poet's character and emotions.
So obviously, I can't even begin to capture any of this. But I had fun playing with it, and now I'm having fun cluttering up your friends pages with the results.
So there's a piyyut (liturgical poem) by Ibn Gabirol (1021-1056) which we use in the Shabbat morning service. I've always liked it, and I'm also fascinated by the structure of it. And some lines came to me while I was doing boring experiments, and I found myself rather liking the idea of trying a verse translation, so I forced the rest. This is the result:
Protecting rock of mine,
Setting out to greet You
Prayers at their proper time.
Before Your awesome greatness
I stand and feel afraid,
For I know Your eye can see
My every secret thought.
What then I ask You may
My heart or tongue achieve?
Even more, I doubt the strength
Of spirit in myself.
And yet I know You love
The song of mortal man,
Therefore I shall praise you while
God's soul yet breathes in me.
For comparison, the first verse of a couple of other verse translations:
| Every day I seek You, My fortress refuge, rock and guide, Set my prayers before You in the morning, Worship You at eventide. | Every dawn I seek You my refuge and might set my prayer before You each morning and night. |
| From the Liberal prayer book, The New Service of the Heart. And quoted from memory because I don't have the book to hand, which also means I don't know who wrote this version. | From the Reform prayer book, Forms of Prayer. Probably by R. Magonet (metrical translations and general filking are very much his thing, but he's too modest ever to put his name to any of his work). |
And a literal translation (mine, and not very wonderful):
I keep on seeking You [at daybreak | at the time for the morning prayer]
My rock and my protector.
I arrange [before you | in your presence]
My morning prayer and also my evening prayer.
Before Your greatness
I stand and I tremble,
For Your eye sees
All the thoughts of my [heart | mind].
What is it that
The [heart | mind] or the tongue
Can do? And what is the strength
Of my spirit deep inside my organs?
Behold, You regard as good
The religious song of a mortal, therefore
I shall continue to give thanks to you as long as
the [soul | breathing part] of God is in me.
I was trying to do various things with this. Firstly, to preserve the original metre; the Reform translation I cite is not far off it, and can be sung to the same tune as the Hebrew at a stretch, whereas the Liberal translation, while metrical, has no connection with the original metre (and is sung to an entirely separate tune, since Liberals tend to go in for liturgical singing in English, quite often using tunes borrowed from Christian hymns). The metre is apparently simple, but the more I got into it, the more I realized it isn't. Also, writing this was an exercise in defeating the dactylic demons that beset a lot of the poetry I try to write!
Following on from that, I'm trying to bring out structural elements. So it's quite intentional that the first verse half rhymes and has a very strict metre, while the structure kind of unravels throughout the hymn, with the remaining three verses losing the rhyme, getting looser in metre, and being increasingly disrupted by enjambement. I think a lot of what's wrong with my effort is that I've been too pedantic about this. Anyway, the attempt, if not my poor execution of it, is rather influenced by Hofstadter's views on translation, particularly Le ton beau de Marot.
And then I wanted to put across some of the depth of language, the double meanings of the words, and their liturgical connotations. I'm not sure I've really succeeded in that. And I'm not sure I've succeeded in writing a poem with its own aesthetic merit and that reads well as English, mainly because I prioritized the first couple of goals too much.
Anyway, what is effectively a filk of Ibn Gabirol is really frighteningly hubristic anyway, since he is generally agreed to be the greatest of the payytanim. He's most famous for writing Adon Olam ('Eternal Lord'), the hymn which ends the Shabbat morning service. He has a really amazing sense of language which never degenerates into the kind of self-conscious cleverness you get from a lot of his contemporaries. And what I really love about him is his knack for making liturgy personal; he really gives a sense of the individual's relationship with God, and he does it by slightly changing the context of well-known liturgical phrases. This piece is a good example of that, it grapples with the paradox of trying to relate to, much less worship, an all-powerful and infinite God, and yet it is intensely personal, you really get a sense of the poet's character and emotions.
So obviously, I can't even begin to capture any of this. But I had fun playing with it, and now I'm having fun cluttering up your friends pages with the results.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-30 11:53 pm (UTC)You're missing some commas, by the way.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-01 12:15 am (UTC)And go on, tell me about commas. I know you and I are never entirely going to agree on this, but there probably are some that are actually missing. (Not in the Reform translation; R Magonet punctuates really minimally so the lack of commas is in the original.)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-01 06:03 am (UTC)As morning breaks, I seek You,
And possibly:
And, yet, I know You love
But, given that it's verse, I think it's much better as it is. You've done a really good job with the way the phrases are punctuated and I think more commas would ruin the way that it lilts in a very musical way. In sort, I like. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-02 02:27 pm (UTC)Yup, I can see an argument for that.
And, yet, I know You love
I definitely wouldn't use those commas. Maybe after yet; certainly not before. Funny.
But, given that it's verse, I think it's much better as it is.
Good point; I hadn't thought of the differences in what punctuation is suitable for verse rather than than prose.
You've done a really good job
*blush* Thank you! I really wasn't expecting such praise.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-03 12:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-01 09:14 am (UTC)What then I ask You may / My heart or tongue achieve?
What then, I ask You, may / My heart or tongue achieve?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-02 02:30 pm (UTC)You know what? I can't find it. I would have sworn it was on my computer, but it apparently isn't. How disappointing.
What then, I ask You, may / My heart or tongue achieve?
That's a fair point, formally speaking. I just didn't want to emphasize I ask You; it's just filler words. (Which I mainly put in there because the original contains filler words (what is it that instead of simply what), meaning I needed to make my line longer, but didn't have any actual content to extend it with.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-02 12:45 pm (UTC)(And ah, so you have dactylic demons? Mine are prosaically iambic.)
<burbles at bit about the etymological connection between piyyut and poiesis>
<wanders off singing "אדני שפתי תפתח ופי יגיד תהלתך">
<wanders back to say, a propos of nothing more than talking about the meaning of prayer:> What exactly does "Do it for the sake of thy right hand" mean anyway?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-02 02:40 pm (UTC)Why thank you! *bow*
It's not in the Orthodox service, is it?
Quite possibly not. I meant to mention something about this, actually; the (Ashkenazi) Orthodox liturgy doesn't really use a lot of piyyutim outside the High Holy Days, I think.
And ah, so you have dactylic demons?
Oh, horribly so. Everything I write turns into dactylic hex if I'm not extremely careful.
Mine are prosaically iambic.
What a sweet contrast!
the etymological connection between piyyut and poiesis
I'm fairly certain I pointed that out to you in the first place, didn't I? But anyway, yeah, it's a very cool etymological fact!
"אדני שפתי תפתח ופי יגיד תהלתך"
I'm a bit surprised that you write G-d in English, but אדני in full in Hebrew.
What exactly does "Do it for the sake of thy right hand" mean anyway?
It means: because you swore by your right hand that you would.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-02 03:24 pm (UTC)B.but there's not enough syllables for... oh. Hexameter, not hexadecimal. ;^)
I'm fairly certain I pointed that out to you in the first place, didn't I?
Which is why I only put a metaburble in rather than the burble itself.
I'm a bit surprised that you write G-d in English, but אדני in full in Hebrew.
It's the Hebrew word "אדני", not the Tetragrammaton. "Lord", not "L".
It means: because you swore by your right hand that you would.
Where?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-03 01:16 am (UTC)That justification makes zero sense, considering that the word God isn't the tetragrammaton either. It isn't even really a euphemism for it. So I still claim you're being inconsistent.
you swore by your right hand that you would.
Where?
Oh, in נך, mostly. Isaiah 62:8 do you?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-03 04:20 am (UTC)When used to voice the Tetragrammaton, "אדני" is being used as a name of G-d, and is treated the same way. When written as a word in its own right, it simply means "My Lord" (using the Divine plural).
Would it make more sense if in my explanation above I'd said, rather, "Lord", not "L" standing in for "YHV״H"?
And yes, Isaiah 62:8 will do me fine.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-09 01:02 pm (UTC)Yes, it is, but they're both in the same odd situation. They're used as proper names, but they're also just the word for god simply. It depends on the context; in a way calling God "God" is already saying that God's name is too holy to be used directly, even in prayer. Or that God is beyond the limitations of a thing that can be named, depending which way you want to look at it.
which is a name of G-d
Yes, but you wouldn't write *K-ng or *M-rciful or *Allm-ghty or *Pr-sence, would you?
When used to voice the Tetragrammaton, "אדני" is being used as a name of G-d
The only time that אלוהים is used analogously is to vocalize the phrase אדני [Tetragrammaton] (ok, so even I don't write that out in full in random LJ comments). The rest of the time, I'd say it's much more cognate to אדני as a word in its own right.
Would it make more sense if in my explanation above I'd said, rather, "Lord", not "LORD" standing in for "YHV״H"?
No, I understood you the first time; I'm familiar with the convention of writing LORD in small caps for the Tetragrammaton, from Hertz and other places.
Dog doog!
Date: 2004-10-16 03:20 pm (UTC)Huh? Calling G-d "God" is merely a consequence of the fact we only recognise one -- E is the god (and, indeed, האלוקים is sometimes used in Hebrew). It's the same way people refer to the Queen -- there's only one, so there's no need to call her Queen Elizabeth.
Yes, but you wouldn't write *K-ng or *M-rciful or *Allm-ghty or *Pr-sence, would you?
That's a very good point (and I'm most amused by the asterisks). One could argue that there's something inherently holy about the concept of "god". One could argue that "god" has no other meaning, which "king" and "merciful" and "presence" do. "Allmighty" does not (and is a slightly suspect translation anyway), and I've a suspicion I have seen that hyphenated. (As a matter of interest -- I've asked you this before, possibly in St Albans, but can't remember the answer -- what's the equivalent for Dieu?)
Alternatively, one could simply say I'm being inconsistent and irrational, simply because I'm conditioned that way.
The only time that אלוהים is used analogously is to vocalize the phrase אדני [Tetragrammaton]. The rest of the time, I'd say it's much more cognate to אדני as a word in its own right.
Could you justify this assertion?