Rimbaud - Happy Hour at the Green Tavern

[stuartryder]

For a week and a day I’d shredded my soles
on the cobbled way. I got back to Town.
Straight to the pub: I ordered some rolls -
butter and ham. A pint, get it down!

Well-oiled, legs lolling under the green
table, I mulled over background chatter:
simplistic points, endearingly-clean –
then, the big-titted barmaid with flutter

of eyes, and lips that aren’t shy of kissing,
giggled and delivered a buttery spread,
warm strips of ham on a red platter.

Pink strips of ham, with a garlic dressing.
And when she gave my pint-glass a fresh head,
a ray of sunshine ricocheted back at her.

[brianedwards]

Is this a translation or a re-working of Rimbaud's original? The reason I ask is because it is quite different from the version I have (trans. Schmidt, 1976). Perhaps you are working from a different draft of the French?

B.

~

[stuartryder]

Brian, it's a bit of both, although I haven't seen Schmidt. I used the French from a recent Oxford Classics text.

What do you think?

S

[brianedwards]

Here's the Paul Schmidt translation, taken from "Arthur Rimbaud: Complete Works"

At The Green Cabaret

[tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab](five in the afternoon)

A week of walking had torn my boots to shreds.
I finally got to Charleroi and came
To the Green Cabaret; I ordered bread
And butter and a piece of half-cold ham.

I felt good, stretched out my legs under
A table and looked at the silly tapestries
Hanging on the wall. And what a wonder
When a girl with enormous tits and shining eyes

—Hell, a kiss would never scare her off!—
Laughed as she brought me the bread and butter
And a fancy platter of ham, half-cold—

Ham, all pink and white, it had a garlic
Taste—and filled my mug with beer, whose froth
A ray of fading sunlight turned to gold.




I do like your version stuart, very much, but it feels somewhat caught between being a direct translation and a re-rendering of Rimbaud's theme. I think I would prefer it if you revised towards the latter idea: Happy Hour at The Green Duck, Sheffield Circa 2009. Know what I mean?

Anyway, here's another version by Ezra Pound. Quite different again you'll notice, as Pound was very interested in Rimbaud's "directness of presentation". He uses colloquial language to emphasise the immediacy and concreteness of the original.

Wearing out my shoes, 8th day
On the bad roads, I got into Charleroi.
Bread, butter, at the Green Cabaret
And the ham half cold.

Got my legs stretched out
And was looking at the simple tapestries,
Very nice when the gal with the big bubs
And lively eyes,

Not one to be scared of a kiss and more,
Brought the butter and bread with a grin
And the luke-warm ham on a colored plate,

Pink ham, white fat and a sprig
Of garlic, and a great chope of foamy beer
Gilt by the sun in that atmosphere.

(translation by Ezra Pound)


B.

~

[stuartryder]

I like the Schmidt better than the Pound but that's just me!

I did try to Sheffield-up the translation. It is pretty close I feel to the original but yes, I could push it out further and maybe twang it into Yorkshire a bit more.

Interestingly, I researched the line that mentioned tapestries and the word in the French can be used to mean "wallflowers", of people. So I felt that Rimbaud was having a quick pop at the village regulars in the bar and their anodyne/asinine conversations.

Cheers

S

Here's the Paul Schmidt translation, taken from "Arthur Rimbaud: Complete Works"

At The Green Cabaret

[tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab][tab][/tab](five in the afternoon)

A week of walking had torn my boots to shreds.
I finally got to Charleroi and came
To the Green Cabaret; I ordered bread
And butter and a piece of half-cold ham.

I felt good, stretched out my legs under
A table and looked at the silly tapestries
Hanging on the wall. And what a wonder
When a girl with enormous tits and shining eyes

—Hell, a kiss would never scare her off!—
Laughed as she brought me the bread and butter
And a fancy platter of ham, half-cold—

Ham, all pink and white, it had a garlic
Taste—and filled my mug with beer, whose froth
A ray of fading sunlight turned to gold.




I do like your version stuart, very much, but it feels somewhat caught between being a direct translation and a re-rendering of Rimbaud's theme. I think I would prefer it if you revised towards the latter idea: Happy Hour at The Green Duck, Sheffield Circa 2009. Know what I mean?

Anyway, here's another version by Ezra Pound. Quite different again you'll notice, as Pound was very interested in Rimbaud's "directness of presentation". He uses colloquial language to emphasise the immediacy and concreteness of the original.

Wearing out my shoes, 8th day
On the bad roads, I got into Charleroi.
Bread, butter, at the Green Cabaret
And the ham half cold.

Got my legs stretched out
And was looking at the simple tapestries,
Very nice when the gal with the big bubs
And lively eyes,

Not one to be scared of a kiss and more,
Brought the butter and bread with a grin
And the luke-warm ham on a colored plate,

Pink ham, white fat and a sprig
Of garlic, and a great chope of foamy beer
Gilt by the sun in that atmosphere.

(translation by Ezra Pound)


B.

~

[Mr. Madeleine]

Your translation is a bit too much of a re-working for my tastes. There are significant departures from the French original, which I am posting below along with a translation by Wyatt Mason.

The first stanza in Rimbaud’s poem has to proper nouns that define the setting; Charleroi, and the Cabaret-Vert. They evoke a lot more to me than the mere words “town” and “pub.” I don’t think any reader would experience difficulty in guessing that Charleroi is a town in France nor what the Cabaret-Vert could be. Also, the narrator in Rimbaud’s poem doesn’t order any beer.

In the second stanza, I like the addition of the “background chatter” even though it isn’t in Rimbaud’s. The phrase which you’ve (mis)translated as “endearingly-clean” is attributed to the big-titted maid in the original.

Your first line in the third stanza misses the tone of Rimbaud completely. The narrator’s amazement in the original is lost in your translation. “Red platter” doesn’t do it for me either.

I like the first two lines of your fourth stanza. I think they capture Rimbaud’s best. I’d get rid of that “ricochet” in your last line though; I like the highly-kinetic word, but not in that setting.

I hope this helps.


AU CABARET-VERT, CINQ HEURES DU SOR

Depuis huit jours, j’avais dechire mes bottines
Aux cailloux des chemins. J’entrais a Charleroi.
- Au Cabaret-Vert: je demandai des tartines
De beurre et du jambon qui fut a moitie froid.

Bienheureux, j’allongeai les jambes sous la table
Verte: je contemplai les sujets tres naifs
De la tapisserie. - Et ce fut adorable,
Quand la fille aux tetons enormes, aux yeux vifs,

-Celle-la, ce n’est pas un baiser qui l’epeure! -
Rieuse, m’apporta des tartines de beurre,
Du jambon tiede, dans un plat colorie,

Du jambon rose et blanc parfume d’une gousse
D’ail - et m’emplit la chope immense, avec sa mousse
Que dorait un rayon de soleil arriere


AT THE CABARET-VERT, FIVE PM
(Translation by Wyatt Mason)

Eight days of shredding my boots
On bad roads. Then, Charleroi.
- And into the Cabaret-Vert. I ordered:
Bread and butter with lukewarm ham.

I felt good, and stretched my legs
Under the green table: I was staring
At the tapestry’s simple scenes
When a girl with huge tits and bright eyes

- No kiss could scare her off! -
Cheerily brought me my bread and butter
And lukewarm ham on a colorful plate,

Pink and white ham rubbed with garlic -
And then filled my giant mug with foamy beer
That glowed gold with late-day night.

[stuartryder]

Thanks Madge for a well detailed crit. Some people want me to re-work and re-mould, others don't... what a tantalising fork in the road! I think the issue is that I tried to stick quite close but mis-translated too much for that to work.

Notes:

1. The reader of Rimbaud or the tourist of Europe might get his references but I'm just as sure there are more people out there who wouldn't. Don't forget, there are a few poets and scholars, and about 6 billion others! What I would be interested to know - as a non-scholar of Rimbaud - is what the significance of Charleroi is. Is it his home town? His kindred spirit place? Or a random town he happened on? Is it the place he met Verlaine? These things seem psychologically more relevant than just putting Charleroi in the translation because it's in the original. What does Charleroi signify, and so in translating, what do I have that is equivalent?

2. Thanks for the correction - I mis-translated a moitie froid, although it does seem that your translator got the tone wrong saying "lukewarm". The French translates as "luke-cold" if there was such a word, which suggests a different process of cooling the ham rather than warming it.

Stu

Your translation is a bit too much of a re-working for my tastes. There are significant departures from the French original, which I am posting below along with a translation by Wyatt Mason.

The first stanza in Rimbaud’s poem has to proper nouns that define the setting; Charleroi, and the Cabaret-Vert. They evoke a lot more to me than the mere words “town” and “pub.” I don’t think any reader would experience difficulty in guessing that Charleroi is a town in France nor what the Cabaret-Vert could be. Also, the narrator in Rimbaud’s poem doesn’t order any beer.

In the second stanza, I like the addition of the “background chatter” even though it isn’t in Rimbaud’s. The phrase which you’ve (mis)translated as “endearingly-clean” is attributed to the big-titted maid in the original.

Your first line in the third stanza misses the tone of Rimbaud completely. The narrator’s amazement in the original is lost in your translation. “Red platter” doesn’t do it for me either.

I like the first two lines of your fourth stanza. I think they capture Rimbaud’s best. I’d get rid of that “ricochet” in your last line though; I like the highly-kinetic word, but not in that setting.

I hope this helps.


AU CABARET-VERT, CINQ HEURES DU SOR

Depuis huit jours, j’avais dechire mes bottines
Aux cailloux des chemins. J’entrais a Charleroi.
- Au Cabaret-Vert: je demandai des tartines
De beurre et du jambon qui fut a moitie froid.

Bienheureux, j’allongeai les jambes sous la table
Verte: je contemplai les sujets tres naifs
De la tapisserie. - Et ce fut adorable,
Quand la fille aux tetons enormes, aux yeux vifs,

-Celle-la, ce n’est pas un baiser qui l’epeure! -
Rieuse, m’apporta des tartines de beurre,
Du jambon tiede, dans un plat colorie,

Du jambon rose et blanc parfume d’une gousse
D’ail - et m’emplit la chope immense, avec sa mousse
Que dorait un rayon de soleil arriere


AT THE CABARET-VERT, FIVE PM
(Translation by Wyatt Mason)

Eight days of shredding my boots
On bad roads. Then, Charleroi.
- And into the Cabaret-Vert. I ordered:
Bread and butter with lukewarm ham.

I felt good, and stretched my legs
Under the green table: I was staring
At the tapestry’s simple scenes
When a girl with huge tits and bright eyes

- No kiss could scare her off! -
Cheerily brought me my bread and butter
And lukewarm ham on a colorful plate,

Pink and white ham rubbed with garlic -
And then filled my giant mug with foamy beer
That glowed gold with late-day night.

[brianedwards]

The Mason translation reads like lukewarm ham. . . . If that's the point then, congratulations Messrs Mason and Madeleine.
But my feeling is Rimbaud was more about the "poetry!" and the Mason translation is "like", the worst post-Williams mis-read imaginable . . .


B.

~

[k-j]

Fascinating thread!

I rank the translations in this order:

1. Pound
2. Schmidt
3. Ryder
4. Mason

I really like the Ryder translation and it might have topped the Schmidt if fidelity counted for less. The Schmidt maintains the metre and more or less maps the spirit of the original (interpreted by my imperfect French). The Pound version is something else though, maybe the best thing I've read by him (admittedly I've not read much Pound). The Mason - bah, pedestrian.

[stuartryder]

I'm starting to think of this in terms of the end of a "walk sequence". Obviously this is suggestive of the Peaks as that's where I live near, but I could see it in terms of the final poem of a holiday, or a town-mouse/country-mouse motif. So many options - thanks to a simple translation!

I'm thinking of something very chatty in light of Pound's success, but also on a beat. He obviously knew far far more than I ever will about Rimbaud, but you never know, I might hit some moments he didn't... ;-p

(Imagine coming to the end of a 7-day adventure and returning to the place you love.)


Revision A -

The Green Tree, Happy Hour

For a week and a day
I’d shredded my soles
on the cobbled way.
I got back to Town.
Straight to the pub:
I ordered some rolls -
"Good honest grub".
A pint, get it down!

Well-oiled, legs lolling
I lounged, mulling
over background chat -
simple but good, that...

then our hottie barmaid with her fluttering
eyes and daring tits, said Ey-oh Stu!
She stood over me wickedly, buttering
bread and I risked a kiss. She did, too.

Pink slabs of ham with a garlic mayo.
And when she gave me a refill, a golden
sunbeam glanced off the head.

***

For a week and a day I’d shredded my soles
on the cobbled way. I got back to Town.
Straight to the pub: I ordered some rolls -
butter and ham. A pint, get it down!

Well-oiled, legs lolling under the green
table, I mulled over background chatter:
simplistic points, endearingly-clean –
then, the big-titted barmaid with flutter

of eyes, and lips that aren’t shy of kissing,
giggled and delivered a buttery spread,
warm strips of ham on a red platter.

Pink strips of ham, with a garlic dressing.
And when she gave my pint-glass a fresh head,
a ray of sunshine ricocheted back at her.

[Mr. Madeleine]

Rimbaud was born in Charleville near the Belgian border and has lived in Charleroi (which is in Belgium actually, sorry for the above error.) Rimbaud traveled a lot (on foot) and would have lived in Charleroi. As for Verlaine (there is a town bearing that name in Belgium, but making that a connection seems far-fetched to me), I believe Rimbaud met him in Paris. I confess that I am ignorant of any deeper particular meaning of "Chareleroi" in the poem, it's just that I like a setting when I see one. Perhaps it's just me but it feels more immediate, more intimate.

I am not that keen on Wyatt Mason's translation, I've posted it here as an alternative reference. I also translate Rimbaud, I haven't translated this one yet, but will post it here when I do so.

Jean

[David]

Like k-j - and all of you, probably - I love this sort of micro-obsessing over a foreign language that I can just about get. Without going over all that ground, I like your translation a lot, Stu. I can see a lot of Sheffield in there, but it still seems to have a real spiritual kinship with little Arthur.

I do agree that the Pound is the best, though.

Although I can read French, semi-adequately, in that I know what most of the words mean, what I can't do is gauge their emotional weight. Take tétons, for instance - is this an affectionate word, an aggressive one, a neutral one? That's what I don't know. And that sort of thing.

I'd love to see a few more of these, Stu, and I wouldn't mind reading your version, Mr. M - M. M?

Cheers

David