Y’all, I know it’s been a while since my last translation. But I’m easing back into it (and back into writing in general, I suppose) after a busyness- and pandemic-induced hiatus by beginning with some prose poems!
For years I’ve had a dual-language copy of Ivan Turgenev’s prose poems — in the original Russian with their German translations — that I continually return to, often re-reading the same favorites again and again. I’m not sure what makes them “prose poems,” to be honest, besides the fact that they’re labeled that way. Some of them are like fables, others like dreams or visions. One that I read recently even appeared to be a joke! But regardless of how they’re classified, these little musings are fascinating to me, so I’ll be translating at least a few of them as I try to get back in the habit of translating generally.
The first on the list is one titled “Два брата,” or “The Two Brothers,” written in August 1878. It appealed to me for its contrasting imagery that I initially wanted to illustrate in a drawing. Honestly, I still might do that, but first — a translation!
Russian text:
То было видение…
Передо мною появилось два ангела… два гения.
Я говорю: ангелы… гении — потому что у обоих на обнаженных телах не было никакой одежды и за плечами у каждого вздымались сильные длинные крылья.
Оба — юноши. Один — несколько полный, гладкокожий, чернокудрый. Глаза карие, с поволокой, с густыми ресницами; взгляд вкрадчивый, веселый и жадный. Лицо прелестное, пленительное, чуть-чуть дерзкое, чуть-чуть злое. Алые пухлявые губы слегка вздрагивают. Юноша улыбается, как власть имеющий — самоуверенно и лениво; пышный цветочный венок слегка покоится на блестящих волосах, почти касаясь бархатных бровей. Перстная шкурка леопарда, перехваченная золотой стрелою, легко повисла с округлого плеча на выгнутое бедро. Перья крыльев отливают розовым цветом; концы их ярко-красны, точно омочены багряной, свежей кровью. От времени до времени они трепещут быстро, с приятным серебристым шумом, шумом весенного дождя.
Другой был худ и желтоват телом. Ребра слабо виднелись при каждом вдыхании. Волосы белокурые, жидкие, прямые; огромные, круглые, бледно-серые глаза… взгляд беспокойный и странно-светлый. Все черты лица заостренные; маленький полураскрытый рот с рыбьими зубами; сжатый, орлиный нос, выдающийся подбородок, покрытый беловатым пухом. Эти сухие губы ни разу, никогда не улыбнулись.
То было правильное, страшное, безжалостное лицо! (Впрочем, и у первого, у красавца, — лицо, хоть и милое и сладкое, жалости не выражало тоже.) Вокруг головы второго зацепилось несколько пустых поломанных колосьев, перевитых поблеклой былинкой. Грубая серая ткань обвивала чресла; крылья за спиною, темно-синие, матового цвета, двигались тихо и грозно.
Оба юноши казались неразлучными товарищами. Каждый их них опирался на плечо другого. Мягкая ручка первого лежала, как виноградный грозд, на сухой ключице второго; узкая кисть второго с длинными тонкими пальцами протянулась, как змея, по женоподобной груди первого.
И послышался мне голос… Вот что произнес он: “Перед тобой Любовь и Голод — два родных брата, две коренных основы всего живущего.
Всё, что живет — движется, чтобы питаться; и питается, чтобы воспроизводить.
Любовь и Голод — цель их одна: нужно, чтобы жизнь не прекращалась, собственная и чужая — всё та же, всеобщая жизнь”.
My English rendition:
I had a vision.
Before me appeared two angels, two genii.1
I say angels or genii because they wore no clothing, and long, powerful wings billowed up behind their shoulders.
Both were but youths. One was rather plump and smooth-skinned, with black curls and brown, hazy eyes, with thick lashes. His glance was insinuating, merry, greedy; his face was charming, captivating, a little brash and a little vicious. His full scarlet lips twitched slightly. This youth smiled like one with authority — a lazy, self-assured smile. A luxuriant crown of flowers rested on his gleaming hair, nearly touching his velvety brows. A spotted leopard skin pinned with a golden arrow hung from his round shoulder to his curved hip. The feathers of his wings had a pink cast, but the ends were bright red, just as if soaked in fresh crimson blood. From time to time they would flutter with a pleasant, silvery sound, like spring rain.
The other was thin and yellowish in body, his ribs showing with every breath. He had thin, straight blond hair; huge, round, pale gray eyes… His gaze was restless and strangely bright. His features were all sharp: a small, half-open mouth with fish’s teeth; a tight, aquiline nose; a protruding chin covered with whitish fuzz. Those dry lips never smiled — not once.
It was a regular,2 fearsome, pitiless face! (But then, even the first one, the beautiful one, had a face that, though charming and sweet, likewise expressed no pity.) Empty, broken husks were tangled around his head, intertwined with faded blades of grass. A rough gray cloth wound around his loins, and the wings at his back, of a dark, matte blue, moved quietly, menacingly.
Both youths seemed to be inseparable comrades. Each supported himself on the shoulder of the other: the soft hand of the first lay like a bunch of grapes on the dry collarbone of the second; the narrow hand of the second with its long, delicate fingers stretched out like a snake over the almost feminine breast of the first.
And I heard a voice… and this is what it said: “Before you stand Love and Hunger — two brothers, two foundations of all the living.
“Everything that lives, moves in order to feed; and it feeds in order to reproduce.
“Love and Hunger share one goal: that life must not end, whether one’s own or the other’s — it’s the same, one universal life.”
Commentary:
1 The word that I translated as spirit was actually гений, or genius. So why did I not just write “two geniuses”? The problem is that in modern usage, to call someone a genius is to say that they’re brilliant, and “two geniuses” would be read the wrong way. I could have written two genii (jee-nee-ai) to make more explicit reference to the mythological meaning. But that term seemed to call too much attention to itself. Though the idea of a genius being an attendant spirit still exists, it’s kind of a fringe thing. Then again…who would be reading prose poems by Turgenev except literary people? What do you think — spirits or genii?
UPDATE Okay I went with genii. But if you still vote spirits, let me know.
2 I had trouble with the word “правильное” to describe “лицо” in this context. The adjective “правильное” is a common word meaning right, proper, correct. It can even mean “right” as in a right angle. In the context of Hunger’s face — which was also described as fearsome and pitiless — I assumed it must mean that his face was “regular,” as in straight and normally proportioned. A conversation with my friend, a native speaker of Russian, confirmed this interpretation. However, regular did not seem to fit the sentence. Fearsome and pitiless are strong words, against which regular sounds dull indeed. Later I temporarily settled on a “well-formed” face to clarify the reference to his features, but that sounded too positive — something that would be said rather of Love’s face. So I switched back. What would you vote: well-formed or regular? Or another term entirely?
