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I recently attended, on-line, the symposium commemorating Constantine Cavafy’s 150th anniversary (born April 26, 1863 and died on the same day, April 26, 1933) at Columbia University, on May 1, 2023. It contained a very interesting general section on translation.
I’m in the unfortunate position of admiring Cavafy’s poetry without having a sense of his poems in the original Greek language. While I can read texts in (New) Greek, and took courses in Greek a couple of times, I can understand only a few hundred words, and the subtleties of the language are lost to me. So it may seem audacious of me to give judgements on the quality of the translations without being able to appreciate the original text. I guess the standards I apply come mainly from an attempt to appreciate the English in translation of the poem in its entirety.
I selected the poem “An Old Man” for obvious reasons: I’m old, twelve years older than when Cavafy wrote this poem, and can well put myself into his shoes, except for the extraordinary luck I had in being royally recognized for my work, so perhaps I see my past with different eyes.
AN OLD MAN
At the noisy end of the cafe, head bent
over the table, an old man sits alone,
a newspaper in front of him.
And in the miserable banality of old age
he thinks how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, eloquence, and looks.
He knows he’s aged a lot: he sees it, feels it.
Yet it seems he was young just yesterday.
So brief an interval, so brief.
And he thinks of Prudence, how it fooled him,
how he always believed – what madness –
that cheat who said: “Tomorrow. You have plenty of time.”
He remembers impulses bridled, the joy
he sacrificed. Every chance he lost –semantically a bit off: it’s not the chance he lost that mocks; it’s perhaps the memory of it
now mocks his senseless caution.
But so much thinking, so much remembering
makes the old man dizzy. He falls asleep,
his head resting on the cafe table.
(Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, referred to as “KS” in the following)
–Overall a very fluid, satisfactory rendering of a poem I cannot read in its original language
AN OLD MAN
An old man, stooped over the table, —I like the KS version better where we are first placed in a room, then go into particulars
sits in the hubbub of a café’s middle, –“hubbub” sounds antiquated. “a cafe’s middle” — nobody would use this expression
alone, a newspaper open before his face. –“before his face” is an oddity here
And scorning the misery of age —this is good!
he thinks how little he engaged –“he engaged the time” sounds very passive
the time when he had strength and speech and grace. –“eloquence” is what is needed here, (from KS) not “speech”
He’s much declined; he knows it, sees it,
though years when he was young still please —“please by seeming close” is an awkward construction
by seeming close. How small a span, how small!
He thinks about how good sense laughed —“Prudence fooled him” (KS) is so much better
at him, while he believed—how mad!—
that cheat who promised “all the time in the world.”
He recalls the urges he controlled,
joy given up, his caution cold, —“his caution cold” is difficult to understand
and every lost chance that haunts him now.
But all this thinking and remembering
dizzies him. Soon he’s slumbering
at the café table with his head laid down.
(Translated by David Mason)
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Cavafy’s poem doesn’t ring in this translation the way it does in KS
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AN OLD MAN
In the inner room of the noisy café –“inner room” is superfluous and it is apparently a way of saying “the most crowded area of the cafe”
an old man sits bent over a table;
a newspaper before him, no companion beside him. — “alone” is doing a better job in English. Perhaps in Greek, the parallelism in the juxtaposition of “before” and “beside” has a particular effect?
And in the scorn of his miserable old age, —scorn is peculiar here; it is subjective in nature but here it is used as an objective condition
he meditates how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, the art of the word, and good looks. –“the art of the word” calls for the wonderful English word, “eloquence” (KS)
He knows he has aged much; he is aware of it, he sees it,
and yet the time when he was young seems like — “seems like yesterday”, although cliche, is a very effective way to get this across
yesterday. How short a time, how short a time.
And he ponders how Wisdom had deceived him; —“Prudence” is the word to use here — the over-cautiousness that in the end prevents you from “carpe diem”
and how he always trusted her—what folly!—
the liar who would say, “Tomorrow. You have ample time.” –it’s not “liar”, exactly since we are dealing with events in the then-future. It is just timidity, propensity to make safe bets while losing track of opportunities for the good life
He recalls impulses he curbed; and how much
joy he sacrificed. Every lost chance
now mocks his senseless prudence.–see KS: semantically a bit off: it’s not the chance he lost that mocks; it’s perhaps the memory of it
…But with so much thinking and remembering
the old man reels. And he dozes off
bent over the table of the café.
(translated by Manolis Aligizakis)
I think this native Greek translator tries to stick too much to the idioms and metaphors of the original text, lacking some sensibility for the target language.
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Below I’m copying the original, for aficionados — for people knowledgeable in the subtleties of Greek, and native admirers of Cavafy.
Ένας Γέρος
Στου καφενείου του βοερού το μέσα μέρος
σκυμένος στο τραπέζι κάθετ’ ένας γέρος·
με μιαν εφημερίδα εμπρός του, χωρίς συντροφιά.
Και μες των άθλιων γηρατειών την καταφρόνια
σκέπτεται πόσο λίγο χάρηκε τα χρόνια
που είχε και δύναμι, και λόγο, κ’ εμορφιά.
Ξέρει που γέρασε πολύ· το νοιώθει, το κυττάζει.
Κ’ εν τούτοις ο καιρός που ήταν νέος μοιάζει
σαν χθες. Τι διάστημα μικρό, τι διάστημα μικρό.
Και συλλογιέται η Φρόνησις πως τον εγέλα·
και πως την εμπιστεύονταν πάντα – τι τρέλλα! –
την ψεύτρα που έλεγε· «Aύριο. Έχεις πολύν καιρό.»
Θυμάται ορμές που βάσταγε· και πόση
χαρά θυσίαζε. Την άμυαλή του γνώσι
κάθ’ ευκαιρία χαμένη τώρα την εμπαίζει.
…. Μα απ’ το πολύ να σκέπτεται και να θυμάται
ο γέρος εζαλίσθηκε. Κι αποκοιμάται
στου καφενείου ακουμπισμένος το τραπέζι.
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