Emil Brumaru–Elegy

I salivated all through the intense labor of translating this poem. I hope you will, too! Lots of linguistic treasons, unfortunately, which is why I’ve included at the end, a very literal translation which will reveal exactly how much I’ve played in order to preserve the rhythm and rhyme. No small feat, especially with such suave, subtle nuances–which end in a Kantian reference, for good measure! I did agonize over the use of the German phrase (Das Ding an sich) for "the thing in itself," but 1) the literal English translation cannot be tamed into the iambic cadence of the poem, so it tends to sound bad no matter where I put it; 2) the two phrases are  often used interchangeably, and anyone who understands the reference to "thing in itself" will automatically know the German original; 3) the German phrase gives a much, much better rhythm. There!

elegie O, vechi şi dragi bucătării de vară, Simt iar în gură gust suav de-amiază Şi în tristeţea care mă-nconjoară Din nou copilăria mea visează: Ienibahar, piper prăjit pe plită, Peşti groşi ce-au adormit în sos cu lapte, Curcani păstraţi în zeama lor o noapte Spre o delicateţe infinită, Ciuperci cât canapeaua, în dantele, icre cu bob bălos ce ochiu-şi cască, Aluaturi tapisate crescând grele Într-o dobitocie îngerească, Moi miezuri de ficaţi în butoiaşe De ou de melc, înlăcrămate dulce, Mujdeiuri ireale, şunci gingaşe Când sufletu-n muştar vrea să se culce, şi-n ceainice vădindu-şi eminenţa Prin fast de irizări şi toarte fine Ceaiuri scăzute pînă la esenţa Trandafirie-a lucrului în sine!

elegy [final version] O, summer kitchens, cherished, old, and dear, I taste again the vesper’s dainty snacks, And in the sadness that surrounds me here, My childhood dreams again of scrumptious stacks: Of juniper and peppercorn with bite, Fat fish that fell asleep in saucy cream, Whole turkeys marinated overnight Until their tenderness is quite extreme— The mushrooms—sofa-sized and dressed in lace, Fish eggs with slimy grain in their vicinity, Upholstered doughs which rise with heavy grace, In an angelic, stupefied bovinity, Soft liver bits in barreled juicy splendor, Glazed by the sweetest tears of snail egg custard, Surreal garlic sauce, and hams so tender Your soul will want to go to sleep in mustard, While teapots proudly show through beamy glass With iridescent pomp, so very slick, Fine teas boiled down until the very last And rosy essence of das Ding an sich!

Here’s the literal translation:

Elegy
O, old and dear summer kitchens

Again I feel the suave taste of the afternoon in my mouth

And in the sadness that surrounds me

My childhood dreams again of

Juniper and peppercorn roasted on the stove

Fat fish that fell asleep in milky sauce

Turkeys kept in their own juices for a night
In order to achieve an infinite delicacy—

Mushrooms as big as the sofa, in lace,

Fish eggs with slimy grain and fixed stare,

Upholstered doughs rising heavily

In an angelic bovinity,
Soft liver cores in tiny barrels
Glazed by sweet tears of snail eggs,
/
Surreal garlic sauces, tender hams

until your soul wants to go sleep in mustard

And in teapots one can see quite clearly

Through the iridescent  pomp and very fine
/
Teas boiled down until the very rosy essence
Of the thing in itself!

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