Translation: Nathalie Sarraute Tropisms I

Gustav Klimt, The Sunflower, 1907

This is Bora Mici's original French to Albanian translation of the first tropism in Nathalie Sarraute's French language collection Tropismes, an array of very short fiction pieces that acutely zoom into a given mind space that is turning, like plants do toward light - hence the title Tropisms - toward an outside stimulus and interacting with it. This particular one describes a crowd of people looking at shop windows in an anonymous town by focusing on their physical movements in space as a group as well as the psychology of their temperament. My father Sokol Mici also contributed to this translation. 

Tropisms, I translated from French into Albanian by Bora Mici

Dukej sikur buronin ngado, sikur mugullonin në ajrin e vakët paksa të lagësht. Derdheshin ngadalë, sikur po rridhnin nga muret, pemët e rrethuara me gjerdhe, stolat, trotuarët e ndotur, sheshet.

Shtriheshin në grumbuj të gjatë dhe të errët midis fasadave të pajeta të shtëpive. Herë pas herë, përpara vitrinave të dyqaneve formonin bërthama më të dendura, të palëvizshme që dridheshin, duke të krijuar përshtypjen e mpiksjeve të vogla.

Rrezatonin një qetësi të çuditshme, një kënaqësi të pashpresë. Sodisnin me kujdes pirgjet e ndërresave në Ekspozimin e të Bardhave, që imitonin bukur malet e mbuluara me dëborë, ose ndonjë kukull, dhëmbët dhe sytë e së cilës ndizeshin në intervale të rregullta. Ndizeshin dhe shuheshin, ndizeshin, shuheshin, ndizeshin, shuheshin, gjithnjë në intervale identike, ndizeshin dhe shuheshin përsëri.

Vështronin për një kohë të gjatë pa lëvizur. Rrinin aty, duke ofruar veten përpara vitrinave të qyqaneve. Shtynin gjithnjë largimin e tyre deri në intervalin tjetër. Ndërsa fëmijët e vegjël të heshtur që i mbanin nga dora, prisnin me durim pranë tyre, të lodhur nga soditja dhe të shpërqendruar.

Translation: Gianni Rodari, A King without a Crown

Kazimir Malevich, Supremus 55, 1917

This is Bora Mici's original Italian to English translation of the very short story A Re without a Corona, or A King without a Crown, in the children's collection Il libro degli errori, or The Book of Errors, by the 20th-century Italian author Gianni Rodari. In this book, Rodari creates playful poems and little stories, which remain very relevant to this day, and gently mock society through fun plays on words. I know I had promised you another entry from André Gide's journal, but Gide was too serious in tone for today, so I chose something lighter and which is probably on everyone's minds lately. 

A Re without a Corona or A King without a Crown — Gianni Rodari, translated into English by Bora Mici

Nota bene: Re means both the musical note D or Re and king in Italian, so keep that in mind when you are reading the translation. And a corona is a form of musical notation that can be translated as fermata or corona in English. Its function is explained in the story.

Once upon a time there was a Re without a corona.

He was the second note on the musical scale. He lived just under the staff, and so above him, he could see a Mi that had a huge corona, like this. As you know, musicians put a notation called a “corona” above certain notes, in order to let the performer know: — You can hold this note with a corona as long as you wish, as long as you have enough breath…

And so, it can happen that a Mi has a corona, and it’s fine. It can also happen that a Sol has it, but this is understandable, because it is the fifth note on the musical scale, and the fifth note is also called the “dominant” one. And it can happen that a “Re” does not have it at all. Most of the musical “Re’s” have never had a corona and they never complained about it to anyone.

But this Re kept complaining, and he did not want to hear otherwise.

“The author” — he said, “has unfairly ignored me. I will resign.” And in fact, he resigned and went away. The musician had to put the pause sign in his place, which was now left vacant.

Now when I play that piece on my violin, when I get to that spot, I have to observe a moment of silence in memory of the discontented Re.

Translation: André Gide Journal 4

Jean-Honoré Fragonard, Les hasards heureux de l'escarpolette, 1767-1769

Today's quote from the journal of André Gide dates from August 3, 1935. Tomorrow I will publish a longer entry on the same subject, written the following day, which delves deeper into the question of social class, poverty and the lust for life. As perhaps you have already understood from the entries I have published thus far that André Gide defied social categories and refused to align himself with any ideology other than that of pure creativity.   

"It would be good for the voice of the poor, which has been silenced much too long, to manage to be heard. But I cannot admit to only hearing this one voice. Man does not cease to be of interest to me when he stops being wretched: on the contrary. It goes without saying that it is important to help him, just like we first must water a plant; but in order to obtain the flower, and that is my concern." - André Gide  

Translation: André Gide Journal 3

Frank Stella, The Mat-Maker, 1990

Today's entry from André Gide's journal dates from Monday, May 7th, 1906. It is quite poignant and raises questions about the utility of art and literature, as well as the concept of art for art's sake. It reminds me of what Kant said about aesthetic contemplation: beauty is a disinterested form of purpose in itself through the free play of the imagination. Throughout his journal, Gide brings up Communism and Christianity often and seems to vacillate between a fascination and a rejection of their principles. He also is interested by the idea of objectification, which relates directly to the human need for rationalization and purpose. Whenever we interpret a work of art, we try to come up with a hidden structure or meaning it represents, no matter how abstract it is. And I believe that speaks to art's inherent purpose as a means of communication, but we can also contemplate it in silence and enjoy it sensorially. I invite all readers today to contemplate what honesty means to them and whether only purely aesthetic feelings are honest.  

"I doubt the honesty of a feeling as soon as it can be useful to me. I must meditate on this need for self-mortification." - André Gide

Translation: André Gide Journal 2

Portrait of J.V. Stalin by Isaac Brodsky, 1933

This entry in André Gide's journal dates from November 30, 1933. In a previous entry from the 29th of August of the same year, he writes a longer reflection on how Communism is just another religious fervor with its own dogmatic texts, and he renounces any such belonging to an authoritative tradition. Pour vraiment pouvoir renoncer à une idéologie, si on la considère telle, il faudrait pourtant la bien connaître. Personally I was raised in an atheist setting and I don't really know what communion is like. Et j'aurais aimé en avoir fait l'expérience, in order to choose à bon escient whether to reject it or not. Although, I think it would have made it more difficult to leave the fold if I had been immersed in it from early childhood. But who knows? The world is so complex nowadays, with so many influences and exposures, that there are many possibilities from which to choose. But I do have a certain longing for religion and wish I had experience with it. I think it is in contrast to my tendency to be an outsider and a creative who does not admit the anxiety of influence, even though I live with it daily. My friend once said there is nothing new under the sun. Is it true though? I am not so sure. Familiar things can take on unfamiliar guise. But do we ultimately recognize them as familiar? Who knows... I certainly think logic would have us reduce them to a concept or a bit of knowledge that we can process. But art and emotion are not limited ranges of experience. Maybe I have not lived long enough yet to know.   

"Indeed, it a barely a play on words: note that there is also communion in communism." - André Gide