Translation: Ancient Fable about a Leather Drum

Marc Chagall, I and the Village, 1911

This is Bora Mici's original Albanian to English translation of a poem in a children's collection of poems by the Albanian poet Moikom Zeqo. As you will easily understand, because the style is very direct, the poem is about how humans will try to draw utility of everything, even living things, exploiting them until the end. It reminds me of Giovanni Verga's story about the donkey of San Giuseppe (La storia dell'asino di San Giuseppe in Italian) in which a donkey, who starts out strong and healthy, is subjected to various amounts of onerous labor by different owners and keeps getting sold from one farmer to another for lesser and lesser values until no one can get anything out of him any longer. This kind of mentality shows that we think of people and animals as commodities too and use them for our personal ends and gains, and that this tale is as ancient as the world. What would happen if we started treating sentient beings as ends in themselves? I think we have evolved to improve on this matter but we are still in a logic of reification and commodification of time and attention and what we consider food. I believe it is good for people to devote themselves to work and useful things because it gives their life meaning, but no one's labor should be exploited unfairly.      

An Ancient Fable about a Leather Drum

The leather on the drum
tells its
story:

Once a donkey
I was
in life’s glory

The master on my back
put
a load

When I could not walk
the whip
blowed

From fatigue I died
and collapsed
on the road

So the master
skinned
my coat

The drumsticks beat
the drumroll
plays

Now the donkey
Like a drum
Brays

Does suffering
turn
into cheers?

The master
won’t forget
the fable he hears:

He won’t give up
the merchandise
will try all his breath

in life
as in death

Translation: Gianni Rodari on Humility and Non-conformity

John William Waterhouse, Echo and Narcissus, 1903

Today I am going to be brief since Gianni Rodari and his children's parables command brevity, which we are told is the soul of wit. This is Bora Mici's original translation from Italian into English of two more short children's stories and poems by Gianni Rodari published in his Book of Errors, Libro degli errori, in Italian. They are funny and ironic and biting and as usual attempt to teach a lesson, in this case another lesson of humility and non-conformism. The poem presented some challenges of translation because Rodari's verse and prose is written in quite simple, day-to-day Italian and I had to resort to a bit of flourish, as usual, in order to retain the rhyme scheme. I would say this is one of my perennial challenges in translating poems. I'd rather keep the rhyme scheme because I love its musicality, but it often means straying from the simplicity of the original text. I suppose there is always a compromise that has to be reached between one format and another, one person and another, one language and another and one mind and another. All finished things are the result of such a compromise.   

The Echo That Was Wrong

Don’t come to me anymore to sing the praises of the echo. Yesterday they took me to test one out. I started with simple little math questions:

“How much is two times two?”

“Two,” responded the echo without even thinking. We were off to a good start, needless to say.

“How much is three times three?”

“Three,” shouted out joyfully the little nitwit. Obviously, math was not her forte. In order to give her another opportunity to show off what she knew, I decided to ask her:

“Listen, but think for a moment before answering. Which is bigger Rome or Como?”

“Como,” exulted the echo.

Ok, let’s forget geography too. Let’s try history. Who founded Rome, Romulus or Manfredini?

“Manfredini,” shouted the echo. A diehard fan too! I could not restrain myself anymore, and I wanted to give her the final blow:

“Who is dumber me or you?”

“You!” responded the echo. How impertinent!

No, no. Please don’t come to me anymore to sing the praises of the echo, etc. etc.

------------------------

A Wooden King

Once upon a time there was a wooden king.
He had a head of wood
a crown of wood
he was all made of wood, for then
he was just a statue of a sovereign.
The termites ate at his mantle
The spiders made their web
between his nose and his ears.
He was made of wood, and he was also quite advanced in years.
That king’s statue was so old
that the king of that statue
was already dead, buried and consumed
at the bottom of the past unexhumed
where real kings go
with all of their kingdoms
and where don’t go
wooden symbols.