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.