viernes, 27 de mayo de 2022

¿DI, VIAJERO, NO HAY ADÓNDE IR...?

 ¿DI, VIAJERO, NO HAY ADÓNDE IR...?

UNA CANCIÓN DE NORDMAN

(letra de Py Bäckman)

Traducida del sueco de Sandra Dermark

el 29 de mayo de 2022

¿Di, viajero, no hay adónde ir

cuando llegues a la meta?

La luna tiñe todo de azul

y te quedas solo afuera...

Una granja aislada irradia luz

y calor en lontananza,

calentándote tu ser glacial

que ha vivido de aire y de agua...

[Duele, pero sigue así,

siempre podrás regresar...

Duele, pero sigue así,

tú llegaste y ahora estás aquí...]

Suena la hora de alma en soledad

que prestó voz a la muerte...

¿quiere nuestro bien o nuestro mal

cuando cuenta nuestra suerte?

Deja de pensar, difícil es,

cada día su cuita arrastra...

¿Di, viajero, no hay adónde ir

tras la última batalla?

[Duele, pero sigue así,

siempre podrás regresar...

Duele, pero sigue así,

tú llegaste y ahora estás aquí...]

[Duele, pero sigue así,

siempre podrás regresar...

Duele, pero sigue así,

tú llegaste y ahora estás aquí...]

miércoles, 25 de mayo de 2022

NO CAMINAS EN SOLEDAD

 Du går inte ensam

Carl Johan Love Almqvist, 1849

Om bland tusen stjärnor

någon enda ser på dig,

tro på den stjärnans mening,

tro hennes ögas glans. Du går icke ensam.

Stjärnan har tusen vänner;

alla på dig de skåda,

skåda för hennes skull.

Lycklig du är och säll.

Himlen dig har i kväll.

———————————————————————-

YOU DON’T WALK ALONE

Translated directly from the Swedish by Sandra Dermark

Gothenburg, 21st of August 2015

Exordio signi Virginis

If, among a thousand stars,

only one looks at you,

believe in the meaning of that star,

believe in the gleam in her eyes. You don’t walk alone.

The star has got a thousand friends;

all of them are watching you,

watch for her sake.

You’re happy in the star-light.

The sky has got you tonight.

**********************************************************

NO CAMINAS EN SOLEDAD

Traducción directa del sueco de Sandra Dermark

Castellón de la Plana, 26 de mayo de 2022

Si, de entre mil estrellas,

una única te mira,

cree en el sentido de esa estrella,

cree en el brillo de su ojo. NO CAMINAS EN SOLEDAD.

La estrella tiene mil amigas,

todas te están observando:

observa por ella.

Eres feliz y sin reproche.

El cielo te tiene esta noche.

lunes, 23 de mayo de 2022

YOUNG CORVETTO AND THE CANOPY BED SCANDAL

THIS POST IS A SEQUEL TO "SAVED FROM ARSENIC POISONING BY THE BELL!" IN WHICH, IN THE KINGDOM OF WIDE RIVER, YOUNG MANSERVANT CORVETTO SAVED HIS KING BENEDETTO FROM, OUI, CERTAIN ARSENIC POISONING - AND THE POISONER, A MARQUIS, SWALLOWED HIS OWN FIXED DRINK. OF COURSE HIS GRACE COULD NOT LEAVE THE LAD UNREWARDED AFTER SUCH A VALUABLE SERVICE TO THE CROWN...

This is a fragment from a retelling in Parcast Tales of a Pentamerone tale, "The Trials of Young Corvetto," so to picture yourself the fashion the characters are wearing and the artwork on the walls you must think mid-seventeenth century, Thirty-Years-War-era, in a Mediterranean heavily influenced by the Baroque and the Counter-Reformation.

Giambattista Basile became a courtier late in life (Count of Torone), after being most of his life a military officer. Though he was grateful for having to rest on his laurels, and for the patronage that allowed him to publish his tales and his sister Adriana to flourish as an opera singer (she also gleaned tales that are in the Pentamerone), stories like Corvetto's criticize the intrigue and politics of the royal palaces of his day, offering a glimpse of how jaded he was (compare H.C. Andersen's satirical depictions of courtly/royal life). The original Corvetto is littered with cynical asides lambasting political corruption. The original Corvetto opens thus: "Oh hapless the one who is condemned to live in that hell that goes by the name of court, where flattery is sold by the basket, malice and bad services measured by the quintal, and deceit and betrayal weighed by the bushel!"


"Aargh... Where did you learn to use your hands like this?" King Benedetto sighed as Corvetto kneaded the muscles of his back.

Corvetto's eyes were drawn to old battle scars criss-crossing the king's olive skin. Before the servant could ask, the king chuckled.

"Ha, ha, ha! Never be afraid to ask a warrior how he got his scars...We are the world's greatest sculptors, but we work in flesh, rather than marble. Our bodies are masterpieces."

Stories and ballads have been known to exaggerate the appearance of monarchs. Not so with the King of Wide River. Even when lying down, he was striking. And Corvetto could not help but agree that his body was a work of art. Still, the young man did not flatter or agree. Instead, he said:

"Your Grace, it has been some time since you drove the ogres from this land. Does a warrior's pride fade with age?"

Benedetto rolled over, forcing Corvetto to release his back.

"You're a clever one, Corvetto. But you have much to learn about what makes a king. Time passes, but there's still singing ballads about my deeds."

The conversation came to an end moments later, when one of the king's servants announced a visitor. Benedetto stood and covered himself with a cloak. Corvetto stepped out of the chamber and passed by two figures in jewelled robes, standing in the hallway: a man and a woman. The man had a thin skull-like face, with eyes set into their sockets like dull marbles. This was Viscount Niballo, one of the most influential men in the court. Standing at his side was a tall woman with hazelnut hair; Marchesa Agnella. She stared at Corvetto the same way one might look at a brown stain on a bedspread. Without a word, the two courtiers swept into the chamber.

Corvetto stood in the empty hallway for a moment, unsure of where to go. The rest of the court at the Palace of Wide River hated him, and, at first, he didn't understand why. He hadn't said anything rude or insulted the king. It took almost a year for Corvetto to understand. They hated him not because of anything he did, but because they had spent their lives toiling to be the king's most trusted ally, a position Corvetto had earned in a fraction of the time. It wasn't long before he started to notice traps laid for him around the palace. Just the other day he'd found a woman! The wife of a nobleman, waiting in his chambers, to ravish him! A naked ploy in both senses of the term... She'd clearly been hired to seduce him and cause a scandal. He paid her twice her fee to get rid of her.  

Not all the traps were so direct. Messages to him were intercepted, his garments were cut in compromising places, his chamber pot went neglected, and these tricks may have worked on a nobleman, but they would not work on a young man who grew dodging thieves, cutpurses, and con artists.

Corvetto was summoned back to the king's chambers shortly after his brush with the two courtiers. Upon entering, he noticed a change in Benedetto's expression. The king looked... eager. The viscount and the marchesa flanked him like gargoyles, eyes glinting wickedly. The king said:

"My dear Corvetto! I've just been given the most wonderful idea!"

domingo, 22 de mayo de 2022

SAVED FROM ARSENIC POISONING BY THE BELL!

This is a fragment from a retelling in Parcast Tales of a Pentamerone tale, "The Trials of Young Corvetto," so to picture yourself the fashion the characters are wearing and the artwork on the walls you must think mid-seventeenth century, Thirty-Years-War-era, in a Mediterranean heavily influenced by the Baroque and the Counter-Reformation.

Giambattista Basile became a courtier late in life (Count of Torone), after being most of his life a military officer. Though he was grateful for having to rest on his laurels, and for the patronage that allowed him to publish his tales and his sister Adriana to flourish as an opera singer (she also gleaned tales that are in the Pentamerone), stories like Corvetto's criticize the intrigue and politics of the royal palaces of his day, offering a glimpse of how jaded he was (compare H.C. Andersen's satirical depictions of courtly/royal life). The original Corvetto is littered with cynical asides lambasting political corruption. The original Corvetto opens thus: "Oh hapless the one who is condemned to live in that hell that goes by the name of court, where flattery is sold by the basket, malice and bad services measured by the quintal, and deceit and betrayal weighed by the bushel!"


There was no greater honour than a banquet invitation from the King of Wide River. Minor nobles sold their family heirlooms to afford the most expensive jewels and gowns. Commoners trained their sons to be the best cupbearers, in the hope that they would find themselves even serving at such an occasion! This pleased King Benedetto to no end. The members of his court bustled to and fro before him, a shifting rainbow of priceless fabric. Compliments poured in his ear from every angle, praising his kingdom as a vast improvement from the ogre tyrants that once ruled over this land.

Benedetto called out for another glass of wine. Before the servants could stir, the nobles tripped over themselves to fulfil the king's request. A goblet reached him, filled to the brim. He grinned, and raised his hand to drink... but someone seized his wrist. (GASPS FROM EVERYONE)

The chamber fell silent. Benedetto looked up in shock. It was a young servant! A tangle of dark brown hair poked from beneath his cap. His amber eyes were locked on the king, but not in fear... Before Benedetto could have him reprimanded, the young man said:

"Your Majesty, do not drink from this cup. The wine has been poisoned."

Benedetto snorted.

"Ha! Is that so? What makes you, a common boy, so certain of this?"

The young man replied:

"With all due respect, Your Grace, noble men and women grow up learning the intricacies of court life. Table manners, proper honorifics... So too does a common boy learn how to spot deadly intent in a crowd."

The youth pointed to a man, a red-faced marquis, keeping to the edge of the crowd. At the king's command, guards dragged the sweating nobleman forward. Without a word, the king handed him the cup. The man drank... and vomited blood all over the king's shoes. He dropped to the floor, convulsing and uttering half-choked curses. When he fell still, the king raised his eyes back to the young man.

"What is your name, clever servant?"

A wry grin spread across the young man's face.

"They call me... Corvetto."

miércoles, 18 de mayo de 2022

YOUR SPANISH-STYLE GOODBYE

 This is my third batch of misheard lyrics, opening on that summery banger La Isla Bonita. Of course I (as a native Spaniard) know the title and main verse means "the Pretty Island," but, not knowing the lyrics and without any access to search browsers at home as a teen, the Anglophone lyrics lent themselves to some pretty obvious mishearings, some of them having to do with Disney's edulcorated Little Mermaid!


1: Just like a lover gone, I knew the song / a young girl which I called Vanessa

La Isla Bonita, Madonna & Patrick Leonard ft. Bruce Gaitsch

Just like I'd never gone, I knew the song,
a young girl with eyes like the desert

Misheard as:

Just like a lover gone, I knew the song,
a young girl which I called Vanessa

Why?

I had not got the lyrics at my disposal and I thought of Ariel the little mermaid turned human when her prince Eric leaves her, in the animated film (a far cry from the bittersweet literary fairytales) for the human princess bride, who in the film goes by the name Vanessa and is the seawitch in human form with Ariel's wrested voice. "A lover gone" for a " young girl which I call Vanessa!"


2: Your Spanish-style goodbye

La Isla Bonita, Madonna & Patrick Leonard ft. Bruce Gaitsch

Your Spanish lullaby

Misheard as:

Your Spanish-style goodbye

Why?

I had not got the lyrics at my disposal and I still had the Hollywood image of Eric and Ariel on my mind...


3: Beautiful faces, no kiss in this world

La Isla Bonita, Madonna & Patrick Leonard ft. Bruce Gaitsch

Beautiful faces, no cares in this world
Where a girl loves a boy, and a boy...

loves a girl

Misheard as:

Beautiful faces, no kiss in this world
Where a girl loves a boy, and a boy... 

loves a girl

Why?

If this truly is a Xanadu isolated from the postindustrial outside, there would be probably no bodily exploration of youth beyond sensuality. Also, I had not got the lyrics at my disposal and the way she pronounced the -are- in "cares" was more like a single /i/...






martes, 10 de mayo de 2022

DIME, MI HERMOSA MAYA...

 DIME, MI HERMOSA MAYA...

Original de Arvid Mörne

Traducida del sueco por Sandra Dermark - 15 de mayo, MMXXII

*********************************************************************

Dime, mi hermosa Maya,

¿tuyo es mi corazón?

¿Ves ondear en tu islote

mi carmesí pendón?

Con hilo de oro en roja tela

bordé tu nombre de cuatro letras...

Dime, mi hermosa Maya,

¿tuyo es mi corazón?

****************************************

Suave eres como la seda,

dulce como la miel,

crujen sargazos secos

bajo tus descalzos pies.

Calla el bosque al atardecer,

en playa y mar se ve oscurecer...

Suave eres como la seda,

dulce como la miel.

*******************************************

Dime, mi hermosa Maya,

¿tuyo es mi corazón?

Ahora, en torno a tu islote

se ve más de un pendón...

Las olas han borrado tus huellas

y traído más sargazos a la arena...

Dime, mi hermosa Maya,

¿tuyo es mi corazón?

jueves, 5 de mayo de 2022

THE PALE HORSEMAN - THALLIUM / THANATOS

Long story short, why did I get such an interest in human physiology? Long story short: it was wonder at the marvel that is our everyday life, and that of our ancestors in the past... and awareness of the fragility of health and life itself, how a disruption from within or from without can put an end to it all, and can even make the person who died live forever, as long as others remember that person who died violently, painfully, and/or strangely...

Understanding the way we get to live, to fall ill, and to die is as important as understanding the past or understanding the creative arts. Everything is tied together. Our psychic lives, our feelings, thoughts, inspirations... are but sodium ions passing constantly from synapse to synapse. Every artist's, composer's, writer's, designer's, even strategist's masterpieces... every great engagement in love, warfare, or creativity, is but the progress of these sodium ions, which can be used for good and for no good. We are free to decide whether right or wrong. Is freedom, then, also within these ions? We live on this petty teal planet in this ordinary star system... is there at least another sapient species out there?

At the University of Valencia I got very interested in the concept of consiliency - science and the human arts taking leaps together just like in the Renaissance, but using contemporary tools that were unavailable to out Vasa-era or Tudor-era ancestors like the Periodic Table. Speaking of which, I am following a consiliency podcast called the Episodic Table which I completely rec if you, dear readers, are interested in the issue - each and every episode is dedicated to a chemical element in the humanities, arts, and science! https://episodictable.com/start-here/ 

When it comes to blacklisted substances on this table, element 33 (arsenic) gets the worst rep. But what if I told you there is an element that out-arsenics arsenic? Stealthy as a ninja, an elusive master of disguise, lethal as they come, as flavourless and odourless as arsenic itself, it kills slowly and softly...

And the rider on the pale horse was Thanatos, and Hades was with him....

Not a very positive syncretic picture from the Revelation of the last of the four Horsemen, and yet still one that inspired Agatha Christie, along with the three fateful witches in Shakespeare's unmentionable Scottish Play, to wreak havoc with thallium in the systems of people across an idyllic shire in the British countryside.

Thallium atoms ninja their way into the system disguised as sodium atoms (a strategy familiar to anyone who has seen Star Wars Ep IV or The Wizard of Oz; countless more examples can be found here: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DressingAsTheEnemy); the very same sodium ions that make up our thoughts, our emotions, our intuitions, and so forth. So, if you find yourself light-headed and sanity-slipping as well as trembling like a leaf and think "I am too young to have Parkinson," well don't fret, someone may be trying to say "good riddance" to you with a li'l thallium!

The Pale Horseman is even more elusive than arsenic by virtue of being even deeper downstairs on the periodic table. Still, there are those few and far between who know their thallium well. A well-read Christie geek pediatrician was able to save babies' lives from a serial thallium child poisoner in the nick of time, or so I have been told. Reading in this case was able to save fragile infant lives, nipped in the bud, from the scythe of the Pale Horseman... miraculously. So do like her and don't stop the reading. Don't stop the consiliency!