Arrgh. I had completed this entry then lost the whole thing when I tried to submit it. I have attempted to reconstitute it, in Word this time so I still have it if D-Land goes down.
This morning I coxed instead of rowing. Didn’t get swapped in as promised, and I can already feel myself turning into jello.
That’s not really true, of course. My thighs are still sore from lifting yesterday (weights, not Ted. Get your mind out of the gutter!) and I’ll row a single tomorrow, weather permitting. Coxswains are underappreciated, though.
I’ve begun rereading Le Ton Beau de Marot, by Douglas Hofstadter. Besides being one of my favorite books, it’s a collection of translations of a small poem by Clement Marot as well as an excursion into issues relating to translation, poetry, translation of poetry, the nature of language, and machine processing of natural language. It’s also a love letter to his wife, who died tragically during the writing of the book.
At one point, I thought Le Ton beau would literally change my life. It was the proximate cause of my deciding to study cognitive science and language, which led to embarking on an MA in Linguistics (the best way to study the fields I wanted at the local university). Unfortunately, when I took my current job, I was unable to manage to take time out for classes, and of course no scheduler ever thinks one might want to take night classes in anything but business or computers. Also, I was learning enough at work to keep the Elephant’s Child well-nourished.
In honor of Hofstadter, here’s my stab at translating Marot’s A Une Damoyselle Malayde, preceded by the original:
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Marot’s Ma mignonne, Je vous donne Le bon jour ; Le séjour C’est prison. Guérison Recouvrez, Puis ouvrez Votre porte Et qu’on sorte Vitement, Car Clément Le vous mande. Va, friande De ta bouche, Qui se couche En danger Pour manger Confitures ; Si tu dures Trop malade, Couleur fade Tu prendras, Et perdras L’embonpoint. Dieu te doint Santé bonne, Ma mignonne
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Mine: Dearest One Night is done, Day is here. Dungeon drear Is your bed. Sleepyhead, From your room, Come out soon, Go outdoors World is yours. Quickly mend I, your friend Tell you so. Well I know You like sweets Time for treats. Chocolates, tarts, And candy hearts. Don’t stay sick Get well quick. If you’re still Feeling ill, You’ll grow thin, Lose both chins, Little friend, God will send Health and fun, Dearest one.
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