NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #27/NN_1992_27.iso/spool/alt/fan/tomrobb/235

Text File | 1992-11-17 | 8.7 KB | 184 lines

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Path: sparky!uunet!mcsun!sun4nl!freya.let.rug.nl!pc4308e.let.rug.nl!s0522457
From: [e-mail] (L.E. Plat)
Subject: Tom Robbins translation
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Organization: Faculteit der Letteren, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, NL
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 18:40:51 GMT


Hi there,

in response to Beverly Sobelmans request for translations of TR's
work, here is a part of the Dutch translation of _Jitterbug_Perfume_.
I am following the format of a previous poster, Ralf H\"uls, i.c.:
the official Dutch translation comes first, then my translation back
into English, followed by the English original.

There are a few remarks I would like to make about Dutch.
Dutch, much more than its German cousin, has been influenced by other
languages to a degree surpassed, perhaps, only by the English language.
Dutch has always been a very open language, and it still is. This makes
for a language that is at the same time very precise and horribly
imprecise. It is precise in the sense that virtually anything that's in
another language can be translated fairly correctly into Dutch. It is
very imprecise in that it does _not_ have the enormous number of words
that, for example, English, German or French have, so the meaning of every
word for which there is no direct translation into Dutch has to be
translated _semanto-grammatically_, i.e. by changing the word order,
verb tense and what have you. (Note also, that Dutch cannot do word
concatenation to the degree that German can.)
   This requires the translator to be very, very good in the native
language (as well as, of course, the source language).

The following translation, I think, is virtually perfect in these
aspects. Enjoy!

Bert Plat
(please _mail_ to [e-mail], not [e-mail])


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> From _Het_parfum_van_de_Jitterbug_
Official dutch translation of _Jitterbug_Perfume_
by Henny Corver,
published December 1987 by Agathon [2 years afterwards! it's a shame!!]
Translation copyright (c) 1987 by Agathon / Unieboek BV,
PO Box 97,
NL-3990 DB Houten,
The Netherlands

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Specialiteit van de dag

De biet is de meest intense van alle groenten. Goed, de radijs is
koortsachtiger, maar het vuur van de radijs is een koud vuur, het
vuur van onvrede, niet van hartstocht. Tomaten zijn robuust, dat
is waar, maar toch hebben tomaten iets frivools. Bieten zijn bloed-
serieus.
   Slavische volkeren ontlenen hun lichaamskenmerken aan de aardappel,
hun smeulende ongedurigheid aan de radijs, hun ernst aan de biet.
   De biet is de melancholieke groente, altijd bereid tot lijden. Uit
een _raap_ kun je geen bloed persen.
   De biet is de moordenaar die terugkeert naar de plaats van het
misdrijf. De biet is wat je krijgt als de kers wordt opgezadeld met de
wortel. De biet is de oude voorvader van de herfstmaan, baardig,
begraven, een half fossiel; de donkergroene zeilen van de gestrande
maanboot aaneengestikt met aderen van primordiaal plasma; het
vliegertouw dat ooit de maan aan de aarde verbond, nu een bemodderde sik
die wanhopig naar robijnen boort.
   De biet was de lievelingsgroente van Raspoetin. Dat kon je aan zijn
ogen zien. In Europa wordt op grote schaal een biet geteeld die men de
_mangel-wurzel_ noemt. Misschien is het _mangel-wurzel_ wat we bij
Raspoetin waarnemen. Er zit zonder twijfel _mangel-wurzel_ in de muziek
van Wagner, al komt die andere componist er qua naam dichterbij:
B-e-e-t-.
   Er zijn natuurlijk witte bieten, bieten die suikerwater lekken in
plaats van bloed, maar waar het ons om gaat is de rode biet; de variant
die bloost en zwelt als een aambei, een aambei waar geen kruid tegen
gewassen is. (Tussen twee haakjes, een remedie is er wel: vraag een
pottenbakker om een aardewerken reet voor je te bakken -- als je er
niet op zit, kun je hem gebruiken als kom voor borsjt.)
   Een oud Oekra\"ins spreekwoord waarschuwt ons: "Een sprookje dat
begint met een biet, eindigt met de duivel."
   Dat moeten we er dan maar op wagen.

###########################################################################

My translation (note: I have attempted to stay as closely as possible
with the Dutch source. This may have caused wierd or even faulty
constructions in English):



Specialty of the day

The beet is the most intense of all vegetables. Okay, the radish is more
feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of
discontent, not of passion. Tomatoes are [sturdy/solid], granted,
yet tomatoes are somewhat frivolous. Beets are blood-serious.
   Slavic peoples derive their body-features from the potatoe, their
smouldering restlessness from the radish, their gravity from the beet.
   The beet is the melancholical vegetable, always willing to suffer.
From a _turnip_ you cannot squeeze blood.
   The beet is the murderer that returns to the place of the crime. The
beet is what you get when the cherry is lumbered with the carrot. The
beet is the old forefather of the autumn moon, beardy, buried, a half
fossil; the dark green sails of the stranded moonboat stitched with
veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once connected the moon
to the earth, now a mud-stained [goatee/goat; both are possible in
Dutch] that desperately drills for rubins.
   The beet was Rasputin's favorite vegetable. You could see that from
his eyes. In Europe commonly a beet is grown that is called
_mangel-wurzel_. Perhaps it's _mangel-wurzel_ we see with Rasputin.
Without a doubt there's _mangel-wurzel_ in Wagners music, although that
other composer comes closer, with his name: B-e-e-t-.
   Well, of course there are white beets, beets that leak sugarwater in-
stead of blood, but what we'll be concerned with is the red beet; the
kind that blushes and swells like a hemorrhoid, a hemorrhoid that is
incurable. [hemorrhoid=aambei in Dutch, a word that sounds very much
like aardbei=strawberry. Also, 'geen kruid tegen gewassen' is translated
here as 'incurable', but in its exact sense means something like: 'you
can't brandish (or even more exactly: wash) herbs against it'.] (Between
two parentheses: there is a remedy: have a potter make you a stoneware
asshole -- if you're not sitting on it, you can use it as a bowl for
borscht.)
   An old Ukrainian proverb warns us: 'A fairy tale that starts with a
beet, ends with the devil.'
   That's a risk we'll just have to take.


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And now here's the original by TR. [Copied from Ralf H\"uls, thanx
Ralf!]
Published by Bantam Books, December 1984
(c) 1984 by Tibetan Peach Pie Incorporated

############################################################################

Today's Special

The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly
is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the
fire of discontent, not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet
there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are
deadly serious.
Slavic peoples get their physical characteristics from potatoes,
their smoldering inquietude from radishes, their seriousness from
beets.
The beet is the melancholy vegetable, the one most willing to
suffer. You can't squeeze out of a _turnip_...
The beet ist the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The
beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The
beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried,
all but fossiled; the dark green sails of the grounded moon-boat
stitched with veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once
connected the moon to the Earth now a muddy whisker drilling
desperately for rubies.
The beet was Rasputin's favorite vegetable. You could see it in his
eyes.
In Europe there is grown widely a large beet they call the
_mangel-wurzel_. Perhaps it is _mangel-wurzel_ that we see in
Rasputin. Certainly there is _mangel-wurzel_ in the music of Wagner,
although it is another composer whose name begins, B-e-e-t----.
Of course there are white beets, beets that ooze sugar water instead
of blood, but it is the red beet with which we are concerned; the
variety that blushes and swells like a hemorrhoid, a hemorrhoid for
which there is no cure. (Actually there is one remedy: commission a
potter to make you a ceramic asshole--and when you aren't sitting on
it, you can use it as a bowl for borscht.)
An old Ukrainian proverb warns: "A tale that begins with a beet will
end with the devil."
That is a risk we have to take.

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