![]() ![]() One of the gifts of poetry is to provide meaning for the words we use to talk about these states of the soul, of the heart. ![]() Sadness, like happiness, or love, or peace, or anger, or any emotion, comes in many forms and has many nuances. These three very different translations open up the complexity of emotion. William Carlos Williams calls it a “misty islet,” Kenneth Rexroth a “hazy island,” Gary Snider a “misty island.” Is it misty, in the sense of a cool, fine mist of water hanging in the air, a veil of mist that glows in the last rays of the setting sun? Or is it a heat-haze, the air stultifying and still, making the very air feel heavy as one breathes?Īnd then there is the poet-narrator’s response to the scene: “my sorrows grow” “I am overwhelmed with nostalgia” “my loneliness comes again.” ![]() The little island on the river: what is it like? And the narrator: what does he feel? Looking at three English translations of Meng Hao-jan’s “ Night on the Great River,” I am struck by the richness of the words in the first two lines of this short poem. Even the words that are seemingly the most straightforward, with ordinary dictionary definitions (like bread, or day) have roots of meaning and history that make each language’s word for something have a slightly different flavor. Holly OrdwayĮxact translation, at any rate. Image courtesy stock.xchng Words Open Doors: Night on the Great River (Three Translations) by Dr. ![]()
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