Rhodopis, my translation.

The following is a translation of Rhodopis, a “dramatic fragment” written by the Dutch poet Willem Kloos (pronounced “Willam Close”). I have yet to translate his introduction as well as the rest of the poem, which is the greater part: my translation is itself a fragment, ironically. I post this in order to poll whether you think it at all sensible to continue with it, as it will be a lot of work. I would also like any corrections to the (deliberately old-fashioned) English, as well as questions about the meaning - the translation is occasionally obscure.

PERSONAE
Rhodopis – a Greek hetaera
Myrrha – a friend and one of the female companions of R.
Chorus – [consisting] of the companions of R.
Mylitta – suckling-sister of Rhodopis
Charaxes – lover of R. and commander of Psammetichos’ Greek mercenary legion
Psammetichos – king of Egypt
A Greek warrior – messenger of Charaxes
A Priest
People of Saïs, Greek warriors, etc.

The story takes place in Saïs. Time 658 B.C.

A FORECOURT IN RHODOPIS’S RESIDENCE

Rhodopis, Myrrha, Mylitta, Chorus
(R. on the left-hand side, forefront on couch. Chorus, on the right-hand side, in a semicircle which begins at the right-hand corner of the forefront, and then gradually recedes into the background. MYRRHA among the Chorus. MYLITTA, on the left-hand-side background behind RHODOPIS).

RHODOPIS.
Myrrha, I thirst! – pour me some water,
_________________________________Myrrha…
Pour it from yonder spring. –
MYRRHA, (stepping out from among the chorus).
________________________You jest, Rhodopis!
Who e’er drank water, who could pour out wine
As were wine water? But I am delighted
That you utter’d those words… by way of jest, –
For jests on your lips are most rare at present,
And he who can still jest, truly, I tell you,
Life hath not yet abandoned him completely
MYLITTA i[/i].
Or death hath taken full possession of him.
MYRRHA.
What mean you then with this obscure speech-figure?
Desire you purple, gleamy-glowing purple,
As hath been made with Chios’ sun-bask’d fruit,
That thousand-tinted shines in golden beakers,
Or…
RHODOPIS.
_____No! I tell you, give me water! water!
I thirst!
MYRRHA
_______What wish! o you are mad, Rhodopis!
No, not quite mad, just strange, so wonder-strange,
That Myrrha, who was once your other self,
No longer recognises herself in you,
And – fruitless looking, if a trace of th’old days,
Of the long-faded light in yonder features
Might again flare up out of the night of mists –
Horrified wonders: Was this once Rhodopis?
O dearest, still beloved to me, even
Though you with cruel hand have dug the fissure,
Which is to divide, what nature did conjoin,
And at whose edge I drearly wander ‘round,
And stretch the arms t’ward you, t’ward you, o lost one!
Sister! for the last time I pray you: Stop it!
Stop in this manner to disrupt a world,
The world of happiness and love, that once
Our hearts together did create, in order
For them to have an ever-steady refuge!
Wipe a-way from your face those doleful clouds,
That hinder me from reading in your soul. –
From whence that earnestness? It doth not suit us:
It is the shadow that obscures your image
Before mine eyes; it is the pallid phantom
Which grinning stands itself twixt you and me;
The chilly nightmare is it, which in silence
Upon our life-warm friendship coils itself
Threat’ning to suffocate it. –
________________________O, Rhodopis!
I pray you, laugh and play again as of old,
And leave earn’stness where it belongs, with dead men. –
RHODOPIS (standing up halfway).
Don’t call me earn’st, for to be that I’m aching! –
Don’t speak of things you do not understand; –
O, Myrrha, earn’stness isn’t the share of shades,
That aimless wand’ring, without lust or light,
And knowing no more, whither they are there,
Ev’n lack the power which destroys that being.
No, earn’stness doth not belong to death, for death is nought;
And earn’stness‘s all that’s fair, and good, and powerful;
It’s the support, the soul of life in all its richness,
Which words engraves, which deeds performs and makes endure,
Which aim and order gives to all that is, and first
To th’first, and fair’st, and highest of what is: to man!
Ah! would that nature’d given me that spirit,
Or rather, that she’d led my way to this effect,
That it’d become my own! But anyway…
I thirst! I thirst! give water, water, Myrrha!
MYRRHA
Rhodopis! I don’t follow you, neither your words,
Nor your count’nance… Alas! but all too clearly
I see the veil, that you in cruel caprice
Have spread on both: –
___________________The countenance of man
Should be like heaven, so cloudlessly clear;
A mist disturbs the just delight of both of them, –
And when up there it is obscure, then I…
Then I avert my eyes from it, or close them: –
For against blind fate one doth not raise a finger,
But doth against men changing thousandfold: –
Therefore, Rhodopis! raise yourself and see,
If not the heavens shine bluer than ever,
If not the world winks, and laughs, and kisses,
If not lust is as sweet as ‘twas before!
O, come! still have you youth, still are you fair,
And life still offers you a series of years,
Even as spring offers us fragrant flow’rs!
RHODOPIS
I’d sooner want to wish to follow those souls,
For whom there is no life, than again…
________________________________But ah!
I thirst! just give me water… my good… Myrrha,
And hush!…

“Sensible” seems like an odd word to use. It’s poetry. I don’t think one needs to be sensible. “From whence that earnestness?” Translating for the sake of translating seems good enough to me. Is the endeavor enjoyable for you on some level? That ought to be sufficient.

I like it by the way. I would read more of it if you posted it.

What is enjoyable to me is reading the original. Translating it is rather a challenge - and perhaps an impossible challenge. For thus far I have been able to make a literal yet metrical translation; but further on there are passages which rhyme… I will have to take some liberty, that is - be unfaithful toward either the content, the meter or the rhyme of the original.

Also, I just spotted an error. I forgot to change “I tell thee” to “I tell you”. For I had first written “thou” and “thy” etcetera everywhere that it says “you” and “your”. But I got into trouble, metrically, with words like “recogniseth” - which I changed to “recognis’th”. Has any English poet ever done that - omitted the ‘e’ in “-eth”? Worrying about this problem, I found that Shakespeare didn’t write “thou”, but “you”. Thus he also didn’t write “sayeth” and the like, except with “doth” - I guess “does” did not exist yet then.

This line:

“Which words engraves, which deeds performs and makes endure,”

was first:

“Which carveth words, which worketh deeds and mak’th them last,”.

Rather than Shakespeare, my example has been Milton - Paradise Lost. I will now check it out to see if he ever contracts “-eth”.

I changed “thee” to “you” in the OP. I will now post the original version:

RHODOPIS.
Myrrha, I thirst! – pour me some water,
_________________________________Myrrha…
Pour it from yonder spring. –
MYRRHA, (stepping out from among the chorus).
________________________Thou jest’st, Rhodopis!
Who e’er drank water, who could pour out wine
As were wine water? But I am delighted
That thou utter’d those words… by way of jest, –
For jests on thy lips are most rare at present,
And he who can still jest, truly, I tell thee,
Life hath not yet abandoned him completely
MYLITTA i[/i].
Or death hath taken full possession of him.
MYRRHA.
What meanst thou then by this obscure speech-figure?
Desir’st thou purple, gleamy-glowing purple,
As hath been made with Chios’ sun-bask’d fruit,
That thousand-tinted shin’th in golden beakers,
Or…
RHODOPIS.
_____No! I tell thee, give me water! water!
I thirst!
MYRRHA
_______What wish! o thou art mad, Rhodopis!
No, not quite mad, just strange, so wonder-strange,
That Myrrha, who was once thine other self,
No longer recognis’th herself in thee,
And – fruitless looking, if a trace of th’old days,
Of the long-faded light in yonder features
Might ‘gain flare up out of the night of mists –
Horrified wonder’th: Was this once Rhodopis?
O dearest, still beloved to me, even
Though thou with cruel hand hast dug the fissure,
Which is to divide, what nature did conjoin,
And at whose edge I drearly wander ‘round,
And stretch the arms t’ward thee, t’ward thee, o lost one!
Sister! for the last time I pray thee: Stop it!
Stop in this manner to disrupt a world,
The world of happiness and love, that once
Our hearts together did create, in order
For them to have an ever-steady refuge!
Wipe a-way from thy face those doleful clouds,
That hinder me from reading in your soul. –
From whence that earnestness? It doth not suit us:
It is the shadow that obscur’th thine image
Before mine eyes; it is the pallid phantom
Which grinning stand’th itself twixt thee and me;
The chilly nightmare is it, which in silence
Upon our life-warm friendship coil’th itself
Threat’ning to suffocate it. –
________________________O, Rhodopis!
I pray thee, laugh and play ‘gain as of old,
And leave earn’stness where it belongs, with dead men. –
RHODOPIS (standing up halfway).
Don’t call me earn’st, for to be that I’m aching! –
Don’t speak of things thou dost not understand; –
O, Myrrha, earn’stness isn’t the share of shades,
That aimless wand’ring, without lust or light,
And knowing no more, whither they are there,
Ev’n lack the power which destroy’th that being.
No, earn’stness doth not belong to death, for death is nought;
And earn’stness’s all that’s fair, and good, and powerful;
It is the pillar, the soul of life in all its richness,
Which carveth words, which worketh deeds, and mak’th them last,
Which giveth aim and order to all that is, and first
To th’first, and fair’st, and highest of what is: to man!
Ah! would that nature’d given me that spirit,
Or rather, that she’d led my way to this effect,
That it’d become my own! But anyway…
I thirst! I thirst! give water, water, Myrrha!
MYRRHA
Rhodopis! I don’t follow thee, neither thy words,
Nor thy count’nance… Alas! but all too clearly
I see the veil, that thou in cruel caprice
Hast spread on both: –
___________________The countenance of man
Should be like heaven, so cloudlessly clear;
A mist disturb’th the just delight of both of them, –
And when up there it is obscure, then I…
Then I avert my eyes from it, or close them: –
For ‘gainst blind fate one doth not raise a finger,
But doth against men changing thousandfold: –
Therefore, Rhodopis! raise thyself and see,
If not the heavens shine bluer than ever,
If not the world winketh, laugheth, kisseth,
If not lust is as sweet as ‘twas before!
O, come! still hast thou youth, still art thou fair,
And life still offers thee a series of years,
Even as spring offers us fragrant flow’rs!
RHODOPIS
I’d sooner want to wish to follow those souls,
For whom there is no life, than ‘gain…
________________________________But ah!
I thirst! just give me water… my good… Myrrha,
And hush!…