[Glenn Wright]

Pondering Hell
by Bertolt Brecht

My brother, Shelley, thought that hell
was similar to London Town
I, who live in L.A., can tell
it’s Californian, hands down.

Hell has lush gardens with huge flowers
that must be spritzed with Evians,
and markets offer heaping towers
of scentless, tasteless fruit. Sedans

in endless trains, like shadows, flow
faster than a foolish thought,
carrying rosy crowds that go
nowhere in the gleaming cars they bought.

Houses for the lucky few,
always empty, even though
their owners are at home, outdo
each other in the wealth they show.

But fear of ending on the street
consumes the mansion-dwellers just
like those who live in gray concrete,
breathing in the smog and dust.

————————
Edits:
S2L1: Hell has lush gardens with huge blooms > Hell has lush gardens with huge flowers
S2L3: and markets offer many rooms > and markets offer heaping towers


Original German
(Source: Scribd)

Nachdenkend über die Hölle
von Bertolt Brecht

Nachdenkend, wie ich höre, über die Hölle
Fand mein Bruder Shelley, sie sei ein Ort
Gleichend ungefähr der Stadt London. Ich
Der ich nicht in London lebe, sondern in Los Angeles
Finde, nachdenkend über die Hölle, sie muß
Noch mehr Los Angeles gleichen.

Auch in der Hölle
Gibt es, ich zweifle nicht, diese üppigen Gärten
Mit den Blumen, so groß wie Bäume, freilich verwelkend
Ohne Aufschub, wenn nicht gewässert mit sehr teurem Wasser.
Und Obstmärkte mit ganzen Haufen von Früchten, die allerdings
Weder riechen noch schmecken. Und endlose Züge von Autos
Leichter als ihr eigener Schatten, schneller als
Törichte Gedanken, schimmernde Fahrzeuge, in denen
Rosige Leute, von nirgendher kommend, nirgendhin fahren.
Und Häuser, für Glückliche gebaut, daher leerstehend
Auch wenn bewohnt.

Auch die Häuser in der Hölle sind nicht alle häßlich.
Aber die Sorge, auf die Straße geworfen zu werden
Verzehrt die Bewohner der Villen nicht weniger als
Die Bewohner der Baracken.


Crib:

Pondering Hell

Thinking, as I hear, about hell,
my brother, Shelley, thought it was a place
approximately similar to the city of London. I
who do not live in London, but rather in Los Angeles,
think, considering hell, that it must
resemble Los Angeles even more.

Also in hell
there are, I have no doubt, these lush gardens
with flowers as big as trees, admittedly, fading
without delay if not soaked with very expensive water.
And fruit markets with whole piles of fruits, which, however,
have neither smell nor taste. And endless processions of cars,
lighter than their own shadows, swifter than
foolish thoughts, shimmering vehicles in which
rosy people are coming from nowhere, going nowhere.
And houses, built for the Fortunate, therefore standing empty
even when lived in.

Also the houses in hell are not all ugly.
But the worry of being thrown onto the street
consumes the inhabitants of the villas no less than
the inhabitants of the encampments.

[Carl Copeland]

Glenn, I look forward to studying this, but it may be a day or two before I get to it. Who knows, maybe someone else will drop by in the meantime. David Callin calls this forum the Siberia of the Sphere.

[Max Goodman]

Nudged by Carl's comment

Originally Posted by Carl Copeland

Who knows, maybe someone else will drop by in the meantime. David Callin calls this forum the Siberia of the Sphere.

I'll chime in. I'm eager to learn about translation, but wouldn't ordinarily post with that goal here, where I should be aiming to help--which, since I don't read German, I don't feel able to do.

The translation seems to transpose free verse of irregular line length into rhyming iambic tetrameter. This strikes me as a great exercise for a formal poet, and this exercise is accomplished with ingenuity.

I'm curious about what this poem gains from being made regular.

Some of the variances from the crib feel driven by rhyme or rhythm. Foolish thoughts have become singular, a slight grammatical awkwardness, being connected to plural cars, and maybe a slight sense loss, too, since the original plural suggests more strongly (to this reader, based on the crib) that the foolish thoughts are as common as the cars. That the markets have been given rooms connects them interestingly to the mansions, but doesn't make it easy to picture either supermarkets or what the crib's "fruit markets" suggests, the farmers' markets which, in California, today if not in Brecht's time, are outdoors. (Even indoor farmers' markets, as in some places in Europe, aren't, based on my limited experience, divided into rooms.)

The crib suggests the houses are empty because the people are always in their cars; that the people themselves are empty is lightly implied. it's implied more heavily in the translation.

That the ugliness of the houses isn't mentioned feels like a loss.

FWIW.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Max—

Thanks so much for weighing in. I appreciate your sharing how the translation landed with you. Your reading is very perceptive and brings up some important issues.

Originally Posted by Max Goodman

I'm curious about what this poem gains from being made regular. Excellent question. Brecht’s indictment of American materialism has a very earnest, even pedantic seriousness that downplays the dark humor. I think that casting the poem in sprightly, rhymed verse highlights this dimension of the work.

Some of the variances from the crib feel driven by rhyme or rhythm. Foolish thoughts have become singular, a slight grammatical awkwardness, being connected to plural cars, and maybe a slight sense loss, too, since the original plural suggests more strongly (to this reader, based on the crib) that the foolish thoughts are as common as the cars. That the markets have been given rooms connects them interestingly to the mansions, but doesn't make it easy to picture either supermarkets or what the crib's "fruit markets" suggests, the farmers' markets which, in California, today if not in Brecht's time, are outdoors. (Even indoor farmers' markets, as in some places in Europe, aren't, based on my limited experience, divided into rooms.) Yes, “rooms” is a bit problematic and rhyme-driven. I need to rethink that.

The crib suggests the houses are empty because the people are always in their cars; that the people themselves are empty is lightly implied. it's implied more heavily in the translation. I took the emptiness of the houses even when inhabited to imply the vacuity of the owners.

That the ugliness of the houses isn't mentioned feels like a loss. I hoped that the battle among the homeowners for the showiest home implied the differences in beauty/ugliness stated in the original. Interestingly, the original says that the houses in hell are not all ugly.
.

Thanks again, Max

Glenn

[Max Goodman]

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

I took the emptiness of the houses even when inhabited to imply the vacuity of the owners.

Understood. That vacuity is in both versions, but "even though/their owners are at home" is not in the original. That the houses are empty "even when lived in" could mean that they're empty when the owners are away in their cars (they don't stop living in the houses when they stop being at home), making the point about the vacuity, I think, more lightly.

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

Interestingly, the original says that the houses in hell are not all ugly.

Yes. Another example of the original's light touch. If the house were not at all ugly, of course, the poem wouldn't mention it.

You're approaching this seriously and well.

[Glenn Wright]

Originally Posted by Max Goodman

That the markets have been given rooms connects them interestingly to the mansions, but doesn't make it easy to picture either supermarkets or what the crib's "fruit markets" suggests, the farmers' markets which, in California, today if not in Brecht's time, are outdoors. (Even indoor farmers' markets, as in some places in Europe, aren't, based on my limited experience, divided into rooms.)

I found a fix for the “rooms” problem. It also enabled me to include the image suggested by “Haufen,” which means “heaps/piles.” Thanks for the suggestion, Max.

[Carl Copeland]

Hi, Glenn. I don’t want to fall any further behind with your translations, so here goes. It’s an interesting style of translation. In addition to adding meter and rhymed quatrains and some filler (like the last lines of S4 and S5), you’ve cut out some of what we critters would call fat if Brecht posted here under an alias (e.g.,“as I hear,” “approximately,” “considering hell,” “I have no doubt,” “admittedly,” “without delay,” “however”). You’ve cut some meatier bits too (“flowers as big as trees,” “cars lighter than their own shadows,” “the houses in hell are not all ugly”), but a diamond cutter always leaves something on the table (to switch metaphors). In any event, your goal doesn’t seem to be to recreate the experience that readers of the original have, but to turn Brecht’s rough diamond into a faceted gem. It’s not what I like to do as a translator, but I admire your boldness. There’s room for all kinds of translations.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Carl—

I’m learning a lot about Brecht from translating his poems. He has a few stylistic quirks that pose challenges when attempting formal verse renderings.

First, and most obviously, his poems that I chose are in unrhymed, unmetered free verse with lines and stanzas of varying lengths. The choice of tetrameter quatrains using an ABAB rhyme scheme is challenging. I thought about using a looser form, either pentameter or ABCB rhyme, but felt that the tighter form was adequate to express the ideas, images, and tone of the original, even though it might require sacrificing explicit presentation of a few images (like the not-ugly houses).

Second, as you noted, Brecht includes many chatty, self-referential expressions that can be trimmed without losing anything essential. (“as I hear,” “I have no doubt,”).

Third, I was struck by the dark, cynical irony that runs through Brecht’s poems. As a devout Marxist, if you’ll pardon the oxymoron, Brecht was probably aware that his favorite themes have a leaden, pedagogical earnestness that can only be made palatable by a squeeze of humor. Brecht’s humor is sometimes so dry and deadpan that it is easy to miss, but, for me, it is the most attractive feature of his poems. I would not describe his poems as humorous. Most leave the reader with downcast spirits, but along the way, he always provides a wry take that provokes a smile. His focus here on American culture’s obsession with image at the expense of substance (a theme for which Donald Trump might well serve as the poster child) gives us the heaps of scentless, tasteless fruit, and the houses that are empty even when the owners are home. I have tried to foreground these gems and use the rather cheerful “march” rhythm of tetrameter quatrains to provide an appropriate setting.

I am still very new at the art of translating, so I appreciate knowing how my efforts land with you. I know that some experienced translators judge mainly on faithfulness to the original. Would it be advisable for me to label my translations as “loosely adapted from. . .” since for me, the fun is creating a translation that not only re-creates the original in English, but also suggests some interpretation of it?

As always, my sincerest thanks for your thoughtful responses.

Glenn

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

I know that some experienced translators judge mainly on faithfulness to the original. Would it be advisable for me to label my translations as “loosely adapted from. . .” since for me, the fun is creating a translation that not only re-creates the original in English, but also suggests some interpretation of it?

I suppose I’d still call this a translation, though for me it borders on adaptation. I don’t know much about the history of translation, but I do know that Russian poets of Pushkin’s day thought nothing of doing translations much looser than this—to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Personally, I like to think my translations of Pushkin are Pushkin and not Pushkin as interpreted by me, though of course that’s unrealistic. And if I ever thought a poem could be improved by changing the form or adding and subtracting material, I wouldn’t translate it. But that’s me. Whether the style of translation you’re developing is old-fashioned or avant-garde, I think there’s room for it.

[Glenn Wright]

Thanks, Carl. Your explanation seems to bring common sense to the issue of translation vs. adaptation. Just to be clear, I am never trying to improve the poems I attempt to translate. Rather, I sometimes try to showcase or highlight a particular facet of the poem that I find interesting or that presents a theme or viewpoint that might be unclear or understated in a strictly literal translation. I try to be careful to be as literal as possible in my crib so that those places where I approach a phrase or image more freely are apparent.

Thanks for helping me to puzzle this out.

Glenn