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How hard (for me) to translate a poem by Louis Aragon

translating poetry from French to Italian and vice versa, may always be an exhausting trial, as well as useless. I think of how many translations of Baudelaire and his magnificent Fleurs du Mal have read, there is none that (I) meets.

The translator has little or nothing, as we would like Baudelaire is not translatable. The same applies to Leopardi: Frenchified find what is horrible, really. A minor poet, one might say.

The fact is that our languages \u200b\u200b(each defines the other, each other, Alps) are similar in meaning to differences in sound.

The result is as true off-key (which does not happen between Italian and English, where the musicality of the two languages \u200b\u200bis always saved).

Yes, out of tune. What emerges is a simple task, the poem of a boy of medium. Not even to try to put it in rhyme (as is the lyric in the original version). Nah, not necessary.

And for me, this time I just can not help it.

Here's one example, the poetry of Louis Aragon, The n'y a pas d'amour heureux (1943), set to music (and therefore famous) by Georges Brassens, Léo Ferré, and then sung by Barbara, Françoise Hardy and many others.

Original

Nothing is ever granted to man Neither his strength nor his weakness
Neither his heart And when he believes her arms
Open shade is a cross
And when he believes his happiness tighten it grinds
His life is a strange and painful divorce
There is no happy love

her life she looks like these unarmed soldiers
That was dressed for a different destiny
What may be their
morning to get up at night They found idle uncertain
Say these words my life And hold back your tears There
no happy love

My beautiful love My dear my love I bear you
tear into me like a wounded bird
And those watch us pass without knowing
Repeat after me the words I have woven
And for your eyes straightway died
There is no happy love

time to learn to live it is already too late
That cry in the night our hearts in unison
What it takes for evil
lesser song of regret What you need to pay a shiver
What you need to tears for an air guitar
It There is no happy love

There is no love that is in pain
There is no love that can not be bruised
No Love that can not And not be stigmatized
more than you love the homeland
There is no love that does not live in tears
; There is no happy love
But our love to both

Louis Aragon (La Diane Francaise, Seghers 1944)

My version

Nothing is ever gained by man

Neither force nor weakness, nor his heart When do

open arms, the looming shadow of a cross

And when you think you have in hand, happiness, grinds
His life is a strange and painful divorce

there is no happy love

His life is like for those soldiers without weapons

other fate

harnessed to what ever they can serve as a alzarzi

early in the morning if we find them in the evening then idle undecided

say these words my life and hold back tears

there is no happy love

My beautiful love My dear love my wound

'll take you inside me like a wounded bird without knowing

And they are watching us go

repeating after me the words that intrecciai

for your eyes and immediately died

no happy love

time to learn to live and it is already too late to cry in

night our hearts in unison

much misery for a song

many regrets to pay for a thrill

How many plants for air guitar

no happy love

there is love that is not designed to pain

there is love there has injured

there is love there has crumpled

and as are love of country

love has no one who does not live with tears

there is no happy love

but there is the love of us, of us

taken from Louis Aragon, La Diane Française (Paris, Seghers, 1944)

I like the translation of Mark Costanzo (click here )

Françoise Hardy sings the poetry of Louis Aragon

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PS I wrote "set to music" instead of "music."