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Term: | please critique my translation of Milrök | |
Hi there -- I'd like to perform an English cover of the Sofia Karlsson song Milrök, whose lyrics are a poem by Dan Andersson. (See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zwk-0iqdDsg for her version.) I couldn't find an existing translation, so I attempted to write one myself with the help of a bunch of dictionaries, despite not actually speaking any Swedish. Please tell me if I managed to capture the spirit of the poem. It's not meant to be word-for-word exact, as I was trying to preserve the rhyme scheme and keep the meter singable, but I want to be faithful to the original message. I'm particularly worried that I might have misunderstood the third stanza (which is why I didn't contort it further to make the rhyme work better). Any constructive criticism would be much appreciated! Div Slomin Milrök by Dan Andersson Kiln Smoke translated by Div Slomin Längst, djupast i ändlösa skogar, bakom urberg, stupande grå, bortom svindlande, ändlösa hedar, där dagarna dödstysta gå, där jäser i smältvit hetta ett bål under stybbade bryn och silar ur hundra små gluggar sin gråa rök mot skyn. In the longest, deepest, endless woods, past the hills so steep and gray, Past the labyrinthine moors, where deathly stillness fills the day, In a blazing, white hot bonfire, the molten coal dust fries And through a hundred holes filters gray smoke into the skies. Där kring går en nattsvart mänska med ögon som vitt porslin och svettas i kamp mot hungern och med bröstet mot vinterns lavin. All eld som brinner är eld, fast den göms som vore den död, all eld är äkta eld, fast den ej lyser som druvor röd. Round the fire sweats a man all black save for eyes of porcelain white. Against the winter's avalanche and 'gainst hunger fights his fight. All burning fire is real fire, even hidden as if dead. All fire is true fire, though not shining like grapes so red. Den glöder ändå därnere, den bränner sig längre ner, och gräver sig ut och flammar i natten, när ingen ser. Så glöder, så brinner en mänska av hat, av hopp och tro, så går från djupet små rökmoln och somna i skogarnas ro. For smouldering further down there, in embers the fire remains, And at night when no one's looking, out it digs and bursts into flames. So when a man's emotions flare, his hate, his hope, and faith, They're just a puff of smoke amidst the sleeping forest's peace. Så stiga den gömdes visor ur jord och bränder fram, och smyga sig drömmande ut över urbergens trasiga kam. Det hela är röken bara av en ande som trotsar och ber det är grått, det är släckt, det försvinner, det är milrök ingenting mer. Then like the rising smoke from earth and fire in that way spills And slips its way out over the distant crest of the hills Whether prayer or defiance from a spirit must outpour It dissipates and disappears, it's kiln smoke nothing more. |
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