Longing
The train hauled me out of London —
out of the smoke, the smog, the grime,
the filthy mix of soot and dust —
while the train spun fog from the fabric of steam,
clothing the land with its garment
of blessings and punishment,
Yizze kataf, yizze kataf, goes the powerful weaver.
Isn’t it amazing? Life’s a miracle:
escaping the smog through the power of coal!
The carriage was big enough for ten,
but no one was brave enough to open the door
I’d shut fast to keep in the warmth.
Instead, they huddled in the corridor,
unwilling to share the warmth with a black man —
even though coal is black, even though
the wealth of England was forged by black coal.
The train whistled like a washint flute;
haystacks dotted the distant fields,
just like the straw roofs of houses in a village at home. And, in the blink of an eye, I turned into
‘a traveller of God’ in the meadows of England….
‘Greetings to your household’, I cried,
I am your “black”, your unexpected, guest:
and bring with me, to your kindness, God's blessing’. ‘Welcome, come in!’, the head of the household replied. Then his wife brought a bowl of warm water,
and kneeling down happily to wash my feet,
‘Don’t be shy, my friend’, she said.
First my mouth blessed that tulla beer of Gojjam,
then a bowl arrived, and my empty stomach began to fill
as I licked the linseed oil of Gondar from my fingers;
next, chicken stew rich with curds. Contented,
I yawned. Sleep overcame me as I lay down
on fine cotton and was covered with wool….
Dimly, I heard the door slide open — but was fully awake
by the time it slammed shut. I jumped,
but then calmed myself down,
glowering at the reckless young man,
the brave one who’d dared to enter my den as I slept.
But his spotless shirt and neat matching tie made me laugh: he was so amazingly clean!
On the literal translation:
[1] The word tizzita is rich in associations for Amharic speakers. It means ‘remembrance’ but is also the name for one of the musical modes in popular music a mode which is often used for songs which reflect a melancholy longing.
[2] The word used for dust is different to the one used in the line above
[3]washint: an end-blown flute played in Ethiopia similar to the Middle Eastern nay.
[4]Yizger mangadanya this refers to a traveller who on setting out on the journey trusts accommodation and sustenance to God that is to say s/he doesn’t have any prepared stopping places for sleep or food.
[5]T’ïk’ur engada this literally means black guest and is a term used for an unexpected guest. In the countryside the householder would be expected to give hospitality to such a guest something which would endow them with blessing in the eyes of God. The Amharic speaking people of the highlands of Ethiopia referred to here are Ethiopian Orthodox Christians.
[6] This is a loose translation of what is meant by the Amharic verb tagdaraddara.
On the final translation:
The final version was produced in the workshop and then finished by Sarah Maguire.
This was a fascinating poem to translate because it was so challenging and complex. If you look back at the two versions Martin produced – the first a literal translation, the second worked on a little – and then at the final version, you should be able to work out how we got here. So, as it would take to long to go through all the points we struggled with, I’ll just mention those that involved the most discussion.
7 In his 2nd version, Martin translated this as ‘shifting–quickly’, which is what ‘Yizze kataf’, means literally in English. But what’s important here is the onomatopoeia: the train sounds like a clattering loom, which in turn connects with the imagery of the smoke being a garment woven from fog. One of the most effective aspects of ‘Longing’ is its incorporation of the imagery of industrialisation, specifically of clothing.
8 ‘Life’s a miracle’: It’s important that the religious aspect of the poem is retained here.
14 It’s clear from the poem that the people ‘huddled in the corridor’ won’t come into the warmth because of their racism.
17 ‘The train sang with its washint flute’: Another instance where it seems appropriate to retain the original term in Amharic; here, specifically because this is the beginning of a reverie where the speaker is lulled back into a vision of his homeland.
23 ‘I am your “black”, your unexpected, guest’: This caused more discussion than any other part of the poem. The term ‘black guest’ in Amharic means ‘unexpected guest’, and the word ‘black’ is used here without any of the negative connotations it can attract in English. It’s a pivotal moment in the poem because the ‘black guest’ is of course welcomed in Ethiopia (as in many other cultures, unexpected and unknown guests, can bring the hosts blessings from God if they are treated hospitably) whereas the black man is shown being shunned in England. Because this is such an unusual use of the word ‘black’ in English, we decided that the poem would probably need a footnote to explain the Ethiopian context if it were published.
33 ‘Sleep overcame me as they led me to a bed/of fine cotton and then covered me with wool’: In the Amharic, it’s important that the guest is helped to go to sleep by his hosts.
Rememberance
This is a literal translation, although it does not follow the literal word order of the Amharic which can be quite distant from the natural word order in English. I have transferred the special punctuation marks (each word is separated by a punctuation mark in Amharic, I have missed these out).
Remembrance[1]- 1st literal translation
Taking me the train went bringing me out of London
Separating me from smoke from the fog from the dust
Mixing the soot with the coal dust[2]
While it spins the fog from the carded cotton of steam
Clothing the country reward for piety and punishment of
damnation
Yizze kataf [taking—quickly] says the powerful weaver.
A marvel—a wonder—an astonishing thing it is a miracle it
is life
From coal smoke escaping through the power of coal.
In the carriage was seating for ten people
So that my heat would not dissipate
The carriage door which I had closed to
One even bold [enough] who would open it was lacking
and while there was space being missing people were lined up
Outside in the cold while ashamed to enter
Into the carriage which was closed in which was a black man
—And coal is black life of England
Location/stall and foundation of her wealth.
With the whistle of its flute[3] the train sang
From far began to be seen heaps of dry hay
My spirit burst into a village of my country
In the green meadow in the countryside of England
In a blink of the eye I became/was “a traveller of God”[4]
“Good day people of the house”
—I am your black guest[5] your means of being deemed
pious!
“Enter the house is for a guest!” the householder said to me
His wife brought warm water in a large wooden tub
While she was (very) happy kneeling in front of me
She washed my feet —“Don’t be shy[6] my friend!”
My palate blessed that tulla beer of Gojjam
A bowl approached the grain reservoir of my stomach filled
I licked my fingers —linseed oil of Gondar—
Chicken stew entered mixed with curds
When I was full I yawned my sleep came and
They put me to sleep on a cotton blanket covering [me]
with a woollen blanket
The door as it opened I heard I woke up as it closed.
The anger/fever/excited state cooled down in me as my
spirit calmed
I glanced sideways with my eyes at the brave youth
The bold one who had entered where I was sleeping.
Seeing his shirt together with the tie
My face smiled
It made me laugh—his cleanliness.
I have worked on this translation a little and come up with the following which I feel can be improved a lot.
Remembrance, revised literal translation
The train left and took me out of London
Removed me from the smoke the smog the dust
Mixing the soot with coaldust
Spinning fog from the carded cotton of steam
Clothing the country: reward and punishment;
‘Shifting—quick’ says the powerful weaver.
A wonder amazing a marvel; life’s a miracle
Through the power of coal smoke escapes from coal.
Within the carriage was seating for ten people
No one was even brave enough to open
The door I’d pushed to so that my warmth wasn’t lost
Although there was space they stayed away the people
Lined up outside in the cold ashamed to enter
The closed carriage in which there sat a black man.
And yet the coal is black the life of England
Location and foundation of its wealth.
With the whistle of its flute the train sang out
In the distance heaps of dried hay were seen
My spirit burst into a village of my country
In the green meadow of the English countryside
I was in an instant a ‘traveller of God’
‘Greetings to the house’
I am your black guest unexpected
Your hospitality will bring you God’s favour
‘Enter guest ’ the householder said to me
His wife brought warm water in a tub
Happily kneeling down before me
She washed my feet: ‘Don’t be shy my friend.’
My palate blessed that Gojjami beer
A bowl appeared the dip of my stomach filled
I licked my fingers: linseed oil of Gondar
Chicken stew entered crammed with curds
When I was full I yawned my slumber arrived
On cotton they set me to sleep covered with wool.
I heard the door when it opened and woke when it closed
My excitation cooled as my spirit calmed
With disapproval I eyed the brave youth
The bold one who had entered where I’d slept
I saw his shirt and the tie that went with it
It made me laugh—his cleanliness!