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Hey, this thread is for discussing anything you like. I'm going to translate a poem by A.W. Yrjänä's Mechanema here later tonight, I haven't read it yet, but I made the pick, so that might fuel it, but I think it fun to start the tread already. Discuss what you will, and a poem will pop up, you can then carry on where you were going or take inspiration. Talk, there's a whole host of matters in the world not discussed yet!

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Oh, the title of the poem is Sisäisyyden Portinvartija (the Gatekeeper of the Internal(as in what lies within a person, I'm not sure internal does not imply to internal organs or something, when what would be meant is internal as in within the mind, as in life within the soul or such)) I'll have to look on this. This day I will open a few beers(not that those inflict innaccuracy to the translation, I would have serious toh if it did). But what do you want to talk about?

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No this is not a thread on my translation process, but that last was absolute nonsense. Any linguist would know what I mean by this, using a word so, is just distasteful. Using a word bugt relying on it's implications, it is a no no. Inner depths is what I mean there, but if I insist on using a single word, instead of a brass expression, then I think of a better on, or return to what I thought first, Internal, perhaps with something to modify it.

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Ok. here is the poem in Finnish, I need to write it down so in order to translate, I hope there isn't typos in this presentation:

 

Sisäisyyden portinvartija

Vastuun, kypsyyden ja ilon vaikeat nautinnot
ovat alkaneet kiehtoa,
vaikka elämä vaikuttaa vieraalta vaatekerralta,
jonka on ylleen nyhjäissyt,
runous portugalinsotalaiva
kuivuneen meren fossiilien seassa,
missä parhaat runoilijat ovat ihan hiljaa,
ettei heitä huomattaisi.

Etsivät Kirjaa,
joka on unissa nähty,
missä on liikaa kaikkea,
kihisee kuin aloittamaton elämä,
ylivoimainen, ahdistava,
seikkailun lupaus, aarrekartta.

Hiljaa he johtavat inkvisition kokousta
loputtoman vastauskonpuhdistuksen zeniitissä
paikalla melkoinen seurakunta monenmoista kirkonmiestä
ja maallista ruhtinasta.
Runoilijan tehtävä on syyttää,
Minun tehtäväni on syyttää,
tiedän sen kunnolla tehtynä johtavan kamaliin asioihin.

Etsivät Kirjaa.
Siinä on rakkautta ja biologiaa,
fysiikkaa ja hämäystä,
anekdootteja ja tyyliensekoitusta
draamaa, alaviitteitä*
vihaa ja antropologiaa,
sanaleikkejä, matematiikkaa ja kartografiaa,
okkultismia, tilastotiedettä, futurismiä ja hulluutta,
gastronomiaa, turismia, väkivältää, vanhoja vitsejä,
epätoivoa, uskontoa, valheita ja filosofiaa,
puutarhanhoitoa, strategiaa, mytologiaa, seksiä
maalaustaidetta ja helardiikkaa.
satiiria, historiaa, spekulatiivista iktyologiaa,
vimmaa ja rauhan lakeuksia, astronomiaa, kauhua,
romantiikkaa ja hellenismiä,
taloustiedettä, arkkitehtuuria,
ja vähän runoutta, jotta lukija ymmärtäisi.

Tieteistä vanhin, unen ja matematiikan liitto!
Oikean ja vasemman synkroniteetti,
pyhät häät, sefirothien puu,
maailma jumalan aistina!

Etsivät Kirjaa,
edes lankaa
kun haaven on mahtavasta kankaasta,
kuin Bayeuxin seinävaatteesta,
sen tekijöistä ja tarinasta mikä siinä kerrotaan,
siitä tehdyistä tutkimuksista,
tutkimjusten kirjoittajien elämänkerroista,
heidän rakastetuttujensa hiusten tuoksusta
kun heetsivät elämäänsä
vanhan Euroopan huojuvissa konserttisaleissa
ja hellahuoneissa keskellä
etelän kansojen kyynelissä puristettua
julmaa yltäkylläisyyttä,
ja tulevien sukupolvien vääjäämättömästä
hautajaiskulkueesta:
edes lankaa.

Mutta hän tuoksuu eläimeltä, metsältä
vinoilta hampailta, intiaanin hieltä
hän seisoo kaukana pihan perällä
kasissään valo ja eetteri
jokin laite, jolla leikataan

Hämärä menee silmistä sisään
järvellä koira valittaa ja raukkuu
minä kasvan niin hitaasti että siinä
puutkin alkavat vaikuttaa hätiköinniltä
rannaton järvi vedestä kylläinen

Edited by Graendals favourite

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A poem by A.W. Yrjänä, I meagerly translate. I spent the last hour on this, I'm sure there's things to correct. Mostly it is well translated:

 

Sisäisyyden portinvartija (The Gatekeeper of the innermost)

 

The difficult pleasures of responsibility, maturity and joy
have become to entice one
although life seems alike a strange wardrobe,
that one has brushed upon oneself,
poetry alike portuquese man-of-war
among the fossils of a dried up ocean,
where the best poets remain all silent,
that they not be noticed,


They seek the Book,
that is seen in dreams,
where all is more than in abundance,
shimmering alike an unbegun life,
beyond the scope, making one anxious,
the promise of an adventure, a treasure map.


Silently they lead the congregation of the inquisition
at the zenith of their endless counter-reformation
there is quite a congregation of many churchmen
and secular princes.
The poet's task is to accuse,

My function is to accuse,
I know that when well done that leads to terrible things.


They seek the Book.
In it there is love and biology,
physics and deception,
anecdotes and mixing of styles,
drama, footnotes*,
woe and anthropology
play with words, mathematics and cartography,
occultism, statistics, futurism and madness,
gastronomy, tourism, violence, old jokes,
despair, religion, lies and philosophy,
gardening, strategy, mythology, sex,
painting and heraldics.
Satire, history, speculative ichthyology,
frenzy and plains of peace, astronomy, horror,
romanticism and hellenicism,
economics, architexture,
and a little poetry, that the reader might comprehend.

 

The eldest of the sciences, a union of dreams and mathematics!

The syncronicity of the right and left,
the holy wedding, the tree of the sephiroths
as the perception of God!


They seek the Book,
at least a thread
alike a yarn in the magnificient fibrac,
alike Bayex's glorificient tapestry.
Of who made it and its story, what is told of it,
research made unto it,
the biographies made of those who researched it,
the smell of the hair of the beloved of those who did it.
whilst they were seeking their own lives
within Europe's teetering concert halls

and hot kitchens, in the midst of

that what what pressed of the sourthern folks through their tears

through their cruel abundance,

and of the inevitable funereal march of

the following generations:

they seek only a thread.

 

Oh but he smells like animals do, how forests do,

of teeth gone crooked, of indians sweating for their bread,

he stand so far back there at the back of the yard,

in hand light and ether,

and some device with which to cut

 

The murk goes to your eye

with the dog wailing and barking there at the lake

I'm growing inside so slowly that in comparison

trees seem hasty,

the shoreless lake replete with water.

Edited by Graendals favourite

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I think I'd like to translate these songs, well here the lyrics are in Finnish:

 

Kusimyrsky

Risteyksessä odottelen paholaista saapuvaa
istun siinä harmaantuen, kukaan ei tule vaatimaan
tosissaan ja kaikkeen valmiina, maailmaan luopuneena
aistimusten taakasta niin tiukkaan sovitellusta

Viimein kun jo melkein luovun astuu hämäristä hahmo
joka voisi olla nainen, joka voisi olla mies
nostaa käden huulillensa halkeilleille, kuiville
kuiskaa että kaikki kuulee, silmiin katsoo jokaista

Tule minun luokseni, tule minun kanssani
valu minun päälleni, loista minun silmiini

Ota neuvoa enkeliltä, koskaan et tajua vastausta
ota neuvoa enkeliltä, koskaan et tajua vastausta

Hiipuu tuulet, joet pysähtyy, ihoon syöpyy kirjoitusta
raakuuksia lakikirjoista, sopimuksia lihassa
lakkaa uskomasta sanoihin, lakkaa uskomasta aisteihin
öakkaa uskomasta muistoihin, lakkaa uskomasta ääniin!

Tähän asti kirjoitettu, tähän asti eletty
tänne missä valokaan ei koskaan kulje mielellään
kun se tumma ilmanhenki astuu alas taivaan teiltä
etsii tiedolleen tukea, seuraa kysymyksen tuoksua

Ilman hapertama putki loivaan kulkee seinänviertä
alas tummaa käytävää, valon harmaan läikittämää
kantaa ääntä vaikertavaa rohtuneessa nielussaan
aika kasvaa, hetki vääntyy, häipyy huonen oven taa

Istuu patsas miehen muotoinen, maksoittuneen veren värjäämä
pultattuna tuoliin rautaiseen,  vihittynä hetken kauneuteen
kasvoilla ei enää ilmettä, sydämessä tilkka verta
käsi kuiva, huulet rohtuneet, side tiukka silmillään

Tähän asti kirjoitettu, tähän asti eletty
ja tähän asti kirjoitettu tähän asti eletty

Luota lukuun, itseesi ja pyhään geometriaan.


Rikkisuudeltu

Nainen makaa yksin vuoteellaan
peitto turvanaan
ääriviivat vartalonsa piirtää
kuvan seinään valkeaan
siinä näkee hiekkadyynin
jota karavaani vaeltaa
keidasta se janoaa
vaan keidasta ei löydy päältä maan

Sydäntä ei kierrättää voi
siinä liikaa mustaa on
sydäntä ei kierrättää voi
se on miltei loppuunkulunut

Vaan sillä on ruusuja sormenpäissä
ja sillä on sieluja seitsemän
sillä on liekit hännännokassa
huulet on suudeltu rikki

Mies on yksin huoneessaan
tyhjä lasi kourassaan
puhunut on henki pullon
kertonut on monta tarinaa
aina samat, aina lohdulliset
ovat neuvot viisaamman
lisää niitä janoaa
vaan lisää niitä ei nyt löydy päältä maan

Sydäntä ei kierrättää voi
siinä iso reikä on
sydäntä ei kierrättää voi
se puhki on palanut

Enkä mä tiedä sitä missä mun
kotini on

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Oh on the translation of the poem there, on the last italics he could as well have been she. I refuse to put he/she because it looks just ugly, aesthetically, but finnish pronoun do not know gender, hän=he/she, so I chose he because I am male myself, so me as arbiter chose so. As far as I recall I don't need to choose so with translating the lyrics of those singles!

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Kusimyrsky (Piss Storm)

At the crossroads I await the devil coming
I sit there aging, no one comes to claim
serious and ready for all, ceded the world
the burden of senses so tightly fitted

At last as I almost renounce all, there walks in from the murk a figure
that could be a woman, that could be a man
it raises a hand to its lips, split, dry
whispers so that all hear, gazes everyone in the eye

Come to me, come with me
drip upon me, shine unto my eyes

Take heed by the angel, never will you fathom out the answer
take heed by the angel, never will you fathom out the answer

The winds wither, rivers cease, skin becomes edged with writing
brutalities of books of law, agreements in the flesh
cease to believe in words, cease to believe in senses
cease to believe in memories, cease to believe in voices!

Up to now written, up to now lived
to here where even light will not gladly travel
to here when that dark airy spirit descends out of heaven's way
seeks support for its knowledge, follows the scent of a question

The tunnel corroded by air slopingly travels by side the of a wall
down a dark corridor, spotted by a greying light
holds a wailing voice in its chapped throat
time grows, the moment bends, it dissipates beyond the door of the room

There stands a statue shaped like a man, dyed by clotted blood
bolted to a chair of iron, wedded to the beauty of a moment
on its face no expression any more, in its heart a drip of blood
hands dry, lips peeled, the bind tight on eyes

Up to now written, up to now lived
and up to now written, up to now lived

Trust to the number, yourself and holy geometry!

Edited by Graendals favourite
typos

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Rikkisuudeltu (Kissed awreck)

Woman lies alone in her bed
her blanket her safety
the contours of her body draw
a picture on the pale wall
there she sees a sand dune
that a caravan journeys
an oasis it thursts
but an oasis is not found upon earth

One cannot recycle her heart
there's too much dark there
the heart can't be recycled
it is near exhausted

Yet she has roses at the tips of her fingers
and she has seven souls
she has flames at the tip of her tail
lips kissed awreck

Man stays alone in his room
an empty glass in his grasp
told it has the spirit of the bottle
ah it has told a many tales
ever the same, ever consoling
are the advice of that who is wiser
more of that he thursts for
but more of those there just exist not on the earth

One cannot recycle his heart
there is a big hole in it
the heart can't be recycled
it is burnt through

 

And I don't know where my
home lies

 

Yet he has roses at the tips of his fingers
and he has seven souls
he has flames at the tip of his tail
lips kissed awreck

Edited by Graendals favourite

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Talking about linguistic gender equality the Finnish se=it(he/she), (colloquial). Modern spoken Finnish (spoken and written being quite different things usually, written very good for writing and expressing things, spoken developed to quickly articulate what is meant) manages to be equal between not only genders, but also animals and objects. I hesitated to point this out, cause it would clutter the thread, but then again I corrected some typos, and corrected the flow a few places too, so if I draw attention to my shame of not doing it completely right the first time, well now it is right, and I hope you enjoy! It is difficult to know if something is understood, translating, cause the translator knows what is meant, well here I had a little temporal distance. :)

 

Had a little help, but slight, thanks for that!

Edited by Graendals favourite

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I once more corrected. This time, through some hiccough, I had to do it again and grew annoyed, so there is in the translation some evidence of clarity, though there is a risk I added in my own interpretation which is almost anathema to me as translator. You should listen to this song, I was reminded this day of the line that goes translated "letters so tired that they think themselves words. Only through that are they next to each other in a song." This song is here:

 

 

This song is described in a leaflett so: One of the rarely happy sounding songs of ours. Even though it depicts a state of mind, in which all is hung up as though in a powerless gesture.

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Ok,

 

here is translation to this song, Words as ever by A.W.Yrjänä, song by CMX as a whole, enjoy, I hope:

Tuonen lintu (the Bird of Tuoni)

On a yellow morning
a morning like this
when my room is dead
my window but a blind eye
the clothes just now set upon me
clothes very tired
and the pencil blunt, short
its trace weak.

So often did I betray myself
too often everyone else
so often did I think life
a cheap birth right

Now snow covers the grounds
the bird of Tuoni meanders onto stream
the village it quietly withers
beyondst the churchyard.

The wind forces its way through corridors
through the coat to one's skin
it rests its head seeking the strenght
of that who has none
the dry leaves, left unread
rustle underfoot
as I travel through my emptiness
through an empty city.

Letters so mixed up
that they think themselves words
only for that reason are they
side by side in the song.
 

Now snow covers the grounds
the bird of Tuoni meanders onto stream
the village it quietly withers
beyondst the churchyard.

Edited by Graendals favourite

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Ah very exciting, a new Pet Shop Boys album, called Electric, is coming out in July, and the first single, Axis, is this (a dance album this time around) I doesn't seem to be, the single, yet on youtube, so I'll post the link where it can be heard and seen : http://www.petshopboys.co.uk/ It is out today after all!

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Why is this thread not in the fiddlesticks board? And why do the mods not treat all posters equally? Obviously there's a lot of nonsense and fiddlestick in the D & D board. It's a joke board, most of this one.

Edited by Nightstrike

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