The Gap Year Loser

style 1: translation

ok so you know what translation means, obviously but in poetry sometimes it is necessary to translate a text not only linguisticly but thematically sometimes it it nessesary to update an old text in order to make it revalvent for today, personally i belive that there is no such thing as a synonym as all words carry with them there own connotations and meanings and therefore it is immposible to say "in other words" because those are the only words, this is also true of poetry but keats once said that shakespear "left nothing to be said about nothing or anything" and yet he continued to write...ok hang on im tangenting here

the point is:

there is a theory that in literature there are only seven basic plots, yes there are variations on a theme but ultimately they all fall in to these seven categories; people write about the human condition, dreams, love and various other things but they are all recognisable, things that we as readers relate to which is why we read them... 

basicaly im gonna write my own translation of another poem simples. but first, here is Lord Rochester , one of my personal favorite poets' translation of a passage from Seneca's Troades

After death nothing is and nothing death

the utmost limit of a gasp of breath

let the ambitious zealot lay aside

his hopes of heaven, whose faith is but his pride:

let slavish souls lay by their fear

not be concerned which way nor where

after this life they shall be hurled

dead we become the lumber of the world,

and to that mass of matter shall be swept

where things destroyed with things unborn are kept

devouring time swallows us whole

impartial death confounds body and soul

for hell and the foul fiend that rules

god's everlasting fiery jails

(devised by rogues, dreaded by fools)

with his grim, grisly dig that keeps the door,

are senseless stories, idle tales

dreams whimseys, and no more.

two lines from that poem have been running round my head on and off for years

"after death nothing is and nothing death"

and

"dead we become the lumber of this world"

beautiful.

any way the poem i chose to translate is not particularly literary actualy its the ten thingd i hate about you poem, which in turn is a translation of shakepear's sonnet 141

ah! it all comes around!

any way if you don't know it here it is:

I hate the way you talk to me,

and the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car,

I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots

and the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick,

it even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you're always right,

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh,

even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you're not around,

and the fact that you didn't call.

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you,

not even close

not even a little bit

not even at all.

rite and here my one i wrote this years ago its called

Fuck Love,Fuck you

Fuck the second before you mouth touches mine

Fuck your no good lazy smile

Fuck those three wrinkles in your eyes when u smile

Fuck that time you let me plait your hair

And Fuck how good you looked after

Fuck how your eyes are never still

Fuck how you always cracked me up

Fuck how you liked my hair

Fuck that she saw you first

Fuck that i was the one ho got hurt

Fuck how your lip poked out when i couldnt kiss any more

Fuck that time we just watched a film just you and me no tounges,no hands

Fuck how even when you smelled bad you smelled good

Fuck that "beard" you wouldnt cut off

Fuck that we got caught

Fuck your lying, cheating mouth

Fuck my lying, cheating mouth

Fuck friendship

Fuck how you don't see me no more

Fuck that i can't stop seeing you

Fuck that i can't touch you

Fuck that i still want to

Fuck the rain

Fuck the stars

Fuck my family

Fuck my friends

FUCK LOVE,

FUCK YOU.