no man’s land Literary Translation Lab presents:

Translation Idol – no man’s land sucht den Superübersetzer

On May 6, 2008, the monthly “no man’s land translation lab” celebrated its first birthday with a poetry translation contest. The poem in question was Ron Winkler’s “und später dann Paraboläpfel am Atem”, and contestants were invited to translate it “any which way you like – fast and loose, slow and steady, straight from the hip, make it rhyme, give it a dialect, put it into iambic pentameter, recreate it as a limerick – whatever you want to do.”

Despite the short notice, the response surpassed our wildest expectations - 14 submissions from Germany, Austria, Scotland, England and the United States, ranging widely in approach.

On May 6 we invited the poet and a broader audience of poetry and translation enthusiasts to hear and judge the submissions. Ron Winkler discussed his reactions to the translations with MC Katy Derbyshire; himself a prominent translator of English poetry, he was intrigued and inspired by the concept and the range of interpretations and creative solutions that resulted. (The event was even graced by two "visual translations" of Ron's poem - see photos!) Our relatively spontaneous effort had set off a remarkably dynamic conversation, a give and take between poet and translator, original and translation, translation and translation, translator and translator - a conversation which we, and the poet, intend to continue!

The poet's prize was awarded to Steph Morris, while the audience prize was shared by Joseph Danaghie and Tom Morrison.

We would like to thank all the contestants for their wonderful contributions which made this evening so stimulating and inspiring!

Some pictures of the "Award" can be found here!

Isabel Cole
Katy Derbyshire

Original

Ron Winkler
›und später dann Paraboläpfel am Atem‹

unten der Garten. der spezialisierte
Wald. oben das endlose π der Sonne.

und Schönheit als eher Unscheinbarkeit.
also Wolken. insofern Wolken.

dazwischen das infernalische Obst. das
infernalische Obst.

waren dort nicht auch Grizzlyhasen?
nicht auch dort? am Zaun?

und dschungelartige Würfel
wie zu Boden geschrieene Vögel?

jemand drückte in diese sehr, sehr
verreiste Stimmung hinein die Räuspertaste

seiner Heckler & Koch. das war nicht ich,
das gehörte einer anderen Intensitätsgruppe

an.

Poet’s Prize

Steph Morris

– and later on an apple parabola alive –

Below: the beds, which were once woods.
Above: the non-stop sun, π in the sky

And prettiness that is nothingness;
Clouds really; as such, clouds.

In the middle: the dammed damsons.
Damsons be dammed.

Weren’t there bunny-bears there too?
Where? There? Too? On the fence?

And rainforest roulette:
Birds brought bawling back down?

In this way, way out vibe
Someone pushed mute

On his Smith and Wesson. Me it was not;
That fits into another set

Of intensity.

Audience Prize 1

Joseph Danaghie

>and later now breath of parabolapples<

and down, the garden. the specialized
forest. up, the infinite π of sun.

and beauty as such can inconspicuous seem.
thus clouds. Inso  far clouds.

between this, that underworldly fruit. that
underwordly fruit.

were there not grizzly rabbits too?
not there too? At the wire?

and jungle-juggled dice
like birds screamed down to ground?

someone tapped in this very, very
far gone atmosphere into the throat control

of his Lady of Bristol. that was not I,
was another intensity group that belonged

to.

Audience Prize 2

Tom Morrison

‘and later on parasolapples on the breath’

down there the garden. a sprucely crafted wood
of course. endless solar π lukewarm overhead.

a dreich day gloriously stripped of illusory gloss.
fur-streaked skies inferring the rain about to fall.

an inferno of fruit dangling mid-air.
that infernalfruit in limbo m’dear.

aye and did I not see some grizzly hares?
aye I did. they were there.

and tangles of jungle whipped into shape
like great shy birds had got the garrotte.

those risibly remote reveries were rudely
rent asunder by ripostes from a

Heckler & Koch. well that showed my pale
Grau & Matter what a spade really

was.

Toby Axelrod

VERSION ONE

›afterwards, he stinks of apples‹

It was the garden of eden. Made to order. Not by God but by an eternal mathematical equation, and ruled by the sun.

Nothing stood out, that's what was good about it. No one noticed their nakedness. And the Holy spirit was simply a breath that moved like a cloud on the surface of the water.

Right smack in the middle of that garden was that damned tree with it's damned fruit.

I seem to remember some odd creatures, too, like out of a Brueghel painting, hanging around the garden gates.

And something else – kind of a warning – those whizzing missiles shrieking downwards from the trees. At first I thought they were birds.

In my hazy flashbacks, I do sense the click of a silencer muzzling a gun barrel.

But I swear it wasn't me!

VERSION TWO

›and afterwards, parabolic apples on the breath‹

below, the garden. The specialized
forest. Above the endless π of the sun.

and beauty more like inconspicuousness.
like clouds. in as much as clouds.

between them, the infernal fruit. the
infernal fruit.

Weren’t there also grizzly hares?
there, too? at the fence?

And jungly cubes
like birds shrieking earthward?

In this very, very distant atmosphere,
someone fingered the silencer

on his Heckler & Koch. It wasn’t me,
it belonged to another intensity group,

it did.

Ken Cockburn

Isabel Cole

"and later on, parabolapples on the breath"

the garden below. the specialized
woods. the infinite π of the sun above.

and beauty as relative unobtrusiveness.                                                                                                       
that is, clouds. that is to say, clouds.

interspersed the infernal fruit. the
infernal fruit.

weren't there also grizzly hares?
there too? by the fence?

and jungle-like cubes
like birds cried groundwards?

in this very, very vagrant ambiance
someone pressed his Heckler & Koch

to mute. that wasn't me,
that was a different intensity group

entirely.

Darin Graber

and then later parabolapples on my breath

under the garden.  the functionalized
woods.  above, the endless pi of the sun.

and beauty as more than unlikelihood.
so, clouds.  in so much, clouds.

in between the infernal fruit.  the
infernal fruit.

weren’t there grizzlyhares too?
there too?  on the fence?

and jungle’s cubes like birds
screaming to the ground?

someone pressed the clearing button
on the very, very long-tripped tone

of his Heckler & Koch.  it wasn’t me,
that’s a different intensity group.

Cathy Hales

'& then later there were parabolic apples on my breath'

down there is the garden. know what I mean, the specialised
forest.  & up there is the endless π of the sun.

& beauty just playing at being inconspicuous.
okay – clouds. insofar a few clouds.

& in between all that there was that diabolical fruit. I mean
really diabolical fruit.......

weren't there grizzly rabbits there too?
n't there too? by the ............. fence?

& jungly dice
like birds screamed down to the ground?

yeah, & then someone had to go & intrude the throat-
clearing coughbutton of their Heckler & Koch right into the middle

of this very, awesomely very gone away mood. but hey, it wasn't me –
it's another intensity group that that was part

of.

Rodney Nelson

and afterward then parabolic-apple breath

the garden below. the specialty
woods. the infinite pi of sun above.

and beauty as earlier lack of significance.
wherefore clouds. clouds to an extent.

the damnation fruit in between. the
damnation fruit.

weren’t Kodiak hare in there too?
weren’t they there too? at the hedge?

and jungle-bone dice
clamoring birdwise down to earth?

someone’s offkey Smith &
Wesson rasp intruded onto this all-

very road-weary atmosphere. not mine.
it came from another focus

group.

Susanne Sarfatti

later on breathing apples on the air

downstairs was garden. cunning forest.
upstairs sun's endlessly squared circles.

and hidden beauty, nearly shy.
so clouds, as far as clouds may be.

fruit viciously did intervene. that
ever vicious fruit.

hadn't there been but grizzly hares?
down there, too? at the fence?

and jungle-green eyed dice
like birds smothered with noise?

a guy was pulling right amidst this far, yes,
very far-off mood in order just to clear his throat

the trigger of his Heckler-Koch. it wasn't me,
it did belong to someone other's near-by group,

of course.

Annina Schmid

>and later parabola apples on breath<

low there the garden. that specialised

wood. above it sun's infinite π.

and beauty as kind of uncertainty.

as in clouds. insofar clouds.

inbetween hang the infernal fruit. hangs the

infernal fruit.

were there no grizzly hares?

none there, no? at that fence?

and junglestyle cubes

as birds shrieked to the ground?

someone pushed into this far, so far

departed mood the harrumph button

of his or her Heckler & Koch. wasn't me,

was another intensity group's

one.

Sarah Tolley

>and then later parabolic apples in the breath<

below, the garden. the specialised
wood. above, the sun’s infinite ∏.

and beauty rather than improbability.
so clouds. whatever, clouds

in-between, the infernal fruit, the
in-fernal fruit.

weren’t there grizzly bunnies too?
there too? strung along the fence?

and jungle-dappled dice
shouted at like grounded birds?

someone turned up in this v. v.
weird mood and hit the sound control

on his Heckler & Koch. it wasn’t me
it was some other intensity group done

it

Renée von Paschen

"and later on parabolic apples on my breath"

the orchard below. the specialty
forest. the infinite p of the sun overhead.

the inconspicuousness of beauty.
or clouds. insofar, a thunderhead.

in-between the infernal fruit. le
fruit infernal, zut!

and jungle-like objects trying to fly,
screeching birds falling from the sky?

weren't there grizzly bunnies too?
weren't there a few? at the fence?

in this very, very alien ambience
someone hit the mute key

of his Heckler & Koch. it wasn't me,
that was another level of intensity