Translating Jacques Prévert

Deep South v.3. n.1. (Autumn 1997)

When I was a student in Europe - it was towards the end of the Vietnam War - a friend loaned me two books by Jacques Prévert: Paroles and Histoires. In them I found simple words, but words of great power. Words that expressed many of my own feelings. Here was outrage, iconoclasm, brutal realism. Here was humour, whimsey, tenderness. I wanted others to know these savage, playful, lyrical words. And so I turned some into English.

Drawn in other directions, I did not continue my translations at that time. It was only recently that I again picked up Paroles. But my earlier enthusiasm had not been misplaced. Prévert still spoke to me. Once more I began to change some of these words to English.

To translate Prévert is a pleasure. First, there is the pleasure of the act of translation itself. Of going over, word by word, what is written. Of seeking the thoughts, the feelings behind the words. Of becoming Prévert's student. Of searching for ways to say what he is saying.

Second, there is the pleasure of sharing these poems with those who do not know Prévert or who cannot read him in French. For Prévert is the people's poet. He is accessible. Even in translation he has the power to delight, to move those who do not ordinarily read poetry.

A number of translators have sought to capture the spirit of Jacques Prévert. They include Teo Savory, Harriet Zinnes and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. "I translated these poems for fun," Ferlinghetti tells us. But in the end there is dissatisfaction: "A poem can be finished, a translation only abandoned...."

This remark has come back to me again and again. For the translation of poetry is not a self-contained linguistic act. It is an attempt to take a poem and to render it as one's own while remaining faithful to the original. Even a linguistically straightforward, almost cinematographic poem like "Déjeuner du matin", undergoes subtle changes from translator to translator. "Teaspoon", "coffee spoon" or "small spoon" may all translate "petite cuiller". What matters is the impact of the choice. How does the poem, as a whole, come across in English? One may translate such a poem with few liberties and feel that it still has something of the power of the original. By contrast, the assonance and ambiguity of "Chanson" - so simple, so beautiful in French! - defy replication.

Poetic translation is thus born of contradictory ends and for this reason must often ultimately fail. Yet, as Zinnes says, such failure is born of the love of the poetry itself. And that is its justification.

These are my own translations. I have tried to write English poems from Prévert's originals. In a few cases I have broken a poem into stanzas, varied punctuation, changed the line arrangement or introduced italics. Generally I have tried to find some ground between faithfulness to detail and faithfulness to intent. If these versions speak to you in some measure as Prevert's originals speak to me then I have accomplished all I could wish.

- Alastair Campbell

References

Ferlinghetti, Lawrence: 1965: Selections from Paroles; Penguin; Harmondsworth

Savory, Teo: 1980: Words for all Seasons; Unicorn Press Inc.; Greensboro

Zinnes, Harriet: 1984: Blood and Feathers - Selected Poems of Jacques Prévert; Schocken Books; New York