Engraved Phrases on Open Seas:
Poems and Notes on Translations of Khal Torabully
By Nancy Naomi Carlson
Few books have had as great an impact on the course of my literary translation career as The Parley Tree: Poets from French-Speaking Africa & the Arab World, edited and translated by Patrick Williamson. This wonderful anthology introduced me to French-language poets from such diverse countries as Djibouti, Morocco, Chad, and Congo-Brazaville—some of whom I have now translated. It was also here that I met Khal Torabully, from Mauritius, an award-winning poet, essayist, film director, and semiologist who has made it his life’s work to give voice to the hundreds of thousands of indentured workers forced to endure horrendous conditions between the years 1849 – 1923. Indentured workers were brought from China and India to the immigration depot in Port Louis where some either stayed in Mauritius as a cheap source of labor after slavery was abolished or were sent overseas to the colonies to work the sugar cane fields. Many died on terrible sea voyages where they were kept in close quarters with one another in the ship’s cargo hold. Others died or endured harsh conditions in the colonies, where they were thrown in jail for the slightest offense, and then were forced into longer periods of indenture. Torabully has coined the term “coolitude” from the previously pejorative term “coolie” in a way that resembles Aimé Césaire’s coining the term “negritude.” Torabully argues that indentured workers, through their rich intercultural exchanges, developed a new identity and language greater than the sum of their parts—a strong and resilient identity worthy of dignity and pride.
Torabully is known for developing a “poetics of coolitude,” necessitated by his conviction that ordinary language was not equipped to bring to life the myriad diverse voices of indenture. He has created a new French, peppered with Mauritian Creole and neologisms. The playfulness of his language serves to underscore his deeply serious—even tragic—themes.
In order to bring the music of his poems into my translations, I employ a “sound mapping” technique. First I identify the salient patterns of assonance, alliteration, and rhyme in the original, using a color-coded system to help keep track within each poem, then try to infuse this music into my translation without sacrificing the original meaning. Sometimes the most prominent patterns of sound involve an onslaught of wordplay, as is the case with “[Malabar],” included in this Torabully sampler. The term “Malabar” refers to Indians originally from the region of Malabar, India, as well as being a pejorative name for Hindus in Mauritius. The preponderance of linguistic acrobatics with the sound “m” at first masks the serious subject matter until the reader realizes the writer’s intent. My sound map for the first several lines of the poem highlighted the m-alliteration (bolded and underlined), as well as the more sophisticated wordplay of “Malabar” and “moi la barre” which sound very similar, except for the initial “mal” and “moi” (“labar” sounds the same as “la barre” in French). Similarly, “malais” and “malaise” sound quite alike, though they do not represent matching masculine and feminine adjectives (though they look like they could).
Malabar, moi la barre,
moi motte de terre
moi de sel moi de chair:
mon âme lascar lasse
quart malais tiers malaise
My translation was able to make ample use of m-alliteration, as follows:
Malabar, me the spar
me mound of dirt
me of salt, me of flesh:
my worn-out lascar soul
quarter Malay, third malaise
My sound map for three lines of “[The rigging repeats]” highlighted the v-alliteration, the nesting sound of “vent” in “ventre,” and the assonance of the sound “ah,” as follows:
Quel téméraire équipage,
approcha le ventre du vent
dans la transversale d’orage?
My translation could not exactly replicate the ah-assonance, but came close with its ay-assonance. The b-alliteration came close to the v-alliteration, as both sounds are bilabial. Although I could not replicate the nesting pattern, the addition of the cr-alliteration added to the music of the translation, as follows :
What audacious crew
braved the belly of the wind
crossways through the storm?
Most of the unusual terms in this selection can be deciphered from their context, but some explanations are in order. “Hollow fish” refers to the shape of needles used in compasses of the Arabic-Islamic world, dating back to the 13th century. “Lascar” refers to a sailor from India or Southeast Asia, and comes from the Persian word lachkar (soldier); in Mauritius, it is a pejorative term for Muslim Indians. Moutaille refers to an Indian fried sweet, shaped in coils and steeped in syrup. Mayallam is a language of India. Cadènes refers to “chains” (in a nautical sense), as well as to iron chains holding prisoners. A calame is a reed writing implement used in ancient times to write on papyrus or parchment. Caye refers to a bed of coral, as well as filth in Mauritian Creole. In Caribbean Creole, it refers to a house (cf. Saint-John Perse). Connés refers to someone born with two organs fused together. In Creole, it refers to the verb “to know.” Épouti refers to garbage or small specks of dirt, and glène refers to the shape of the cordage when it is coiled. Parmélie is a small round shield/lock. Swan Island was the original name given to Mauritius by Domingo Fernandez, a Portuguese navigator. Rôdeur de l’air (Mauritian Creole) refers to an onlooker or gawker. A babouji is a Hindu of a superior caste. Basbourdis is an older term used to refer to lookouts on port side, and guili guili oui is said in the context of tickling a baby. Le Morne is a coastal village in the southern part of Mauritius. Billot refers to a block of wood that supports the keel of a ship. In Mauritius, it also means a cutting board. Namasté is an Indian greeting. Qui ferre (ki fer) is Mauritian Creole for “why.”
[Lodestone]
Lodestone attracting dreams
compass rose sliced into thirty-two rhumb lines
portolan chart begun from the stars,
and in our heads
astrolabe disks, edges marked in degrees
dissect the skies.
Alidade guide since the Coromandel Coast
revealed the regal star’s highness
unworthy above our brown skins.
And I hid my graph
of the sun’s declinations—
recovered cross-staff
eternity’s goldenrod—
and my hollow fish
took me back in their golden fins.
Magnète sans perdre le rêve
rose des vents coupée en trente-deux rhumbs
portulan parti depuis l’étoile
et dans nos têtes
les astrolabes gradués en limbes
tranchèrent les nues.
Alidade depuis Coromandel
indiqua la hauteur de l’astre couronné
indigne au-dessus de nos chairs brunes
Et je cachai ma table
de déclinaisons solaires –
l’arbalète retrouvée
la verge d’or de l’éternité –
et mes poissons sans arêtes
me reprirent dans leurs nageoires d’or.
[Malabar]
Malabar, me the spar
me mound of dirt
me of salt, me of flesh:
my worn-out lascar soul
quarter Malay, third malaise
will be fragments
broken cross-beams of sky
body broken
from setting sail.
To be a moutaille
I’ll be undone, over there,
malady of mind
maligned Malayalam,
a lone me will be lost,
me so right, left to rot,
o memory.
Malabar, moi la barre,
moi motte de terre
moi de sel moi de chair :
mon âme lascar lasse
quart malais tiers malaise
sera fragments
poutres de ciel rompues
corps rompu
à larguer les amarres.
Etre moutaille
je serai défait à moi, là-bas,
mal à l’âme
mayallam malaimé,
un seul moi sera perdu,
moi si sûr moisissure,
Ô la mémoire.
[The rigging repeats]
for Bernard Prédignac
The rigging repeats
its slicing motion through the ocean’s thigh.
What audacious crew
braved the belly of the wind
crossways through the storm?
Commotion of eyes, sole complaint of the stars,
and every lookout is a landscape thief.
At the tiny gateways to mainlands,
with our wanderings for only weight,
our blending of bloods
adds our pure exiles to the absent ones.
Cargo hold of stars contrived
scar, mouth of embers—
as penance, our parted lips
engrave these phrases on open seas.
à Bernard Prédignac
Le gréement répète son geste coupant
à la cuisse de l’océan.
Quel téméraire équipage,
approcha le ventre du vent
dans la transversale d’orage ?
Tapage des yeux, unique plainte d’astres,
et tout vigile est voleur de paysages.
Aux petites portes des continents,
pour seul poids d’errances,
notre mélange de sangs
additionne nos purs exils aux absents.
Cale d’étoiles difficilement
cicatrice bouche incendiaire –
pour pénitence, nos lèvres ouvertes
gravent ces phrases au grand large.
[Wave to wave]
for Robert Cornevin
Wave to wave
balata: gum
Bengali wicker
Bislama for make-believe monster
bobeche ball padlock
sea in the sea
and I cut the cadènes
sea swallowing seas
and I wear the caftan of tides
sea for sea
and my calame calms the winds
lightning rostrum
wave for wave
these shattered chariots of tidal bores
in front of the Central Market
and my camail and your fate
to moor the harbors
fishermen’s nets
good lord
to rig
your head in the skin of the mast
wave within wave
to push the carambolas onto the sand
the caye of reefs
clepsydra of my song
colcothar on the season of salt,
connés: my two bodies welded with blood
my semen of stags
my absence of heirs
not a wave for a wave
not a wave on a wave
épouti on the small furrows
and my spinning top waltzes on spume
and my glène pushes land
further than land.
The gouramis will follow these exiles
until they can’t yell: dance!
no backwash no arrack
indigo my load
julep my last tabla
minaret and naphthalene for trunks.
And wave without wave
rim-lock on the door of doors
parmélie without splitting the sword
unyielding courtyard
phalera on the upper deck
dipped in the sea without drowning
I will die at Phoenix
o wave for wave
and yet more wave than wave.
Trade wind on the fleur-de-lys of the wind
aluminum honeycomb
crawling on the sea to drown
wave without wave
aquilegia: archives of tides
aphthae of ships.
On the Island of Swans
I spill the sweat of the sea
as advance payment for hangmen.
Wave inside wave
mizzen mast: seats of the seas
aster: tomorrow’s star
Indian almond tree amends the sand,
the sea speaks to slash the sea.
à Robert Cornevin
Vague à vague
balata : gomme
bengali osier
bichlamar pour monstre imaginé
bal bobèche cadenas
mer dans la mer
et je tranche les cadènes
mer sur mer
et je vêts le caftan d’écumes
mer pour mer
et je calame les vents
rostre d’éclair
vague pour vague
ces calèches cassées du mascaret
devant le grand marché
et mon camail et ton camail
pour mouiller les rades
filets de pêcheur
mon dieu
capeler
ta tête dans la peau du mât
vague dans vague
pousser les caramboles sur le sable
la caye des brisants
clepsydre de mon chant
colcotar sur le temps du sel
connés : mes deux corps soudés au sang
mes semences de cerf
ma déshérence
non vague pour vague
non vague sur vague
épouti sur les rayons
et ma toupie valse sur l’écume
et ma glène pousse la terre
plus loin que la terre
Ces gouramis suivront ces exils
à ne plus pouvoir crier danse!
non pas ressacs pas d’arak
indigo ma charge
julep mon dernier tabla
minaret et naphtaline des malles
Et vague sans vague
palastre sur la porte des portes
parmélie sans pourfendre la lame
parvis sans vouloir
phalère sur le tillac
amerrir sans mourir
je mourrai à Phénix
ô vague pour vague
et pourtant plus vague que vague
Alizé au lis du vent
alvéole d’aluminium
amerrir à mourir
vague sans vague
ancolie: archives d’eau
aphtes des bateaux
A l’île aux Cygnes
je verse les sueurs de l’eau
des arrhes aux bourreaux
Vague en vague
artimon : assises des mers
aster : étoile demain
badamier amende du sable
la mer parle pour balafrer la mer
[I could walk across red holothurians]
I could walk across red holothurians—
embers of ocean floors—
without scorching my skin.
A blow from the sea
did me wrong
abolished by chance
with a worse name.
Qu’y a‑t‑il dans un nom.
What’s in a name.
I pray in inverted naves…
Kraken will grab me,
a narwhal will slice me up
but I’ll gather the air
my rôdeur de l’air
tack upwind
yield to the tailwind
keep an eye on the abacus cleat
babouji broke the rope
lookout on port side…no
basbourdis guili guili oui
and all the sails will flap:
“You shouldn’t cheat the sea.”
Sur l’holoturion
ces braises des océans
je sus marcher sans ma peau brûler.
Un coup de mer me fit tort
aboli par hasard dans un pire nom.
What’s in a name
Mes lieux de prières sont des nefs renversées…
Kraken m’agrippera
nerwhal me tranchera
mais je prendrai aire
mon rôdeur de l’air
virer vent devant dotiner vent arrière
taquet abaque pour repère babouji cassa la corde
homme de quart à babord non
basbourdis guili guili oui
et toutes les voiles faséyeront :
“On ne doit pas tricher la mer”.
[O lookout]
O lookout, observe the boreal man
in a gouging of flesh;
two arpents of flesh
slash my ocean dreams.
I confide in the salt,
distressed by its wounds:
I inquired after the sky.
Now my crossing
has reached Le Morne.
The moon at its peak
rode a riddle—
my purulent flow.
Billot heavy with blood,
I call for the corpus of coral—
and the sea fell into a shell. Salaam.
So long Sooty Man, Namasté!
O vigie vois l’homme boréal
dans une échancrure de chair ;
deux arpents de chair
lacèrent mes rêves de mer.
Je m’en ouvre au sel,
navré de ses blessures :
je m’enquis de l’azur.
Or ma traversée
atteignait au Morne.
La lune en son plein
posait devinaille –
ma coulée de sanie.
Lourd billot de sang,
je requiers le recueil du corail –
et la mer chut dans une coquille. Salam.
Salut Sale homme Namasté !
[I’ll smash all the astrolabes]
For Raza
I’ll smash all the astrolabes made of gold
so children can be born
far from chains of lead.
My plumb flesh hooks exile—
my banished blood
won’t allow me to ease my fables.
Qui ferre? Qui ferre?
Lost without sun,
my three eyes shut,
I speak without grief
of my water wound.
So many days go by
and I’m dying of fright.
Deciphering love
helps pass the time.
Qui ferre? Qui ferre?
Ah, if I could escape from your hands
to deny Columbus my ovaries,
yes, escape from your loins
to deny Nelson my lower back.
Set me free from my only backboned batallion!
Que faire? What to do?
Toss myself overboard,
true to the exile I choose?
à Raza
J’égorgerai tous les astrolabes d’or
pour faire naître les enfants
loin des chaînes de plomb.
Ma chair d’aplomb ferre l’exil –
ma dérobée de sang est inutile
pour apaiser mes fables.
Qui ferre ? Qui ferre ?
– perdu sans soleil,
mes trois yeux clos,
je dis sans deuil
ma blessure de l’eau.
– Ce sont bien des jours
et j’en meurs de peur.
Déceler l’amour
réduit mes heures.
Qui ferre? Qui ferre?
Ah, échapper de vos mains
pour priver Colomb de mes ovaires,
oui, échapper de vos reins
pour priver Nelson de mes lombaires.
Détachez-moi de ma seule colonne d’homme !
Que faire ? Que faire ?
Me jeter en pleine mer
sans renier mon exil volontaire ?
Khal Torabully is a prize-winning writer from Mauritius—an African island nation located in the Indian Ocean, 1200 miles from the continent’s southeastern coast—writing in French and Mauritian Creole, whose work is almost completely unknown in the United States. Torabully is a poet, essayist, film director, and semiologist who has authored some 25 books. Born in 1956, Torabully’s migrant heritage permeates his work, as he gives voice to the millions of men and women, mostly from India and China, who were indentured during the years spanning 1834 to the end of World I. Torabully’s poems transform the unimaginable suffering of these millions of indentured workers, transported from their homelands in former slave ships, to Mauritian sugar cane fields and elsewhere, into a strong and resilient cultural identity through language. Similar to the way in which Aimé Césaire coined the term “négritude,” Torabully revisioned, reimagined, and redefined the derogatory word “coolie” to coin the term “coolitude,” a concept which encompasses the diversity of transcultural exchanges (geographical, biological, and ethnic) that enrich the world. In 2014, UNESCO officially approved the International Indentured Labour Route Project, and Torabully is a key part of this project, offering a new paradigm for the encounter of “memories and imaginaries” (a “poetics of coolitude”) which UNESCO has recognized as “vectors of peace.”
Torabully has stated that “ordinary language” is not enough when giving voice to history’s indentured workers and their horrendous experiences. His language is playful, inventive, and peppered with Mauritian Creole and neologisms, which makes it especially challenging to translate. The humor of these linguistic acrobatics serves to create a kind of tension that underscores the violence he is describing.
Nancy Naomi Carlson, poet, translator, editor, and essayist, has authored nine titles (6 translated), including Hammer With No Master by René Char (Tupelo, 2016), which was a CLMP Firecracker Poetry Award finalist, and was the only translation in this category. She received a grant from the NEA to translate Abdourahman Waberi’s first collection of poems, The Nomads, My Brothers, Go Out to Drink from the Big Dipper, which was a “Best Translated Book Award” finalist for 2015. An Infusion of Violets, her second full-length poetry collection, is forthcoming from Seagull Books next month. www.nancynaomicarlson.com
