Bobin - A Sound of Balancing
While I was in France savoring our study abroad trip, I prepared myself a comfortable seat on the train across the country to the Loire and told myself I would dedicate my time to translating practice. I frequented bookstores, but the first book I bought was the one that touched me the most. And the one that finally fired me up to start translating again. I had gotten so frustrated trying to translate to French from English that I forgot there is a flip side. Twisting the poetic phrases to my natural language felt so therapeutic that I found myself enjoying the craft rather than tearing my hair in frustration. So, with a cookie/brownie in hand, I promised myself to delve into this new project during my free time and my off hours when the doubt and melancholy sink in.
Now, here I am, back at the computer in my dorm, revising what I had contributed for this book, and though it is a work in progress, I feel like the sentences polish themselves each time I revisit them.
Here's what I have so far for the introduction, which is printed in traditional French script on sky blue paper. (The handwriting was a little tough to decipher!) Incidentally, the writing on the cover coincides to the ending of this excerpt posing as the introduction.
As for the title, I'm still uncertain about it, but seeing as it specifically says "un" as in "a" rather than "the," I decided to keep it that way. Thus, "a" sound of balancing. It will begin to make sense later on.
First, a tiny bit about Bobin. I'm fascinated every time I read one of his sentences. He's written numerous works, but I feel this one (his most recent) is best. Though, I guess that means I have to admit I went on a shopping spree and got as many of his works as I could. All the books are short and are a strange mix of poetry and prose in that each sentence is dreamily abstract. So abstract, in fact, that sometimes I have no idea what is happening. It feels like there are gaps sometimes that need to be filled or metaphors that need to be properly explained. (And sometimes translated, as "paper" in French coincides with the word for "leaves," so he tends to connect books and trees a lot)
That's really the basics about him as a writer. An enchanting style that sometimes falls flat for me.
Well, let's see how this little project goes...
I dream of a writing style that doesn’t create any more noise than a ray of sunlight gleaming through a glass of fresh water. We are there now, in Japan. One of our masters from the 19th century, Ryokan, came to see me. You see, he was but a discrete presence in the manuscript. He hid himself behind the pages of ink like a songbird beneath the leaves of a tree. It’s because of this that I believe it is vital now more than ever to diverge from the common beats of the modern age: disenchantment, ridicule, nihilism. What shall save us? If one thing can liberate us, it is the incredible simplicity of a lyric. I hadn’t heard of Ryokan until two years ago. And if I could ever meet him—what I dream that would be—I believe it would be similar to rediscovering a lost part of my life.
Like him, I also was 30 years old, without a place in the world, engrossed in whiling away the hours playing with children. I also loved the world vigorously—and I love more and more presently those sort of menaces: the paths of clouds, the timid and rosy cheeks of autumn, the azure staggering of the summers. I’ve never written a book about Ryokan but I’ve written one alongside him. It’s quite simple: I don’t believe there is anything concrete, in singularity. I believe in the clumsiness of humanity rather than the prestige of machinery.
Books are souls, and libraries are fountains in the desert of life. Written manuscripts are like the leaves of autumn: sometimes a child gathers one of them, deciphering from it the breadth of a life inflamed, awaiting. This speaks to our hearts. Childhood is the most profound of poetry. I try to go there. I can only try.
[Translation (c) ~CRK 2018]
Notes:
As far as this "Ryokan" fellow goes, I'm guessing he is referring to a Zen Buddhist Monk by the same name who wrote poems and generally lived a secluded life.
If you are interested in reading this book yourself, you can find it on the Editions Iconoclaste website (it's in French, but if you're interested, I am assuming you can understand French!)
It is also on FNAC.com (The bargain bookstore I fell in love with while in France) as well as good, old Amazon.
