Andrés
Ajens tr. by Erín Moure with Anthony Seidman
Cómo no leer — a Celan
[…] my Criterion
for Tune —
E. Dickinson
Celan y recelan pájaros de varia laya, pánzeres
anfibios, hienas, avispas, también simios. Más
desbocado hasta ahorita, el autor de Verdad
y método, quien, dizque hermeneuta eximio,
leyendo Todtnauberg,
no sólo moteja a Celan
de romero (“hagiografía de San Martín”, clama
Lacoue-Labarthe; “faltaba nomás que la escena
entrase en la tradición del peregrinaje”, ayunta
Bollack), siendo que Celan es más que meridiano
en aborrecer romerías, aun ontoteológicas —cf.,
por caso, Wutpilger-Streifzüge
(‘De furiosos
peregrinos, invasiones’, in Fadensonnen, donde
viene por demás en la cuarta línea el término
castellano Conquista)—,
sino que Gadamer
llega a plantear que dicho poema atestigua
cómo Celan aprendió a comprender de a poco
la dureza de las supuestas palabras del santo
varón de la Selva Negra: “Solamente más tarde,
al volver a casa, eso que le había parecido
demasiado brutal en las palabras que Heidegger
había murmurado al andar, se le hizo claro: él
comenzó a comprender”. Mamma mia! (Celan
le escribe por esos días a Gisèle Lestrange: Puis
ce fut, dans la voiture, un dialogue grave [con
Heidegger], avec
des paroles claires de ma part).
El más desbocado hasta ahora, pues alguien más
debocado (¿proeza de imperial aguilucho?) viene
a alzar la apuesta al leer un poema de Celan como
poema de la “claudicación” ante el fascismo,
el neofascismo de la hora —como el de ahora.
El poeta (Celan) se identificaría con la figura
que asiente, que considera bien, bueno (heißt
es gut) lo que el neofascismo, aun camuflado
con el velo azul de la judeidad (blauen Gebet-
mäntel), viene a reiterar. —
¿Cuál figura? La
gaviota (die Möwe),
la gaviota sierva, esclava
de la arena (die
sand-/ hörige Möwe). Habría
que citar completo Ausgeschlüpfte,
‘Recién
salidos’ (del cascarón), sito en Fadensonnen,
antes de volver a tal “claudicación” (estamos
citando) que supuestamente el poema declara.
Nos limitamos a consignar aquí la traducción
estándar de Reina Palazón (Trotta, 1999), con
algunas mínimas comarcas: SOLES / de quitina
de su cascarón escabullidos. // Los estegocéfalos
[Panzerlurche] / se revisten con los azules efodes
[Gebetmäntel,
lit. manto, capa de la oración], la
gaviota / sierva de la arena [sand-/ hörige Möwe]
lo considera bien [heißt es gut], la avizora
aguavientos [Brandkraut; a oír Brand-kraut,
‘hierba de la quema’]/ vuelve sobre sí (geht in
sich; Fernández-Palacios y Siles: “vuelve en sí”).
¿Qué es quitina?
¿Qué son esos soles de quitina
[Chitin-/sonnen]
que acaban de salir a escena?
¿Y cómo Arnau Pons, discípulo de Bollack y tra-
ductor de Von
Schwelle zu Schwelle al catalán,
llega a leer ahí (¿pero dónde?) una declaración
de claudicación de Celan? La quitina, desde ya,
mienta la RAE: sustancia química blanca insoluble
en agua que se halla en el dermatoesqueleto de
artrópodos, es decir, de arañas e insectos varios,
en cualquier caso: nada prometedor. Pons mismo
asocia esa quitina con las estratagemas inmundas
de Claire Goll & cia. (de quienes le prestaron ropa)
para acusar de “plagiara” la poesía de Celan. Que
la gaviota sierva o esclava acepte, encuentre bien
o bueno que tales Panzerlurche —tales
“anfibios
acorazados”
(Fernández-Palacios y Siles) o “este-
gocéfalos” (Reina Palazón), en cualquier caso,
artrópodos de la quitina con más que notoria
consonancia con los Panzerwagen— se vistan
aun con el talit,
el chal de la plegaria hebrea,
es lo que dice (críticamente) el poema: es
eso lo que está ocurriendo, es eso a lo que
asiente gustosa la gaviota sierva que Pons
identifica (¡¿pero cómo?!) con el “sujeto
lírico” celaniano; sujeto supuestamente
sujeto a la arena, las palabras, dice Pons,
para diferenciarlo del “sujeto histórico”,
que ya no estaría simplemente sujeto,
pues este se identifica, según Pons, con la
hierba de fuego que al cabo vuelve sobre
sí. Para rematar: “El poema muestra, pues,
una claudicación; la reflexión de un fracaso
que se acepta” (A. Pons, Descifrar el idioma,
traducir el poema, 2017). — Mamma mia!
(As a Butterfly /
To the Meridian). Desde ya
no hay identificación alguna de quien habla
en Ausgeschlüpfte (Paul
Celan o el hablante
poético, para el caso ahí lo mismo da): ni con
esa gaviota esclava ni con la hierba de fuego.
Forzar una eventual identificación sería ya
inscribirse en la filiación de soles de quitina,
acorazados anfibios y de quienes el poeta
estima que les prestan ropa, incluso celestes
chales. Si se quiere “identificar” a toda costa
una referencia histórico-literaria en la gaviota
sujeta, huélase la gaviota del primer poema
de Die Suchende
(1966; mismo año, misma
data de Ausgeschlüpfte)
de Nelly Sachs, con
quien Celan, meridiano, sostuvo un entrevero
creciente en la década de los sesenta y de paso
fuera una de las pocas personas en posición de
prestarle ropa (ropa judía) a esos Panzerlurche,
acorazados fósiles de la hora. Tal identificación
entre gaviota y poeta, Pons la hereda de Jean
Bollack, quien (en el contexto de una lectura
de Tübingen, Jänner)
sugiere que con la gaviota
no estamos ante un símbolo sino ante un juego
asonántico entre Möwe
(‘gaviota’) y Löwe (‘león’),
pero Bollack marra la trasposición con Celan; más
bien, otra vez, fuera con Leonie (alias Nelly) Sachs.
Tampoco el poeta de Ausgeschlüpfte
se identifica o
se apropia del lugar de la hierba-del-fuego (Brand-
kraut),por mucha solidaridad que mantenga con los
restos de calcinadxs de Treblinka o Auschwitz, pues
¿cómo no oler en esos restos la hierba de la quema?,
¿que “vuelve sobre sí”, “en sí” o “a sí” ante la salida
de esos soles de quitina, de esos acorazados con los
que una gaviota sujeta consiente y les presta ropa?
Descifrar el idioma, traducir el poema, a no olvidar, es
antes que nada un intento por enmendarle la plana a
Evelyne Dueck, autora de L’étranger intime. Les tra-
ductions françaises de Celan, por alejarse demasiado
de una filología (y hermenéutica) crítica, por no haber
leído la lengua de Celan “como un idioma construido”
y, en suma, resta (tono eximio), a saber, por no haber
entendido nada sino nonada de la poesía de Paul Celan.
Celan y recelan pájaros de varia laya, pánzeres anfibios,
víboras ponzoñosas —No
pasaran, pero—, aun eximios.
Y, sin embargo, súbita muda. De tono. ¿Cómo no agradecer
a Hans-Georg, a Pons? ¿Cómo no leer a Celan, detonas vos?
[Pirque/Maldonado, 5/13.9.19]
Translated by Moure with Seidman
—
How Not to Read — Celan
Andrés
Ajens (Pirqué, Chile)
tr.
from Chilean Spanish by Erín Moure (Montréal) with Anthony
Seidman (L.A.)
…my Criterion for
Tune—
E.
Dickinson
They
vigilate and invigilate,[1]
ragbag birds, armoured
amphibians,
hyenas, wasps, simians too. The one most
intemperate
up till now, the author of Truth
and Method,[2]
who, perhaps in exemplary hermeticism,
reading
“Todtnauberg,” not only tags Celan
as
pilgrim (“Yes, the birth of a hagiography,” Lacoue-Labarthe[3]
burst
out in response; “the scene hovers upon entering
the
tradition of pilgrimage,” added
Bollack),
although Celan is more than meridianal…
in
his abhorrence of pilgrimages, even the onto-theological—cf.,
case in point, “Wutpilger-Streifzüge”
(“Rage-pilgrim
raids”) in Fadensonnen, where
in the third line he pointedly used the Castilian word
Conquista)—, but Gadamer
went even further, to propose that said poem testifies
to how Celan learned to grasp, bit by bit,
the harshness of the purported words of the hallowed
man of the Black Forest: “Only later,
once he had returned home, did he see clearly what had
seemed too appalling in the words Heidegger
murmured while walking; he
began to understand.” Mamma mia! (Celan
wrote afterward to Gisèle Lestrange: Puis
ce fut, dans la
voiture, un dialogue grave [with
Heidegger], avec des paroles
claires de ma part).
Gadamer was more intemperate than most, till now, till someone
even more intemperate (prowess of an imperial eaglet?) tried
to raise the ante by reading another poem by Celan as
a poem of “capitulation” to fascism,
the neo-fascism of the moment—like today’s.
The poet (Celan) would be identified with the figure
that accepts, who considers well and good (heißt
es gut) what
neofascism, still camouflaged
with the blue mantle of Judeity (blauen
Gebet-
mantel), reiterates.—
Which figure? The
seagull (die Möwe), the servile
seagull, sand-
servile (die sand-/hörige Möwe).
Let’s here
quote all of “Ausgeschlüpfte” or “Hatched”
(unshelling it), from the book Fadensonnen,
before returning to the “capitulation” (we’re
quoting) that the poem supposedly indicates.
Here, we’ll stick to citing the standard
translation by Pierre Joris (Green Integer, 2005), with
a few minimal notes: HATCHED/chitin-
suns. // The armored
dipnoans
[Panzerlurche]/ wrap the blue
prayercoats
[Gebetmäntel, lit. mantle, prayershawl] around themselves, the
sand-/enthralled
gull [sand-/ hörige Möwe]/
sanctions it [heißt es gut],
the lurking
lampwick [Brandkraut; sounds like Brand-kraut,
‘Blaze-Herb’]/ goes into itself (geht
in
sich; Sampedrín: “infolds”).
What is chitin? What are those chitin-suns
[Chitin-/sonnen] that were just
brought to light?
And how does Arnau Pons, Bollackian disciple and trans-
lator of Von Schwelle zu Schwelle into
Catalan,
come to see there (but where?) a declaration
of capitulation by Celan? Merriam
Webster easily
puts paid to chitin: horny polysaccharide (C8H13NO5)n
that forms part of the
hard outer integument
especially of insects,
arachnids, and crustaceans,
in any case: nothing useful there. Pons himself
links those chitin-suns to the foul stratagems
of Claire Goll & Co. (for they lent her cover)
in accusing the poetry of Celan of “plagiarism.” That
the sand-enthralled seagull concurs, sees no issue
with these Panzerlurche—these “skullcased
labrynthodonts” (Sampedrín)
or “armored
dipnoans” (Joris), in any case,
chitin-coated arthropods more than slightly
resembling Panzerwagen—some
even draped in
the Tallit, the Jewish prayershawl,
is what the poem (critically) conveys: this
is what’s happening, this is what’s gladly
accepted by the servile seagull that Pons
identifies (what and how?!) with Celan as “lyrical
subject,” a subject supposedly
subject to sand, to words, says Pons,
to differentiate it from the “historical subject”
which would no longer be simply subject
for Pons identifies this with the
blazing herb, the lampwick
sage that folds into itself
at poem’s end. So that: “The poem, thus, describes
a capitulation; it reflects acceptance
of a fiasco.” (A. Pons, Descifrar
el idioma,
traducir el
poema, 2017)—Mamma mia!
(As a Butterfly / To the Meridian).
Yet
the poem attributes no identity to the speaker
in “Ausgeschlüpfte” (Paul Celan or the poetic
speaker, same case either way): nor
to the enthralled seagull nor to the lampwick.
To force an eventual identification would amount
to signing up to the filiation of chitin-suns,
the armored amphibians and all those whom the poet
saw as lending them cover, celestial shawls
thrown in. If a historical-literary reference for the seagull
subject must at all costs be “identified,”
then why not sniff out the seagull in the opening poem
in Die Suchende (1966; same
year, same
date as “Ausgeschlüpfte”), and
catch a whiff of Nelly Sachs,
with whom Celan, meridianal, had an increasingly
prickly exchange during the 70s, and who turned out to be
one of the few people in a position to
lend cover (Jewish cover) to those Panzerlurche,
the armored fossils of their time. Pons’s identification
of gull and poet was inherited from Jean
Bollack, who (in the context of a close reading
of “Tübingen, Jänner”) suggested
that the seagull
presents us not with a symbol, but an assonant
wordplay between Möwe (‘seagull’)
and Löwe (‘lion’),
but Bollack then errs in pinning the gull on Celan; rather,
once again, it refers to Leonie (alias
Nelly) Sachs.
Nor does the poet of “Ausgeschlüpfte” identify with or
appropriate the lampwick, the Jerusalem or burnt-sage (Brand-
kraut) as his own, despite
his solidarity with the
remains of the calcinated in Treblinka or Auschwitz; still
how can one not sense, in such remains, the burnt-sage
that “goes into itself,” “infolds” or “withers” at the appearance
of the chitin-suns, those skullcased anthropods to whom
the servile seagull acquieses, and lends cover.
Pons’s Descifrar el
idioma, traducir el poema, let’s not forget,
is
above all an attempt to point fingers at
Evelyne Dueck, author of L’étranger
intime. Les tra-
ductions
françaises de Celan, for straying too far
from a critical (and hermeneutic) philology, for not having
read the language
of Celan “as a constructed language”
and, in conclusion, in short (exemplary in tone), clearly, for not
having understood the least thing in the poetry of Paul Celan.
They
vigilate and invigilate, these ragbag birds, armored amphibians,
poisonous
vipers—¡No pasaran![4], yet—, oh so
exemplary.
And,
nevertheless, unremittingly deaf. Tone-deaf. How not to thank
Hans-Georg,
and Pons? How not to read Celan, and de-tonate yourself?
[Pirque,
Chile / Maldonado, Uruguay 5-13 September 2019]
Translator’s Note by Erín Moure
Ajens’s poem forcefully queries two critical readings of works by Paul Celan, one on his poem “Todtnauberg” by German hermeneutic philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer that seems to erase the complexity of the meeting between Celan and Heidegger, and one on “Ausgeschlüpfte” by Catalan/Spanish poet-translator-critic Arnau Pons, which seems to conclude that Celan capitulates to fascism. Ajens wonders if both critics are tone-deaf, and tune-deaf as well (the Dickinson epigraph), even as he thanks them in the end (sincerely!), for favoring an ongoing and relentless plunge into the reverberations of Celan’s poetry.
Ajens’s original uses the Spanish translation of Celan’s poem “Ausgeschlüpfte” by José Luis Reina Palazón (Trotta, 1999) as his standard, making reference as well to a second translation by the team of María Fernández-Palacios y Jaime Siles (Visor, 1990). To avoid translating their Spanish into English and losing thereby the intricacies of Celan’s poem in a game of telephone, I substituted the main Spanish translation of Celan with the standard and beautiful translation by Pierre Joris. The obvious alternate reference in English would be the translation by Ian Fairley, but because I worked on this poem at the height of a pandemic shutdown when all libraries were closed, I had no access to Fairley, and made my own translation in order to have a second reference, which I attribute to that terrible translator from Romanian, a language she does not know, but translates from because she longs to read: Elisa Sampedrín.
Hatched
chitin-
suns.
Skullcased labrynthodonts
don blue prayershawls, the sand-
servile seagull
nods assent, the lurking
burnt-sage
infolds.
[1] In Spanish: “Celan y recelan…,” from the 3rd person plural of the verbs “celar” and “recelar.”
[2] by Hans-Georg Gadamer, a book on philosophical hermeneutics, read through Heidegger’s Being and Time.
[3] Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe’s La Poésie comme expérience, tr. Andrea Tarnowski as Poetry as Experience (Stanford U Press, 1999) discusses Celan, and refers to Gadamer’s piece (p. 92 in the English).
[4] They will not get past! In two of his poems, Celan uses this cry in Spanish of determination of the troops loyal to the elected government to not give way to the fascists—the nationalist usurpers in the Spanish Civil War.
