I have translated many poems in my life—from Hungarian, Lithuanian, and Russian—and see many more coming. It is an extraordinary, beautiful challenge: the translation will be imperfect no matter what you do, but you can still find ways to convey the essence of the original. Should you preserve the original form, or approximate it? Should you take liberties with words and syntax? The answer will change from poem to poem, poet to poet, time to time.
Translating song lyrics is even more difficult in some ways, because of the interdependence between the lyrics and the music. You could provide a “literal” translation (a surprisingly complex concept—it isn’t at all obvious what “literal” is), but in doing so, you might lose even more than you would with a poem. Such a translation could serve a limited purpose (conveying some basic sense of the song’s theme) but no more.
A little over a month ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea of how to translate Platon Karataev’s “Partért kiáltó” (the title song of their recently released third LP). I got up and wrote down a few lines. I went back to sleep, woke up early, and translated the rest. This was my first artistic translation of a song: the first one that tried to capture some of the meanings, sounds, and rhythms together. I have translated a song or two before—mostly on this blog—but very roughly, and often just an excerpt.
The translation takes some liberties, and like any translation, it is imperfect. What I like, though, is that I can hear the music behind it and in it. Also, to make the rhymes and rhythms possible (the original song has just two basic rhyme sounds, which would be impossible or extremely strained in English), I varied the syntax. This continual turning and variation reminds me of the sounds of the instruments, rotating in and out of darkness and light. I am presenting the translation below, side by side with the original, with the permission of Gergely Balla.
| partért kiáltó víz vagyok kérlek, magamra hagyjatok nem nyílnak befelé ablakok kérlek, magamra hagyjatok partért kiáltó víz vagyok a mélybe lehúznak vad habok nem nyílnak kifelé ablakok már nálad van, mit adhatok de te maradj, ha idáig eljöttél siet, ki gyorsabb az erdőnél de te maradj, ha idáig eljöttél siet, ki gyorsabb az erdőnél partért kiáltó víz vagyok nincs már, hol átérjek gyalog az űrbe tátogok, vak vagyok de sötétet ásnak a csillagok kérlek, magamra hagyjatok nem eső ez, csak a tenger dadog de te maradj, ha idáig eljöttél siet, ki gyorsabb az erdőnél de te maradj, ha idáig eljöttél siet, ki gyorsabb az erdőnél ezért a mondatért jöttem ezért a mondatért ezért az emberért jöttem ezért az emberért | water shouting for shore am i i beg you, leave me with my cry the windows won’t open inwards, why won’t you leave me alone i cry water shouting for shore i am dragged down deep by the savage foam the windows won’t open outwards, see, you already have what could come from me but stay, if you traveled all those roads folly to race with the hallowed woods but stay, if you traveled all those roads folly to race with the hallowed woods water i am, shouting for the beach there’s nothing left for my feet to reach i gape blind into the void and yet the stars dig into the lack of light leave me i beg you, that’s not the rain stuttering, but the sea again but stay, if you traveled all those roads folly to race with the hallowed woods but stay, if you traveled all those roads folly to race with the hallowed woods this is the sentence i came here for this is the sentence here this is the person i came here for this is the person here |
The most difficult line to translate is the one I pondered for hours when the song first came out: “siet, ki gyorsabb az erdőnél.” It means, approximately, “The one who is faster than the forest, hurries,” or “He hurries who goes faster than the forest.” It has an ancient or Biblical ring to it; the structure is similar to that of “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” (“Áldott ki jön az Úr nevében”). I translated it loosely as “folly to race with the hallowed woods,” which I think conveys something of the ancient, adage-like tone.
Try listening to the song by itself, without reading any text, then while reading the Hungarian lyrics, then while reading the English translation, and then once again without reading text. Those four listenings will bring out different aspects of the song. There’s no telling which ones; that will also depend on you. And for a fifth listen, here’s a live duo performance by Gergely Balla and Sebestyén Czakó-Kuraly.
And if you enjoyed this, I recommend not only the whole album, but the accompanying lyrics book, with its striking and inspiring illustrations and text layout (by Emőke Dobos). Even without knowing Hungarian, you can glean meaning and sound from the pages.
I translated the song because there’s so much to hear in it.
Take Away the Takeaway 
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