Lus Ojus Las Manus La Boca

[magid]

I went to some short talks today, part of a graduate student conference at Harvard. The last talk was by Celine Piser, a literary analysis of a 1978 poem by Clarisse Nicoïdski, which (if my notes are correct) is her only published poem, and her only work in Judeo-Spanish. Nicoïdski was born in Lyons in 1938, her family most recently from Sarajevo, but previously from Spain, before the Expulsion. Her choice of Judeo-Spanish is about family, a way of life that was interrupted, and now is fading. Interestingly, Judeo-Spanish used to be written in Hebrew letters (actually, usually in Rashi script), but changed to the Roman alphabet in the 19th century.


from "Lus Ojus," "Eyes"
i comu mi sulvidaré
di vuestrus ojus pardidu
i comu mi sulvidaré
di las nochis
cuandu lus síus si sravan
i lus vuestrus
si quidavan aviartus
cuandu di spantu
si avrian lus di lus muartus
para darmus esta luz
qui nunca si amató
di
comu mi sulvidaré
...

and how will i forget
your lost eyes
and how will i forget
the nights
when mine closed
and yours
stayed open
when from fear
the eyes of the dead opened
to give us this light
that never went out
tell
how will i forget
...

si mi davas tus ojus pudia fazer
con unu un barco
di l'otru la vela
si mi ddavas tus ojus
pudia tumar lus caminus dil mar
di la mar
qui sta liurandu
alrididor di la tiarra
di no tiner ojus
di no ver
di solu liurar
...

if you gave me your eyes i could make
one a boat
the other a sail
if you gave me your eyes
i'd take the seaways
of the sea
that is crying
around the earth
at not having eyes
at not seeing
at only crying
...

si arasgarun lus ojus
para ver
il velu criladu qui mus ciega
si arasgarun lus ojus
comu tela
qui scondi la varda
[...]

eyes torn open
to see
the red veil that blinds us
eyes torn open
like a web
hiding the truth
[...]

aviartus
dos puartas
dos vintanas
una mar cun dos islas
sin qui ningunu adientri
si caiga
sin qui si veya
un cuerpu
in estus pozzus sin fondo
ondi mi alma si afoga
[...]

open
two doors
two windows
a sea with two islands
with no one inside
a body
falls
unseen
into these bottomless wells
where my soul is drowning
[...]

la pared mi sta mirandu
la candela
mi sta mirandu
tambien la lampa la silla la mesa
cun il oju unico
di las cosas
il oju
caminándusi
alrididor di ti
di mi

the wall watches me
the candle
watches me
also the lamp the chair the table
with the one eye
of objects
the eye
wandering
around you
around me

from "Las Manus," "Hands"
mis manus
dos paxarus matadus
asperan di cayersi
[...]

my hands
two dead birds
waiting to fall
[...]

gritan sin tiner boca
lioran sin tiner ojus
cantan sin tiner voz
dan
sin tiner nada
i fin qui puedin
il suluk dil alma
ditienin
[...]

they scream without a mouth
cry without eyes
sing without voice
give
with nothing to give
until they can
hold
their breath
[...]

manu
ti quedas aviarta in frenti di mi
comu un livru
qui no supi maldar

ti quedas
alivantada aspirandu
como si quirias jugar
sin saver

i mus miramus
sos mía
soy tuya
cuandu mus cunuciremus

hand
stay open before me
like a book
i didn't know how to read

you stay
standing waiting
as if wanting to play
without knowing how
and we look at each other
you're mine
i'm yours
when will we know each other

from "La Boca," "Mouth"
aviarta
com'un pozzo
ondi mi pudía ichar
sarrada
com'una puarta
cuandu matavan in la cay
[...]

open
like a well
where i could throw myself
closed
like a door
when they were killing in the street
[...]

cuandu si avrirá la boca di la tiara
gritaran las sulombras para sus madris
gritaran las madris
para sus fijus
[...]

when the earth opens its mouth
the shadows will yell for their mothers
the mothers will yell for their sons

y cuandu il vidriu si entra mas adientru
mi paresi sintir
un dxaru rotu
taniendu
un cantu di aligria sulvidada
...

and as the glass goes deeper
i seem to feel
a broken jar
playing
a song of forgotten joy
...

scrita
racha di la primer scrituria
palavra di una lingua pardida
aprovu intinderti
cuandu durmin lus ojus la cara la frenti
cuandu
no sos nada mas qui un barcu al fin di su viaje
nada mas qui una scrituria muda
[...]

written
a line of the first writing
a word of a lost language
i've tried to understand you
when your eyes & face & forehead sleep
when
you're nothing but a boat at the end of its voyage
nothing but silent writing
[...]

salió un gritu di tu boca
comu un pez
qui si quieri ichar
dil ríu
al mar
salió ungritu di tu boca
com'un cuchillu
qui si quieri ichar
di la manu
al cuerpu
salio
di tu boca
un gritu para mater

i entre tus labios
murio

a scream came from your mouth
like a fish
wanting to plunge
from the river
into the sea
a scream came from your mouth
like a knife
wanting to plunge
from the hand
into the body
came out
of your mouth
a scream to kill

and between your lips
died

Comments

[rethought.livejournal.com]

These are beautiful. Thanks for sharing them.

[magid.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you like them. I find the language fascinating, though it's so very sad.

[spwebdesign.livejournal.com]

By "Judeo-Spanish" do you mean Ladino or another thing entirely?

[magid.livejournal.com]

Someone asked this: apparently Ladino is the spoken language, while Judeo-Spanish is more written. And there was some other distinction that I didn't catch. Which is to say, the presenter was careful to call it Judeo-Spanish for some language nerd reason, while I suspect in casual conversation, the terms might be interchangeable.

[magid.livejournal.com]

PS. I have pretty much no Spanish, but I do know a fair bit of Hebrew, and it didn't help me at all with the original. How does it read to you?

[spwebdesign.livejournal.com]

I understood almost all of it. Most of it sounds like what a foreigner trying to speak Castillian might sound like, which sort of makes sense. A lot of it sounded Portuguese, some of it Italian. Yet the language has a very elegant tone, not at all like a patois or slang.

Reading it was an interesting experience. I had no clue about several words initially, because the spelling is different, but the moment I spoke it aloud, the meaning became clear.

[(Anonymous)]

I once read that Ladino was like the Spanish of Cervantes.

Perhaps the Judeo part has to less with the roots of words and more with the choice of words (and with the alphabet used, as you mentioned).

[magid.livejournal.com]

Interesting. So more a reflection of particular culture in more classical Spanish (plus the alphabet, of course), than a hybrid of languages?

[(Anonymous)]

Perhaps so, I think. Well put!