There, there, said the parent to the anguished child whose ice cream fell to the gutter.
There! There! said the whale watcher pointing at the spout on the horizon.
There’s no there there, said Gertrude Stein when she visited Oakland in 1934 and found her childhood home razed to the ground.
In what they called an experiment, Stamp and Rave invited participants to translate A Little Called Pauline from Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons 1914. Here is the original:
Translate
By translate, I am sure they meant to interpret but let’s be literal. First – the obvious narrative behind the poem is the old German folktale so beloved of the Bavarians.
That’s not very helpful. So fire up ye olde trusted google translator and let’s get cooking. A one hundred and eighty two word salad of unspeakable brilliance and in it goes into the language mincer. French first, because after all, Stein was in Paris. Then Greek and on to Japanese, Punjabi, Igbo, Hungarian, Welsh and Shona. And a couple more just for luck. And now what do we have.
In his opinion, the towel has become more and more popular every day.
For example, in the summer, I don’t opt for palm skin where there is firewood or the latest photos from the books.
The house is completely green and I find work.
Not only the sea but ten white rocks. Readings and statistics look very good and difficult.
I want to be a cow. Not to mention a wedding expert.
For the bullet I have not been able to see my cough.
If you want to stay in jam, you have to be good.
Getting interesting. Ninety-two words Shorter at least. But let’s try the magic machine again and crank out a few more lucky turns. You can hear the lingua bots straining to find the grammatical logic. And, this time, stripped down to the bare essentials, here it is in all its final glory.:
It was cold up to the thigh without a father.
For example, I didn’t have oil in his picture – the product of a new magazine.
However, the point is not that ten gardens can be weapons. Moon horse recruitment cannot be consistent.
If you want to be a cow, don’t marry and call me an expert.
Remove the skin and wings.
Define the problem so we don’t get stuck in practice.
One more time from the beginning and I like this version:
It’s shaken cold but look at what’s printed during the day. A little watermelon. No, Dad. Choose herbs that are very small, no pennies, no stains, no broad bases, and no dusting. There’s a little bit of lace on the plate. You don’t have to do that. The navy blue bow is an elegant and tight blouse. It’s hard to feel like a fool when you’re trying to be a star. The pain of childbirth, the silence of day and night. Maps, cold sleeves, blankets, pointed houses, almost ordinary windows. The closer you get to the sea of fairies, the more you see a lime tree with ten dots on a white background. Keep counting, keep counting. It would be nice to have a cow. Concessions, excursions, trips, and basic relationships. Coughing on the skin is no picnic. You can always sit down.
So there it is after its various trips around the world. Ask yourself: Is there any there, there?
Groundbreaking poetic cubism? Or total bunkum? Linguistic deconstruction? Or just a hoax with Gertrude and her salon in on the joke at everyone’s expense? You be the judge.
It may be all Greek to you but let’s have one more try put that lovely little prose poem above into German, which is, as Lady Bracknell told us, a very sensible and respectable language:
LADY BRACKNELL. Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you. I’m sure the programme will be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so.- Oscar Wilde- The Importance of Being Earnest
Es ist kalt geschüttelt, aber schauen Sie sich an, was tagsüber gedruckt wird. Eine kleine Wassermelone. Nein, Dad. Wählen Sie Kräuter, die sehr klein sind, keine Pfennige, keine Flecken, keine breite Basis und kein Abstauben. Auf dem Teller ist ein bisschen Spitze. Das musst du nicht tun. Die dunkelblaue Schleife ist eine elegante und enge Bluse. Es ist schwer, sich wie ein Idiot zu fühlen, wenn man versucht, ein Star zu sein. Der Schmerz der Geburt, die Stille von Tag und Nacht. Karten, kalte Ärmel, Decken, spitze Häuser, fast gewöhnliche Fenster. Je näher Sie dem Meer der Feen kommen, desto mehr sehen Sie eine Linde mit zehn Punkten auf weißem Hintergrund. Zähle weiter, zähle weiter. Es wäre schön, eine Kuh zu haben. Konzessionen, Ausflüge, Reisen und grundlegende Beziehungen. Husten auf der Haut ist kein Picknick. Sie können sich immer hinsetzen.
Now, you see, it’s all beginning to make sense:
It’s shaken cold but check out what’s printing during the day. A small watermelon. No dad. Choose herbs that are very small, no pennies, no stains, no broad base, and no dusting. There is a bit of tip on the plate. You don’t have to do that. The dark blue bow is an elegant and tight blouse. It’s hard to feel like an idiot trying to be a star. The pain of childbirth, the silence of day and night. Maps, cold sleeves, blankets, pointed houses, almost ordinary windows. The closer you get to the sea of fairies, the more you will see a linden tree with ten points on a white background. Keep counting, keep counting It would be nice to have a cow. Concessions, trips, and basic relationships. Coughing on the skin is not a picnic. You can always sit down.
But friends. If you keep this up through infinite google translations you will discover the awful truth: There is no there. there. Believe me.
Thanks to early acquaintance with the spirit people (see here and here) I have been able to have a direct conversation with Gertrude about all this.
Here (left) is one of the photographs of that conversation. The house with the red roof is clearly where and she and Alice lived during the Nazi occupation of France. No sign of her poodle, Basket. On that, more later.
No ectoplasm was harmed during the production of this photo.
And below you can see two artistic renderings of the same conversation.
As you can see, it was rather stormy at first. Somehow Gertrude had become aware of my appreciation for Elizabeth Warren. And – as what was known in pre trumpian days as a rock-ribbed, staunch Republican – she was rather cross. A cross and quarrelsome Gertrude is not someone you want to spend time with. Just ask Hemingway.
As you know, Gertrude was an enthusiastic patron of avant-garde art and all the famous artists of the day – Picasso, Gris, Braque, Modigliani et al – made their way to her Paris salon. Which one of them painted our stormy interaction I am not at liberty to say. I can tell you that both paintings will soon be up for auction at Sotheby’s.
As you can see, there were many slings slung and arrows loosed. But eventually, Gertrude calmed down
Still stormy seas and high winds but Gertrude has calmed down a bit. (Flattery always works!)
Mollified, Gertrude brought out the cut glass carafe of eau de vie and Alice asked the cook to make some oeufs de Francis Picabia. They seemed to be out of the hash brownies which was fine by me. The eggs were quite delicious by the way – full of fresh butter and lightly salted although they took an age to make. And don’t call them scrambled or you will have Alice upset and you don’t want that.
So it was then that I learned the astonishing truth behind her distinctive prose. This story will surprise and amaze you. But you will have to wait for the next post. All that fruit brandy has made me drowsy.
But before I drop off to sleep – in case you think I being not serious here – flippant even – explore the commentary on ModPo- the incredible modern poetry MOOC created by Al Filreis of UPenn.
https://www.scene4.com/archivesqv6/nov-2013/1113/karrenlalondealenier1113.html
Some very serious close reading here: https://alenier.blogspot.com/2014/05/stepping-on-tender-buttons-little.html
So until A Little More Gertrude Stein: The WW2 Truth Revealed – Bonne nuit. Dormez bien. Fais de beaux rêves.
Mein Got this is overwhelming. I didn’t know you were a Gertrude fan. Our brother Denis Kodaly has a few pieces on our blog inspired by her.
Well – of course – once I discovered that she used her linguistic gymnastics to win the war I was bowled over. Naturally. And even when she got into a snit about Elizabeth Warren I was still taken by her willingness to laugh at herself.
And now I’m going to look for Denis Kodaly. Perhaps there are more secrets to be uncovered. The world needs to know the truth.
Delighted to see that you are once again creating art! Picture art! — Elizabeth
I don’t know what you mean!
Late into my very head heavy college experience I found Stein and Virgil Thomson’s “Four Saints in Three Acts” and played the record over and again. “Pigeons on the grass alas.” Somehow I was totally soothed by the operetta and felt relieved of the idea that everything had to make sense. Thanks for taking me back there with this lovely word play exercise.
I love your story!
It is a relief to know that everything doesn’t have to make sense in the ways we have thought it must. Stein rejected the idea that reading poetry should be a difficult, scholarly experience. When asked how one should understand her work she replied:“But after all you must enjoy my writing, and if you enjoy it you understand it. If you do not enjoy it, why do you make a fuss about it? There is the real answer.”
I like that answer.
DAda…from the arch purefinder….how much brandy does it take to be so creative.. and is there a course.
I think I need another glass of red wine! Or maybe I’ll just carry on reading about the fractal-holographic model of the universe! Nah! Another glass of wine!
Brilliant!