Anthea Bell Prize for Young Translators – Year 8 entries
Year 8 students took part in the Anthea Bell Prize for Young Translators, by translating ‘Les Colombes’ by Théophile Gautier, 1838. Here our some of their phenomenal entries by Isabella, Olympia, Arabella, Daisy and Krithika, with a special congratualtions to Arabella for being selected as the area winner!
Competition Text:
Sur le coteau, là-bas où sont les tombes,
Un beau palmier, comme un panache vert,
Dresse sa tête, où le soir les colombes
Viennent nicher et se mettre à couvert.
Mais le matin elles quittent les branches;
Comme un collier qui s’égrène, on les voit
S’éparpiller dans l’air bleu, toutes blanches,
Et se poser plus loin sur quelque toit.
Mon âme est l’arbre où tous les soirs, comme elles*,
De blancs essaims de folles visions
Tombent des cieux en palpitant des ailes,
Pour s’envoler dès les premiers rayons.
Isabella’s translation:
On the hill, where the graves lie,
A beautiful palm tree, like a green plume in the sky.
In the evening, doves come near,
Finding shelter, calm and clear.
But in the morning, they take flight,
Like a necklace, the doves are out of sight.
They scatter in the bright blue sky,
Landing on rooftops way up high.
My soul is is like that palm tree,
White swarms of visions come to me.
Wings flapping in the starry night,
To fly away from the first sunlight.
Olympia’s translation:
There on the hillside, there where the graves lay,
A beautiful palm tree, like a green crest,
Stands tall, where in the evening the doves stay
to take cover and nest.
But they will leave their branches at the first sign of light,
Like a necklace that falls apart, and you see them scatter,
Scatter into the cerulean sky, a flurry of white,
And settle on a rooftop far away.
My soul is like a tree, where like the doves, every evening
White swarms of wild visions descend from the sky,
their wings fluttering and flapping,
Until the first rays of light, when they’ll fly.
Arabella’s translation:
Over there on the hillside, near the tombstones
Lies a beautiful tree, rich with green palms
In the evenings, the peaceful doves
Come and take cover, till the storm of the night calms
Come the morning, the branches lie vacant
Like a chain come apart, you see them
Scattered in the blue sky, turning it completely white
And land on whatever rooftop, then repeat it again
My soul is the tree on which they land, and just like them it clings
To dreams, a swarm of crazy white feathers, clouding my vision
They fall from the skies, fluttering their wings
So they can fly away in the first rays of sunlight
Daisy’s translation:
There on the hilltop, there, where the graves are,
A beautiful palm tree, like a plume of green,
Lifts it’s head, where in the evening the doves
Come to nest and seek shelter.
But in the morning they leave the branches;
Like the strewn beads of a necklace, they are spotted
Scattering in the azure air, in pure white,
And landing on a roof afar.
My soul is the tree where every evening, like them,
White swarms of mad visions
Descend from the heavens with beating wings,
Until the first rays of dawn, when they’ll fly.
Krithika’s translation:
On the hillside, over there where the tombs are,
A beautiful palm tree, like a plume of green
Stands tall, where in the evenings the doves
Come to nest and shelter, serene.
But in the mornings they leave the boughs to explore;
Like the beads of a necklace, you see them there,
A mass of white, scattering in the azure
And land further away, on a rooftop somewhere.
My soul is the tree where, like them, in the evenings,
White swarms of mad visions fall from the skies,
Their wings all flapping and fluttering,
to fly away as soon as the sunrise.