Anthea Bell Prize for Young Translators – Year 7 entries
Year 7 had a go at translating ‘La Tour Eiffel’ by Maurice Carême, as a part of the Anthea Bell Prize for Young Translators. Here are some of their fantastic entries, by Nina, Florence, Poppy-Sophia, Bertie, Anya and Diana, with a special congratulations to Anya for being selected as the area winner!
Competition text:
La Tour Eiffel par Maurice Carême
Mais oui, je suis une girafe,
M’a raconté la tour Eiffel,
Et si ma tête est dans le ciel,
C’est pour mieux brouter les nuages,
Car ils me rendent éternelle.
Mais j’ai quatre pieds bien assis
Dans une courbe de la Seine.
On ne s’ennuie pas à Paris:
Les femmes, comme des phalènes,
Les hommes, comme des fourmis,
Glissent sans fin entre mes jambes
Et les plus fous, les plus ingambes
Montent et descendent le long
De mon cou comme des frelons
La nuit, je lèche les étoiles.
Et si l’on m’aperçoit de loin,
C’est que très souvent, j’en avale
Une sans avoir l’air de rien.
Nina’s translation:
I am a giraffe, and I once did see,
The Eiffel tower, it was telling me,
That eating clouds would put me in good stead,
If it was in those clouds I placed my head,
For then immortal’s what it said I’d be.
But upon my legs my feet never bend,
Just beside a meander of the Seine.
But Paris is an interesting place,
And between my legs, like moths women lace,
The men are like ants, through my legs they drain,
Slipping round my legs, again and again,
The most nimble, but least mentally sound,
They climb on me, up and down and around,
Hornets, scaling up my neck from the ground.
In the night when I seem up high in space,
If in that gloom you see me from afar,
It may be because I swallowed a star,
Then pulled my very best innocent face.
Florence’s translation:
Poppy-Sophia’s translation:
Yes, I am quite tall,
The Eiffel tower most certainly did call,
My head always is stuck in a heaven full of bliss,
I am something you could never miss,
I have four feet,
Perfectly positioned, in the right base,
Me and the Seine can always meet,
You can never get bored near my place.
Women feel like bees,
And men are certainly fleas,
They wonder round and round my legs,
And the craziest most lively bunch,
Run up and down me while I hunch.
At night I snatch up all of the stars from the sky,
And if you can see my glow at night,
Well, I can’t say it is a lie,
I often steal the spotlight.
Bertie’s translation:
Why of course, I am a giraffe
The Eiffel tower told me on the world’s behalf
As the tip of my head reaches up towards the sun
Grazing among the clouds brings endless fun.
Because they make me a timeless, priceless eternal piece
I need a strong base of four strong sturdy feet
Placed prominently in the curve of the Siene.
You will never get bored in Paris:
The women buzz around like moths
The men crawl about like ants
They weave in and out of my legs in one big flock
And the craziest, never laziest
Decide to take a climb up, down and all around
Swarming my neck like hornets, coming from all over town.
At night my tongue can touch the stars
And if you can see me from afar
Its because I often swallow one of them
As easily as if it was a tiny gem.
Anya’s translation:
Oh yes, it’s true, I’m a giraffe,
The Eiffel Tower told me with a laugh.
My head is high up in the sky,
To graze the clouds as they float by.
I stretch up tall to munch on clouds,
They make me strong and calm and proud.
But still my feet stand firm and steady,
Beside the Seine, I’m always ready.
In Paris, things are never slow —
The women float like moths below,
The men like ants rush to and fro.
Between my legs they slip and slide,
The wildest ones go for a ride,
They climb my neck like buzzing bees,
Up and down with endless ease.
At night, I lick the shining stars,
And if you see me from afar,
It’s ‘cause quite often, just for fun,
I swallow one without a fuss done!
Diana’s translation:
I’m like a giraffe
The Eiffel Tower said
My head is in the sky
To eat the clouds ahead
The clouds give me power and make me eternal
And the clouds, their so plenty and so abound
But in the curve of the River Seine
My feet are so well placed that they dig into the ground
You don’t get bored in the city of Paris:
The women are like moths in their dungarees
The men are like beetles in their black suits
As they waddle on their small feet under me
Some madman thought it would be fun
To tickle me every single hour
They climb up my neck and down my chest
Like hornets up a tree or tower
At night as I lick the stars
People see me from afar
When they look and gaze they do not think
That I look like anything.