Happy Birthday E. Pauline Johnson.

It's E. Pauline Johnson's birthday today and  I've been invited to read some of her poems at her birthplace, Chiefswood. Since Margaret Avison said that the best response to a poem is another poem, I "translated" a couple by two different proceedures. The version of "The Bird's Lullaby," I took all the words of the poem and made a new one. The version of "The Song My Paddle Sings" I translated through about 10 different languages in Google Translate and then edited. I've posted the original poem and then the translation. 

the birds' lullaby

i

sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping
  with shadowy garments, the wilderness through;
all day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping,
  so echo the anthems we warbled to you;
        while we swing, swing,
        and your branches sing,
    and we drowse to your dreamy whispering.

ii

sing to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing,
  is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply;
and here in your arms we are restfully lying,
  and longing to dream to your soft lullaby;
        while we swing, swing,
        and your branches sing,
    and we drowse to your dreamy whispering.

iii

sing to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly,
  your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong;
our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly,
  while zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song.
        and we swing, swing,
        while your branches sing,
    and we drowse to your dreamy whispering.

 

 .

LULLABY BIRDS

we while is sing

the while to song

sleeping

while we their arms 

to warbled day 

we drowse pleading 

while so strong

and little your birds

our you to all the now would have us

echo wooing through you 

the hear lullaby

zephyrs swaying into wilderness is voice

we here swing we 

dreamy swing

is branches slowly cedars 

so breathing swing

shadowy and your garments,  

branches twilight 

drowse your nest-cradles is

to sing to lowly 

to lullaby sing 

to whispering swing 

to dream i, we, and creeping be

to night-wind dreamy lying are

your whispering we longing 

so drowse your cedars we 

your sing

we your and your and anthems  

to restfully sighing 

are you dreamy swing  

to reply and us to carolled branches 

soft and us slumberous 

us branches and sing

us dreamy sing 

are so with breathing fragrant 

us your whispering

your dreamy sing so 

dreamy cedars your sing to sing

 

The Song My Paddle Sings

West wind, blow from your prairie nest,
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west
The sail is idle, the sailor too;
O! wind of the west, we wait for you.
Blow, blow!
I have wooed you so,

But never a favour you bestow.

You rock your cradle the hills between,
But scorn to notice my white lateen.

I stow the sail, unship the mast:
I wooed you long but my wooing’s past;
My paddle will lull you into rest.
O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep, sleep,

By your mountain steep,

Or down where the prairie grasses sweep!
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,
For soft is the song my paddle sings.

August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I,
Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift
On either side of the current swift.

The river rolls in its rocky bed;
My paddle is plying its way ahead;
Dip, dip,
While the waters flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.

And oh, the river runs swifter now;
The eddies circle about my bow.
Swirl, swirl!
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl!

And forward far the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for evermore.
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.

Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe!
The reckless waves you must plunge into.
Reel, reel.
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.

We’ve raced the rapid, we’re far ahead!
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in tinkling tunes away.

And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir tree rocking its lullaby,
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.

 

WIND FROM THE WEST     

Wind from the mountain

Wind from the west

The west wind blows and whistles through the grass

We are nothing but bones

 

Wind from the west 

Our life is over

Nothing but bones 

The west wind blows and 

we were not counted

 

West wind, we wait for you

Fold our wings and sleep

There are angry songs

a river flowing over rocks.

a deep river flowing

a deep river flowing fast

 

We sleep beside the river

Rise like unexpected waves

We do not fear 

our power will not be known

 

We left life early 

Now we are far away

The water flows over us

The water flows over our bed

The corn is planted, the corn is harvested.

It wrote this song

this song for us to sing

 

Wind from the mountain

Wind from the west

The west wind blows and whistles through the grass

We are nothing but bones