Pig Islander into French

New Zealand Listener, Volume 15, Issue 378, 20 September 1946, Page 16

Pig Islander into French

RANK SARGESON, of Takapuna, Auckland, has had a recent novel issued in a French translation; it is That Summer, which appeared in three parts in Penguin New Writing in 1944. When I heard that a copy of the French edition had arrived I asked Frank Sargeson if, I might see it and he brought it to The Listener office. It_was a_ small book-of 162 pages-éin bright orange jacket with white lettering in large clear type, announcing: CLIMATS FRANK SARGESON CET ETE-LA Traduis de l’Anglais par Jeanne Fournier-Pargoire | Editions du Bateau Ivre This publishing sign, Editions du Bateau Ivre, was printed in a circle round a miniaturg black and white seascape with wavy lines and a rocking boat for the refer-

ence to Rimbaud’s poem. After I had gazed at this pleasant cover in pure enjoyment for some time I looked up to find Frank Sargeson gazing in pure enjoyment too, Then he pointed to the tithe with his pipe and said, his nose wrinkled with amusement, "I suppose if you were translating that title ‘Cet Eté-La’ you’d say ‘That There Summer.’ That’s of course if you were translating it into colloquial English, not mandarin English." His mocking tone made it quite clear that Mr. Sargeson was not going to let this success turn his head. 4 "CLIMATS," I said. "Why ‘CLIMATS’ at the top?" "See the list on the back of prospective publications, the translations are all labelled ‘CLIMATS,’" There were two from Hungary, others as well. "Perhaps to give the idea of foreign literature, books from other climes." I read the blurb inSide the wrapper: the author was described as "un des espoirs de demain;" his writing was distinguished by "a hard realism which serves as a frame for so much human truth." "That’s very interesting," Mr. Sargeson said, his pipe busy pointing again, "that they added this bit about human truth. Most English critics would have stopped at realism and left it at that. And of course that’s not the important thing at all. It’s very perceptive of these people; they’ve seen much further than the surface. It’s really a very good translation-not that my French is good enough to judge, but I’ve shown it to someone whose is. Of course there are funny bits." Mr. Sargeson jumped up, put his pipe in his mouth, and busily turned pages to find me something. "Un Bolcheviste Enragé" "Ah yes, here. Remember I said ‘he was pretty red.’ Well, look how it comes out: ‘c’était un bolcheviste enragé.’" He rolled the words from his mouth with a grand guttural. "And about the kid’s legs, you remember, thin as sticks,

and her father tells Bill ‘it just shows you the way the working man gets it put across him every time.’ Here’s the French: ‘ca vous donne une idée de la situation du proletaire.’ In fact, on the whole, the translation emphasises a political feeling, brings out something fairly definite that way when it’s all added up. Not that it matters, but it’s interesting to see how small points add up to alter the flavour. And yet the whole atmosphere has been kept extraordinarily well; a colloquial thing like that couldn’t have been easy, must have been a real puzzle in parts," A Pig Islander As we turned the pages we found more of these quaintnesses in translation. For instance, Sargeson describes Bert as "Maggie’s bloke" which becomes in French "Le type de Maggie." This in itself is not strange-‘"type," meaning normally any fellow, chap, bloke, may just as easily as our "bloke" take on the specialised meaning in its colloquial use here-but it is strange to find Maggie referred to as a "typesse." Bill, asking about some "decent sheilas," is made to ask about "des poules a Vhauteur." The translator was apparently floored, Mr. Sargeson and I agreed, by the phrase "Pig Islander." Bert is described as being "not a Pom, it was easy to tell he was a Pig Islander." Not a "tow-tow," the French has it, "un brute d’insulaire." I cannot think how the magnificent bleakness of Sargeson’s last sentence: "Maybe if only it had rained, I remember I thought" could have been caught in translation; as it is. "J’aurais voulu qu’il pleuve a seaux" has a more immediate, a more personal meaning, but in some way an effect of triteness quite absent from the original. © For a book that was published just a little more than a year after D-day-it was issued on June 5 — Cet Eté-La

shows few signs of the strain and difficulty of publication in a city recovering from enemy occupation. The type is big and clear, the paper rather better than that used in post-war issues of Penguin New Writing for instance. There is no price shown on the jacket flap, so Mr, Sargeson has no way of calculating what royalties, if any, he will receive. © Ten Thousand Francs _ "Idjes this mean much money to you?" I asked him. He blew some smoke at the ceiling and wrinkled his nose again. "Ten thousand francs," he said and paused for me to be impressed. "That works out at £20 in our moriey. When I've deducted the cost of cables and tax payments I expect I'll receive about £5." .He paused again for me to be impressed or aghast. It seemed a very small sum for so attractive a little book. "And if you haven’t the three issues of Penguin New Writing you just can’t read That Summer in New Zealand, can you?" I asked. "But John Lehmann is publishing it in book form this autumn, English autumn I meaf," Mr. Sargeson said. "A Hogarth press publication?" "No. He’s just set up an independent publishing business. He’s doing it himself." I remembesed John Lehmann’s note of introduction to the New Writing issue of That Summer; he regretted the need to publish it in three parts, but wrote: "I believe it. to be a work that must be published somehow or other; and sufficiently vital to survive such mutilation.’" It was through him that the book was translated into French. "Well, you must. feel pretty cheerful on the whole; you look pretty cheerful," I said. "I shouldn’t really. It’s hothing unusual to have a book published in French. Lots of New Zealanders have their books translated into French." "But they don’t live in Takapuna, New Zealand, and have their books translated into French," I argued. "True, but that’s not what matters. The interesting thing is, and this really is interesting, that it is a translation of such a colloquial bodk-well, a book written in real Pig Island language. And that they’ve made such a good job of it." We turned again to the jacket flap written in real Pig Island language. Frank Sargeson to appear again in French. "They're very kind, but then blurbs ate always kind." he said, I watched his face as he read the appreciative and encouraging words. ; "Will you teli me one thing," I asked him. "Is praise very important to you?" "No, not praise. The important thing is perception."

J.