Silvia Rosivalová Baučeková
I was Not Born for Quiet, Janko Kráľ, selected and translated by John Minahane, The Centre for Information on Literature, Bratislava, 2022, 120pp., ISBN 978-80-8119-149-7.
The year 2022 marked the bicentennial of the birth of one of the most celebrated Slovak poets, Janko Kráľ. To commemorate the occasion, the Slovak Literary Centre (formerly The Centre for Information on Literature) commissioned a new edition and an English translation of Kráľ’s poetry. The resulting collection was published as twin books titled Narodil som sa pre nepokoj in Slovak and I was Not Born for Quiet in English. The two volumes were edited by the Bratislava-based Irish writer and translator John Minahane. The visuals for the book were created by the award-winning graphic designer Palo Bálik.
John Minahane’s editorial vision is central to this project. He not only curated the poems for the collection, but he also organized them in an innovative thematic structure, translated them into English, and wrote the extensive introductory essay, as well as the biographical sketch included at the end of the book. The book is divided into three sections. The first two, i.e. the introductory essay and the collection of 21 translated poems or poem excerpts, span around 50 pages each. The concluding timeline of Kráľ’s life is much briefer, but it serves to emphasise the biographical focus of Minahane’s approach. This might seem a strange route to take, considering that not much is known about Kráľ’s life, yet within the context of Kráľ’s thematic profile and his membership among the younger generation of Slovak Romantic poets, the allure of the biographical perspective becomes apparent. The mystery of the unknown together with the drama of what is known of Kráľ’s turbulent youth (his “dramatic walk-out” from college, his role in the Slovak uprising of 1848/49, and his subsequent imprisonment, which almost ended in his execution) provide an enticing backdrop against which one can read Kráľ’s poetry, which is passionate and violent, true to the spirit of Romanticism.
When it comes to translating Slovak literature, Minahane is by no means a novice. He has published numerous translations of literary fiction and poetry, both contemporary and classic. Among his most important are The Bloody Sonnets (Krvavé sonety) by Pavol Országh Hviezdoslav, and Margita Figuli’s Three Chestnut Horses (Tri gaštanové kone). In an interview with Eva Urbanová, Minahane noted that translators do not always have the freedom to work with source texts they personally enjoy. Although Minahane’s translations of Kráľ’s poems were produced as a commissioned work, he makes it no secret that this time he really did enjoy the originals he was tasked to translate. In both, the introductory essay and the English versions of the poems, Minahane’s admiration for Kráľ, the poet, but also for Kráľ, the person, is evident. Without much actual information about the real historical figure of Janko Kráľ, Minahane is compelled to rely on his imagination to fill in the gaps. In Minahane’s account, Kráľ is portrayed as a visionary and revolutionary, a soul tormented by the injustices of the world, a traveller who retreats to the wilderness in an attempt to escape the corruptions of society, only to return stronger than before, ready for the righteous fight against oppression. This romantic rendering of Kráľ’s life forms the basis of Minahane’s reading of Kráľ’s poetry, since Minahane sees the lyrical subject of Kráľ’s poems and Kráľ himself as one and the same person and believes Kráľ’s poetry to be largely autobiographical. As a result, Minahane’s collection, probably unintentionally, contributes to the persistent mythologization of the members of Slovak Romanticism in Slovak literary historiography and cultural discourse.
Nationalist rhetoric, which is still present in Slovak literary scholarship today, has depicted 19th-century figures, such as the professor and politician Ľudovít Štúr, the linguist Michal Miloslav Hodža, or poets Ján Botto, Samo Chalupka, and Janko Kráľ, as the founding fathers of the Slovak nation, champions of national independence, and guardians of the “authentic” Slovak language. The anthropologist Juraj Buzalka recently highlighted the reification of these figures in his essay titled “O trvácnosti romantického vodcovstva” (“On the Persistence of Romantic Leadership”), in which he hilariously, but surprisingly aptly, compared the revered Ľudovít Štúr to the fictional Apache chief Winnetou, suggesting that while the cultural representation of both is loosely based on reality, they have achieved their dominant position in the collective consciousness thanks to ongoing fictionalisation. In this context, Palo Bálik’s illustrations featuring the imagined Janko Kráľ in various contemporary settings: enjoying a hookah in a café, being detained by Hungarian riot police, or smoking a cigarette clad in full combat gear, provide a salutary dose of irony that restores balance to the collection.
Luckily, Minahane’s evident admiration for Kráľ did not result in a timid or overly pedantic approach to translation. Translating poetry is always a daunting task but translating verse that is almost two hundred years old and written purposely in a specific vernacular is even more challenging. On top of that, Kráľ’s poetic voice is quite unique. His language is raw and unpretentious, yet well-composed and harmonious. He strikes a delicate balance between a rough, rustic edginess and a more polished, clipped elegance. Although his angsty preoccupation with himself and with the nation might seem pathetic or dated to a contemporary reader, his voice is undoubtedly authentic. John Minahane’s English rendition of Kráľ’s verse is undoubtedly beautiful, but quite different from the original. In this context, the Slovak word “prebásniť” (meaning to rewrite the poem) is a very fitting label for what Minahane has done. Although he remained faithful to the conceptual framework of Kráľ’s work and also made an effort to retain many of the prosodic features of the original (e.g. syllabic verse or rhyming couplets), his approach to word choice was much freer. Firstly, Minahane chose to rewrite the poems in contemporary English. I believe this was a good decision, as trying to mimic to archaic sound of the 19th-century original would probably seem contrived. Secondly, as opposed to Kráľ’s minimalist diction, Minahane’s poems are a bit wordier. This, of course, is a side-effect of the decision to retain the same number of syllables per verse as in the original, as Slovak words tend to be longer than English ones. But sometimes he does this even if retaining verse length does not require it. For example, in the poem “Janko”, Kráľ introduces the lyrical subject, saying:
chodí rozježený, tvár jeho je uhoľ, tvár —
— čierny uhoľ, nevidno na ňom viac žiaden žiar,
mrzký uhoľ — nerád človeka takého,
lebo sa mi zbridí, sníva sa mi o ňom —
While in “Johnny” Minahane writes:
He’s pacing full of fury, his face is coal-black—no
his face is a black cinder, you can’t see any glow,
an ugly cinder—horrid, to meet with such a fellow!
He gives me nausea, he’ll haunt me on my pillow‑
While Kráľ achieves the intensity of his verse through ellipses and clipped phrases, omitting verbs and only sticking to the essential words to convey his meaning, Minahane relies more on the vividness of imagery, adding images and words to the original (e.g. “full”, “black”, and “no” in the first verse, “horrid” in the third, or “pillow” in the fourth). Also, while Kráľ’s diction is often very rustic, Minahane opts for a more sophisticated vocabulary (e.g. “zbridí”, i.e. “it disgusts me”, versus “gives me nausea”, “sníva sa mi” – which is literally, “I dream about”, versus “haunt me”). These differences are consistent throughout the collection. In my view, Minahane is strongest in the passages containing descriptions of nature, such as in the opening stanzas of “The Enchanted Maiden in the Váh and Odd Johnny”, or in the poem “The Old Man”, in which the speaker ponders over the hidden life of animals:
Deer, little comrade, tell me where you dwell
when nigh spreads out its pall?
Say, little darling, do you not feel cold,
when piercing dewdrops fall?
Where do you dwell when I am in the thicket,
making fire, on my own?
Do you have friends, and have you got companions,
or are you all alone?
As evidenced by this stanza, as well as others throughout the collection, despite the obvious departures from the original Minahane’s verse does not compromise on quality. In fact, I cannot imagine how a completely truthful rendition of verse across such vast divide of time, culture, and language could possibly be achieved. Still, it makes one wonder how non-Slovak-speaking readers might perceive Kráľ differently if they only have access to the version of his work presented in this collection. Such consideration inevitably lead to the more profound question of the purpose of poetry translation. If the exact voice of a poet can never be reproduced, what is it that translating poetry should aim to accomplish? Maybe it is to make available a poet’s ideas and ethos to an audience removed in time and space. And if it is, Minahane’s effort in I was Not Born for Quiet has a good chance of succeeding.
Literature
Minahane, John. “Introduction.” In Janko Kráľ. I was Not Born for Quiet, trans. John Minahane. Bratislava: The Centre for Information on Literature, 2022, p. 14.
Urbanová, Eva. “Kráľ potrebuje prekladateľa—a čarodeja: Niekoľko slov nad prekladom Janka Kráľa do angličtiny. Rozhovor s prekladateľom Johnom Minahanom.” Fraktál, 1-2:6, 2023, 62-66.
Buzalka, Juraj. “O trvácnosti romantického vodcovstva.” In Postsedliaci: slovenský ľudový protest. Bratislava: Mamaš, 2023, 50-70.
Hostová, Ivana. “Kráľ verzus Minahane.” Fraktál, 1-2:6, 2023, 58-61.
