Letters to the Editor

Claire Malroux

Michael Cullup writes: In her introduction to the poems of Claire Malroux which Marilyn Hacker has translated, Jena Schmitt (PN Review 285) quotes the following:

Respire la brise en parlant des incendies
que des vents (toujours violents) attisent
dans le (toujours sec) Midi

and then the Marilyn Hacker translation:

Inhale the breeze talking of fires
which (always violent) winds stir up
in the (always dry) Midi

Any reader, even with a very imperfect knowledge of French but a good ear for the language, will immediately be aware of the music of those French lines and the total lack of music in the translation. To read the French aloud makes this abundantly clear.

Jena Schmitt then goes on to say, ‘Maintaining the word “Midi” creates mystery, without being overly obscure or unfamiliar to English readers’ and then talks about ‘the “i” sound’ which ‘pings around all of the “i” sounds in the stanza’. This, and her further comments on this poem, only serves to awaken the suspicions of those of us who are dubious about the translation of poetry into other languages. It very much depends on what kind of poetry you are translating. Some poetry these days is so close to prose (if not prose itself) that translation is relatively easy. But poetry which is closer to what Robert Frost said could be lost in translation is another matter.

There is, surely, a poetry which is untranslatable. And that particular kind of poetry is, perhaps, the most interesting poetry of all. It is also, for all time, some sort of inherent part of the language in which it was created. To appreciate it, with the right kind of humility, a reader has to acquire the ability to feel and think in a foreign language, which is very rare. Not only that, the reader needs to be appreciative of the musical possibilities of the language, as used in poems, which is commoner but so often lacking.

Some poems, I suggest, need to be protected from translations which damage the integrity of the originals. And it is up to sensitive readers in whose language the poems are written to defend them from rude intrusion.

Jena Schmitt replies: Certainly, reading Claire Malroux’s poems in French is a different experience from reading them in English. I simply do not agree that a ‘very imperfect knowledge of French’ reveals the flatness and lack of musicality in Marilyn Hacker’s translations, or that to truly appreciate Malroux’s poems one must be able to read them in their original language. Perhaps Michael Cullup only meant the one poem he quoted from as being a ‘rude intrusion’ he needs to save readers from? Regardless, it is an attitude of exclusivity and judgement I am not interested in.

Growing up, my grandparents on my father’s side spoke German, and French on my mother’s side, and those were the languages spoken in their respective households. From my earliest memories, my parents were translators, filling in the spaces between words, meaning and feeling when my sister and I didn’t know what was being said. And so I will always appreciate the value of the translator’s role in carrying one language as closely as possible towards another, building the intricate connections necessary for understanding. In the decades since my grandparents’ deaths, I have lost so much of the languages that are intrinsic to me, though I would hope I am no less sensitive to them.

During the pandemic, when I was originally trying to write about Daybreak, I watched Malroux and Hacker’s book launch online. Malroux would switch between French and English, and sometimes Hacker would elucidate in English. It was a working relationship I admired, one of reciprocity and care through the decades. Malroux’s poems and Hacker’s accomplished translations allow glimpses into shared experiences. There should always be more opportunities for translations, bright open doors instead of closed ones.

Welsh connections
Dave Wynne-Jones writes: It was good to read Sam Adams drawing attention to the sixtieth anniversary of the founding of Poetry Wales (Letter from Wales – PN Review 284). This was also celebrated at the 2025 Lyra Poetry Festival, in Bristol, where a number of Welsh poets now reside, with readings from Poetry Wales poets and in particular Peter Gruffydd who was involved in the Poetry Wales project from the outset. Peter, now ninety, was one of the Triskel poets, which included Meic Stephens and Harri Webb, ‘a trio of fiery, fine poets’, who were published as Triad by the Triskel press in an edition of thirty-three poems in 1963. All three contributed to the emergence of Poetry Wales, though it was Peter who collaborated with Meic on the first edition. By the time the second edition was published they had gone their separate ways, and it was Meic who went on to establish the magazine as editor and pursue an academic career.

Peter has moved from place to place and job to job, always writing and continuing to be published in many magazines, journals and anthologies, while he has won or been placed in a number of competitions. Peter’s poem ‘Some Fathers’ was included as an English Literature GCSE set text for the WJEC 2020–1, but since winning an Eric Gregory award in 1963, Peter has published only one collection, The Shivering Seed (Chatto and Windus, 1972). That changed this year with a new collection, Slipping Away, published by Bristol’s Red Guitar Poetry press. Peter continues to read at local venues such as El Rincon in Bedminster, where monthly events provide a charged atmosphere in which to hear his work and, in my case, reminisce with him a little about life in the Black Country and Wales, its working-class roots and poetry.