Translator's Note

English translations of African poets writing in French are not easy to find…and English translations of African women poets writing in French are even rarer. Indeed, it’s only been a few decades that African women poets’ voices have been published in French! Marie-Léontine Tsibinda, from Congo-Brazzaville, is a critically acclaimed poet, fiction writer, and playwright who fled her homeland during its civil war, and is now living in Canada. None of her collections of poetry have been translated into English. La tourterelle chante à l’aube (The Turtledove Sings at Dawn), from where these two translations come, was published last year, and contains a mix of selected poems from her previous books, as well as many new poems. In this book’s preface, Boniface Mongo-Mboussa, professor and scholar of French literature, describes Tsibinda’s work as an ode to nature and to her homeland, particularly the Congolese village where she grew up.

Before translating each of Tsibinda’s poems, I create a “sound map” that highlights the patterns of assonance and alliteration in the French version, as well as the patterns of rhythm. The challenge is to honor the music infused in these lyrical poems, while trying to remain as true to the meaning as possible—often a very delicate balancing act! I find it easier to replicate general patterns of sounds, though not necessarily the same exact sounds, nor placement in stanzas, in my translation. For example, in the second stanza of “The Village,” Tsibinda, in describing an underground spring, makes generous use of the sound “[s]” to imitate the sound of escaping water: “Peut-on jamais oublier ses sources?” Although I could not replicate these sounds in the same line of my English translation, I was able to bring in these “[s]” sounds three lines down to evoke the sounds of a river, with its pirogue and children’s choir: “Listen to this passing song.” In addition, the subtle music found in the last two lines of this stanza includes the alliteration of the sound “[g]”: “c’est un choeur d’enfants dans la pirogue/ qui glisse sur la rivière.” I was fortunate to find English words to imitate this pattern: “it’s a children’s choir from the pirogue/ gliding along the river.” (I admit to wondering whether I had pushed the “[g]”-alliteration too far by adding a third “[g]” sound, but ended up deciding it wasn’t too heavy-handed as a final “[g]” in “along,” and could still remain true to the original.)

Similarly, in the last line of the first stanza of “In My Village,” Tsibinda uses repeated sibilants to describe the movement of snakes: “hirsutes où se tissent des serpents.” I was able to imitate this pattern, as follows: “thickets where snakes intertwist.”

Clearly this level of attention to sound and meaning is extremely time-consuming, but necessary, to fully appreciating Tsibinda’s texts. I must also add that I do not (and cannot) include every last sound effect, but look for the most salient ones…the ones that most call attention to themselves, either through their placement in the line, their pure rhyme, or through sheer repetition…the ones that demand to be heard.

Nancy Naomi Carlson

In the Classroom