TRANSLATING NICOLÁS GUILLÉN
by Salvador Ortiz-Carboneres
Before thinking about translating Nicolás Guillén I had already made use of his poetry in the
course of my language teaching. What attracted me to him in the first place was not only the
uniqueness of his language, which I can compare only to that of Federico García Lorca, but
also his commitment to the defence of noble causes, especially his concern for the plight of
the Negro in America.
Once I had decided to translate him extensively I had to make an in-depth study of his
background, which took me back to his roots in Africa, and the effects of racial prejudice
observed both in the Caribbean and the USA. I concentrated especially on this racial theme
not only because I deeply believe in his message, but also in my opinion, this theme inspired
the best poetry.
I would like to impress on the reader just how difficult the task of the translator is. The
poems chosen here show evidence of the way Guillén uses incantatory rhythms in his poetry,
and appeals to ancestral African to provide lyrical patterns within his language. He uses the
untranslatable term 'son' for this strong Cuban dance rhythm that pervades his whole work.
Translation, like the original process of creation, is a voyage of discovery. In translating
Guillén, the keynote is expression - the expression of people through their everyday spoken
language, through dance rhythms, and through the strong community spirit they weave.
Guillén crystallizes all these elements in his work, and the translator is made acutely aware of
their importance.
To me, as I am sure Guillén would agree, the greatest poetry in the world has its roots in the
people (el pueblo), and the reader's understanding of it is like a voyage of return to the people.
The line:
I am Yoruba from Cuba
points to the new spirit of integration following the impact of the 'negrismo' movement.
Through the popular culture of music and dance, the white culture has drawn strength from
the black, which has found a new pride in its growing confidence. For a literary echo of the
strength found in African rhythm we have only to go back to Shakespeare and look at
Caliban's speech from the end of Act 2 of The Tempest:
No more dams I'll make for fish;
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring,
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish:
'Ban, 'Ban Ca - Caliban,
Has a new master - Get a new man.
The greatest difference is that in Guillén's poetry there are no masters and slaves - the black
culture has become fused with the white - and there is a new pride in the black, from which
the white also draws strength.
The translator must always show humility in the face of the text, especially when translating
into a language which is not his or her mother tongue, and be ready to consult others in the
search for alternative phrases. I always try and aim for three things: clarity, adequacy of
expression, and unity. I start from the word, then move out from the word into the syntax,
style, context and rhythm, and return finally to the resonance of the single word. This circular
process of outward movement and return itself guarantees unity, and the correspondence of
parts to the whole. Guillén has demonstrated in his poetry how important Afro-Caribbean
roots are to the revitalization of the Castilian language, a language he felt had lost touch with
elemental forces still to be found in the popular African culture of Cuba. In translating him I
felt that I too was on a voyage of discovery, or rather re-discovery, of my own language.