Fragments of “Finnegans Wake”, by James Joyce, translated into Spanish by Freddy Guanipa

James Joyce (1882-1941) spent seventeen years writing his novel finnegans wake and is considered a challenge for every translator.

I have always been interested in foreign languages ​​and translation, especially literary. Since university I usually read the cultural section of Spanish newspapers like The country either The vanguard and that’s how I met Joyce and the finnegans wake, as a “supposedly” untranslatable book. This year I wanted to read some challenging text and I decided on the finnegans, without having read anything by Joyce. When I knew that I could understand it and translate the first page well when compared to other translations, I decided to continue the translation as I read it.


From chapter 1, page 1

I ran past Adam and Eve, diverting the shore into a bend in the bay, taking us on a comfortable recirculating vicosity back to Howth Castle and Surroundings.

Sir Tristan, violator of loves, beyond the narrow sea, still did not return passing from North Armorica to the other side of the barren Istom of Europe Minor to fight a peniisolated war, but the Sayeradas rocks by the Oconee current exaggerated others themselves towards the georgantas of the Laurens county as they dumbed down their murmuring all the time, and a voice of a llama roared mishe mishe tauf tauf vossospeatricius not yet, though come after a while, a bland old isaac was cajoled: not yet, though all is clear in vanesity, they were irate estersusanas with undos nathanjoe. The little pints of pa’ malt rot if Jhem or Shen ferments the fort edged with arclight, which should be ringable in the water.

The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronn tuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur — nuk!) of the walled street of the lord parr is recounted from our childhood land and then, through sarmodias christianas. The great fall from outside the wall gave rise to the pfiutrastadón of Finnegan, a man before solid, and his big head of Humpty Tonti went for these little trampled fingers: his face up is located on the knocked-out place in the park where the oranges wither on the green that the Dovelinese they loved with first livez.

Original text

riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

Sir Tristram, violar d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.

The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonn thunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur—nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since dev-lins first loved livvy.


From chapter 2, page 45

In the garden, the most froggy frog and Hosty got a frog. spoken. Boyles and Cahills, Skerretts and Pritchards, verzified and tetrified, can the teeth tell us the history of stones. Here we converse the restraints. Around there they threw Vico, or they encouraged Mico, whom some name Llyn and Phin or loan as Lug Bug Dan Lop, Lex, Lax, Gunne or Guinn. Some call him Arth, or Barth, Coll, Noll, Soll, Will, Weel, Wall, but I call him Persse O’Reilly for not having a name. Come closer. Hala, let Hosty, gili Hosty, let Hosty who is the mann that rhymes with his frog, a ranna, from the frog, the king bird to the king of all frogs. Are you here? (It’s here), are we where? (Come on fonde), have you heard? (They’ve gone), Have they been? (Disrepair). He comes, he fogs! Hala, ópa, bring the glasses! Hey quesecaena klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatzklatschabattacreppycrottygraddaghsemmihsammihnouithappluddyappladdypkonpkot!

Burn, burn!
music entrance

The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly

What do you know about that Humpty Dumpty
That rolled, fell with a thud
He became a Lord Bellyup
Along the edge of the Magazine Wall
(Chorus) From the Magazine Wall
But oh what pain!

He was a great Castilian King
Driven out already like weed
On the real street they see him coming, many followers
Mountjoy criminal track three
(Chorus) To Mountjoy Penitentiary
Close! I’m coming!

Original text

And around the lawn the rann it rann and this is the rann that Hosty made. Spoken. Boyles and Cahills, Skerretts and Pritchards, viersified and pierced may the treeth we tale of live in stoney. Here line the refrains of. Some vote him Vike, some mote him Mike, some dub him Llyn and Phin while others hail him Lug Bug Dan Lop, Lex, Lax, Gunne or Guinn. Some apt him Arth, some bapt him Barth, Coll, Noll, Soll, Will, Weel, Wall but I parse him Persse O’Reilly else he’s called no name at all. To-gether. Arrah, leave it to Hosty, frosty Hosty, leave it to Hosty for he’s the mann to rhyme the rann, the rann, the rann, the king of all ranns. Have you here? (Some ha) Have we where? (Some hant) Have you inherited? (Others do) Have we whered? (Others don’t) It’s cumming, it’s brumming! The clip, the clop! (All cla) Glass crash. The (klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatzklatschabattacreppycrotty graddaghsemmihsammihnouithappluddyappladdypkonpkot!).

Burn, burn!
music cue

The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly

Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall,
(Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
Hump, helmet and all?

He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he’s kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he’ll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
(Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
Jail him and joy.


From chapter 4, page 95

Oh my god, why is she sticking with that old gas holder for her lumpy cat cough and all the south bank birds after her, Minxy Cunningham, her beloved divorcée, jimmies and jonnies who are her jo? Keep it signed. There are three other corners for our floating island cork. Sure, fine so I can telesniff an HtwoEC3 that would take the breath away from an entire town! Thanks to me I can gobble and sniff at him, raising the quay wall by 32 a II with his horse disheveled with bags of sesame seeds, the Whiteside Kaffir, and his seaminal effluvium and his scattering voice, puffing out his thunderous big brown cabbage! ! pa! He used to be happy for his passionate fiona! Gaborro, ice him, Lankyshied! Go away, erga, I go! Oh he’s breezy! I smelled that guy before anyone else. It was when I was reading back out west and her and myself, the redhead, was making her debut on Sycomore Lane. Great sensational game between the besabetos friscando in the cool curclillar sunset of the ganosito. My perfume from the pampas, she said (referring to me) turning off her nandaluces, and I would soon like to sip from your own mountain dew rather than embellish my knowledge with that great brewer’s reluctance.

Original text

Yerra, why would he heed that old gasometer with his hooping coppin and his dyinboosycough and all the birds of the southside after her, Minxy Cunningham, their dear divorcee darling, jimmies and jonnies to be her jo? Hold hard. There’s three other corners to our island’s cork float. Sure, ’tis well I can telesmell him HtwoEC3 that would take a township’s breath away! Gob and I nose him too well as I do myself, heaving up the Kay Wall by the 32 to II with his limelooking horse — bags full of sesameseed, the Whiteside Kaffir, and his sayman’s effluvium and his scentpainted voice, puffing out his thundering big brown cabbage! pa! Thawt I’m glad a gull for his pawsdeen fiunn! Goborro, sez he, Lankyshied! Gobugga ye, sez I! Or breezes! I sniffed that lad long before anyone. It was when I was in my farfather out at the west and she and myself, the redheaded girl, first nighting down Sycomore Lane. Fine feel play we had of it mid the kissabetts frisking in the kool kurkle dusk of the lushiness. My perfume of the pampas, says she (meaning me) putting out her netherlights de ella, and I’d sooner one precious sip at your pure mountain dew than enrich my acquaintance with that big brewer’s belch.


From chapter 5, pages 104, 112

In the name of Anna the Merciful, Everlasting, the Bearer of Plurabilities, haloed be her Eve, her songbooks be sung, her torrents flow, always dressed, never defeated! The entitled mamafesto of her memorializing the Most High has gone through many names in different times…

…Guide us, kind hen! They always did: ask the ages. What a bird did yesterday what one can do next year, be it fly, be it molt, be it brood, be peace in the nest. As her socio-scientific sense is as ringing as a bell, sir, as her volucrine self-muteness is normally correct: she feels she was born to lay and love her eggs (trust her to propagate the species and scatter her feather balls safe from noise! and fury!)

Original text

In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven! Her de ella untitled mamafesta memorializing the Mosthighest has gone by many names at disjointed times.

Lead, kindly fowl! They always did: ask the ages. What bird has done yesterday man may do next year, be it fly, be it moult, be it hatch, be it agreement in the nest. For her socio-scientific sense is sound as a bell, sir, her volucrine automutativeness right on normalcy: she knows, she just feels she was kind of born to lay and love eggs (trust her to propagate the species and hoosh her fluffballs safe through din and danger!).


From chapter 8, page 196

EITHER
tell me all about
Anna Livia! I want to hear all about

Anna Livia. Well, do you know Anna Livia? Yes, of course, we all know Anna Livia. Tell me everything. Tell me now. I tell you and you die. Well, you know, what the fuck about the chebal who did what you already know. Yes, I know, speak! Wash still and don’t splash. Roll up your sleeves well and loosen your tongue. And when you lean, be careful! that you make me fall Or what the two of them discovered and tried to do in the park of the Fínix. He is a very reppesao guy. See this shirt. See what dirt. That he has all the black earth! And that I have been soaked and shrunken all this week. How many times will I have washed it? I know by heart the places to which he came, that dubious devil!

Original text

EITHER
tell me all about
Anna Livia! I want to hear everything

about Anna Livia. Well, do you know Anna Livia? Yes, of course, we all know Anna Livia. Tell me there. Tell me now. You’ll die when you hear. Well, you know, when the old cheb went futt and did what you know. Yes, I know, go on. Wash quit and don’t be dabbling. tuck-up

your sleeves and loosen your talk-tapes. And don’t butt me—hike! — when you bend. Or what—ever it was they threed to make out he thried to two in the Fiendish park. He’s an awful old reppe. Look at the shirt of him! Look at the dirt of it! He has all my water black on me. And it steeping and stuping since this time last week. How many goes is it I wonder I washed it? I know by heart the places he likes to saale, duddurty devil!

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Fragments of “Finnegans Wake”, by James Joyce, translated into Spanish by Freddy Guanipa


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