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Timothy Adès is a rhyming translator-poet who has translated poetry from French, German, and Spanish into poems that follow the forms of the originals. His publications include versions of Victor Hugo, Jean Cassou, Alberto Arvelo Torrealba, Robert Desnos, Alfonso Reyes, and Ricarda Huch. He has made frequent appearances in The High Window and his bilingual selections of poems by Christian Morgenstern and Joachim Ringelnatz were both published by the High Window Press.
In Loving by Will he has translated all 154 sonnets of the Bard’s love-life into lipograms, not using letter E. All the original sonnets are included in parallel with Timothy Adès’ ingenious translations, making this an excellent study guide to William Shakespeare’s sonnets as well as an entertraining collection in itself.
Stephen Fry has commented: “I simply do not know if I can find words to applaud your work as much as I should… Genius.”
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N.B. A copy of Loving by Will by Tim Adès can be obtained by following the link to Shearsman Books
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Timothy Adès: Four Poems from Loving by Will
(Photo from Creazilla.com)
7 SUNS CAN FALL FROM GLORY: SO CAN YOU
Look towards dawn: you know that gracious light,
day in, day out, lifts up his radiant crown;
all minor orbs do honour to his sight,
submitting to his kingship, bowing down.
And on his climb towards his topmost hill,
outwardly young and strong, though fairly old,
all mortal lights look on, and worship still
as vassals on his pilgrim-path of gold.
Soon from his summit-point with failing car
that poor old man falls fainting from bright day,
and all who dutifully stood turn far
from his low transitus, and look away.
You too, outgoing proudly in your noon,
who’ll watch you dying? You should spawn a son.
*
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb’d the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, ’fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook’d on diest, unless thou get a son.
***
19 DON’T TOUCH MY DARLING
You glutton, Anno Domini! Go blunt
a lion’s paws; bid Cronos gulp his brood;
pull molars out of big cats’ mouths, and hunt
a mythic bird you’ll roast in its own blood;
whiz past, inflicting pains or sowing joys:
all that you wish, ‘Fast Forward’, you may do
to all our world and all its fading toys.
But know that this misconduct is taboo:
don’t scratch my darling’s brow with roughshod hours;
no scribbling on it with your worn-out nibs.
Don’t stain or mark this morning star of ours,
a mark to mark, not just for Adam’s ribs…
Oh, do your worst, old fool! For all your wrong,
my darling’s bloom shall flourish in my song.
*
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
***
35 YOU DID WRONG: AND I DO
WRONG, IN JUSTIFYING YOU.
Don’t worry now about your sin, my son:
on rosy shrubs lurk thorns, in fountains mud:
clouds and occlusions stain both moon and sun,
and grisly blight is found in goodly bud.
All guys do wrong, and I do wrong in this,
condoning your bad action by comparing:
spoil my own book, your downfall to dismiss,
forgiving you too much, too lightly sparing.
Your fault was bodily: I bring in brain.
Opposing you, it’s you I’m vouching for:
your plaintiff’s word in court compounds your gain!
Loving and hating, I’m in civil war;
and so I aid and comfort, as I must,
that darling horrid burglar of my trust.
*
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense –
Thy adverse party is thy advocate –
And ’gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
***
63 MY DARLING WILL GROW OLD:
I GUARD HIS GLORY BY WRITING!
Too soon, my chuck will stand as I do now,
by Timing’s horrid hand brought down, outworn;
for Hours shall drain his blood and fill his brow
with scrawls and furrows, and his youthful morn
shall pass along to old man’s arduous night;
that blazing radiant bloom that crowns him king
is vanishing, has slunk off out of sight,
purloining all that dowry of his spring.
Against that day I now shall fortify,
against confounding Anno Domini,
who shall not slash and cut injuriously
my vision of fair form, though soul shall fly.
That vision still my inky scrawls shall show,
by which surviving, go my darling, go!
*
Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time’s injurious hand crush’d and o’er-worn;
When hours have drain’d his blood and fill’d his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell’d on to age’s steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he’s king
Are vanishing or vanish’d out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age’s cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love’s beauty, though my lover’s life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.
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