Turku Town

FinnishFinnish

(Beginning paragraph 51 from the end of Chapter 5)

JUHANI. Voi, veikkoseni! luulenpa että haastelisit vähän toisin, jos hieman enemmin olisit katsellut ympärilles tässä maailmassa, jos esimerkiksi olisit käynyt Turun kaupungissa. Sen olen minä tehnyt, koska ajoin sinne härkiä Viertolan kartanosta. Näinpä siellä yhtäkin ihmeekseni, näin kuinka prameus ja komu voi panna pyörään ihmislasten päät. Voi teitä, voi pauhaavata kylää, voi häilyväistä elämää kumminkin! Tuolta jyrisee vaunut, täältä jyrisee vaunut, ja vaunuissa istuu sen vietäviä viiksinaamaisia narreja, istuu tyttöjä kuin posliinivauvoja, tuoksuttaen kauas ympärillensä sakean hajun kalleista öljyistä ja rasvoista. Mutta katsoppas tuonne! Jesta ja varjele! sieltähän nyt hipsuttelee esiin kultahöyhenissä oikein aika vekama mamselli tai röökinä mitä hän lie. Kas hänen kaulaansa! Valkea kuin rieskamaito, poski ruttopunainen, ja silmät palaa hänen päässään kuin päiväpaisteessa kaksi roviotulta, koska häntä vastaan käy oikea kekkale mieheksi, hatussa, kiiltomustassa hännystakissa, ja tirkist...--no vie sinun pirkele itseäskin!--tirkistelee läpi nelikulmaisen lasin, joka välkkyy vekkulin vasemmalla silmällä. Mutta kas nyt...--no sinun seitsemän seppää!--nytpä keksautetaan kummaltakin puolelta, ja kas kun naara nyt oikein rypistää suunsa mansikkasuuksi ja livertelee kuin pääskynen päiväisellä katolla, ja teikari hänen edessänsä viskelee kättänsä ja häntäänsä, heilauttelee hattuansa ja raappaisee jalallansa että kivikatu kipenöitsee, kas sepä vasta leikkiä oli. Voi, te harakat itsiänne! aattelin minä, poika-nalliainen, seistessäni kadun kulmalla, rykelmä tuoreita härjänvuotia olalla, ja suu mareissa katsellen tuota teerenpeliä.

TUOMAS. Herrat ovat narreja.

TIMO. Ja lapsekkaita kuin piimänaamaiset kakarat. Niinpä syövätkin, ryysyt rinnoilla, ja eivätpä--koira vieköön!--osaa lusikkaansakaan nuolla, koska pöydästä nousevat; sen olen nähnyt omilla silmilläni suureksi ihmeekseni.

SIMEONI. Mutta peijata ja nylkeä talonpoikaa, siihen kyllä ovat miehiä.

EnglishEnglish

Juhani: Oh little brother! I believe thou wouldst talk differently if thou hadst looked around thee a little more in this world, if thou hadst been, for instance, in Turku Town. That’s what I’ve done when I drove the bulls there from Viertola Manor. I saw more than one thing to wonder at there, saw how pomp and glitter can turn the heads of sons of men. Ah thee, ah rowdy village, ah wordly [sic] life indeed! There rattles a carriage, here another, and in them sit the most fly-away fools with whiskery faces, and girls in them like porcelain dolls, spreading far around them a thick scent of costly oils and ointments. But look yonder! Help and save me! there, all in gilded feathers, minces a real jewel of a madam or miss, whatever she be. See her neck! White as curdled milk, cheeks red as the plague, and the eyes in her head burn like two bonfires in daylight as a true rapscallion of a lad sails up to her in a hat, shiny black tails, and peeps … well, may the Devil himself take thee! – peeps at her through a square bit of glass that gleams in the rascal’s left eye. But now … by the Seven Smiths! – now they bob and bow on both sides, and see the woman purse up her mouth to a real strawberry of a mouth and twitter like a swallow on a sunlit roof, and the nob before her wag his hand and his tail, wave his hat and scrape his foot till the paving strikes sparks, ah, that was a game for you. Oh jays that ye are, thinks I to myself, a bit of a boy, standing there at the street corner, a bunch of raw hides on my shoulder and staring mouth agape at this billing.

Tuomas: Gentlefolk are fools.

Timo: And childish as milk-chinned brats. So they eat, too, with rags over their chests and without – dog take me – knowing enough to lick their spoons clean when they rise from table; that I have seen with my own eyes to my great surprise.

Simeoni: But at tricking and cheating a farmer they are man enough. (118-19)

Juhani: Oh, little brother! You would sing another song if you’d seen a little more of the world—if you had been to Turku, for example. I was there once driving oxen from Viertola Manor. It made me wonder to see how show and display can turn a man’s head. Oh roaring town! Oh dizzy life! Coaches rumbling here, there, and everywhere. Sitting in them are clowns with mustaches, girls like china dolls filling the air with the smell of costly lotions. But look over there! Jesus save me! There’s a real temptress, a mam’selle or miss or whatever, comes tripping up all decked out in gold feathers. Look at her neck! It’s white as milk. Her cheeks are fever-red, her eyes blaze like a daytime bonfire. And toward her comes a poor excuse for a man wearing a top hat and a shiny black tailcoat, and squinting—the devil take him—squinting through a square piece of glass that gleams on the scalawag’s left eye. And look at them now, the two of them wigwagging at one another, she puckers up her mouth like a strawberry and twitters like a swallow on a roof by day, and the humbug of a man before her tosses his tail with one hand, waves his hat with the other, and scrapes sparks from the paving stones with his feet. “Oh you popinjays!” I thought as I stood there on the street corner, just a kid with a bundle of fresh oxhides on my shoulder, grinning at this mating dance.

Tuomas: Gentlemen are really clowns.

Timo: As childish as milk-bearded brats. And the way they eat, too, with rags over their chests. And—doggone it—they can’t even lick their spoons clean when they leave the table. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I was really amazed.

Simeoni: But when it comes to cheating and ripping off a farmer—they’re mighty good at that. (107-8)

JUHANI. Blessed fig ‘s end, brother! methinks you ‘ld talk out of your mouth ‘s other side an you ‘ld of but seed a bit more of this old world, like say an you ‘ld of been to Turku Town, like I have, that time I drove bulls thence from Viertola Manor. I tell you, they ‘ve gone about as far as they can go, down there. I saw with mine own eyne how daubery and ‘dornment can set a man ‘s mazzard a-spin, yes sir. O you fardels and fantasticoes, O you clamouring city! Carriages clattering this way and that with citizens in ‘em wearing big curly moustachios, and girls like Cataian dolls, strowing their scents from them fancy greases and oils they smear all o’er theirselves. But look o’er there! Cheeses and rice! ‘Tis a merry mamzell, or a frisky frakin, or what have you, sashaying ‘long in gold feathers. And behold her throat! White as a pail of fresh milk, aye, and cheeks red as the plague, and her eyne burn in her head like a geminy of bonfires in great morning, soon ‘s she spies a layabout lace curtain of a Count Confect in a shiny black hat and tails, squinying—a pox on him!—squinying thro’ a square glass squinch’t up to his left eye there. And now lo—Siamese sailors seven!—now there ‘s bowing and scraping on both sides, as the brach puckers her lips up like a earthberry and skirls like a swallow singing off somebody ‘s sunlit roof, and the finical fop flutters his fingers and twitches his tail, daffs his hat and strikes sparks on the cobblestones with his chopines. Some sport, eh? You maggot-pies! mutter’d I, a mere boy standing there on the street corner, a load of oxhides o’er my shoulder and a big smile on my face, watching them grouses go at it.

TUOMAS. Cavaleros is chuffs.

TIMO. And childish as a kid with a buttermilk mustache. And they eat with rags round their necks, and—dog take it, I seen it my own self, to my great gloppenment—they wot not e’en how to lick a spoon when they ‘s finisht.

SIMEONI. But they ‘s man enough to cog and cony-catch a carlot.

    Version

  • 1929
  • 1991
  • 2016

Questions:

  1. This is a traditional scene in older novels about peasants: the craziness of the big city, and more generally of the upper classes‚ who dress funny and walk funny and smell funny and ride around in carriages and so on—and‚ as Simeoni notes dryly at the end‚ are “man” enough to cheat and skin the peasants. How clichéd or original does this translation’s rendition of that scene seem to you? Is it a tired old rehash of a tired convention‚ or does it feel alive to you? (Version 1929)

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  2. Clearly Juhani wonders at all the city finery in this passage‚ shakes his head at it; but what do you think his deeper‚ more complex attitude to it is‚ based on this scene? (Version 1929)

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  3. The Finnish original is written in a stylized dialect that now sounds rather archaic. Has the translator attempted to reproduce that archaic dialect? If not‚ has the translator used a standardized version of the target language‚ or a colloquial version without slang‚ or a slangy vernacular‚ or what? Whichever way the translator went with the archaic dialect‚ does the attempt seem successful to you? Why or why not? (Version 1929)

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  4. Does this passage sound like any existing novel you know in the target language‚ or like a certain author‚ or like a period novelistic style that you recognize? If so‚ what or whom? Does that feeling of familiarity make you like the passage more‚ or less‚ or have no effect on your response? (Version 1929)

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  5. If you had time‚ would you want to read this entire translation? Why or why not? (Does it make you say “wow!”? Are you astonished at its brilliance?) (Version 1929)

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  6. Does this translated passage make you think that Aleksis Kivi might be a great writer of World Literature? Why or why not? (Version 1929)

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Questions:

  1. This is a traditional scene in older novels about peasants: the craziness of the big city, and more generally of the upper classes‚ who dress funny and walk funny and smell funny and ride around in carriages and so on—and‚ as Simeoni notes dryly at the end‚ are “man” enough to cheat and skin the peasants. How clichéd or original does this translation’s rendition of that scene seem to you? Is it a tired old rehash of a tired convention‚ or does it feel alive to you? (Version 1991)

    Hide comments
  2. Clearly Juhani wonders at all the city finery in this passage‚ shakes his head at it; but what do you think his deeper‚ more complex attitude to it is‚ based on this scene? (Version 1991)

    Hide comments
  3. The Finnish original is written in a stylized dialect that now sounds rather archaic. Has the translator attempted to reproduce that archaic dialect? If not‚ has the translator used a standardized version of the target language‚ or a colloquial version without slang‚ or a slangy vernacular‚ or what? Whichever way the translator went with the archaic dialect‚ does the attempt seem successful to you? Why or why not? (Version 1991)

    Hide comments
  4. Does this passage sound like any existing novel you know in the target language‚ or like a certain author‚ or like a period novelistic style that you recognize? If so‚ what or whom? Does that feeling of familiarity make you like the passage more‚ or less‚ or have no effect on your response? (Version 1991)

    Hide comments
  5. If you had time‚ would you want to read this entire translation? Why or why not? (Does it make you say “wow!”? Are you astonished at its brilliance?) (Version 1991)

    Hide comments
  6. Does this translated passage make you think that Aleksis Kivi might be a great writer of World Literature? Why or why not? (Version 1991)

    Hide comments

Name *


Scholar
Translator
Independent Reader

Email *

Questions:

  1. This is a traditional scene in older novels about peasants: the craziness of the big city, and more generally of the upper classes‚ who dress funny and walk funny and smell funny and ride around in carriages and so on—and‚ as Simeoni notes dryly at the end‚ are “man” enough to cheat and skin the peasants. How clichéd or original does this translation’s rendition of that scene seem to you? Is it a tired old rehash of a tired convention‚ or does it feel alive to you? (Version 2016)

    Hide comments
  2. Clearly Juhani wonders at all the city finery in this passage‚ shakes his head at it; but what do you think his deeper‚ more complex attitude to it is‚ based on this scene? (Version 2016)

    Hide comments
  3. The Finnish original is written in a stylized dialect that now sounds rather archaic. Has the translator attempted to reproduce that archaic dialect? If not‚ has the translator used a standardized version of the target language‚ or a colloquial version without slang‚ or a slangy vernacular‚ or what? Whichever way the translator went with the archaic dialect‚ does the attempt seem successful to you? Why or why not? (Version 2016)

    Hide comments
  4. Does this passage sound like any existing novel you know in the target language‚ or like a certain author‚ or like a period novelistic style that you recognize? If so‚ what or whom? Does that feeling of familiarity make you like the passage more‚ or less‚ or have no effect on your response? (Version 2016)

    Hide comments
  5. If you had time‚ would you want to read this entire translation? Why or why not? (Does it make you say “wow!”? Are you astonished at its brilliance?) (Version 2016)

    Hide comments
  6. Does this translated passage make you think that Aleksis Kivi might be a great writer of World Literature? Why or why not? (Version 2016)

    Hide comments

Name *


Scholar
Translator
Independent Reader

Email *