Né v’chîn tchiquechose pouor la Journée Întèrnâtionnale d’la Translâtion (ou la Journée Întèrnâtionnale d’la Traduction, ou d’la Vèrsion…). Ch’est un brouoillon d’eune vèrsion Jèrriaise d’la poésie The Jumblies d’Edward Lear. Ch’n’est pon finni et y’a des lîngnes tchi sont un mio à la frouque pouor achteu. Nou-s’est d’avis d’poster la dreine vèrsion un co qu’ou s’sa ag’vée, et nou pouôrrait ofûche y trouver d’l’întéthêt en compathant les vèrsions et l’travas du translateux.

Here’s something for International Translation Day: Les Jobelîns presented here is a work in progress, a Jèrriais version of Edward Lear’s Poem The Jumblies. It’s not yet complete and before it gets finally published, hopefully the dodgier lines will have been tidied up (or improved out of all recognition). A few translator’s notes: the verb jobelinner means to wobble and the sound and presumptive meaning of the invented name Jobelîns gives some sort of echo of Jumblies; craîncheux is sieve but, being two syllables and a crunchier sound than the softer sieve, poses some problems for scansion and sound-feel – perhaps sais might work better; Lear’s perennial “pea-green” isn’t easy to convey without lengthy periphrasis, and trying to retain the tobacco-pipe mast has required some inelegant replacement elsewhere; a pin-based play on words has been added to make sense of the foot-wrapping; there’s a bachîn instead of a gong; the crockery-jar at the moment is cruche ou pot – not an attractive solution, might have to change – unfortunately cruchot means a small boat so that’s out; the cranberry tart has turned into a vraic bun – much more Jèrriais, makes a good rhyme, and anyway cranberries are rather obscure; the bees aren’t silvery as there’s no room in the line for an adjective; the monkey with sweets for paws has turned out nicely (that was one of the starting points of the translation); Stilton’s turned into Brie; have you ever noticed that the fifth verse has one less line than the other verses?

I’ fîtent vaile dans un Craîncheux, ma fé,
Un Craîncheux ‘tait lus baté:
En faîthant du fanne d’s avis d’lus anmîns,
En Hivé, par un bein rude matîn,
Lus Craîncheux s’en fut en mé!
Et quand lus Craîncheux fut jotchulé,
Et un châtchun dit, “Ou s’sez touos nyés!”
I’ briyîtent, “Not’ Craîncheux est p’tit.
Mais v’là tch’est tout bein, faut s’en fichi!
Chu Craîncheux est not’ baté!”
Bein au liain, bein au liain,
Les Jobelîns ont lus siez-ieux,
Auve lus vèrtes têtes et lus bliues mains,
I’ fîtent vaile dans un Craîncheux.

I’ vailîtent dans un craîncheux, ma fé,
Dans l’Craîncheux n’y’avait pon d’run,
Auve raîque eune hardi belle vèrte vaile
Liée atout un riban, coumme âtivelle,
À un mât dé pipe à p’tun;
Et un châtchun dit, à les vaie aller,
“Ou savez qu’i’ s’sont bétôt êchoués!
Dans la nièrcheu y’a un but à vailer,
Y’étha tchique dro, ch’est malavisé:
Dans chu Craîncheux n’y’a pon d’run.
Bein au liain, bein au liain,
Les Jobelîns ont lus siez-ieux,
Auve lus vèrtes têtes et lus bliues mains,
I’ fîtent vaile dans un Craîncheux.

Les louêmes vîntent êcliûther, ma fé,
Les louêmes vîntent êcliûther;
Et d’un co, pouor haler l’êpîle du ji,
Atout d’s êpîles, i’ lus pap’sîtent les pids
À seule fîn d’les garder sés.
Et i’ pâssîtent la niet dans un cruchon ou pot,
Et châtchun dg’ieux dit, “Jé n’soummes pon fos!
Dans la nièrcheu y’a un but à vailer,
Mais jé n’nos criyons pon malavisés
dans not’ Craîncheux d’èrvither!”
Bein au liain, bein au liain,
Les Jobelîns ont lus siez-ieux,
Auve lus vèrtes têtes et lus bliues mains,
I’ fîtent vaile dans un Craîncheux.

Et toute la niet i’ vailîtent hors,
Et quand l’solé s’couochit,
I’ sûfflyîtent et monmîtent eune chanson ivre
Sus la bourdonn’nie d’un bachîn en tchuivre
Au lis des monts couleu d’myi.
“J’soummes-t-i’ heutheurs! Oh Tîmballo!
Dé viagi dans not’ Craîncheux et pot,
Et toute la niet souos ches êtailes
J’vailons atout not’ belle vèrte vaile
Au lis des monts couleu d’myi!”
Bein au liain, bein au liain,
Les Jobelîns ont lus siez-ieux,
Auve lus vèrtes têtes et lus bliues mains,
I’ fîtent vaile dans un Craîncheux.

I’ vîntent à la Mé du Vouêt, ma fé,
à un pays couvèrt d’bouaîs’sies;
Il’ acatîtent un Cahouain, et un Hèrnais,
Un cabot d’Riz et eune Galette à Vrai,
Et eune rueûtchie d’Moûques à Myi.
Il’ acatîtent un Quétot, des Vèrts Corbîns,
Et un Marmoûset à pattes dé chucrîns,
Et quarante boutelles dé Rîngue-Bo-Ri,
Et un mouoché d’Fronmage dé Brie.
Bein au liain, bein au liain,
Les Jobelîns ont lus siez-ieux,
Auve lus vèrtes têtes et lus bliues mains,
I’ fîtent vaile dans un Craîncheux.

Et eune vîngtaine d’années pus tard, i’ r’vîntent,
auprès eune vîngtaine d’années,
Et un châtchun dit, “Ont-i’ grandi!”
Il’ ont ‘té ès Mathes, au Torribl’ye Pays,
Et ès bords d’la Tchancl’ye-Mathée;
(….)

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, ‘You’ll all be drowned!’
They called aloud, ‘Our Sieve ain’t big,
But we don’t care a button! we don’t care a fig!
In a Sieve we’ll go to sea!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
‘O won’t they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it’s extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, ‘How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
‘O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, ‘How tall they’ve grown!’
For they’ve been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore;
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And everyone said, ‘If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,—
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.