A quick mistranslation here from the astonishing Golden Age Spanish writer Luis de Góngora y Argote. This is not especially typical of his work, as I understand it, which ranged across many genres and was wildly influential in his day and arguably to the present day. I hope to return to add a bit more about my thoughts on de Góngora later when I have the time.
Meanwhile, I present here my mistranslation of one of his most popular lyric poems, an indisputably true piece of profundity and clarity that is probably best known in English via this spectacular version recorded by Dead Can Dance. You can listen to their version here, and then decide how badly my mistranslation compares.
When You Hope for Flutes, You Get Whistles
Fortune grants us things
according to no rules.
When you ask for whistles you get flutes.
When you ask for flutes, you get whistles.
Honours and wealth walk habitually
down many strange pathways.
To some Fortune gives great presents,
but to others she grants robes of shame.
When you hope for whistles, you get flutes.
When you hope for flutes, you get whistles.
Sometimes she steals the hut and plough
from the finest goatherd,
and for whichever one she fancies
the lamest goat will bear two kids.
When you foresee whistles, it’s flutes.
When you foresee flutes, it’s whistles.
Because a young guy in a village
who takes only one egg
will swing in the sun for it
while another walks past freely
bearing a hundred thousand crimes.
When it should be whistles, it’s flutes.
When it should be flutes, it’s whistles.