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A review by cavalary
Bufnița oarbă by Sadegh Hedayat
3.0
[EN: (RO below)]
This is just sick. Looked when I saw here that a friend had read and liked it and the description stating that it’s about a young man drifting into madness after losing his lover and depicting a bleak view of the human condition got me interested, striking close to home. However, it was not what I expected… Not based on that description, at least, because it is what one might well expect after seeing that the author described it as distilled poison.
Maybe I should have given my thoughts a little time to get distilled as well, but that’d probably be unwise, even for one such as me. So I’ll just say that both of those words used by the author are perfectly accurate, The Blind Owl being probably too short to be considered an actual book but highly concentrated, purified, and meant to clutch the reader in a sickening, poisonous grasp on a profound level. That even applies to the first section, but the conclusions one is likely to draw from it will be negated by the stream of consciousness that follows… Not that “consciousness” is in any way the correct term for this depiction of such mental and spiritual destruction.
Admittedly, what got lost in translation is a question, and the translator also stated, in this edition’s rather lengthy foreword that also included some comments which would have been better left for an afterword, that the work is considered nearly untranslatable. But he also states that, after 27 years and 15 versions, he’s finally content that it’s close enough, and I’m thinking that the original would be more confusing and sickening than any translation. As such, perhaps the only valid conclusion would be that it’d be folly and presumptuous to think that you can draw a conclusion, can tell what’s “real” and what’s not and what it means. And, again, it’d probably be unwise to even try.
[RO:]
Este o lucrare bolnava. M-am uitat cand am vazut aici ca o prietena a citit-o si i-a placut si descrierea care spunea ca este despre un tanar care aluneca in nebunie dupa ce si-a pierdut iubita si prezinta o viziune sumbra asupra conditiei umane mi-a trezit interesul, sunand familiar. N-a fost ce asteptam, insa... Nu bazandu-ma pe acea descriere, cel putin, pentru ca e ceea ce s-ar putea cineva astepta sa fie dupa ce vede ca autorul a descris-o ca otrava distilata.
Poate ar fi trebuit sa dau si gandurilor mele putin timp sa se distileze, insa asta poate n-ar fi fost intelept, nici pentru unul ca mine. Asa ca voi spune doar ca ambele cuvinte folosite de autor sunt perfect corecte, Bufnita oarba fiind probabil prea scurta ca sa fie considerata o carte propriu-zisa dar foarte concentrata, purificata, si menita sa prinda cititorul intr-o stransoare maladiva, otravitoare la un nivel profund. Asta se aplica chiar si primei sectiuni, dar concluziile pe care cineva ar fi probabil sa le traga din aceasta vor fi negate de fluxul de constiinta care urmeaza... Nu ca ar fi "constiinta" in orice fel termenul potrivit pentru aceasta prezentare a asa unei distrugeri mentale si spirituale.
Desigur, ce s-a pierdut in traducere e o intrebare, si chiar si traducatorul a spus, in cam lunga prefata a acestei editii care a inclus si niste comentarii care ar fi fost mai bine sa fie lasate pentru o postfata, ca lucrarea este considerata aproape intraductibila. Dar tot el spune ca, dupa 27 de ani si 15 versiuni, este in sfarsit multumit ca este destul de aproape, si consider ca originalul ar fi mai derutant si maladiv decat orice traducere. Astfel, poate ca singura concluzie valida ar fi ca ar fi o dovada de prostie si ingamfare sa consideri ca poti trage o concluzie, ca poti determina ce e "real" si ce nu si ce inseamna. Si, din nou, probabil nici n-ar fi intelept sa incerci.
This is just sick. Looked when I saw here that a friend had read and liked it and the description stating that it’s about a young man drifting into madness after losing his lover and depicting a bleak view of the human condition got me interested, striking close to home. However, it was not what I expected… Not based on that description, at least, because it is what one might well expect after seeing that the author described it as distilled poison.
Maybe I should have given my thoughts a little time to get distilled as well, but that’d probably be unwise, even for one such as me. So I’ll just say that both of those words used by the author are perfectly accurate, The Blind Owl being probably too short to be considered an actual book but highly concentrated, purified, and meant to clutch the reader in a sickening, poisonous grasp on a profound level. That even applies to the first section, but the conclusions one is likely to draw from it will be negated by the stream of consciousness that follows… Not that “consciousness” is in any way the correct term for this depiction of such mental and spiritual destruction.
Admittedly, what got lost in translation is a question, and the translator also stated, in this edition’s rather lengthy foreword that also included some comments which would have been better left for an afterword, that the work is considered nearly untranslatable. But he also states that, after 27 years and 15 versions, he’s finally content that it’s close enough, and I’m thinking that the original would be more confusing and sickening than any translation. As such, perhaps the only valid conclusion would be that it’d be folly and presumptuous to think that you can draw a conclusion, can tell what’s “real” and what’s not and what it means. And, again, it’d probably be unwise to even try.
[RO:]
Este o lucrare bolnava. M-am uitat cand am vazut aici ca o prietena a citit-o si i-a placut si descrierea care spunea ca este despre un tanar care aluneca in nebunie dupa ce si-a pierdut iubita si prezinta o viziune sumbra asupra conditiei umane mi-a trezit interesul, sunand familiar. N-a fost ce asteptam, insa... Nu bazandu-ma pe acea descriere, cel putin, pentru ca e ceea ce s-ar putea cineva astepta sa fie dupa ce vede ca autorul a descris-o ca otrava distilata.
Poate ar fi trebuit sa dau si gandurilor mele putin timp sa se distileze, insa asta poate n-ar fi fost intelept, nici pentru unul ca mine. Asa ca voi spune doar ca ambele cuvinte folosite de autor sunt perfect corecte, Bufnita oarba fiind probabil prea scurta ca sa fie considerata o carte propriu-zisa dar foarte concentrata, purificata, si menita sa prinda cititorul intr-o stransoare maladiva, otravitoare la un nivel profund. Asta se aplica chiar si primei sectiuni, dar concluziile pe care cineva ar fi probabil sa le traga din aceasta vor fi negate de fluxul de constiinta care urmeaza... Nu ca ar fi "constiinta" in orice fel termenul potrivit pentru aceasta prezentare a asa unei distrugeri mentale si spirituale.
Desigur, ce s-a pierdut in traducere e o intrebare, si chiar si traducatorul a spus, in cam lunga prefata a acestei editii care a inclus si niste comentarii care ar fi fost mai bine sa fie lasate pentru o postfata, ca lucrarea este considerata aproape intraductibila. Dar tot el spune ca, dupa 27 de ani si 15 versiuni, este in sfarsit multumit ca este destul de aproape, si consider ca originalul ar fi mai derutant si maladiv decat orice traducere. Astfel, poate ca singura concluzie valida ar fi ca ar fi o dovada de prostie si ingamfare sa consideri ca poti trage o concluzie, ca poti determina ce e "real" si ce nu si ce inseamna. Si, din nou, probabil nici n-ar fi intelept sa incerci.