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A review by brice_mo
The Hormone of Darkness: A Playlist by Tilsa Otta
3.0
Thanks to NetGalley and Graywolf Press for the ARC!
Tilsa Otta’s The Hormone of Darkness is a low-key anthology of translated poems from almost two decades of work.
The collection is framed as a playlist, and I think that’s a helpful way to think of the reading experience. Most of these poems wash over the reader, eliciting acknowledgment more than appreciation, but every so often, there’s a line or two that demands a re-read—a song worth a re-listen.
Consider, for instance, the following lines from the titular poem:
El recién nacido observa por primera vez el rostro de su madre /
Como un astronauta contempla la tierra desde el espacio /
Se reconoce en esa topografia cambiante
(The newborn sees its mother’s face for the first time /
The way an astronaut regards earth from space /
Sees himself in that inconstant topography)
I mean, wow.
Unfortunately, few poems—with the notable exception of “El nuevo cielo” / “The New Heaven”—showcase the same kind of imagistic or narrative cohesion. Instead, moments of clarity feel like infrequent interruptions. I’m sure it’s a stylistic intention, but it’s one that doesn’t always feel fruitful, at least in translated form.
Speaking of which, despite Farid Matuk’s largely excellent work, I think some of these translations overstep their bounds. My Spanish is not great, and everyone has their own personal philosophy of translation, so take these critiques with a grain of salt, but some of the interpretive decisions seem odd. For example, “Contar en orden alfabético” / “Counting in alphabetical order,” a poem comprised only of numbers, finds the translator completely changing the numerical sequence in English to fit the poem’s title, and it feels less like re-mediation and more like regurgitation—the original poem chewed up and spit out. At the very least, one wonders why the poem was included at all when this is an anthology. Elsewhere, certain lines shift in their sequencing, and it feels a little like the translator’s taste usurping the poet’s voice.
That said, Matuk’s wonderful opening essay explicitly wrestles with the translation process, and even the less successful pieces are interesting as a negotiation between two artists. There’s no perfect way to translate, and I appreciate their justification for their decisions. If you're reading this in 2024, there's a scheduled conversation between Otta and Matuk on October 24th about translation, and I expect that will be fascinating.
All in all, The Hormone of Darkness is a pleasant enough collection, and for an English speaker hoping to explore Peruvian poetry, it seems like a great starting point.
Tilsa Otta’s The Hormone of Darkness is a low-key anthology of translated poems from almost two decades of work.
The collection is framed as a playlist, and I think that’s a helpful way to think of the reading experience. Most of these poems wash over the reader, eliciting acknowledgment more than appreciation, but every so often, there’s a line or two that demands a re-read—a song worth a re-listen.
Consider, for instance, the following lines from the titular poem:
El recién nacido observa por primera vez el rostro de su madre /
Como un astronauta contempla la tierra desde el espacio /
Se reconoce en esa topografia cambiante
(The newborn sees its mother’s face for the first time /
The way an astronaut regards earth from space /
Sees himself in that inconstant topography)
I mean, wow.
Unfortunately, few poems—with the notable exception of “El nuevo cielo” / “The New Heaven”—showcase the same kind of imagistic or narrative cohesion. Instead, moments of clarity feel like infrequent interruptions. I’m sure it’s a stylistic intention, but it’s one that doesn’t always feel fruitful, at least in translated form.
Speaking of which, despite Farid Matuk’s largely excellent work, I think some of these translations overstep their bounds. My Spanish is not great, and everyone has their own personal philosophy of translation, so take these critiques with a grain of salt, but some of the interpretive decisions seem odd. For example, “Contar en orden alfabético” / “Counting in alphabetical order,” a poem comprised only of numbers, finds the translator completely changing the numerical sequence in English to fit the poem’s title, and it feels less like re-mediation and more like regurgitation—the original poem chewed up and spit out. At the very least, one wonders why the poem was included at all when this is an anthology. Elsewhere, certain lines shift in their sequencing, and it feels a little like the translator’s taste usurping the poet’s voice.
That said, Matuk’s wonderful opening essay explicitly wrestles with the translation process, and even the less successful pieces are interesting as a negotiation between two artists. There’s no perfect way to translate, and I appreciate their justification for their decisions. If you're reading this in 2024, there's a scheduled conversation between Otta and Matuk on October 24th about translation, and I expect that will be fascinating.
All in all, The Hormone of Darkness is a pleasant enough collection, and for an English speaker hoping to explore Peruvian poetry, it seems like a great starting point.