I’m posting this late (obviously, it being May), but it’s been a mad few days of house hunting and such! I hope I’m forgiven! The final prompt was to try my hand at translating a poem either using my existing knowledge of a foreign language, and translating a poem by a poet writing in that language or trying a homophonic translation simply finding a poem (or other text) in a language I don’t know, and then “translating” it based on the look or sound of the words. Now I could have translated a poem from German into English, but as I already spend a fair amount of time translating German to English, it seemed too much like the day job for my liking. I also didn’t really feel like trying out a homophonic translation was something for me. So instead I decided to make one last NaPoWriMo tribute to Shakespeare in his 400th anniversary year and translate the lyrics of the Yorkshire folk song On Ilkley Moor Baht ‘At into Shakespearean English. And that is the end of this NaPoWriMo. There are a couple of very important deadlines this month, so the blog may be a little quieter (thought I promise not to try and neglect it completely again), but in June I will be doing another thirty day writing challenge, which this time will be focussed on prose, leaning towards autobiographical extracts on most days. Hope you can join me for that, and a huge well done to everyone else who successfully completed this year’s NaPoWriMo.
On Ilkey Moor, with head bare
Wither has thee been since I last laid eyes on you
Swaggering about, without clear purpose
On that vast and green moor in Ilkley
Without a hat on thy head!
For I dost know thy secret villain!
The game is up!
Thou hast been wanderin
On Ilkley Moor, with head bare
With Mary-Jane, my one true love!
That it should come to this!
However victory is in my grasp
For though my heart be in a thousand pieces
The Yorkshire chill be coursing through thy veins
And the morrow shalt find thee a grave man
In the cold wet earth of Ilkley Moor
With hats pressed to breast, not head
We shalt bury thee
Never to return among mortals
Thou hast made worms meat of yourself
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on
And slithering through earth
Shalt devour thee and thy black heart
Until not a trace of thy villainy remains
Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t
For though a man can die but once
The worms shall hold thy life within
And being residents of that vast moor in Ilkley
Where it raineth every day
They shall surface onto the moor
Bare headed, being worms as they are
To be consumed by ducks
And I shall the head the hunting party
For the feast next se’nnight
The common curse of mankind – folly and ignorance
And not one of my guests shalt the truth see
But, what’s done is done
We hath eaten thee
The course of true love never did run smooth
Copyright D M Day 2016
More information about NaPoWriMo can be found at http://www.napowrimo.net/