Stephen Spender Prize 2010

for poetry in translation Prize 2010 for poetry in translation

Winner of the 14-and-under prize Henry Miller Commended Amores 3.2 by Ovid (Latin) Dominic Hand ‘Spleen’ by Baudelaire (French) Sam Peters ‘Poem 27’ by Catullus (Latin)

Winners of the 18-and-under category First Joint second Commended Patrick Heaton Iona Hannagan Lewis Amelia Hassard Emily Carpenter from Heroides 1 ‘Rhyfel’ ‘Get Drunk’ ‘The Erl King’ by Goethe by Ovid (Latin) by Hedd Wyn by Baudelaire (German) (Welsh) (French) Henry Edwards Elegies 1.3 by Propertius (Latin) Claire Ewbank ‘Grodek’ by Georg Trakl (German) Ben Pope Metamorphoses 8 by Ovid (Latin)

Winners of the Open category

First Second Third Commended

John Richmond Duncan Forbes Jane Draycott Chen Dandan ‘The Retreat from ‘Confession’ ‘Song for Wulf’ ‘Strawberry Pie’ by Xia Yu Moscow’ by the Archpoet (Anglo-Saxon) (Chinese) by Victor Hugo (Latin) Michael Foley (French) ‘Poets Aged Seven’ by Arthur Rimbaud (French) James Knox Whittet ‘Hallaig’ by Sorley Maclean (Gaelic) Mario Petrucci ‘History’ by Eugenio Montale

Jemimah Kuhfeld Jemimah (Italian) Carol Rumens ‘Canto 27’ from Dante’s Purgatorio (Italian) Introduction

This year saw forty-three languages represented, with later, having read and made intelligent notes on every single Gurmukhi and Romansch making their first appearances translation; to the scholars we consulted when a language and Polish and modern Chinese creeping up the chart. It was not known to us; and to The Times for having faithfully will be interesting to see if our Primary Translation project, promoted the prize since it began life seven years ago. described at the back of this booklet, results in a spate of Our sponsors this year were the Eranda Foundation translations from community languages in the 14-and-under and The Old Possum’s Practical Trust. At a time when all category in 2011. charitable trusts are having to cut back on their grant-giving, My thanks, as ever, to the judges – Susan Bassnett, Edith we couldn’t be more grateful for their support. Hall, Karen Leeder and George Szirtes – who cheerfully took delivery of a wine box of entries at the beginning of Robina Pelham Burn their summer holidays and then came together two months Director of the Stephen Spender Trust

Judges’ comments

Judging this prize is a who both translated poetry and wrote the Polish Nobel laureate, Wislawa great pleasure because about translation, suggested that the Szymborska, ‘Love at First Sight’, the entries are so translator of a poem establishes in and Ian Crockatt’s translation from diverse and one never his or her own mind what he called Old Norse of a passage from the quite knows what to a ‘hierarchy of correspondences’, in ‘Orkneyinga Saga’. expect. This year, as other words, a set of priorities of We were impressed by the bold ever, the range of poems chosen by what to keep and what to discard. The choices and translation skills of the translators was vast, and included priorities of many of the translators younger entrants, though this year familiar works and writing by poets in this competition could often be we noted with regret that the demise who were completely new to me. The clearly seen: in some cases colloquial of grammar teaching in modern commentaries are often illuminating, language was used to render the language classrooms means that often a and I was struck by the fact that two colloquialisms evident in a Latin poem, potentially good translation was marred translators compared translating poetry in other cases the translator explained by basic errors due to inadequate to Sudoku, highlighting the problem- why a decision had been taken to alter understanding of the language. Once solving aspect of the task. A number patterns of rhyme. Some of the fine again, we discussed the disparity of of translators highlighted their own Welsh translators acknowledged the quality between translations of poetry involvement with a particular poem impossibility of rendering the ancient in classical languages with translations or poet, often describing how they Welsh form cynghannedd, others of poetry in modern languages, which had first encountered certain poems, wrestled with Dante’s terza rima and appears to reflect the way in which sometimes years before, and why those produced some very good unrhymed those languages are taught. Failure to poems had a particular resonance for translations of difficult passages from understand exactly how a poet has them. Close personal engagement with The Divine Comedy. structured a sentence means that a a poem and empathy with a poet can Some translators opted to produce translator is likely to misread what that result in powerful translations. poems with heavy rhyme schemes. poet is seeking to achieve. Translating poetry is a complex Sometimes this works, but unless a Carping about grammar aside, the task; you have first to acquaint writer feels at ease with rhyme, the quality of the entries was impressive yourself thoroughly with the poem, to result can appear stilted or even come and our final list of winners and understand its structures, its rhythms, across as doggerel. The winning entry, commended entries is only the tip its wordplay, all its different patterns, a version of Victor Hugo’s ‘The Retreat of an iceberg. What this competition and then seek to reproduce the poem from Moscow’ uses rhyme very shows is that there are some very for readers in a totally different culture. skilfully, and impressed us all. Indeed, talented translators and some fine poets Reproducing a poem in its entirety we found ourselves in agreement on of all ages engaging actively with the is impossible. Shelley compared the the winners in all three sections, and complexities of translating poetry. process to transplanting a seed in new only disagreed as to which poems to Long may they continue! soil, so that a similar yet different plant commend. I particularly liked Anita will grow elsewhere. James Holmes, Debska’s translation of a poem by Susan Bassnett

 Judges’ comments

It was the greater vari- aftershave or M&S groceries. But responding to the spirit of the poem. ety of the translations Henry Miller’s pacy take on Ovid’s There was a fine rendering of Catullus, in the Open category racy Amores 3.2 was uncontested for example by Sam Peters, that had the which made judging winner in the under-fifteen category. lyric subject sipping not just any wine it such a delight this Although far from a faithful but ‘M&S wine’; and Dominic Hand’s year. When I opened translation, this is a well considered beautiful version of Baudelaire’s ‘Spleen the plain cardboard box of stapled and structured version in which the IV’ with its dense use of masculine sheets of A4, I heard the rival voices emotional suffering of the young man rhymes was memorably lyrical. of poets from archaic Greece to mod- in love can be heard authentically In the 18-and-under category the ern Korea, in forms from the epi- beneath the playful surface. In the judges wrestled with a more diverse gram (there was a touching version 15–18 category, it was the turn of longlist of contenders. As in the 14-and- of Martial’s funereal 5.34 by Jason an Ovidian woman in love, in the under category many had outstanding Warren) to the acidic prose poetry of first of his ‘Letters from Heroines’, qualities but failed to sustain the tone Francis Ponge translated by Conor where Penelope addresses Ulysses. across the poem as a whole or lost Kelly. An almost uncanny unanim- The intelligent commentary increased grammatical confidence here and there. ity greeted the winning entry, ‘The my admiration for this authoritative, In Patrick Heaton’s ‘Penelope Ulixi’ Retreat from Moscow’; its driving elegant reading of an important from Ovid’s Heroides we found a rhythms powerfully suggested the poem (the earliest ever reading of the worthy winner, which took inspiration chaos of retreat and the rattling hors- Odyssey in which Penelope is actually from Carol Ann Duffy’s treatment of es’ hooves. It is no slur to record that allowed to express anger with her the figure of Penelope but found a my ten-year-old, coerced into hearing wandering spouse). It is a sign of the voice of his own. This poem headed up me recite my longlist, instantly iden- times that I wrongly assumed that its a very impressive list of entries from tified Hugo as the winner and asked advanced gender politics must mean Classical languages which demonstrated to hear him again. Nineteenth-cen- that the translator was female! a metrical and lexical confidence often tury narrative poems are not today The most successful poems, as lacking in the entries from modern the most fashionable medium; it is ever, were strikingly independent in foreign languages. I was also taken wonderful that they can still produce their creation of a new artwork, while with Iona Hannagan Lewis’ emotional a version of such genuine conviction simultaneously disciplined in their version of ‘Rhyfel’ by Hedd Wyn, and style. thinking about metre, rhythm and which tried to recreate the complex For me it was a close call for second structure. This year’s most recurrent Welsh rhyme scheme in English; and place. In his witty version of the fault was hyperbaton – word order in enjoyed Amelia Hassard’s ‘Get Drunk’ Archpoet’s ‘Confession’, Duncan the English translation so distorted by Baudelaire which, after a slightly slow Forbes conveyed the wry individual as to be off-putting. Translators in all start, found a wonderfully confident humour underneath the near-doggerel categories need to trust in their own voice: ‘time to get drunk […] on wine, of the insistent mediaeval Latin rhyme languages and literary sensibility, on poetry, on virtue, on whatever’. One scheme. But I am haunted by the even when dealing with the greatest of the great pleasures of this section mysterious grief in Jane Draycott’s poets who have ever lived. was a strong showing in German which extract from Wulf and Eadwacer, showed students engaging with the where she achieved a near-perfect Edith Hall whole range of what is on offer: from marriage of emotion, content and the classics of the eighteenth century, form. Indeed, poems from the Middle This year, again, there including an assured version of Annette Ages and in the languages of northern was a large degree of von Droste-Hülshoff’s ‘In the Grass’ by Europe made a great impression this immediate unanimity Lucy Garrett, to modernist icons like year: my own shortlist included a tight, among the judges. The Gottfried Benn or Hermann Hesse and pungent rendering of ‘Rognvaldr’s 14-and-under category contemporary work by poets still to make Nine Skills’ in Old Norse by Ian was dominated by entries in French a name for themselves in English. Emily Crockatt. There were also some good and Latin and we arrived quickly at our Carpenter’s version of ‘The Erl King’ versions of poetry in Welsh. winner: Henry Miller’s assured and witty did a great job of capturing the eeriness Classical Latin poetry – or rather, translation of Ovid’s Amores 3.2, ‘Ovid of Goethe’s poem in taut masculine Ovid – won hands down in the at the Races’, which showed an admirable rhymes without becoming doggerel in younger age groups. I was pleased grasp of the technical business of metre English and Claire Ewbank’s ‘Grodek’ to see brave experiments: Tim Price and a real feeling for the dynamics of the by Georg Trakl had the confidence to converted Catullus 54 into Haiku poem. I was delighted to see that, even stick close to the poet’s dark assonance form, while others added amusing where there were sometimes mistakes and disjointed syntax without trying to contemporary references to Lynx in comprehension, contestants were smooth it over.

 Judges’ comments

In the Open category all the judg- Reading translations no more than mention some of them. es were immediately impressed by a of poems is not very Cedric Watts’s version of Baudelaire’s clutch of translations and after that it different from reading (Baudelaire again!) ‘The Albatross’, was a matter of teasing out their par- poems. If it isn’t a A. Franklinos’s version from the ticular strengths and weighing up dif- poem we seem to be Greek of George Seferis’ ‘Interlude ferent approaches and solutions. John reading, the chances are of Joy’, Leonard Lavery’s translation Richmond’s ‘The Retreat from Moscow’ the translator has missed something. of Robert Desnos’s ‘The Voice’, two by Victor Hugo is not the kind of poem Questions of fidelity to the original are translations of Léopold Senghor by I generally like; but his was a bravura supposedly at the core of the matter, William Oxley, Patricia Hann’s Jules performance, whose rich vocabulary and in many ways are so, but reading a Supervieille, a group of poems from and unobtrusive couplets won me over translation by a poet we don’t know is the Yiddish translated by Norbert with their sheer sweep and pace. Striking like reading an entirely new poem, and Hirschhorn, John Turner’s Verlaine (so this year were a number of poems trans- we are or are not captivated by it. The hard to do!), Joanne Cooper’s Noriko lated from Chinese which brought wel- poem in the receiving language has to Ibaragi from the Japanese, A.C. Clarke come interventions from quite different make itself a poetic space so that, while with Baudelaire’s ‘U-Turn’ (another traditions. Here, as a reader without undoubtedly not of it, it is nevertheless original take by her, as I remember Chinese, I was looking out for voices in it. from last year), Michael Swan’s version that persuaded of themselves, no matter In the 14-and-under section it was of Hendrik Nordbrandt’s Norwegian how strange, and in a haunting ver- fascinating to see last year’s favourite poem, ‘A Dream about My Mother’, sion of Xia Yu’s ‘Strawberry Pie’ Chen original poet, La Fontaine, being two excellent Rilkes by Ian Crockatt, a Dandan created a voice I could trust. overtaken by this year’s, Catullus, who lovely ironic Cavafy by Sylvia Moody. Beyond the shortlist and commended produced surprisingly sophisticated And a lovely translation from the poems we also discussed quite a range of elegance in some and exhorted others Romansh of Peider Lansel by Iain other entries which did not quite make to experiment with tone. It is also Galbraith. the final cut. There were impressive quite something for someone under The winners and commended are all versions of old favorites, including John fourteen to come to terms with marvellous pieces of work and it was Turner’s colloquial version of Verlaine’s Baudelaire’s ‘Spleen’ (what became of very hard deciding the top three. As ‘Streets 2’, or the strong angular childhood boredom or listlessness?) implied at the beginning, it helps to have version of Baudelaire’s ‘Albatross’ by but at fourteen, perhaps, you are not a proper poet’s ear for what is telling. Cedric Watts. But I was delighted to a child any more and the translation I am delighted for John Richmond, see new poets like Ulrike Draesner’s by Dominic Hand felt mature and Duncan Forbes and Jane Draycott. tricksily demotic ‘Twin Spin’, a version authoritative. If it was beaten by Henry These are serious works. Close behind of Shakespeare’s sonnets for the age of Miller’s translation ‘Ovid at the Races’, them come poets like Michael Foley, gene manipulation, brilliantly brought it was by a short head. The verse Mario Petrucci and Carol Rumens, all to life in Tom Cheesman’s versions. here gallops along in firm Victorian major figures. And this year there were new languages manner and Sam Peters’s commanding, We don’t know the names of the too: Peider Lansel’s ‘Tamangur’ in Iain contemporary-sounding Catullus 27 translators when we read of course, nor Galbraith’s memorable version from was a length or so behind it. can we tell a translator by his or her Romansch. The 18-and-under section was not style, but poetry will out. And so it has. This is my last year on the panel. I have quite as bright as it was last year. More It is also very good to see translations enjoyed my time hugely and learned a Baudelaire here in Amelia Hassard’s from the so-called minor languages. good deal about the way different poets translation of ‘Get Drunk’, which More of these please. We know the – and even different languages – respond certainly got some of Baudelaire’s dark poetry is there. to the challenges of translation. I have brio and a welcome translation from also learned a good deal more about the the Welsh of Hedd Wyn’s ‘Rhyfel’ George Szirtes strength and versatility of English as a by Ioana Hannagan Lewis, but the poetic language. I come away heartened winner was out of Ovid again, from the by the energy and verve I have seen Heroides, by Patrick Heaton. The best, among the translators over the last four as before, were very good, but there years and bowled over once again by were fewer of them. the way English stretches and flexes to The Open section, however, was accommodate different traditions and very good and I had many more allow different voices to sing within it. poems marked as excellent than could possibly be accommodated on an Karen Leeder agreed list. For lack of space I can do

 Winner of the 14-and-under prize

Amores 3.2 Ovid at the Races

Non ego nobilium sedeo studiosus equorum; I’m hardly a fan of racing, the thrill of which I’m sure cui tamen ipsa faves, vincat ut ille, precor. Will entertain you for a while, but for me it’s not much more ut loquerer tecum veni, tecumque sederem, Than some fool’s opinion on the breeding of a horse ne tibi non notus, quem facis, esset amor. Who tethered to three others runs up and down a course. tu cursus spectas, ego te; spectemus uterque quod iuvat, atque oculos pascat uterque suos. I know you like the races, to me that much is clear O, cuicumque faves, felix agitator equorum! And while I enjoy the loud and dusty atmosphere, ergo illi curae contigit esse tuae? I don’t care for the races, the reason I am here hoc mihi contingat, sacro de carcere missis Is to make it clear to you, it’s you that I hold dear. insistam forti mente vehendus equis, et modo lora dabo, modo verbere terga notabo, I know there is one man, your favourite racing driver: nunc stringam metas interiore rota. All I’ll say is, ‘Lucky guy!’ and wish him my good favour. si mihi currenti fueris conspecta, morabor, But truth be told, I envy him and all the while I wonder, deque meis manibus lora remissa fluent. What if I was in the race, your dashing brave contender?

Ovid I imagine for a moment it is I who holds the whip Waiting in the starting box, facing down the dusty strip. The gates open and suddenly I’m brutally flung forth With drivers either side, I speed down the narrow path.

I come around the corner; the strait of sand before me I’ll whip with all my strength and soon all of you will see Me atop my chariot, passing drivers blue and red My horses’ hooves pound the sand and soon I’m far ahead.

Near the end of the strait, I come to that sharp meander There is no room for error; there is no room to blunder. I twist and pull the reins with the right amount of stress My inner wheel clips the post but I make it nonetheless.

But despite all the ecstasy, the excitement and the thrill Should I see you in the crowd, my heart will force me still; I’ll drop my reins, slow my steeds, and all will disappear, All I’ll want to see is you; for it’s you that I hold dear.

Translated from the Latin by Henry Miller

Henry Miller’s commentary

I chose to translate this particular poem unequal to both tasks – speaking to her In the end, I chose the latter, but only because I see two sides to it. One of them and the racing – for as soon as she looked after an original attempt which followed portrays Ovid as calm and collected: he’s at him, he knows he will ‘drop his reins’, the former option. This original draft was not interested in the races, preferring to and fail. I think Ovid meant to combine sluggish and less interesting, but more accompany a girl he admires who in turn both the obvious and underlying meanings closely matched the meanings and phrases is in love with a racing driver. He day- here to try and express a complex mix of in Ovid’s original poem. dreams of himself as a racer, so that she emotions. When rewriting my draft I also had might love him instead – these meanings The most prominent issue I faced when to consider whether to match exactly are quite obvious. However, I can see the translating this poem was which form to Ovid’s meanings to convey the poem or poem also describing Ovid the lover as use: a spondaic form of long and short to expand on the story to better convey nervous: he wants to tell her how he feels syllables, or a more English stressed metre, Ovid’s meaning to a modern audience. but he is afraid she will not be impressed by which, as well as conveying Ovid’s (in Again, I chose the latter, which made my him. His day-dream is a metaphor for the the story) nervousness and the excitement translation longer, but at the same time immensity of the task he has set himself of chariot racing, would also be more more engaging as an English translation of speaking to her, but he knows he is interesting to a modern English audience. of the poem.

 Winners of the 18-and-under category

Penelope Ulixi Penelope to Odysseus Heroides 1 (lines 1–50) Heroides 1 (lines 1–50) haec tua Penelope lento tibi mittit, Ulixe; Another page of paper wasted on you, slow Odysseus, nil mihi rescribas attinet: ipse veni! Not a word I’ve heard: Come home! Troia iacet certe, Danais invisa puellis; You’ve certainly razed Troy, the enemy of so many girls. vix Priamus tanti totaque Troia fuit. But Priam and Troy were never even of any concern to me! o utinam tum, cum Lacedaemona classe petebat, If only when that philanderer went sailing to Sparta, obrutus insanis esset adulter aquis! Mad waves had covered him! non ego deserto iacuissem frigida lecto, Then I wouldn’t have stayed in this frigid bed, nec quererer tardos ire relicta dies; Then I wouldn’t have had reason to complain about the nec mihi quaerenti spatiosam fallere noctem sluggish days, lassaret viduas pendula tela manus. Then I wouldn’t have had to waste what little energy remained quando ego non timui graviora pericula veris? on brushing away cobwebs, res est solliciti plena timoris amor. While I whiled away the dark hours. in te fingebam violentos Troas ituros; nomine in Hectoreo pallida semper eram. Always fearful of the worst, I was. sive quis Antilochum narrabat ab hoste revictum, Antilochus nostri causa timoris erat; Love was the cause of this fear, invading my mind, sive Menoetiaden falsis cecidisse sub armis, Whilst the shadows of violent Trojans surround your memory, flebam successu posse carere dolos. And Hector chases the colour from my cheeks. sanguine Tlepolemus Lyciam tepefecerat hastam; If someone unwittingly told me of the death of Antilochus, Tlepolemi leto cura novata mea est. I grew faint with this new worry; denique, quisquis erat castris iugulatus Achivis, Or if Patroclus fell in selfish armour, frigidus glacie pectus amantis erat. I prayed that lightning never struck twice. sed bene consuluit casto deus aequus amori. When Tlepolemus warmed Sarpedon’s blooded spear, versa est in cineres sospite Troia viro. My pacing resumed. Argolici rediere duces, altaria fumant; You get the picture, whenever news of a death filtered through, ponitur ad patrios barbara praeda deos. My heart skipped a beat. grata ferunt nymphae pro salvis dona maritis; illi victa suis Troica fata canunt. Thank the god who values such pure love as ours! mirantur iustique senes trepideaque puellae; narrantis coniunx pendet ab ore viri. Troy is dust, and the victor lives. All the others have returned: The sweet smell of sacrifices fills the air: Exotic booty is offered to the gods of our lands: Wives add to the piles in thanks for their safe husbands: Victory songs fill the air: All, young to old, male and female, are amazed: A wife hangs on the narration of her husband.

continued overleaf

 Winners of the 18-and-under category

continued from page 7

atque aliquis posita monstrat fera proelia mensa, Some ex-soldier uses utensils to describe the battle around a table, pingit et exiguo Pergama tota mero: Where Troy is demoted to a puddle of wine. ‘‘hac ibat Simois; haec est Sigeia tellus; hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis. ‘Imagine that this fork is the Simois, that plate is Sigean land. illic Aeacides, illic tendebat Ulixes; Priam dwelled in the lofty candle. hic lacer admissos terruit Hector equos.’’ Achilles made this napkin his home, Odysseus that one. omnia namque tuo senior te quaerere misso Hector, a dishevelled salt cellar, put the fear of the gods into the rettulerat nato Nestor, at ille mihi. oncoming peppercorns.’ rettulit et ferro Rhesumque Dolonaque caesos, utque sit hic somno proditus, ille dolo. Aged Nestor spun the tale to your son, whom I sent to seek you, ausus es – o nimium nimiumque oblite tuorum! – And he told me of Rhesus and Dolon’s bitter end, Thracia nocturno tangere castra dolo How sleep betrayed the former, and trickery the latter. totque simul mactare viros, adiutus ab uno! You – reckless oaf, brushing your family ties to one side! – at bene cautus eras et memor ante mei! Dared to attack the Thracian camp under night’s disguise usque metu micuere sinus, dum victor amicum And killed many men, with the help of only one! dictus es Ismariis isse per agmen equis. My bosom quivered endlessly with fear, until you were named, sed mihi quid prodest vestries disiecta lacertis victorious Ilios et, muros quod fuit, esse solum, And rode through the friendly ranks on fine horses. si maneo, qualis Troia durante manebam, virque mihi dempto fine carendus abest? Thank the gods my memory kept you measured in your victory!

Ovid But these things are all useless! I don’t care that Troy has been destroyed, even if it were by your hand, Because I am still waiting as I always have been, Filled by an empty chasm where you should be.

Translated from the Latin by Patrick Heaton

Patrick Heaton’s commentary

I decided to translate one of Ovid’s Heroides separate from the rest of the text. I did this worried and tired. I translated the opening for several reasons. For English Literature as I feel these phrases need to be emphasised in a way that suggests that Penelope is fed GCSE I had to read some poems by Carol and stood well as separate sentences. up of waiting, translating missit as ‘wasted’, Ann Duffy, many of which came from I use colloquial language in my implying her frustration. I varied this style her book The World’s Wife. The poems translation in parts. An example of this is of translation from line 12. Here I wanted from this book take their lead from Ovid’s during the speech in lines 33–36. I wanted to suggest Penelope’s fear, and so stuck Heroides, in that they talk of a tale, often a to vary the language used in the translation close to the structure of the Latin, which mythical one, from the point of view of the and felt that this was an effective place to I thought was particularly evocative of her woman in the story. I wanted to translate do it. distress by the use of parallel structure. one of the Heroides to see the similarities Penelope is often thought of as the From line 25 I use short clauses to suggest and differences between the approach of perfect wife. She waited 20 years for her Penelope’s longing for her husband to Duffy and Ovid. I therefore decided to husband to return from Troy, and stayed return – she is saying how all the other translate Heroides 1 because Duffy had faithful the whole time, refusing to remarry. couples and women are reacting, but she written a poem called ‘Penelope’ in the Although she is thought of as being a has nothing to be thankful for. At the end same vein. patient individual, I wanted to translate I return to the feeling of the beginning of I chose to break the structure of my this poem in a way that portrayed her as my translation, one of disappointment and translation up by leaving several lines both patient and faithful but also annoyed, anger.

 Winners of the 18-and-under category

Rhyfel Rhyfel

Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng, Cursed am I to live such a life. A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell; While God recoils on distant shores, O’i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng, Man, in His wake, will toil in strife, Yn codi ei awdurdod hell. To prove his power through his wars. Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd; When God’s presence began to wane Mae swn yr ymladd ar ein clyw, Man took up arms to kill his own, A’i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd. And now the sound of slaughter reigns, Mae’r hen delynau genid gynt Its shadow haunts the hearth and home. Yng nghrog ar gangau’r helyg draw, A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt, Sweet harps of old that used to sing A’u gwaed yn gymysg efo’r glaw Hang silent now in grove and glen. While on the breeze the boys’ cries ring, Hedd Wyn The rain blends with the blood of men.

Translated from the Welsh by Iona Hannagan Lewis

Iona Hannagan Lewis’ commentary

Hedd Wyn’s ‘Rhyfel’ is one of my favourite tried to do so whenever possible. ‘Woe is me’ to be too archaic. Welsh poems. The allusions to God and It was important that I remained as For the last stanza, I wondered whether nature lend the poem a myth-like quality faithful as possible to the original imagery or not to use a more faithful version: reminiscent of Celtic war poetry, yet the used, yet sometimes I have had to make […] poet damns war instead of glorifying it. small concessions. For example, I couldn’t Hang silent now in grove and wood. It was also very interesting to translate. think of a way to fit Yn codi ei awdurdod […] The Welsh has an inherent rhythm, and hell – which translates literally as ‘Raises The rain pours, mixing with their while translating I realised that if I was his vile authority’ – into the rhyme scheme. blood. going to try to capture the power of the In the context of the poem I felt it fair to However, I finally decided to keep original, I would have to respect its metre. assume that ‘vile authority’ pertained to the version I have submitted. Though the This proved to be quite difficult – the the corrupt authority of war, and so I hope addition of ‘men’ changes the meaning differences in syntax between the languages I have remained close to the spirit of the slightly, the final image is so horrific that, meant it was hard to maintain the exact poem. Also, I chose to translate Gwae fi as in order to underline its potency, I felt I up-beat, down-beat pattern, though I have ‘Cursed am I’, since I felt the more correct had to end on a perfect rhyme.

 Winners of the 18-and-under category

Enivrez-Vous Get Drunk

Il faut être toujours ivre, Always be drunk. Tout est là; That is all C’est l’unique question. there is to it. Pour ne pas sentir Do not feel l’horrible fardeau du Temps Time’s horrible burden qui brise vos épaules chip at your shoulders et vous penche vers la terre, and crush you into the earth, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve. by getting drunk and staying so. Mais de quoi? On what? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu à votre guise, On wine, on poetry, on virtue, on whatever. mais enivrez-vous! But get drunk. Et si quelquefois, And if you find yourself sur les marches d’un palais, at the steps of a palace, sur l’herbe verte d’un fossé, on the green grasses of a gutter vous vous réveillez, or in the bleak dejection of your room, l’ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue, waking to find your drunkenness demandez au vent, already fading, disappearing, à la vague, ask the wind, à l’étoile, wave, à l’oiseau, star, à l’horloge; bird à tout ce qui fuit, or clock, à tout ce qui gémit, ask anything that flees, à tout ce qui roule, anything that whimpers, à tout ce qui chante, ask anything that rolls, à tout ce qui parle, sings demandez quelle heure il est; or speaks, et le vent, ask what time it is; la vague, and the wind, l’étoile, wave, l’oiseau, l’horloge, star, vous répondront, bird or clock il est l’heure de s’enivrer! will all answer you, Pour ne pas être les esclaves martyrisés du Temps, ‘Time to get drunk! enivrez-vous ; Avoid becoming Time’s martyred slaves, enivrez-vous sans cesse! by getting drunk; de vin, de poésie, de vertu, à votre guise. by getting drunk endlessly! On wine, on poetry, on virtue, on whatever.’ Charles Baudelaire Translated from the French by Amelia Hassard

Amelia Hassard’s commentary

I chose to translate ‘Enivrez-Vous’ by In translating from French into I tried to keep the same metre in the French poet, author and leading figure English I found that problems arose when poem as it is fundamental to its strength. of the Decadent movement, Baudelaire. translating conjugated verbs which were Baudelaire’s poem is prose, without formal This poem is a favourite of mine for conveying a habitual action, as the English metre or rhyme, but its charming cadence its meaning and feel, but I ultimately equivalent is often clumsy. is still maintained through repetition of chose the poem for its unconventional enivrez-vous; words and phrases, which speeds up the structure and idiomatic sentences, which I enivrez-vous sans cesse! poem into a gallop. felt would be a challenge to translate into conveys a very particular idea of repeated, a foreign language as many phrases are cyclical action of getting drunk, rather than unique constructions. a one-off drunkenness that is everlasting.

10 Winners of the Open category

L’Expiation, Section 1 The Retreat from Moscow

Il neigeait. On était vaincu par sa conquête. It snowed. Their very victory had brought on their defeat. Pour la première fois l’aigle baissait la tête. For once, the eagle bowed its head. Dark days! In slow retreat Sombres jours ! l’empereur revenait lentement, from smoking Moscow, emperor and men recrossed terrain Laissant derrière lui brûler Moscou fumant. whose only feature now was snow: white plain, then more white plain. Il neigeait. L’âpre hiver fondait en avalanche. Après la plaine blanche une autre plaine blanche. A brief thaw, and an avalanche of water. In the spate On ne connaissait plus les chefs ni le drapeau. none knew his leader nor his flag; no-one could separate Hier la grande armée, et maintenant troupeau. the army’s centre from its flanks. How had it come to pass On ne distinguait plus les ailes ni le centre : that yesterday’s proud columns were today’s disordered mass? Il neigeait. Les blessés s’abritaient dans le ventre Des chevaux morts ; au seuil des bivouacs désolés The opened bellies of dead horses sheltered wounded men: On voyait des clairons à leur poste gelés the only refuge on the road. The snow set in again. Restés debout, en selle et muets, blancs de givre, Beside deserted bivouacs, the silent, frozen ghosts Collant leur bouche en pierre aux trompettes de cuivre. of buglers, upright in the saddle, occupied their posts, Boulets, mitraille, obus, mêlés aux flocons blancs, their copper instruments glued fast to mouths of stone. The sky Pleuvaient ; les grenadiers, surpris d’être tremblants, dropped cannon-ball and shell, mixed with its own artillery Marchaient pensifs, la glace à leur moustache grise. of snowflakes, deathly white, which settled on the grenadiers, Il neigeait, il neigeait toujours ! la froide bise who trembled as they marched, absorbed in private thoughts and fears, Sifflait ; sur le verglas, dans des lieux inconnus, their grey moustaches trimmed with ice. On n’avait pas de pain et l’on allait pieds nus. Ce n’étaient plus des cœurs vivants, des gens de guerre ; Across the unknown lands C’était un rêve errant dans la brume, un mystère, the north wind and the driving snow chased barefoot, starving bands Une procession d’ombres sous le ciel noir. of former warriors, and broke their hearts. They were a dream La solitude vaste, épouvantable à voir, they’d wandered into, in the mist; a mystery, a stream Partout apparaissait, muette vengeresse. of shadows under leaden sky. The utter loneliness! Le ciel faisait sans bruit avec la neige épaisse The sky’s revenge: a mighty army in a wilderness, Pour cette immense armée un immense linceul. enwrapped in snow – a silent shroud the elements have sewn. Et, chacun se sentant mourir, on était seul. Each man imagined he was dying; knew he was alone. – Sortira-t-on jamais de ce funeste empire ? Here, in a fateful realm, two enemies pronounced their curse. Deux ennemis ! Le Czar, le Nord. Le Nord est pire. The Czar was one; the North another, which was worse. On jetait les canons pour brûler les affûts. Qui se couchait, mourait. Groupe morne et confus, Gun-carriages chopped up for firewood; cannon thrown away; Ils fuyaient ; le désert dévorait le cortège. men lying down to die; this was a mob, confused, astray, On pouvait, à des plis qui soulevaient la neige, in headlong flight, their bleak processions swallowed in the waste. Voir que des régiments s’étaient endormis là. The folds and bulges where the snow had seemed to drift embraced O chutes d’Annibal ! lendemains d’Attila ! whole regiments. The fall of Hannibal was on this scale. Fuyards, blessés, mourants, caissons, brancards, civières, Attila left behind such dreadful scenes: the wholesale On s’écrasait aux ponts pour passer les rivières. rout of wounded, dying men, on stretchers, barrows, carts; the rush On s’endormait dix mille, on se réveillait cent. to cross the bridges; death by suffocation in the crush. Ney, que suivait naguère une armée, à present Ten thousand closed their eyes to sleep; a hundred saw the day. S’évadait, disputant sa montre à trois cosaques. Toutes les nuits, qui vive ! alerte, assauts ! attaques ! Great Marshal Ney, whom once an army followed, ran away. Ces fantômes prenaient leur fusil, et sur eux He haggled with three Cossacks for his watch. Ils voyaient se ruer, effrayants, ténébreux, Avec des cris pareils aux voix des vautours chauves, And every night D’horribles escadrons, tourbillons d’hommes fauves. the French imagined Russian soldiers harrying their flight. Toute une armée ainsi dans la nuit se perdait. They grabbed their weapons. ‘Who goes there?’ In nightmare fantasies came squadrons, whirlwinds of wild men, whose terrifying cries were like the calls of bald-head vultures, harbingers of doom. In panic one whole army fled, and vanished in the gloom.

*****

continued overleaf

11 Winners of the Open category

continued from page 11

L’empereur était là, debout, qui regardait. The emperor surveyed the scene, as if he were a tree, Il était comme un arbre en proie à la cognée. a giant oak, about to taste the axe. Catastrophe, Sur ce géant, grandeur jusqu’alors épargnée, the fatal axe man, who had spared his greatness until now, Le malheur, bûcheron sinistre, était monté ; had climbed up on him. Now he shuddered as each severed bough, Et lui, ce chêne vivant, par la hache insulté, his officers and men, crashed round him one by one. He watched them die. Tressaillant sous le spectre aux lugubres revanches, Il regardait tomber autour de lui ses branches. He paced inside his tent. A remnant of his company, Chefs, soldats, tous mouraient. Chacun avait son tour. who’d loved him, trusting in his destiny, stood by outside. Tandis qu’environnant sa tente avec amour, Fate had betrayed him, surely. To and fro they saw his shadow stride. Voyant son ombre aller et venir sur la toile, Ceux qui restaient, croyant toujours à son étoile, Within, Napoleon was dazed and pale. Perhaps this was not fate? Accusaient le destin de lèse-majesté, Perhaps – he knew not what to think – he had some sin to expiate? Lui se sentit soudain dans l’âme épouvanté. The man of glory trembled as a sudden unaccustomed dread Stupéfait du désastre et ne sachant que croire, assailed his soul. He turned to God in anguish. ‘Lord of Hosts,’ he said, L’empereur se tourna vers Dieu ; l’homme de gloire ‘is this my punishment, to see my legions scattered on the snow?’ Trembla ; Napoléon comprit qu’il expiait Quelque chose peut-être, et, livide, inquiet, He heard his name called in the dark. A voice said, ‘No.’ Devant ses légions sur la neige semées : - Est-ce le châtiment, dit-il, Dieu des armées ? - Translated from the French Alors il s’entendit appeler par son nom by John Richmond Et quelqu’un qui parlait dans l’ombre lui dit : Non.

Victor Hugo

John Richmond’s commentary

Victor Hugo wrote this poem while living castigates the corruption and banality of a line to sixteen syllables or shortening in the Channel Islands, in exile from Louis the Second Empire. In the final section, it to twelve, for effect. But I have stuck Napoleon’s Second Empire, whose most Bonaparte’s ghost (his corpse having been with rhyming couplets. Once or twice, famous critic he had become. ‘L’Expiation’ is restored to Paris) surveys the wreckage of for example in my line 10, I have invented long; I have translated only its first section. his grand designs which the Second Empire words to fill out a line. But on the whole, The poem describes the disasters of the late represents. God gives him the cruel truth in this is a pretty close translation. period of Napoleon Bonaparte’s reign. At the the last words of the poem. His punishment Hugo is a master of atmospheric narrative. end of each of the first three sections – while is for ‘DIX-HUIT BRUMAIRE’, the date I have nowhere read such an account of the retreating from Moscow, after Waterloo and (9 November 1799) on which Bonaparte desolation of defeat in a Russian winter, unless on Saint Helena – Bonaparte asks God declared himself emperor. Hugo the it be Antony Beevor’s Stalingrad. Hugo never whether these are his punishments for some republican has his revenge. let facts get in the way of a good story; so far imagined sin. God mysteriously replies, My skill is not up to mirroring Hugo’s as my researches have gone, Marshal Ney respectively, ‘No,’ ‘No,’ and ‘Not yet.’ There alexandrines. I have made room for myself was never guilty of the act of dishonourable then follow satirical sections in which Hugo by using fourteeners, occasionally extending betrayal of which he is here accused.

12 Winners of the Open category

X Confession

Estuans intrinsecus ira vehementi I’m seething introspectively Thus down the slippery slope I go in amaritudine loquar mee menti: with angry indignation with all a youth’s defences, factus de materia levis elementi and in the bitterness of mind I wrap myself in vices so, folio sum similis de quo ludunt venti. I speak my condemnation. forgetting virtue’s censors I am a lightweight character and since the soul is mortified Cum sit enim proprium viro sapienti of slender occupation let flesh enjoy the senses: supra petram onere sedem fundamenti, and like a leaf that scatters I’m I seek not safe salvation now stultus ego comparor fluvio labenti a wind-blown recreation. but pleasures, the intensest. sub eodem aere nunquam permanenti. And since it is appropriate I beg your pardon, gracious Lord, Feror ego veluti sine nauta navis, for any man of vision Archbishop Holy Order, ut per vias aeris vaga fertur avis. to build his house on solid rock but I’m enjoying this good death Non me tenent vincula, non me tenet clavis, and take a firm position, and my voluptuous slaughter: quero mei similes et adiungor pravis. I must be in my folly like I’m suffering a mortal wound the flowing river’s mission from someone’s pretty daughter Mihi cordis gravitas res videtur gravis, and never underneath one sky and if I’m not allowed to touch iocus est amabilis dulciorque favis. but always in transition. can’t I in daydreams court her? Quicquid Venus imperat, labor est suavis; que nunquam in cordibus habitat ignavis. I’m carried like a wayward bird, It is so very difficult a ship without a sailor, to conquer nature’s urging, Via lata gradior more iuventutis, as through the airy pathways I be pure in mind and/or refined inplico me viciis immemor virtutis, go wandering inter alia, when looking at a virgin; voluptatis avidus magis quam salutis, no chains and fetters binding me, we are young men and we cannot mortuus in anima curam gero cutis. no iron key my jailer, submit to such harsh purging, but when I seek my kindred-kind or fail to want our bodies to Presul discretissime, veniam te precor: I find a fellow-failure. enjoy a lively merging. morte bona morior, dulci nece necor; meum pectus sauciat puellarum decor, I can’t take seriously at all Translated from the Latin et quas tactu nequeo, saltem corde mechor. a serious sobriety; by Duncan Forbes I like a joke, the spice of life Res est arduissima vincere naturam, is honey-sweet variety, in aspectu virginis mentem esse puram; and as for Venus’s commands iuvenes non possumus legem sequi duram they have my total piety; leviumque corporum non habere curam. she never on an evil mind imposes her society. Archpoeta

Duncan Forbes’ commentary

What little we presume to know about which are impossible to match in English, with the original but I hope the result the Archpoet is gathered from the internal although it’s challenging to try, particularly reflects something of the wit, learning, evidence of the poems themselves. This since half- or off-rhyme can provide an satire, feeling, humour, self-mockery, unreliable evidence is also used to date expedient alternative. knowing self-dramatisation and the skilful his ‘Confession’ to circa 1162/3 although This showpiece poem apparently versification of the Archipoeta himself. the poem acquired its title in the 13th survives in a number of manuscripts. The metre is like that of ‘Good King century. Specialist scholars may speculate by vainly Wenceslas’ but the content and style of the What drew me to this celebrated poem trying to identify a plausible candidate ‘Confession’ are surprisingly individual and was the durable energy and verve of the for the Archpoet but what comes across the sensibility seems to me both of its time medieval Latin lyric by the Archipoeta. from his Latin words over eight centuries and in many ways startlingly fresh. Almost Described as a tour de force, the original and more are the ironies and energies, the all verse translations of such a lively poem presents a real challenge to the translator. It vitality and drive of the Archpoet’s highly are bound in a sense to be confessions of is written in the ‘goliardic metre’ in verses individual ‘Confession’ concerning wine, failure themselves but I hope my version which use feminine rhymes throughout women, gambling, sin and song. may at least redirect attention to this (four per verse, each on the same sound) Inevitably, I have taken some liberties Archpoem of the anonymous Archpoet.

13 Winners of the Open category

Wulf and Eadwacer Song for Wulf from The Exeter Book from The Exeter Book

Lēodum is mīnum swylce him mon lác gife To my people he’d be like a gift easy prey willað hȳ hine āþecgan gif hē on þrēat cymeð if he dared to come armed, the man they’d love to destroy. ungelīc is ūs. So we live in our separate worlds wulf is on iege ic on ōþerre fæst is þæt eglond fenne biworpen Wulf on one island I on another, sindon wælrēowe weras þǣr on īge this fastness encircled by marsh and fen, willað hȳ hine āþecgan gif hē on þrēat cymeð this island of bloody-thirsty battle-hard men ungelice is ūs who’d love to destroy him if ever he dared to come armed. Wulfes ic mīnes wīdlāstum wēnum dogode So we live, in our separate worlds. þonne hit wæs rēnig weder ond ic rēotugu sæt. þonne mec se beaducāfa bōgum bilegde In my thoughts I follow his far-trailing footsteps wæs mē wyn tō þon wæs mē hwæþre ēac lāð. while rain continues to fall and I sit here keening wulf mīn wulf wēna mē þīne wound fast in the circling warrior arms of another, sēoce gedydon þīne seldcymas each thought bringing equal measures murnende mód nales metelīste of pleasure and pain. gehȳrest þū eadwacer uncerne earne hwelp bireð wulf to wuda Wulf, my own Wulf I am weak þæt mon ēaþe toslīteð þætte nǣfre gesomnad wæs from thinking of you and your over-long absence, uncer giedd geador. the grief in my heart far greater than any hunger for food.

Anon Remember Eadwacer, warrior: it’s easy to sever those ties never truly united. Remember that Wulf has carried our unhappy wolf-cub away with him into the woods – the song he and I made together.

Translated from the Anglo-Saxon by Jane Draycott

Jane Draycott’s commentary

Described by Donald Fry as ‘the most The original manuscript contains more pushes out a little from the original’s taut perplexing poem in the language’, the than the usual scattering of unsolved metrics towards a more contemporary dramatic intensity of the piece best known Anglo-Saxon mysteries. Decades of kind of lyricism, as a way partly of creating as Wulf and Eadwacer, together with the scholarly detective work offer the translator more interpretive elbow-room. mystery regarding its full meaning, give it a complex permutational web to consider The poem contains all the most something of the quality of a conversation in relation to almost every line. Standing captivating aspects of Anglo-Saxon half-heard at night under an open window back a little, I’ve tried to gain a sense of literature – the electric mix of brutal and – enough to feel the full heat of the moment how individual words work not only in elegiac language, the sense of a world without ever knowing the whole story syntactical relation to their neighbours where love and conflict co-exist in equal or even who the speakers are. What no but across the whole piece. In an attempt intensity. What touched me most was what one doubts is the power of the female to articulate the poem’s key moments of lies buried perhaps in that final image: speaker’s heartfelt cry in her lament for development, I have inserted stanza breaks the woman separated irremediably from Wulf, trapped twice as she seems to be and additional indentation, and have in her lover, sustained by the thought of her within the confines of her island and in the several places played with re-sequencing child, made out of love, like the song the arms of a new warrior-lover. phrases and ideas. The translation also poet has left to us.

14 About the Stephen Spender Trust

Stephen Spender – poet, critic, editor and translator – lived from 1909 to 1995. The Trust was set up in his memory to promote literary translation and to widen knowledge of 20th century literature, with particular focus on Stephen Spender’s circle of writers.

of both poets’ widows, celebrates this and directed by Joe Harmston; all 900 seats thirty-year friendship. Run by the of the Queen Elizabeth Hall sold out. Stephen Spender Trust and judged by Auden centenary, 2007 Paul Muldoon, Catriona Kelly and Sasha In February 2007 we joined forces with Dugdale, the competition will be open the British Library to mark WH Auden’s worldwide and entrants will be asked to centenary with a reading of his poetry at The translation programme translate a Russian poem of their choice the Shaw Theatre. Natasha Spender, who The Times Stephen Spender Prize into English. The prize will be launched knew Auden well, selected the readers (all The aim of this annual prize, launched in April 2011, subject to our obtaining the poets themselves): James Fenton, John in 2004, is to draw attention to the art necessary funding. Fuller, Grey Gowrie, , of literary translation and encourage The archive programme Sean O’Brien, Peter Porter and – in young people to read foreign poetry at Essays and journalism recognition of the years Auden spent a time when literature is no more than In May 2002 the Trust presented the in the United States – American poet an optional module (if that) in A level British Library with a collection of and academic Richard Howard. The modern languages. Entrants translate a Stephen Spender’s published prose. programme was devised by Grey Gowrie, poem from any language – modern or Representing around one million a founding member of the Stephen Spender classical – into English, and submit both words of mainly essays and journalism, Trust and Auden scholar. the original and their translation, together this collection covers 1924–94. It was with a commentary of not more than 300 Spender centenary, 2009 compiled by postgraduates, financed by The first of the centenary celebrations was words. There are three categories (14- a grant from the British Academy, and and-under, 18-and-under and Open) with a reading in February 2009 in the Royal was supervised academically by Professor Institution’s Faraday Theatre by Grey prizes in each category, the best entries John Sutherland and by Lady Spender. Gowrie, Tony Harrison, Seamus Heaney, being published in The Times and in The 821 items, from 79 published sources , Poet Laureate Andrew a commemorative booklet produced by in Britain, Europe and the USA, are Motion and Natasha Spender. A recording the Trust. The prize is promoted by The catalogued chronologically and also of the evening can be downloaded from the Times and has been sponsored in 2010 alphabetically by source. Trust’s website. An academic conference by the Eranda Foundation and the Old was held at the Institute of English Possum’s Practical Trust, to whom the The New Collected Journals Studies the following day, with papers Trust is very grateful. These journals cover the years from the Second World War to Stephen Spender’s given by John Sutherland, Barbara Hardy, Primary translation death in 1995. Edited by Natasha Spender, Valentine Cunningham, Peter McDonald, We are working with Shoreditch-based John Sutherland and Lara Feigel, they will Mark Rawlinson, Alan Jenkins, Stephen Eastside Educational Trust on a two-year be published by Faber. Romer and Michael Scammell. A second programme of workshops aimed at raising reading, featuring Fleur Adcock, Grey The Stephen Spender archive, which the profile of community languages and Gowrie and Craig Raine, took place in comprises a long lifetime’s worth of literary translation for children at primary October 2009 at University College, manuscripts, letters, diaries and other school in years 5 and 6. An online resource Oxford, where Stephen Spender was an personal papers, is now housed in the for teachers will be produced to ensure a undergraduate. legacy for the project, which is funded Bodleian Library where it will be available by Arts Council , the Esmée to scholars from September 2011. Fairbairn Foundation and the Mercers’ Events Contacting Company. Symposium, 2001 the Trust The Institute for English Studies hosted The Joseph Brodsky/Stephen Spender For further information about a successful one-day symposium on Prize the Stephen Spender Trust and ‘Stephen Spender and his Circle in the In the 1960s Stephen Spender knew its activities, please contact the l930s’ featuring contributions on Edward Joseph Brodsky only by reputation, as Director of the Trust: a poet imprisoned in the Soviet Union. Upward, Isherwood, Auden, Spender and Robina Pelham Burn They met for the first time in 1972 when MacNeice. 3 Old Wish Road, WH Auden brought Brodsky, who had Southbank reading, 2004 Eastbourne, been expelled a few days earlier from Seamus Heaney, Tony Harrison, Harold East Sussex BN21 4JX his country, to to the Poetry Pinter, Jill Balcon and Vanessa Redgrave International and they stayed with came together at the Southbank Centre 01323 452294 the Spenders. There was an instant to celebrate the publication of Spender’s [email protected] connection. The Joseph Brodsky/Stephen New Collected Poems. The 90-minute www.stephen-spender.org Spender Prize, which has the blessing programme was devised by Lady Spender

The Stephen Spender Trust

Patrons Lady Antonia Fraser cbe, Lord Gowrie pc, Drue Heinz dbe, David Hockney ch, Wole Soyinka

President Sir Michael Holroyd cbe*

Committee Jonathan Barker mbe, Lord Briggs, Joanna Clarke, Desmond Clarke, Valerie Eliot*, Professor Warwick Gould, Tony Harrison, Harriet Harvey Wood obe*, Josephine Hart, Seamus Heaney, Barry Humphries, Christopher MacLehose, Caroline Moorehead cbe, Prudence Skene cbe*, Lizzie Spender, Matthew Spender, Philip Spender*, Saskia Spender, Richard Stone*, Sir Tom Stoppard om cbe, Tim Supple, Professor John Sutherland, Ed Victor, Professor Daniel Weissbort

*Also a Trustee

Registered charity number 1101304 Company limited by guarantee number 4891164 Registered in England at 3 Old Wish Road, Eastbourne, East Sussex, BN21 4JX Images of Stephen Spender © the Estate of Humphrey Spender