The Spiritual Canticle of St. —a Translation by Fr. Sauer, OCD Discalced Carmelite Province of St. Therese (Oklahoma)

A few years ago I worked up my own translation of The Spiritual Canticle by St. John of the Cross. I enjoyed the exercise and found it a good way to study the poem more closely. In addition to the translation itself, you will find in what follows below, first, a very brief introduction stressing the importance of reading the poem as a narrative, for that is what gives the poem its coherence, its structure as a story. Otherwise, it can seem like little more than a parade of images, with no rhyme or reason of its own, to which allegorical meanings must then be applied. Second, I have attached to my translation of the poem some marginal notes, set out in a column to the right, parallel to the text of the translation. These notes are intended to illuminate this simple narrative structure of the poem. Lastly, after the translation, I have appended a few reflections on the approach or method I used in translating the poem.

1. The Poem The Spiritual Canticle—read as a Story

The Spiritual Canticle of St. John of the Cross is not an easy poem. That is true for many reasons. Reading it for the first time, it can seem like a string of images filing by like so many floats in a parade. But how do the images hold together? And how do the individual lines and stanzas form a whole? In order to find that overarching unity most people probably look to the commentary. They attach to the poem—from the outside, as it were—the conceptual flow of thought and reflection that characterizes this other work, the commentary. In doing so, they set the poem to one side. The poem seldom gets read in its own right. The poem does have a rather straightforward unity, though. But it’s a narrative unity, not a conceptual one. Very simply, the poem tells a story. And this story has a dramatic shape, employing the elements of any story—characters who interact, a conflict that moves the story along, and a resolution that leaves us at the end with a sense of completeness or wholeness. The individual images, for their part, find their place within this story and, in doing so, receive from it a deeper meaning and emotional resonance than they might otherwise have, if considered in isolation. To interpret The Spiritual Canticle properly, then, one needs to begin with this story. Who are the characters? What is the conflict that moves the story forward? How does it unfold towards its final resolution? What is that resolution? Then, once we have a sense of the shape and substance of the story, we can ask the interpretive question. How can I relate this story to the story of my own life, and especially to the story of my spiritual life, of the story of love as it unfolds between God and me? What follows below, alongside my translation of The Spiritual Canticle, and tied in a parallel column (at the right) to the 39 stanzas of the poem, are brief notes which try in a, for me, less than satisfactory way to sketch out the story the poem tells. You can see that I’ve broken the poem into three chapters and, within these chapters, grouped the stanzas into short units. I should probably rework these notes, amplifying them and improving upon them. But, as a first attempt, they are what they are.

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2. The Translation—

The Spiritual Canticle Marginal notes: by St. John of the Cross Chapter I: Courtship (Stanzas 1—12) The Bride Stanza 1: Love for the Bridegroom has 1. Where did you hide yourself, stirred in the Bride’s heart even before the Beloved, and leave me sobbing? story begins. But the Bridegroom, it seems, Like a deer you fled has taken no notice of it. The Bride’s love Once having struck me; goes unrequited. Instead, he has left her I ran after, calling . . . You were gone. alone, all to herself. And she is in anguish.

2. O you shepherds who climb 2—3: First, then, to find the missing Up past the sheepfolds to the hilltop, Bridegroom, she sends out emissaries to Should you happen to see him inform him of her plight. Maybe he will Whom I love the most, return . . . Tell him I droop, I ache, I die.

3. No, let me go seeking my beloved But soon she decides to go out Over mountains, along rivers— seeking after him herself. She does so I will gather no flowers determined and fearless. Nor fear any beasts; I shall pass fortresses and frontiers alike.

4. You forests and deep thickets 4—5: As she goes, she looks for signs to Strewn by my beloved’s hand, guide her . . . Lush pastures Overlaid with flowers, Tell me, has he passed this way?

5. Spilling out unbounded graces . . . And sure enough, she finds them, Hurriedly he passed these groves; everywhere. He has passed this way. Fleetingly gazing, His glance alone Left them blanketed with beauty. 6—8: But she soon tires of this pursuit and 6. Oh, you who alone can heal me, begins to complain. The signs the Hand yourself over completely; Bridegroom has left behind only increase Beginning today her longing . . . Stop sending messengers Who tell me nothing of what I want—

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7. For all who roam freely here Recount your countless graces, Yet wound me the more And leave me dying Muttering their, uh, what can I say?

8. So, why do I go on like this, . . . And with him still absent she Not living where you live, O life? feels helpless, lovesick, abandoned, on the I die shot through point of despair. With arrows sharpened By all my heart conceives of my beloved.

9. Since you’ve wounded my heart, why, Why don’t you make it whole? 9—10: So, she stops her search and simply You’ve stolen it— cries out for him, pleading that he come and Why leave it lying rescue her, taking her away with him . . . And not make off with what you’ve plundered?

10. Yes, make still these vexing afflictions Or, if not that, then maybe he could Since none but you can do it; let her see him again. That should be Let my eyes see you, Who are their light, enough. And then I will possess them for you alone. 11—12: We have, then, a first crisis and its 11. O pool of crystal clear water, resolution in this story. The crisis is the If on the silvery sheen of your surface missing Bridegroom. The resolution goes as Suddenly should appear follows. The eyes I desire Pausing by a well, or perhaps a That lie etched deep within me . . . fountain, the Bride looks down into the water. On its smooth surface she thinks she 12. Oh, look away, my beloved; can conjure up the Bridegroom’s image . . . I fly like a bird. But then, all of a sudden, she sees

him—his eyes are looking out at her from The Bridegroom within the reflection of her own eyes in the —My dove, come back, water. The sight startles her, and she begins The wounded deer to run away . . . Lingers on the hill But the Bridegroom calls her back. As your flight fans and refreshes him. And it is in this moment of mutual recognition that love is born between them. The Bride *** 13. O my beloved, the mountains And hidden wooded valleys, Fabled islands, Chapter II: Betrothal (Stanzas 13— And roaring rivers, 26) The whistling of love-laden breezes, Stanzas 13—15: Caught up in the first bloom of their love, the Bride pours out her 3

14. The night’s utter stillness heart in praise of the Bridegroom. She At the first streaks of dawn, summons images from nature at its most Hushed music, sublime . . . Or at its most mysterious and Far-echoing emptiness, haunting . . . The supper that refreshes and delights:

15. Our bed as gentle as flowers, Enlaced with lions’ dens, And then she looks forward to the Draped in purple, day when she and the Bridegroom will be Set up on peace, fully united in their love. Canopied with countless gold shields . . .

16. Along the track of your footprints 16—18: Then the Bride turns to speak to Young women make their way— the Bridegroom. Other women may still At the nip of a spark seek you, she tells him . . . And heady spiced wine, At the smell of balsam spread on the air—

17. Yet I in my beloved’s wine cellar But the two of them are pledged to Drank deeply, then stepped out each other, or so she assures him, recalling Staggering here and there, the moment of their betrothal, which is Blinded to all; recounted in the past tense. I lost the flock I once had tended:

18. For there he had pressed me close And taught me a delectable knowledge; There I gave him Myself completely, Promising to be his bride.

19. My is now set to work 19—20: The Bride then speaks to us. She Expending all its means in serving him; recounts for us her new life spent in loving Not tending sheep, the Bridegroom . . . Nor any other task,

Its whole work is in this work of love.

20. If from today among the townsfolk She may seem to some to have I’m no longer to be seen as before, wandered off, leaving her former Then say I’ve strayed off, companions behind, gone off on her own, Dazed and lovesick; and become lost. But really she has been Though I lost my way, I was found. found.

21. With flowers and deep green leaves 21—24: Speaking again to the Bridegroom, Gathered in the cool of the morning the Bride now joins with him in a kind of We now weave garlands game of love . . . Abloom in your love,

Tied round with one strand of my hair—

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22. That one strand you once toyed with Which leads her to recall that look As it hung fluttering at my neck, they once shared (perhaps in stanza 12) . . . For the sight of it there Seized your heart, And the look in my eyes pierced you.

23. When you gazed at me in return, Your eyes impressed their grace upon me; That moment of mutual recognition I felt so desired when their love was first born . . . That m y eyes were enabled To adore all they saw within you.

24. Oh, please do not despise me; And she became beautiful in his sight. Though once you thought me common, See, I am fair, Now that your look Has traced such beauty upon me.

25—26: Then again they return to their 25. Round up for us the foxes, For the grapevines are thick with flowers; game of love . . . As we gather rosebuds Like tiny pinecones Let no one be seen on the hill.

26. Keep still, sickly north wind; . . . And the Bride summons forth to South wind, come, stir up love: life and bloom the garden where she and the Kiss the garden Bridegroom will one day walk united in Till its flowers abound their love. And my beloved can take pasture among them. *** The Bridegroom Part Three: Union (Stanzas 27—39) 27. She has entered now, my bride, The orchard she once dreamt of; —The remaining stanzas form a Contentedly she rests, conversation between the Bridegroom and Her head lying the Bride. In her beloved’s tender arms.

Stanzas 27—30: The Bridegroom speaks 28. Here beneath this apple tree You were given to me in marriage: first. He and the Bride are together in an I offered you my hand, orchard, she resting in his arms . . . He And you arose, recalls, as the Bride had earlier, their Here where your mother once had fallen. moment of betrothal . . .

29. Quick darting birds, . . .And then he begins to cast a spell Lions, antelope, and leaping deer, over everything around them . . . Hills and marshes, Languid breezes, Fears that keep watch in the night:

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30. By the soft strumming of the harp, By the enchantress’ song, I conjure you: Stilling the world so that the two of Cease your raging, them might be alone together in perfect Rattle not our walls, peace. Let my bride sleep in peace.

The Bride

31. Woodland maidens of Judea, 31—32: The Bride then speaks, again Off among the flowering rosebushes chasing away any potential rivals . . . Resin drips; You, too, keep back, Do not think to come knocking at our door.

32. And you, my dearest, now hide yourself; . . . And, speaking to the Look away, off towards the mountains, Bridegroom, asks him to keep himself Saying nothing, hidden while her former companions wander But see my companions off, far away. Wandering together along the far isles.

The Bridegroom

33. Now the little white dove Has borne her green branch to the ark, 33—34: Then the Bridegroom speaks, And look, the turtledove almost as though he were observing the Has found his heart’s mate scene rather than participating in it. He Down by the grassy riverbank. announces that everything has been made one between himself and the Bride . . . 34. All alone she dwelt And alone has now built her nest; . . . One in the union of life they now Alone he leads her, share, which has brought their love to its Her dearest one, perfection. These stanzas seem to be the Who alone, too, bears a wound of love. culmination or climax of the poem.

The Bride

35. Together we shall delight, beloved, And walk lost in your beauty, 35—39: And the Bride speaks last, bringing Over mountain and hill the poem to a close. Where clear water flows, First, addressing the Bridegroom, she Then on into the thick dark wood, starts to lead him away with her . . .

36. Until climbing ever higher To where they can be alone, hidden To where caverns are niched in the rock, from view . . . Beyond all sight There we shall enter To drink musty wine of the pomegranate.

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37. There you shall set before me That which my soul once groped for, Then she imagines the perfection of And there give me quickly, love that awaits them there . . . You, my life, What you gave me once that other day:

38. The breeze breathing in, breathing out, And the sweet song of the nightingale, In their moment of union—tranquil, The grove exquisite wondrous, beautiful, full of grace and In the quiet of the night, steadfast love . . . With a flame that does not burn, yet consumes . . .

39. And no one is watching any longer, Neither can Aminadab be seen, . . . with all of life’s struggles, fears, For the siege has ceased, and conflicts having ceased. And the cavalry charging Has dismounted before the castle’s moat.

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3. On Translating The Spiritual Canticle of St. John of the Cross

There are a good number of translations into English of the poem The Spiritual Canticle by St. John of the Cross. I don’t much care for any of them. Some sound stilted and old- fashioned to me—as, for example, the translation by E. Allison Peers [from 1949], which employs an artificially poetic language that today no longer works. The translation by Kavanaugh & Rodriguez, found in The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross [published by ICS in 1991], seems to me, on the other hand, overly literalistic and prosy. The English doesn’t read like a poem. And then one can find various editions of the poems of St. John of the Cross translated into English—as, for example, the volume put together by Willis Barnstone [1968]. But none of these versions impress me. So, instead of complaining and making do with what is, a few years ago I decided to try my hand at translating John’s great poem for myself. Have I succeeded where others have failed? Of course not. But at least I have something that pleases me, more or less, and of which I can say that the process of making it has helped me reflect on the poem’s meaning.

Trying to make my translation read like a poem In my translation, I obviously avoided any attempt at reproducing the poem’s rhyme scheme—which is ababb. I also didn’t try to duplicate the poem’s meter in English, although I did try to capture something of its overall rhythmic flow which, counting stresses per line, not syllables, is more or less as follows, with some variation: 3 beats in the first line and 3 beats in the second, 2 beats in the third line and 2 beats in the fourth, 3 beats in the fifth. To this same end, I also sought to pay close attention to the sound of the words as they are read aloud—since poetry should generally be read aloud, either with one’s lips or in one’s head—and, in order to give the translation a more musical quality, I used such poetic devices as alliteration here and there as I could. For example, the last line of stanza 12 reads literally— speaking of how the dove (the Bride) detains the stag (the Bridegroom) by her flight—that the 7

stag stops “at the breeze of your flight and takes refreshment.” In The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross [the volume published by ICS], this line has the stag stop “cooled by the breeze of your flight.” In my translation, I have the stag stop “as your flight fans and refreshes him,” playing with the f-sound for poetic effect.

What of its style and mood? Let me say something about the overall language of The Spiritual Canticle. In writing the poem St. John of the Cross drew heavily upon a certain broad allusion to The Song of Songs. Thus, though reading very much like a love poem, it would all but automatically suggest to its readers that its author was intending a deeper religious or spiritual meaning by it. Also, John of the Cross was writing from within a specific literary tradition, that of “Pastoral Poetry,” where by “pastoral” is meant “of shepherds, the countryside, of rural or village life.” This type or genre of poetry goes back to antiquity—most famously to the Eclogues of Vergil—and was revived and became quite popular during the Renaissance, the time of St. John of the Cross. It draws upon idyllic scenes of natural beauty and invokes the ease, simplicity, and charm of rural village life. Often its theme is romantic, telling stories of love lost and found—like that between a lowly shepherd and his sweetheart, for example—as was common in the folksongs of John’s time as well. Both of these references—to The Song of Songs and to the traditions of “Pastoral Poetry”—provide a larger cultural context for John’s poem. But both of them, as cultural references, are lost on us today. We don’t make them automatically for the simple reason that they are not in us to make. They’re no longer part of our culture. Rather, for us John’s poem reads simply as an unusual and somewhat quaint love poem, at times quite impassioned, loaded down with lots of strange and highly stylized images, all against a backdrop suggesting some bygone era of life in the country. In my translation I have tried not to tone down in any way the erotic or romantic character of the poem. Also, I have tried to bring out and even accentuate the very beautiful and at times strangely, mysteriously evocative nature imagery of the poem. Moreover, I have tried to sustain a mood or tone of gentle calm throughout, almost as if the poem were a daydream running through the reader’s mind on a lovely spring day. The poem is, after all, a recollection, the recounting of the story of a love come to be.

The shape of the story While the poem tells a story, it does so in a rather roundabout way. But one can still see in it, and in the story it tells, three broad stages—stages that mark out a journey along which love unfolds between the Bridegroom and the Bride. These three stages are (1) courtship, (2) betrothal, and (3) union. The first stage of courtship—the first section of the poem—reaches its peak in stanzas 11-12 where the Bride and Bridegroom exchange a look that recognizes—or sees—the love they have for each other. This first look is later recalled by the Bride in stanzas 22-24. The moment of betrothal is not directly narrated in the poem. It is recalled, though, at two points in the middle section of the poem—first, by the Bride, in stanzas 17-18, and then, by the Bridegroom, in stanza 28. Thus, we can take the middle section of the poem as representing the second stage of the journey, that of betrothal. Since the moment of betrothal is recalled twice, once by the Bride (in stanzas 17-18), and once by the Bridegroom (in stanza 28), we can say that the stage of betrothal between them is celebrated throughout this middle section. As for the stage of union, there are many stanzas that seem to speak of it in anticipation, as it were—stanzas 15 and 25-26, on the part of the Bride, and stanzas 29-30, on the part the 8

Bridegroom. But just as with the moment of betrothal, so with the moment of union, nowhere is it narrated explicitly. Nor is it ever, unlike the moment of betrothal, even recalled. The reason is simple. Union is a moment that still lies in the future, at least in its fullness, something that is true even as the poem comes to a close. Indeed, the concluding stanzas of the poem, stanzas 35- 39, which are spoken by the Bride, depict the Bride and Bridegroom walking off together to seek that place where their love can find its perfection in union. There is an exception, though, to this reticence about union in the final section of the poem. Right before its conclusion come stanzas 33-34, spoken by the Bridegroom, and these stanzas seem to me to be the point in the poem—surely to be regarded as its climax—where the union of love between Bride and Bridegroom is described as an already accomplished fact. The stanzas, in other words, celebrate the oneness of life—the union—that the Bride and Bridegroom have come to share.

The spiritual journey These three stages—courtship, betrothal, union—define a simple, well-known journey in life, that of a man and a woman as they (1) fall in love, (2) speak their love to each other in betrothal and, eventually, in the vows of matrimony, and (3) enter into a union of life together. It is that experience of human love which John of the Cross (and Teresa of in her own way) often use when speaking of the soul’s journey towards a life of loving union with God—a journey which the mystical tradition of our church calls spiritual marriage. John’s purpose in using this imagery of marriage to speak of the spiritual life is not so much to describe the condition of our having entered into a covenant relationship with God—as between God and Israel, or Christ and the church. His purpose, rather, is to recount the journey of falling in love with God along those well-known stages by which human love, for its part, matures, growing from courtship through betrothal to union. Insofar as we call Carmelite spirituality a spirituality of spiritual marriage, then, we mean it in this second sense. It doesn’t take up the symbol of marriage as covenant. It takes it up as signifying the endpoint of union in a journey of falling in love with God.

Translation as Interpretation Any translation of a poem is, to some extent, an interpretation of it. And to try to avoid such interpretation usually results in an ineffective or weak translation. Let me give an example of what I mean—of how, in the course of translation, one has to make interpretative decisions in order to get the translation to work. Stanza 30 of The Spiritual Canticle (spoken by the Bridegroom) reads as follows, in a strictly literal translation:

30. By the pleasant lyres And song of the Sirens I conjure you [plural] That you cease your angers, And touch not at the wall, For the bride would sleep more securely.

A poetic rendering of this stanza, in my view, needs to be forceful and clear in its language and imagery. The Bridegroom is, after all, trying to silence the bustle outside so that the Bride might sleep more peacefully. Thus, instead of using an indirect statement, “I conjure you that you cease your angers,” it would be better to use direct address, with an imperative, “I conjure you: Cease your anger.” The effect is stronger. And instead of the rather generic word 9

“anger,” it seems better to use a word like “raging,” which suggests not just a feeling of anger but an actual display of anger. Of course, the expression “pleasant lyres” is, in English, rather vague. It needs to be rendered more graphically. And the line “touch not at the wall” sounds simply strange, even nonsensical. Remembering that in Spanish “touch” (tocar) is often used where English would use “knock”—as, for example, where “to touch at the door” means “to knock at the door”— perhaps we can fairly interpret John’s meaning here as something like “do not knock on the wall.” Or, even better, if we think of the image this stanza as a whole seems to be developing— that of wind raging angrily outside—perhaps it is best to translate the line “touch not at the wall” as “shake not” or “rattle not” the wall. The Bridegroom is depicted in this stanza, then, as trying to conjure (or quiet) the raging wind outside, as it rattles the walls of the house, with the gentle strumming of a lyre (or harp) and the soothing (or enchanting) strains of a song—“enchanting” because the Bridegroom refers to the song of the Sirens, who in Greek legend were enchantresses—all for the sake of the Bride, so that she might sleep more peacefully. Thus, with all these considerations in mind, I have translated stanza 30 in this way:

30. By the soft strumming of the harp, By the enchantress’ song, I conjure you: Cease your raging, Rattle not our walls, Let my bride sleep in peace.

There you have it, then, a few reflections on The Spiritual Canticle in translation. Let me conclude by citing stanzas 33-34. As I said above, these stanzas seem to me to be the climax of the poem, expressing as they do the union of love that has come to be between the Bridegroom and the Bride. They are spoken by the Bridegroom, although he speaks of himself in the third person. The verses capture in words that spiritual substance, too deep for words, which we long for as we journey with God along the way of silent, intimate prayer.

33. Now the little white dove Has borne her green branch to the ark, And look, the turtledove Has found his heart’s mate Down by the grassy riverbank.

34. All alone she dwelt And alone has now built her nest; Alone he leads her, Her dearest one, Who alone, too, bears a wound of love.

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