This battle fares
        like to the mornings war—
Ang labanang ito ay lumilipas katulad
        ng digmaan ng umaga¹—
The first line of Henry’s monologue
in Shakespeare’s hideous forgotten baby
3 Henry VI (Act II, Scene 5)
        is complete
in my ambitious project of translating
the third part of a trilogy of what may be
Shakespeare’s worst plays,
Shakespeare’s least-performed.
I haven’t even translated the first two plays,
beginning with my favourite play
and my favourite soliloquy.
I have begun with this scene,
filled with the joy
        of stitching scenes together
        beginning with the glorious soliloquy
in which Henry details his deepest, darkest desire:
to be no more than a shepherd
who loses the responsibilities of a king
on the battlefield.
The first line is easy enough to translate;
yet
“umaga”² does not quite ring as true
        as “bukang-liwayway”³.
The text says “morning”, not “dawn”
yet it describes how
        dying clouds contend with growing light
        mga namamatay na ulap⁴—
That is not quite the same either.
        Clouds “fade”, “disappear”,
        “maglaho”⁵
        but they do not die. Not in Tagalog, at least.
The text says “dying”, not “disappearing”.
Perhaps it is better
        to be faithful to the sense of my own language
        than to adhere to Shakespeare’s precise words?
The gift of Shakespeare is in his language.
Clouds do not die,
and I remain unsure if “Henry” should become “Enrique”,
which does not seem quite as innocent and gentle.
I cannot continue in the dizzying confusion of translation.
Yet I do. I do.
        Shakespeare doesn’t care whether morning becomes dawn.
Yet I do. I do.
So I continue:
        Ang labanang ito ay lumilipas katulad
        ng digmaan ng bukang-liwayway,
kung kailan nakikipagtalo ang mga naglalaho
na ulap at ang dumaraming liwanag.⁶

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