1. Translation of poetry
by
Bruno Osimo, 2001 [http://www.logos.it/pls/dictionary/linguistic_resources.cap_4_26?lang=en]
Translation of poetry is probably the subject in translation studies
that triggers the strongest polemics. Even those not specialized in translation
often have an opinion on the subject; consequently it is much platitudinized.
One of the most boring and useless debates concerns translatability and
untranslatability of poetry. It is not worth while spending time on that, since
there is a commercial and private production of translation of poetry, and thus
a readers public ready to read such translated texts and to recognize, in a
way, more or less perceivable traces of identity of this or that author.
Someone translates poetry and someone reads translated poetry, and that
is more than enough.
Even for poetry, the translation dilemma is either creating a text enabling
a reader to access the original, or creating a beautiful poetic text inspired
by the original. Therefore, it is better make some distinctions on the aim
pursued by translating poetry.
1. Direct
access to the original: probably the most common form of translation of
poetry is metatextual, and consists in a critical apparatus prepared for a poem
– in the same language of the poem or in another language – allowing people not
particularly proficient in that language to access an interpretation of the text
through a clarification of the semantic values of the original.
2. Interlinear
translation with parallel text: this is another form of direct
access to the original, but in this case the aid is textual and not
metatextual. Even if it is not always possible to call a parallel text
"text". When the parallel verse is the reproduction, word for word,
of the original verse, its only aim is to indicate the meaning (the one, among
the many possible meanings, chosen by the translator) attributed to the individual
words in the original, and seldom the whole result can be called
"text" in the proper sense of the word, i.e. a consistent and
coherent set of words.
3. Philological
translation: a translation that does not consider the readability of the
text that is produced, only its philological adherence to the prototext. Aim of
such a translation is to give access to the original for readers unable to
access it through one of the previous strategies. Philological translation can
be in prose or verse. When in verse, the verse of the metatext generally
matches the verse of the prototext, but of course there are no rhymes (if not
by chance), or pursued alliterations , and rhythm and other non-denotative
aspects of the text are not considered. One of the most famous advocates of
such a strategy is Vladimir Nabokov:
There
is a certain small Malayan bird of the thrush family which is said to sing only
when tormented in an unspeakable way by a specially trained child at the annual
Feast of Flowers. There is Casanova making love to a harlot while looking from
the window at the nameless tortures inflicted on Damiens. These are the visions
that sicken me when I read the "poetical" translations from martyred
Russian poets by some of my famous contemporaries. A tortured author and a
deceived reader, this is the inevitable outcome of arty paraphrase. The only
object and justification of translation is the conveying of the most exact
information possible and this can be only achieved by a literal translation,
with notes. (1973: 81)
4. Single-dominant
translation: usually the result of a poor and superficial analysis of
the prototext, or of insufficient poetic competence, or of a low-profile
publishing policy . One aspect of the original is found, the one most visible
to the inexpert reader, like rhyme for example. In translation, the rhyme
pattern is reproduced. Due to the anisomorphism of natural codes, pursuing the
rhyme means obligatorily discounting the sense. For the dominant’s sake, all
the rest is lost, relegating the role of subdominant to the sense, when a part
of it can be preserved. This kind of translation, especially when the rhyme is
preserved and the measure of the verse is even, is also called
"singsong" because of the effect similar to counting-out rhymes.
5. Translation
with a hierarchy of dominant and subdominants: this is the method that,
while seeking an equilibrium between the opposite extremes of translatability
ad untranslatability, takes for granted the impossibility to translate
everything. It is a strategy deriving from Torop’s total translation view. You
first make a translation-oriented analysis of the prototext to identify the
dominant elements in the source culture. Then such dominants are projected onto
the receiving culture, and one must foresee the understandable elements, those
textually incomprehensible and the partially understandable ones. Based on the
model reader, the publishing strategy, the type of publication and, often, the
translator’s taste, one decides which important elements of the prototext can
become dominants of the metatext, and which elements can be rendered only
metatextually (through a critical apparatus)
Then a
critical apparatus is made in which the metatext reader is told all that and a
metatextual rendering of the translation residue (e. g. explaining the meter of
the prototext that is not possible to reproduce in the metatext, or what
connotative meaning a given poetic form in the source culture has).
When
drafting the translated text, absolute precedence is given to the main dominant;
once rendered, the translator tries to make room for the other dominants too,
according to the hierarchy set during analysis.
The most
important aspect of such an approach is absolute transparency of the decisions
made by the translator (often by the publisher too) as concerns translation
strategy. A translation of poetry that doesn’t make clear what its carefully
analyzed blind spots are, runs the risk of presenting itself as a
"complete", "absolute" translation or, as some insist in
saying, "faithful" translation of the original, a situation in which
the reader comes out of feeling cheated, teased and/or manipulated.
6. Cultural
transposition: it is the strategy of people thinking of those who believe
themselves able to find the cultural homologue of the poetic forms from a
culture to the other. Let us see how David Connolly expresses the notion:
the
sonnet form does not signify for the contemporary North American reader what it
did for Petrarch’s contemporaries in fourteenth-century Italy. Using the same
form for a translation in a different age and a different culture may therefore
carry quite a different meaning and produce the opposite of a faithful
rendering. One solution is to look for a cultural equivalent (such as the
English iambic pentameter for French Alexandrines) or a temporal equivalent
(modern free verse for classical verse forms of the past) (1998: 174).
Putting
aside the presumption implicit in the choice of a supposed
"equivalent", cultural or temporal that it might be, since it is evident
that such a choice is highly disputable anyway, such a strategy has a very low
consideration of its model reader. It implies a person who isn’t’ open-minded
enough to understand that a given form can have had a different meaning in
another time or in another culture. This is what I have already written about
rendering the reader responsible, and on esteem for the reader. With this kind
of strategy one decides to underestimate her, to withdraw any responsibility
she may have and, to top it all, to propose her a text that is very different
from the original but that is presented as a "faithful translation".
7. Poetic
translation - author’s translation: the translation is given a poet
in the receiving culture. The result is often poetry, sometimes wonderful,
sometimes better than the original. It is the best choice if one wants to
produce poetic texts inspired by the original in another language, and if the
philological interest is the last of the subdominants.
by
John Gledhill, 2001 [http://www.db-thueringen.de/servlets/DerivateServlet/Derivate-3370/gledhill-ch5.html]
It can be
argued that the whole field of poetry translation is still in its infancy at
the theoretical level despite three millennia of practice. The past and present
states of the theory regarding the translation of poetry is well summarised in The
Encyclopaedia of Literary Translation (1998) under the headings The
Poetics of Translation and Poetry Translation. There is no need to
repeat these excellent summaries written by Gentzler and Venuti respectively,
but instead, it will be of greater relevance to examine the language of
discourse in this field. In short, it can almost be said ’anything goes in the
theory of poetic discourse translation as there are distinguished theorists,
literati and poets who represent more or less every conceivable stance on this
most difficult of topics. Based on Lefevere (1975), Bassnett (1991) list of the
various possible approaches still applies:
- phonemic translation (imitation of ST sounds);
- literal translation (cf. Nabokov);
- metrical translation (imitation of metre of ST);
- prose translation (rendering as much sense as possible);
- rhymed translation (added constraints of rhyme and metre);
- blank verse translation (no constraint of rhyme but still one of
structure);
- interpretation (complete change of form and/or imitation).
(Abridged
from Bassnett. 1991: 81-82)
More detailed examples of these various stances will be given in the
course of this introduction.
There has been much written about poetry translation by poets,
translators and literary critics, but there has been little written in a
systematic way. The wide range of stances on this issue is also well summarised
by Holmes (1978) who also reflects some of the vehemence with which these views
are held by the various parties involved:
What should the verse form of a
metapoem be? There is, surely, no other problem of translation that has
generated so much heat, and so little light, among the normative critics.
Poetry, says one, should be translated into prose. No, says a second, it should
be translated into verse, for in prose its very essence is lost. By all means
into verse, and into the form of the original, urges a third. Verse into verse,
fair enough, says a fourth, but God save us from Homer in hexameters. (Holmes
1978: 94)
In the history of translation and literature, each school of thought has
distinguished representatives. It could also be added that the language of
discourse has both a moral and absolutist tone which excludes open debate on
these matters. It will be useful to begin with the first category mentioned by
Holmes (1970) which refers to those poets and theoreticians who are convinced
that all poetry in all cases (such is the universalist form of their discourse)
should be translated into prose.
The literary critic and translator, John Middleton Murry (1923) is a
vigorous supporter of the ’poetry-into-prose‘ school:
Poetry ought always to be rendered into prose. Since
the aim of the translator should be to present the original as exactly as
possible, no fetters of rhyme or metre should be imposed to hamper this
difficult labour. Indeed they make it impossible. (Murry 1923: 129)
The argument is based on moral exhortations as illustrated by the
emphasis. Similarly, the more recent critic, writer and translator Nabokov,
whose essay “Problems of Translation: Onegin in English“ originally published
in 1955, quoted in full in Venuti (2000), takes an equally extreme and
absolutist position on this topic. His justification of this stance is based on
an uncompromising literalist view of translation:
The term “free translation“ smacks
of knavery and tyranny. It is when the translator sets out to render the
“spirit“ - not the textual sense - that he begins to traduce the author. The
clumsiest literal translation is a thousand times more useful that the
prettiest paraphrase. (Nabokov 2000: 71)
By his use of the verb traduce, Nabokov implies a severe moral
condemnation for the ’free‘ translator, possibly as an echo of the well-known Italian
dictum to the effect that traduttore (to translate) equals traditore (to
betray).The same tone of moral indignation concerning ’free‘ translators
pervades the whole essay:
The person who desires to turn a
literary masterpiece into another language has only one duty to perform, and
this is to produce with absolute exactitude the whole text and nothing but the
text. (Venuti 2000: 77)
The phrase
“the whole text and nothing but the text“ is redolent of the oath to be sworn
before a jury: “the whole truth and nothing but the truth“. This is to imply
that free translation is not only betrayal but is also a form of perjury.
It is, however, not very well known that the poet Robert Browning‘s
views on poetry anticipate those of the ’literalist‘ school. Pound and Benjamin
also tend towards this approach to translation where the target language is
sometimes violated to preserve the rugged and raw nature of the original.
In between the two extremes of translation into prose versus translation
into verse, there are, however, other opinions which include grey areas such as
those of Matthew Arnold (1909), whose essay “On Translating Homer“ originally
appeared in 1861, is a slightly less categorical supporter of the
poetry-into-prose school since he restricts his dogmatic ban only to the ’great
works‘ of literature on account of the variety entailed in such literary
monuments:
There are great works composed of parts so disparate
that one translator is not likely to have the requisite gifts for poetically
rendering all of them. Such are the works of Shakespeare and Goethe‘s Faust;
and these it is best to attempt to render in prose only. (Arnold 1909: 274)
Although Arnold‘s arguments are consistent in theory, they are rather
weak in practice as they involve preferring an obscure French prose version of
Shakespeare to the universally acclaimed Schlegel-Tieck translations.
Similarly, he supports a very weak English prose version of Goethe‘s Faust.
At the other extreme, Alexander Fraser Tytler (1791), who was one of the
early theoreticians to discuss the problem of poetry translation into English,
takes a diametrically opposite stance to both the translation-into-prose school
with an equally confident dogmatism. Tytler asserts:
To attempt, therefore, a
translation of lyric poem into prose, is the most absurd of all undertakings;
for those very characters of the original which are essential to it, and which
constitute its highest beauties, if transferred to a prose translation, become
unpardonable blemishes. (Tytler 1791: 111)
Again as with Nabokov, opprobrium is supported by ethical threats with
Tytler‘s use of the adjective unpardonable. Tytler also adds the threat of
ridicule to possible opponents of stance by his use of the phrase most absurd.
Sometimes, even national prejudices are invoked to support extreme views on
poetry translation as in the case of the poet Coleridge:
I do not admit the argument for prose translations.
I would, in general, rather see verse in so capable a language as ours. The
French cannot help themselves, of course, with such a language as theirs.
(Quoted in Selver 1966: 13)
Entertaining though it may be to consider the diverse opinions of poets
and scholars from the past on the topic of translating poetry, it has already
seen to be not very illuminating as there are few arguments other than oracular
pronouncements based on the supposed authority of the writer or there are dire
moral threats for those who dare to disagree.
You've decided to translate a poem. Maybe you have been studying a
foreign language your whole life and want to put your talents to good use. Maybe
you just came back from vacation to an exotic country and fell in love with
their national poet and you want to recall the romance. Either way, translating
poetry is serious business and not to be taken lightly. Your job as a
translator is not only to pass the meaning of the poem into another language
but to respect and honor its spirit. I don't mean you need a seance with a
thousand candles, begging the poem to breathe your page. I mean that there are
some rules to respect when you translate a poem:
1. Stay Close to the Poem. Read the poem again and again
until the words become second nature on your tongue. By doing this, you will be
able to feel the rhythm of the poem. You will recognize the pace, the pauses, the
beats, the swirls of energy. Write the poem in longhand and make ten copies.
Stick these where you can see and read them. Try the bathroom, the kitchen
cabinet, or the freezer door, leading to the Ben & Jerry's. These copies
will familiarize you with the poem's grammatical structure: Where the
adjectives are, where there is a break in tenses. Plus, if you put them on that
package of Oreo's, it'll take you longer to gobble the bag down. You will have
to read the poem first!
2. Know the poet. If you are lucky enough to pick a living poet to
translate, write to him or her. Get to know the person; ask him or her
questions about the poem. What was the poet thinking when writing the poem?
What does the poet think the poem means? Is there any imagery or language that
is repeated? Is there anything symbolic from his or her life? What does the
poet think of poetry? The more you know about the poet and his or her life, the
better able you are to understand the nuances of the poem. Be courteous and
grateful. The poet is answering your questions to help you with your
translation.
If, however, you choose a poet who has passed on, your job is a little
harder. Try and find out as much as you can about the poet's life. Most
countries have national writer's associations. If they don't, check the web and
university libraries and language departments. Maybe from there you can find
other people who knew the poet or can help guide you. Build as many contacts as
you can. Be familiar with the poet and you will get a sense for the poem.
3. Go for Grace. When you translate a poem, your job is to stay as
close to the meaning as possible. That said, you also have artistic license to
use (not abuse) the meaning to make a clear and graceful translation.
Translating slag is an excellent example of when to use artistic license. Some
slang has absolutely no meaning in another language. In fact, a direct
translation would make the poem fail. In that case, turn the meaning of the
slang into its equivalent. Remember, you want readers in your language to enjoy
the poem, not marvel at how well you can directly translate words.
4. Be Wary. This tip is for those of you who think translating
takes a few minutes tops. There are some great computer programs that are
designed for translation. There are also some excellent dictionaries and phrase
books. But do not rely on them to give you the end-all-be-all translation. You
must do the footwork. You can use these computer programs and dictionary
translations as a guide. They may help get to the bones of the poem but your
job is to put heart and live language on those bones.
5. Take a Deep Breath. When you finish a translation,
sit tight for a few days, maybe even a week, before you go over it. Take some
time to think about something else, in your own language. Then come back and
see where the gaps and the goodies are.
Translating a poem is a lot like writing a poem yourself. You have to
know what you want to say. You have to feel what you want to say. You have to
be focused. There are a thousand other jobs that are easier, better paid, and
eyesight-saving, but translating has its own glories. Putting poems into
another language is one of the best ways to share culture, honor poets, and
remind us that we can transcend geography. Do your best.