Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Due Dates, Again
• Please do turn in copies of your midterm paper to either of us sooner rather than later if you haven't already.
• Final blog posts [at least one, preferably two; more if you still haven't done the others] are due on the final date, 12/15.
• The final project/paper and you telling us about it or giving a short presentation [or what have you] is also due on 12/15 at 6 PM. As far as I know right now, it's in the same room; we'll let you know if the location's been changed.
• Self evals are also due to Julie and I during the final, 12/15. One faculty eval can be written about both of us as long as you talk about both of us, and can be turned into the Johnston Office in Bekins.
• Reading for 12/01 is Peden's essay from Craft and the article about translating Hemingway.
• Reading for 12/08 is the essay about translating Dickinson.
When Julie and I finish reading the midterm papers, you'll get them back. If you're worried about the sheer amount of ink on them, we just like to make comments.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Final Project Propositions
Requirements for the proposition are:
• What makes you interested in the project? Why do you want to do it?
• What kinds of research will you need to do? More importantly, will it be feasible to do that kind of research?
• If you're doing a translation, be sure to include a translator's statement [same as an artist's statement]; if you're referencing a translation [say, of a poem] that's in English, be sure to include that, too. We would, however, recommend that you not look at the published English translation before you do your own just to cut down on the amount of influence it has on yours.
• If you're doing a comparison of translations, be sure to state the translators and editions—i.e., you will need a bibliography.
• I am expecting that the projects themselves will be no less than ten pages. If it's a couple pages of translation, make sure that your translator's statement justifies the translation and addresses whatever other translations that you reference. Include whatever you think you need to include so that your translation will make sense to whoever reads it, regardless of their familiarity with the language.
The final date is 12/15 at 6 PM in the same room as always—essentially just one more meeting at the same bat time, same bat place. This is where we're going to have the final meeting and do some sort of paper presentation, with details to be worked out later.
For those of you who either didn't present your midterms or were absent yesterday, you will need to bring them in and be prepared to present them on the 17th. Recall that two blog posts were due yesterday; the next two are due 12/15, the same day as the final. If you haven't posted yet, I still expect to see four from everyone. For all of you who wanted some more hands-on translation or comparing multiple translations and don't know what to post about, that is a valid topic for both the final and some blog postings...
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
I hope this wasn't already said
There doesn't seem to be any middle ground in the translation articles. By which I mean there is nobody that seems to be directly arguing for a synthesis of literal and radical translation in those terms. People have sort of wishy-washily approached the topic, but they have either been unaware of the two camps or have skirted around mentioning them. And when they have been mentioned it is because the person strongly believes in one methodology. Is it because people believe that the two are simply incompatible ideologies, or because there has yet to be anyone to posit a separate theory in as eloquent and insightful a way as Benjamin ?
I think both methods are utterly broken in their pure forms, as they both take a highly academic approach to translation. Literal has, inevitably, mounds of footnotes that only a scholar would wade through. Meanwhile, Radical seems more like the ultimate comeuppance thesis paper. Rather than taking an interpretation from a text containing multiple possibilities and arguing it, one takes the work and rewrites it to better prove their point. Maybe Radical translation's caveat about the afterlife of a work, which to me has always seemed more like Benjamin saying “Well, even though it isn't going to be a perfect translation we should still try as best we can because the end product will still hold meaning,” is more of a guideline than an impetus to promote the afterlife. Yet it always seems that radical translationists inevitably refer back to the death of the author, as a sort of defense of changing the mood of the work as a result of language difficulties. There seems to be a problem where radical translation risks not bringing enough of the original culture into the piece while literal translation overloads the reader with it. And if one just goes one direction and then takes, say, three steps back from the pure form, while still trying to engage that form, then they stop making sense as cohesive philosophies. It's like Radical Translation Lite and Literal Translation Lite: they are inevitably marketing ploys. A Radical translation is too radical so steps are taken back to avoid simply writing a new book, a literal translation is too difficult to parse and so steps are taken back, and so neither philosophy is really enacted. Maybe I've overstated the impact of radical translation (how often does it really, really come up outside of, say, Onegrin? (probably pretty often in a sufficiently complex piece)) but it still seems that both theories are functionally broken in key parts, though they have very useful components.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Deadlines and Due Dates: The Home Stretch
2. BLOG POSTS [2]: due 11/10/10
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Translation & Politics
Thursday, November 4, 2010
An Internal Clarification of Priorities.
At first I assumed membership to the first school of thought, but as our discussions continue and our reading progresses it’s attractions grow increasingly dull. I admit being attracted to the air of authenticity given it by it’s refusal to change what it sees as the most essential part of a literary work. However, at heart I feel that the writing I most value is valuable due to the state into which it delivers me, not the specific word choice and placement within the text that moves me. Undeniably the best of literature will be replete with phrases that echo in me, but not every word of every sentence has hidden depths. Even were we to admit that the original word choice and phrasing, in it’s specifics and it’s vagaries, was of equal value to the source work’s excellence as the general meaning and emotional impact we would still be unable to translate it in it’s entirety, and as such it is the logical ground on which to surrender to the practicalities of translation.
To butcher another’s metaphor, you could tell me the composition, dimensions, weight, and temperature of a piece of ice, but only when I held it would I know it was cold. I wouldn’t deny that quantitatively true transmission of information is important in many fields of translation, there are many things I would wish to have translated in an exact manner. When cooking by recipe, signing a contract, speaking with a foreign police officer, in fact nearly everything except recreational reading I prefer translated as verbatim as possible. However, literature I read for beauty and pleasure should not be shackled by the disjunction between one language and the next.
Beyond this there is not much I feel capable or drawn to add. I am not advocating extensive unnecessary rewrites, and at heart I feel that this argument is one based on personal preference, I justify the method of translation which most draws me, but there is no objective way to measure one translation against another. I would, however, mention that I recently read “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer” by John Keats, and that it is as eloquent an argument for a free translation as could be had. Keats wrote it after reading Chapman’s translation of Homer in order to express his new appreciation for Homer due to Chapman’s translation.
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Response to Walkowitz's "Unimaginable Largeness"
Walkowitz specifically addresses “new world literature” in this essay but her thesis has wider implications for how we view all translations, masterpieces, and scholarly work (this is especially interesting to me!!). She presents two models. We are already familiar with the first model because many previous essays revolve around the capability of translation to capture the essence of the original. This first system focuses on literary masterpieces and their ontology; ability to convey that ontology marks the translation. The original remains the privileged, superior object: “[originals] have an ontological existence that defines what they are and what they will be; copies simply inherit that existence” (227). The first model thus proposes any meaning we derive from a translation must refer back to the original, much like the clones’ assumption they must find their “possible” to gain insight of themselves. The problem with this approach is just that: literature never acquires an afterlife because only the original produces meaning and the copy can only approximate that meaning.
The second model, the one present in Ishiguro’s discourse, opens up a whole new can of whoop ass. The idea of a network gives a book a rich afterlife. It also allows transformation of essence, and opens the system to infinite additions. The old system demands faithfulness and the new one privileges “analyzing how a work participates not only in its “original” literary system, the system of language in which it was composed, but also in the other literary systems in which it has a presence” (217). Literature in this context is social and collaborative; it participates globally through translation. This not only necessitates translation, it elevates it. If a work composes a network made of the original and many translations then the latter must be taken as seriously as the former. This is not to say: “art can mean anything—that it is what you say or see—but rather that the content of art will be transformed by expansive circulation and by the local interpretations that readers impose” (226). The network model also permits personal points of connection with a work not limited to those who read the original. Proust’s first editions and the influence of translated works on Ishiguro are both examples of this: “a book can be a unique object, too, both because translations create several versions of a text and because personal history distinguishes the social itinerary of one version from another” (222). To me, this statement contrasts Walkowitz’s concerns about the homogenization of culture and politics through translation in the introductory paragraph. If the network model produces personal points of connection it must be a diverse heterogynous structure.
Walkowitz advances comparison literature’s emphasis on phenomenology or form (consciousness of translatability, 219) instills a new ontology, an ontology that only comes out of this specific phenomenology. Ishiguro is interesting to Walkowitz because this idea of global comparison infiltrates the form as well as content of his stories: “His comparisons link together a variety of international themes, but they also prompt us to examine the shape and scale of that variety” (223). The essence of comparison literature therefore arises in its form. Could we then say that the essence of a work really arises in its diverse network? What attracts me to Walkowitz’s thesis is the idea that the meaning of a work is not fixed and in fact evolves over time.