Post from Jiayi

 

Last Friday, we had Greek author Ersi Sotiropoulos and her translator, professor Karen Emmerich from Princeton University come and speak to us about their work together. It is impressive to be able to hear the two of them together, and one can tell from the way they interact that their synergy is amazing and their ideologies about translating the same. In the rare chance of having both the author and the translator present, I wanted to ask them about word choices. I picked the “perfect pleasure” and “absolute sensual pleasure” to ask for further elaboration on how minutely different words in Greek are carried over to English. It turns out that they liked the translations in English, as they check back with the Greek original, nodding and verbally agreeing that it is indeed accurate. I think this interaction reflects their translation style pretty accurately: they want to preserve the original text and carry over the cultural aspects and elements of Greece to the English language as fine as possible. This is very different from what Tracy has done. It is admittedly a whole different story translating poetry than prose, but I noticed one very crucial difference between these pairs that I am comparing listening to Ersi and Karen’s talk. Both Ersi and Karen speak both Greek and English–there is no communication blockade. When you learn a language, you also are naturally exposed to their culture. Thus, Ersi has a decent amount of knowledge of how certain English words sound in various english speaking worlds, while Karen, being a professor of comparative literature who also studied Greek literature extensively, knows the importance of certain Greek elements in Ersi’s work and thus has more reverence for Ersi’s intricate placement of words and objects in Greek and more loyalty to carry them over to English. On the flip side, not only Tracy doesn’t speak Chinese, Yi Lei also doesn’t understand English. What is lost isn’t just the direct communication between the author and translator on the surface level of the language, but Tracy doesn’t know the cultural significance of certain Chinese elements in the flow of that poem, and Yi Lei doesn’t know the connotation of certain words in English. When explaining the cultural effect of words, Tracy and Yi Lei might have run into Tracy over-stigmatizing how certain words from Chinese culture sound in English, and Yi Lei downplaying how much the word means in the flow of her poem, direly wanting her poems to be translated and published in English. Listening to Ersi and Karen’s talk made me realize that the translator really should speak the language they translate from and that it is ideal for the author to know to a certain extent the target language where their work is being translated to.

Readings: 

I have so much to say in response to the articles we read today. An overarching theme that I am reflecting on is really the “meaning” of translation and the “evaluation criteria” of translation. First of all, Charles Yun talked in his article about the “gains” of translation. 

Moreover, the “gains” of Smith’s effort, clearly a labor of love, have so far greatly outweighed any “losses”: Readers and critics have enjoyed the work immensely, South Korea has been placed on the world’s literary map, sales of both the original and the English version have exploded, and interest in Korean literary translation has soared. 

Well, what is considered “gain” in translation? In my opinion, not just blindly an award or bringing the original author to a larger, more global audience with perfectly English literature sounding proses, but that introducing the author’s writing while preserving the authentic voice written in another language. Otherwise, what is the point of reading foreign literature? Several articles brought up the point that modifications to a certain extent didn’t prevent English readers from enjoying the book. If all English readers want is to read more splendid English prose, why don’t they just read more English literature then? What is the point, then, of translating in the first place if you domesticate cultural elements, language convention, and writing style? A couple of other quotes also astonished me. To list a few: 

“[L]ike ‘Cathay,’ it has morphed into a ‘new creation.’” 

Again, is something that morphed into a ‘new creation’ translation? If so, to what extent can we tolerate alteration? 

“Another translator could have produced a more accurate version, but I find it extremely doubtful that anyone could have matched the virtuosity of Smith’s work. As a first-time effort, Smith’s translation is still a stunning achievement.”

A stunning achievement from what standard? Maybe she is a stunning writer, but I think a stunning translator should be otherly judged. 

“Sometimes you have to block off “one eye” just to focus on the target language.”

“For me, I can still admire the translation. I just have to keep one eye closed.”

My response to this is: just go read more English literature then if you’re not ready to expose yourself to an authentic writing style carried over to English from Korean. 

Smith herself also tried to explain away her critiques quite a bit in her article. I am going to respond to a few quotes that really blew me away (in a not necessarily positive way). 

One of the biggest critiques of Smith’s translation is her “poetic, embellished prose” in English. She counters those critiques by pointing out that Han Kang’s original writings in Korean is also “poetic”, 

And Han Kang’s Korean readers have always singled out her “poetic” style. A 2011 article introduces her as having “received attention for her lyrical style and detailed structuring”; a 2017 article in the Kyunghyang Shinmun comments that Han’s fiction “resembles poetry,” 

Nice try. I am not at all convinced. Poetry resemblance does not equate to florid, flamboyant construction of sentences and paragraphs. Poetry could be plain, simple, and powerful. It is quite unbecoming of a translator to be ignorant of the wide variety of poetry styles and use “resembles poetry” to explain away her disloyal addition of florid content in her English prose. 

Connecting back to my reaction to Yun’s article, what is the criterion of a good translation? And what do we translate for? Smith pens that it is important to take into consideration the following. 

What styles are used by this author’s contemporaries? What’s the mainstream? What tends to garner praise, get labeled “modern,” “original,” “experimental,” or even just “literary”? 

I’m glad to have brought the work of a brilliant writer to an international audience, in sufficiently faithful a way for a qualitatively, if not quantitatively, similar reception. 

Well… I guess it depends on different ideologies of translation. In my opinion, if you have intentions of garnering praise and pleasing an international audience too much in the back of your mind, your translation cannot steer too clear from hyper-domestication.

Last but not least, Smith also stated, 

“[C]hange is not betrayal.”

This is a bold generalized sentence. There must be a degree to tolerable change. Otherwise, there would be no difference between translation of writing and new creation of writing.

Reflections 02/28

 When it comes to the book "The Vegetarian", I believe when the question cannot be properly answered and results into back-and-forth exchanges of equally valid perspectives without any resolution on the horizon, then the question is simply not posed right. In my opinion, a useful, reasonable and worth-the-time question is the one that leads to integration of angles into a complex multidimensional figure that represents subtleties and nuances of a concept that is full of energy of creation. The question about whether or not translation should be faithful to the original does not seem to be of that kind because it presumes reality in which only one of the perspectives merits to survive. I.e. it comes down to "Did that book need to be translated faithfully or with greater liberty?" "Is it the original or the translation that deserves the prize?". This "either or" feels quite meaningless to me because attempts to answer such questions do not expand our understanding of certain concepts and mostly come down to personal preferences and assertions of certain routes of thinking. I think one of the articles pointed it out correctly that the actual issue with the book is that it is stylistically incoherent - and some of these incoherencies get attributed to the translator and some - to the author. Moreover, the readers didn't seem to have an issue with stylistic unsoundness and that is also telling, to me - it is precisely this translation that "peppered" a story with fancy words that weren't there and that didn't feel suitable to the context that actually brought the book acclaim among English speaking audience. Yet, the book won the prize and criticizing literary tastes of the public would be unethical. At the same time, the "straightjacket" of stamps like "Splendid" and "Breathtaking" on the cover of every bestseller reveal the aimlessness of the market. The market exists just to exist, as long as stuff sells, it's all good. Why is it important that "The Vegetarian" got translated in a way that attracted attention in the West? Because it introduced Korean literature to the market. So what? That question does not get answered. There are over 200 countries in the world and many more cultures, countless books and works, and why for example literature need to be attached to a culture or a country in the first place and not be considered shared heritage of humanity as a whole? Why do people prefer reading works in translation rather than learning more languages (an average human has the capacity to speak fluently ~7 languages)? Why do people prefer to buy what they know already sells well, what some magazine called "a must read" or what won an international prize? What does sell well and what makes for a good book? Is it what is interesting to read and is entertaining? (after all, the translation was so successful because it changed the dry and unembellished style of the original) Why is this and that entertaining and why is it important for something to feel attention-catching? What catches the attention nowadays and why? Where does the reader want to progress toward, if anywhere? What are the consequences of the market and the reader having no direction? Answering this would involve deep reflections on the current culture and its nature, on the habits and mindset of a modern consumer, their source and their impact. 

"Ideologically, it champions the individual (woman) against an oppressive society (about which we know nothing, except that it seems “worse” than our own)" - this sentence made me think a lot, too. I see a skewed preference in the Western bookstores toward "foreignness = struggle", and in a large sense I get an impression that this fuels the Western identity, and in the case of the US, it provides a neat contrast with the American dream narrative. Just as how questions over the validity of the translation of "The Vegetarian" distract from asking more helpful questions related to its success, the works about "different cultures struggle" distract from taking a closer look on the culture of one's own - this doesn't mean that works in translation are bound to serve this purpose, yet I believe they are used that way today to a rather great extent. Instead of being seen as treasure chests where art gives frame to experience from which we can extract insight, they often become colorful faraway objects to point finger to - and if it's not colorful, it gets lost and blended with the surroundings in the distance. 

The talk on Friday and the fact that "What is left of the Night" is a fictional imagining of the real person's thoughts - the way some translations can be called "fictional" when they stray too far from the original - reminded me of the phenomenon of the many "inspired by" books written by the Soviet authors, where what was initially supposed to be a translation of The Wizard of Oz inspired seven books about that magical world, with intense action and intricate storylines, sort of like Lord of the Rings. One question I wish I asked on Friday but did not because it occurred to me only later is whether or not the translator should be able to write texts in the language from which they translate - so that they can perhaps "feel" it better by feeling it actively rather than passively. 

-Ksenia

2/28 Comments

Raw and Cooked:

I was surprised firstly at how quickly I could be convinced that it was easy to spot a lineage of translation, and secondly that it was a distinctly bad translation (especially considering the work's level of accreditation) -- and then how quickly hearing Smith talk about herself, I wanted to retract that judgement (perhaps mostly because it feels much harsher to call it bad when she talks about how much it means to he). Last week Karen and Ersi got asked whether or not they’d encountered something generative about improper register (Karen said there was nothing improper or that translation could not be a "betrayal" of the original -- Ersi said yes) and I think this article has a good example of each in that the pervasion of the higher register, I agree with the article, undermines the narrator – but contrary to the article, I think makes the woman totally more interesting as a character because she gets to occupy this kind of empty space, so having her have this contradiction/inconsistency between her register and her background I think is just utterly compelling.

Ersi and Karen:

I really liked this lecture, but it was a little bit hard for me to wrap my head around since most of our prior speakers have had like a central question they're working through, and as Karen and Ersi intended it, this was more of a conversation, which I wish I would have oriented myself to the format of more quickly so I could have gotten to work trying to find the central focus in the conversation there were having instead of kind of waiting for them to hand it to me. 

Jonika 

Reflections 2/28

 The talk given by Karen Emmerich and Ersi was amazing. In comparison to Tracy K Smith who alters her translations as per her interpretations, I noticed how Ersi and Karen tried to capture the original essence of the work to present it as is. This was an interesting observation to make as it emphasizes upon the different routes taken by different authors to hammer home one specific point. 

In the LA Times piece on The Vegetarian a word that stood out to me was ‘betrayal’ Karen also talked about it in her talk on Friday. To me it just seems like a very emotion driven word or a strong word to put forth ones opinion. 

As far as Smith’s work on the Vegetarian goes it seems like she’s received significant criticism for it however since it was her first work she must be given more space to work on her mistakes. In her talk she also made points about taking an action concerning her mistakes instead of just pointing them out. If she had not translated the Vegetarian at the time she did it is likely that the audience must have never got a chance to see it for themselves. 

-Tanishka 

3/1 Readings

 Having had the chance to meet with Tracy and Ersi before the talk, I was really glad to have to chance to get to learn more about the types of experiences that led Tracy to become a translator, and the pair were even kind enough to answer questions I had, although some of them had to be relegated to the actual talk itself. Particularly the sort of communication and how the pair work together on translations is something that I've always wanted to learn about, and I did appreciate learning how to get started on contacting a starting a project with an author. What stood out for me was also how their views on translation were different from those that Tracy had, somewhat, and that gave me a bit to think about. 

Regarding the readings however, I noticed that the paywalled article was written by Tim Parks. and as usual his comments on the language of the translation were very detailed and persuasive. I noticed that I'm not the only one who feels like he makes several unwarranted jabs at the translator herself, but I can appreciate the depth of his commentary. His points that some phrases and sentences are at odds with the voice of the narrator are at odds is obviously quite insightful, but probably divert from what will likely be the main point of discussion; which is what I think about the "scandal" itself. 

I personally am of the same mind as Charse Yun, who wrote that the point is somewhat moot in his LA Times article. Because it is, because regardless of what was done to the original text in translation, the people who read it are incredibly unlikely to read a different translation of something they've already read, the people who are upset about the translation likely wouldn't read it either, so who would a new translation be written for? One of the articles states that English readers have been betrayed, but about what? From the LA Times article, while there were significant liberties taken, it's not as if the text was rewritten completely, and while there are errors here and there, some things added here and there, would a newer, more "faithful" translation even be different enough from Smith's translation that an average reader would deliberately go out of their way to read it? 

But at the same time I also don't really care for how Smith writes about the experience; but that's more of a personal issue with that article. She skirts around what I think is the most unforgivable thing she did, making simple mistakes, but clearly the author herself is happy with the translation, and it isn't as if I haven't made thousands of simple mistakes myself. Ultimately what I feel like has happened has happened, and there's nothing anyone can do about it to change what was published and read, and what version of The Vegetarian people will read in the future. 

Steven

Reflections 2/28

 I thought Karen Emmerich and Ersi Sotiropoulos gave a wonderful talk. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thought this, but I wished there was a microphone (or a better one, if one was present) for Ersi to speak into, because her answers were difficult to hear. I couldn't help but draw comparisons to Tracy K. Smith's talk, and how she takes a lot of liberties with her translations, vs. how Ersi and Karen seemed more concerned with capturing the original as closely as possible. It is so interesting to see various translators' takes on their practice, and how no two people think exactly the same. 

As far as the articles go, the LA Times' piece on The Vegetarian interestingly used the word "betrayal", which was brought up on Friday. Karen said that she doesn't like to use the word betrayal, and that she doesn't consider her changes and choices (for the sake of the greater good/an English reader) to be "betrayals". It was interesting that some South Korean critics noted that "English readers had been betrayed". I understand the sentiment, but it seems like too sensitive/critical of an observation-- at least the work (or a close semblance of it) is accessible to a wider audience on some level, right?

Reading about Deborah Smith's humble beginnings and wholesome reason for choosing to translate Korean in the Raw and Cooked article made me even more sympathetic towards her. The Vegetarian was her first translation, which she clearly did to the best of her ability (albeit riddled with mistakes). Tim Cook picking apart these mistakes definitely have merit, but the more petulant side of me is thinking, "could you have done any better?", and the answer is obviously no (as Cook doesn't speak Korean). I think critics of Smith's work should translate The Vegetarian better for the public if they disagree with hers; again, it was her first work, and I think it's only coming under fire because of the acclaim it received.

Hearing Smith's voice in What We Talk About When We Talk About Translation was so interesting after reading the other two pieces. She made great points about moving past the point of just pointing out her translation mistakes and actually doing something about it (a sentiment I made above), and standing by her decision to translate a work she loved, even though she hadn't "mastered" the language. I agree that languages are never "mastered", and if she had waited to translate The Vegetarian until she felt she had perfected Korean, maybe English audiences would've never been exposed to it all. Which would be such a shame.

Also: "It’s [translation's] also perhaps the only art that can be not just bad, but wrong, and will never not be flawed" is SUCH a good quote <3 Sums things up very nicely. 

 Sarah

Sotiropoulos/Emmerich, and Smith's The Vegetarian

On Friday, Karen Emmerich repeated a few times that she does not see translation happening "on the level of the word," but rather on the level of sense and stylistic effect. She described acquiring a language as a "learning" process requiring a dictionary and an understanding of one-to-one equivalence, and translation as an "unlearning" of those equivalences in favor of a more holistic understanding of what the language is doing. I completely agree with Emmerich here. I try to translate with sense in mind, and allow myself to take liberties on a linguistic and semantic level in order to convey feeling or meaning. I would venture to say, though, that word-for-word versus sense-for-sense is not as stark of a binary in prose than it is in poetry, or at least in Ersi Sotiropoulos's straightforward prose (linguistically experimental novels are another story). While I don't read Greek, I did look at the French translation of What's Left of the Night (Ce qui reste de la nuit) and noticed that the two are very close, so I'm assuming both are pretty linguistically faithful renditions of the original. I'd be curious to see some of Emmerich's poetry translations to see how she puts her idea of translating beyond the level of the word into practice. 

We read a lot of Tim Parks in Professor Waters's class last semester, so I know that Parks is not only an expert in evaluating translations from languages he does speak, but an extremely careful reader of English prose as well. I read The Vegetarian back in 2016. I agree with him that the prose is occasionally clunky, and that there are moments that fluctuate in register and tone. However, I think a lot of the issues he highlights are problems that he has with Smith's writing skills in English rather than problems of translation. On the other hand, every word counts when we're translating, so perhaps these two issues are one and the same?

His description of Smith bothers me, though: "...Having completed a degree in English literature, she decided to become a translator. Monolingual until then, she chose Korean 'pragmatically,' because she had heard there was a lively literary scene in Korea and far fewer translators than for European languages." I can't help but feel that Parks includes these details in order to discredit Smith. He writes as if Smith just woke up one day and took on the project of The Vegetarian despite having no knowledge of Korean language or culture. She had studied Korean for six years by the time she took up the project, and was completing a PhD in Korean literature. Furthermore, why should it be frowned upon to choose to learn a language that's underrepresented in translation? Was her Korean perfect? No, it sounds like it wasn't. But I think there are more responsible ways to engage with Smith's work than trying to undermine her credentials.

In her rebuttal, Smith does a great job pointing out some of the hypocrisies in her critics' reviews: if Han's original text was praised as "poetic," why is she accused of producing an "overly poeticized" translation? Plus, if Han read and approved of Smith's translation, saying that she "loved it most for capturing the tone of her own writing," who are we to say that she's wrong? Shouldn't the author know best? Or does it take an outside, neutral perspective to see the resemblances and departures more clearly? I began thinking about this after Tracy K. Smith's talk. As we discussed in class, Smith's poems take a lot of liberties with Yi Lei's poetry, but Yi Lei approved the translations and clearly thought they captured the spirit of the Chinese. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what side to take in this whole debacle. Having read the book, I'm a bit disappointed to know that Korean speakers think it doesn't resemble the original text, but I don't regret reading Smith's translation, nor do I think any of this is reason to say it shouldn't exist at all. 

-Maggie

Reflections for 28/2/22 (Emmerich, "The Vegetarian)

Early on in the lecture, Karen Emmerich talked about how translations are often “abandoned rather than completed.” This idea has been echoed repeatedly throughout the MFA program: a translation is never perfect, never really finished. Some days I find that reality exciting, then other days I find it frustrating, beautiful…frustrating. Emmerich talked about how she first translated a novel during her undergraduate years, but she was thankful now that no press had agreed to publish her work back then because she ultimately retranslated and published the same novel twelve years later. I wonder what the primary differences were between the first version and the one she published a decade later; I wonder at what point a translation is “good enough” and how that looks and feels for different translators.

In a similar vein, Emmerich mentioned that she typically sends authors a full first draft and not chapters or parts. This made me curious about how other translators choose to share in the translation process with their respective authors. Do translators ever share just a chapter or two? If a translator shares the first chapter and gets feedback from the author, then the translator could implement those changes for the rest of the project. Still, I suppose the translator runs the risk of scaring the author with any mistakes or mis-readings of tone or style.

The idea that translations are “abandoned rather than completed” resonates with the articles we read about Deborah Smith’s translation of Han Kang’s novel The Vegetarian too. While Tim Parks made thoughtful and poignant critiques about style and voice, I found Smith’s article in the Los Angeles Review of Books far more compelling. She admits openly that the translation was flawed—like absolutely all translations, I want to add—even concluding her article with: “Finally, no translation is definitive — it’s simply a way to ‘Fail again. Fail better.’ I think I failed okay.” If all translations really are “abandoned rather than completed,” then they remain works in progress, eternally ready to be changed or improved upon. Perhaps instead of questioning why the novel received a major award and suggesting that it only won because it fit certain performative, liberal criteria, Parks could focus on constructive criticism. Smith certainly seems more than open to editing her work, especially as an early-career translator; future editions of the book could be made even better, and works in translation might find more space on the bookstore shelf.

-sharon

If Tim Parks doesn't speak Korean, Josh Dunn doesn't speak Greek.

Familiar with the idea of Tim Parks’ review thanks to a conversation with Professor Vincent, I am delighted to have now read the text itself.  Previously, I had the sense TP was a kind of zahorí of translation, able to detect via magic or because of some Faustian pact a translation’s embedded defects, even without knowing the original language.  In reality, TP gives, in his trademark bellicose prose, a detailed evaluation of Deborah Smith’s translation, talking about register, levels of diction, narrative logic, and the harmony (or in this case disharmony) of voice.  He fits these examples into a totalizing framework for talking critically about translation and offers a paradigm any sensitive reader could apply.  I wonder, then, if despite his unsympathetic reading o her work, DS would endorse his methodology.  Rather than treating a translation as the output of a math problem and the source text as an answer at the back of the book against which the critic ought to cross reference the translator’s answer in search of errors, TP illuminates the intrinsic discrepancies in Smith’s text, treating it a freestanding work in English.  DS, for her part, seems most irritated by critics who make their living highlighting superficial differences in word choice without proposing a global interpretation of those differences and while forgetting that translation, by its very nature, implies and even requires difference.  TP, again, isn’t criticizing the fact of difference but quibbling over the aesthetic effect those differences achieve.

 

In a similar spirit, KE advances the compelling idea translation doesn’t occur at the level of language.  More interested in capturing atmosphere, tone, or voice, KE seems to be another translator who would willing dispense with a notion of mathematical equivalence in order to render what is most true or captivating about a book.  Any translator worthy of that word writes, as KE puts it, under constraint, constraints which at times facilitate creative solutions.  While the image principally invokes the source text to which any translation is tethered, we might also suppose that a translator is constrained by her/his own accumulated sensibility—the books read, the culture inherited, a personal way of making language come to life.  What’s Left of the Night, as translated by KE, will invariably have something of her style and her voice.  When ES attributed her artistic formation to books read in translation, I recalled the Latin American writers whose literary development was underpinned by their first encounters with Hemingway, Faulkner, Dostoevsky, and Flaubert, all read, of course, in translation.  How many great writers in one language have built their tradition upon books written in another?  Although the translator’s work is necessarily derivative, waiting for an author to do something first, it’s also indispensable.  There are cases—that of ES among them—where the second thing comes first.

 

-Josh

Reflections

 Reflections 02/21

The first short story by Ersi Sotiropoulos felt enjoyable to read and had a distinct foreign and at the same time harmonious feeling to it, in my opinion. It felt comparable to reading a story from a Northern country like Denmark - not in the sense that the story seemed Danish but that it matched its level of "foreignness". To me, it was simple and unusual, and unusual not in the realm where unusual is commonly sought - or rather where we are used to seeing it being sought by various writers. The weather, the male perspective of the tendency to read words and expression for their literal rather than emotional meaning, and the sharp needles as if falling through the canvas of love - these components created unique and memorable combination. There was also a sense of "what will happen next?" that got gratified with new interesting details being introduced, the details that pained a bigger picture bit by bit. The "so what?" question was answered, too.. I saw these two aspects lacking in other works that we were assigned to read by this author. At the same time, after waking up and looking back on them, they no longer felt as difficult to process and digest. Perhaps, it is the fact that I am not used to this kind of literature that played the role in my perception of it. 

Tracy Smith's passion felt in some ways abstracted into passion not for language or other structural and expressive tools but rather for the feeling itself and its strength especially, thereby measuring poetry by as if putting it inside a room and looking at how much it makes the temperature rise - in my opinion. The way I see it, Yi Lei produced an impact through her own way, through a subtle conglomeration of various aspects and timings and circumstances. It seemed like Tracy Smith wished to replicate that impact by "chaoticizing" the same poems in English, which I believe is interesting to think about. 

Previous week's reflections:

Jeremy Tiang's presentation of different translations of the opening lines to Chekhov's "Chaika" left a strong impression of me - first words of an artistic work set the tone for the rest of the story, perhaps even more so for something as expressive in real time as a play. Choices made by various translators and play directors regarding the first lines would therefore have an impact on the entire the play - this was not a question of how to best translate a couple of ambiguous phrases but rather deciding on what feeling the play could inspire altogether, in what light the viewer is to perceive the plot and its characters. The sweeping sequence of versions felt like seeing the play reflected in many mirrors positioned from different angles. The sensation was that of expansion - the more planes were added, the bigger it grew what the planes were meant to outline. In a way, the idea of Chaika grew and propagated through its translations. 

I find Tracy Smith's innovative approach of intending to make the reader feel more at ease with the poem to be a sword that is sharp at both edges. For me, Changtai Bi's literal translation felt easier to understand and left a more profound impression on me. It felt easier to comprehend reason turning "black" than a woman ostensibly not wishing to return to reason, for example. In the literal translation, it seemed more clear what connected to what and why, what flowed from where. Its organized structure did not take away the feeling but rather facilitated "picking it up"; I personally do not see emotionality as a force of its own - I believe it is deeply interconnected with other aspects of our psyche and functions by laws like anything else. Thus I believe Tracy Smith's works are not really the translations of the poems but their re-imaginations. I think they deserve to stand alone as poetry of her own, rather than Yi Lei's. 

Ksenia

2/22 reflections

 

Speaker: 

Tracy K. Smith, a two-time American poet laureate and currently a professor of English and African and African American Studies at Harvard University came to talk to us today about her translation of Yi Lei’s poetry selection. Yi Lei’s poetry is extremely powerful and enchanting in Chinese. When I read her poems, it feels like I am standing right in the heart of a downpouring waterfall, and her words would spash right on to me, overflowing with philosophical and artistic pleasure. However, Professor Smith’s translation is not that, it feels more like a meandering stream in the forest who lust for the power of the thunder. As you might have figured from this description, at first, when I read Professor Smith’s translation, I was not very content with it. I have to admit that bland direct translation of her poems into English, like what Yi Lei’s nephew David did for Professor Smith, does not lead to pretty sentences or imagery in English. It confirms the idea that it takes a poet to translate poetry. Her talk provided me furthur insights into how the translation was agreed upon with Yi Lei, and how she struggles to make some decisions of leaving things out or adding in new elements, and the side by side comparison with David’s direct translation definitely proves the importance of Professor Smith’s presence in this translation process. I do still feel the lingering thoughts, though, that there might have been a way to employ the elements and rhymes as well as formatting to carry over Yi Lei’s poetry’s spirit better. 

Reading: 

I thought these couple of short stories in “landscape with dog and other short stories” were undescripbably lovely. Especiually the first story, it might be the favorite short story I have read so far across all languages. I am not sure if it’s because how they mention rain so often that primed me to like the story more since I love rainy day, but the flow of the story being so natural and the content being so down to earth and relatable, as well as the spiritual connection shown through the insignificant interaction between the couple just makes the reading experience a really wholesome experience. In fact, I almost cried at the end, being so touched by it. The selection of poems were extremely lovely as well. The enjambment and choices of punctuation differ quite a bit across translations and I have many questions to ask about that in class. The rhyme as well as frequent mention of Alexandria is also intriguing, and I wonder how significant the rhyme is in Greek and how deep the connection of the Alexandria library has to the literary world in Greece. The novel was also quite a joy to read because of similar reasons I felt for the novel. The author seems to focus on detailed descriptions of the environment and the characters’ inner thoughts, which is clearly well carried-over in the translation. I am curious to hear how it sounds in Greece. Perhaps it’s a more mindblowing and satisfactory experience reading in the original. 

 

Jiayi