Kissing Through a Veil

A couple of years ago at Poesidagarna, an annual poetry festival in Malmö, Sweden, the theme was translation, and the event featured poets and their Swedish translators. The poets read from their works in the original language and then the translators read their Swedish translations, and there were also discussions about the translation of these poems. The American poet Donald Hall, who has also published children’s books, plays, and nonfiction, and was the poet laureate of New Hampshire for five years, said that though he didn’t understand most of the languages spoken at the festival, he nevertheless enjoyed hearing the poems read in the original languages and felt that he got something from them despite the language barrier. It was as though the feelings and meanings in the poems were clear simply through the sound of the words; no translation was needed.

In a recent post, I discussed the idea that not all writing can be, or should be, translated. Many readers seem to feel especially strongly about this when it comes to poetry.

In her novel Fugitive Pieces, Anne Michaels, who is also an award-winning poet, writes, “‘Reading a poem in translation…is like kissing a woman through a veil.’…Translation is a kind of transubstantiation; one poem becomes another. You can choose your philosophy of translation just as you choose how to live: the free adaptation that sacrifices detail to meaning, the strict crib that sacrifices meaning to exactitude. The poet moves from life to language, the translator moves from language to life; both, like the immigrant, try to identify the invisible, what’s between the lines, the mysterious implications.” This quote suggests that a poem in translation is not as authentic as one in the original language; as though reading and understanding a poem were not considered challenging enough, in translation, the meaning of the poem is veiled, hidden behind a layer. The veil’s thickness and material depend on the translators’ skills, but there is always a veil nonetheless.

Even translator Gregory Rabassa admits, in his memoir If This Be Treason, “I do find that with a language in which I am rather weak, like Russian, I do know just enough to enable me to read poetry along over so many unknown words and yet get to understand it in some ways better than in an English translation that is loud and clear.” So if someone who makes a living as a literary translator would rather read poetry in the original language even if he is not completely fluent in that language, does that mean that translating poetry is so demanding that it is best not attempted?

What, if anything, makes translating poetry different from translating other literature?

More on that in the next post.

Poll Update

The poll is still open and you are encouraged to vote if you haven’t already done so, but so far the clear majority of responses indicate that many people work as translators but have no training to do so. In other words, the majority of respondents have not studied in a translation program or a language program. Perhaps they are people who found themselves living in another country and learned the language so well that they were able to work as translators, or they simply enjoy language, or found it difficult to find another sort of job, or… What’s your reason? How did you get into translation? And do you think your training (or lack of specific training for translators) affects you and your skills? Let me know; I’m interested in hearing other translators’ stories.

Missing Translations

Why are so few literary translations published in English-speaking countries?

As the article mentioned in the last post pointed out, only about 3% of the books published each year in the U.S. are translations, and those are primarily from Spanish, French, and German. The article says that the figure for Italy is 27%. And here in Sweden, not a week goes by when the culture pages of the newspapers don’t review at least one, and usually more, books that have been translated to Swedish. Sure, Sweden’s population is much smaller than the U.S.’s, but I don’t believe the percentages of writers and of readers are that different. Logically, the percentage of literary translations should be about the same. So why are English-speaking countries less interested in foreign literature?

Are there so many more authors in English-speaking countries so that there is no need for work translated from other languages? It seems as though a lot of non-fiction work, including course literature, is published in English and then translated to other languages, but that doesn’t explain the lack of foreign literary fiction translated to English.

Do more people in English-speaking countries write? Even in Sweden, where the “Jantelagen” still reigns and people don’t necessarily want to stand out or be different from others, creative writing seems to be thriving.

Is it easier to get published in the U.S. or England than in other countries? I find that hard to believe, too. Anyone who’s worked in publishing or attempted to get their own writing published knows that many great books are rejected because there are simply too many writers and too few publishing companies, too little money, and too little interest in literary writing.

So has publishing become so much about the bottom line that publishing companies are not willing to spend the money on more literary works? This may be true, since publishing companies are always looking for the next big blockbuster and seem to focus their publishing and marketing efforts on genre books. That’s why thrillers by Swedish writer Henning Mankell are published in English, but more creative works only get a Swedish audience.

Is there simply a lack of interest in foreign cultures? It’s the stereotype of the United States –powerful and self-centered, with no need to study other languages or learn anything about other cultures. But how much truth is in this stereotype? And what is the situation like in other English-speaking countries?

I have no answer to the question posed in this post, but I’m interested in exploring this issue more, and in changing it.

Translation = Survival

I read an article in the New York Times about two upcoming literary festivals that feature writers who write in endangered languages.

In the article, writer Salman Rushdie says, “People are not going to learn Serbian. If Serbian writers are going to survive in the world, they will have to be translated into English.” And a professor named Esther Allen says that the point of these festivals is “inviting these people from outside English into the conversation, and making a place for them in English.”

Exposing people to new literature and helping writers find a larger audience is important and hopefully these festivals will help with those goals, but since, as the article points out, only 3% of the books published in the U.S. are translations, the question remains: why aren’t these writers being translated to English? More on that in the next post.

On Their Own Terms

Can all works be translated? Should they be?

In February, a DVD was filmed here in Helsingborg of the Anglo-Saxon epic poem “Beowulf.” Benjamin Bagby, a modern-day bard who is the star of the film, relies on only the poetry of the old English words, his voice, and the sound of his lyre when performing the poem. He does not perform the work in translation. During his visit to Sweden in February, Mr. Bagby spoke to me about “Beowulf,” including the issue of translation.

If Mr. Bagby recited the poem in modern English, that would mean that what was important was the information, the actual details about what was happening in the story and why. But performing “Beowulf” is not just about transferring information; it’s about the language itself, and what the sound of the words and the meter in the poem mean. “What is the actual music of this that’s locked up in the language?” the bard asks. Dr. John Foley, a professor at the University of Missouri at Columbia and an expert on oral traditions who was an advisor to the film, told me that in the poem, each line has 8-16 syllables, there are always 4 stresses per line, and each of the 2 half lines per line has alliteration. All of that, obviously, would be lost in translation or, if it were to be retained, other aspects of the poem would be lost instead.

“Beowulf,” along with many other texts, is problematic to translate. The translator must consider a variety of different issues even before starting to translate. For example, should the poem be translated as prose or as poetry? If it is translated as a poem, what kind of poem should it be? Should it retain the meter? The rhythm? The sound of the words? What should be prioritized in a translation of “Beowulf” – the style or the sense or the sound? As Mr. Bagby phrases it, “Is the sound the meaning or the meaning the meaning?”

“Beowulf” has been translated into many languages, and sometimes the translations are quite successful, but since the sound of the old English means so much to the story, Mr. Bagby chooses to perform in the original language rather than in a modern English translation. He does use supertitles with short summaries of what he is saying, but it is actually quite possible to understand the poem just from listening to and watching him. “It’s a treat to listen,” he says, “but it demands energy from both the audience and the teller.” Naturally, watching a performance is different from reading a text, and the bard’s tone of voice, movements, and facial expressions help the audience understand what is happening in the story, so readers of “Beowulf” who don’t have the benefit of being able to see a bard perform the tale have no choice (beyond learning Old English, that is) than to enjoy the work in translation instead.

In The Art of Hunger, a collection by Paul Auster that was mentioned in the last post, Mr. Auster discusses a book called Le Schizo et les Langues by Louis Wolfson. I had never heard of this book before, but apparently Mr. Wolfson is a schizophrenic American who wrote his book in French because he was exceedingly uncomfortable with his mother tongue. Mr. Auster says that this book is impossible to translate, in large part because of the language issues dealt with in the text, and, what’s more, that a translation should not even be attempted. “To be fair to him (Mr. Wolfson),” Mr. Auster writes (I translated this quote back to English from Swedish), “we should read him on his own terms.” Only French-speaking readers will be able to read Mr. Wolfson’s book, but the size of the audience should certainly not be the only consideration. The meaning of his book and the integrity of his vision might be hindered if an English translation were made.

Sometimes translators want to believe that most works, even if very challenging, can be translated, or that they should be translated. But there are clearly some works that should be read only on their own terms.

A Creative Act

Today I read a short inteview from 1985 with the author Paul Auster. The interview is titled “Translation” and is in The Art of Hunger, Mr. Auster’s 1992 collection of essays, prefaces, and interviews. I actually read the book in Swedish translation, since that was what was available at my local library, so anything I quote from the interview I’ve translated back to English and thus is probably not the way Mr. Auster really said it.

Mr. Auster mentions how the poet Ezra Pound recommended that young poets translate. I definitely agree that translation is an excellent activity for anyone who is fascinated by and wants to work with words, since translation helps you look at language from so many angles. As Mr. Auster says in the interview, “When you translate, you work with the purely practical aspects of the craft, learn to engage intimately with words, and more clearly understand what you are really doing. That’s the benefit, but there is a disadvantage, too. When you translate, you have no sense of creating something of your own. There is no need to be brilliant or original, no need to attempt things you actually can’t manage.”

In other words, he seems to think that translation is a good way for writers to get more comfortable with writing, but is not a creative act in and of itself. I definitely disagree with this. I believe that it is creative work to have to try to understand what another writer wanted to say and then to find the best possible way to say that in another language, given the constraints of the target language’s vocabulary, grammar, melody, cultural aspects, and so forth. I understand that some poets (among other creative artists) like using specific forms, such as the sonnet or the haiku, precisely because the restrictions imposed by the form force them to be creative in a new way. That was what Oulipo was about. It is true that translators can not give voice to their own thoughts and feelings when they are translating and that they can not work on someone else’s text as though it is their own, but I at least feel that there is a creative challenge in translating and that I often am attempting something I can’t quite manage when I translate.

A Poll on Training

The last post looked at training for translators. I've now created a poll so we can see what kind of training various translators have. Please answer the poll and ask your translator colleagues to do so, too, so we can get as large a sample as possible. The results will be interesting, and the next step will be to find out whether and how your training helped you in your career as a translator.

How did you train to become a translator?
	I attended a translation program.
	I took one course in translation.
	I specialized in another field, such as law, and then transferred my skills to translation.
	I attended a language program.
	I have some other sort of applicable training.
	I worked with/for another translator first.
	I work as a translator, but I have no specific training.
	Other.
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Becoming a Craftsman

How does a person learn to be a translator?

There are translation courses and programs, but how useful are they? Is translation the sort of craft that must simply be learned on the job?

Gregory Rabassa, whose memoir has been mentioned in the past couple of posts, calls translation “unteachable.” He writes, “you can explain how translation is done, but how can you tell a student what to say without saying it yourself? You can tell him what book to read but you can’t read it for him. It’s my notion, loose as it might be, that when I’m translating a book, I’m simply reading it in English.” In other words, how can you teach someone to have a true feel for language?

Mr. Rabassa says that people who study to be translators risk becoming “knee-jerk, pedantic, post-modern craftsman,” perhaps because, in the way literature programs now rely heavily on theory rather than on actual literature, some translation courses too focus on theory instead of practice. While theory can be fascinating, students might get so involved with it that they lose their instinct for the practice of translation.

As is clear from his memoir, Mr. Rabassa was quite lucky and was in the right place at the right time. He adds that it was his “good fortune, therefore, to have been left adrift in my circumstances, picking things up in an offhand way…” Other translators, however, need to find some way to make the connections and create the situations he seems to have just fallen into.

Perhaps a mentoring program would be useful. After the would-be translator has thoroughly studied the language/s and the culture/s he plans to work with and developed his analyzing, writing, and editing skills, he could work with an experienced translator and together they could review and discuss translations. Or maybe translation courses should be more like MFA in creative writing programs than like Ph.D. in literature ones, which means they would include workshops, analytical readings of translations, and discussions of what works or doesn’t in translation. And, sure, some theory, too, but not so much that the next generation of translators become knee-jerk, pedantic, post-modern craftsmen.

What sort of education do you have, want, or plan to get, and why? How has your training helped or hindered you as a translator? How would the ideal translation program be organized? Write about your experiences or opinions in the comments section or send me an email. How to train translators is an important issue!

Attempting the Impossible

In the last post, I discussed Gregory Rabassa’s book If This Be Treason. In the summary of the book, I left out an interesting issue, because I felt it deserved a whole post – a whole series of posts even – of its own.

Is translation possible?

Sure, people translate every day and the translations are generally functional and sometimes beautiful. But translation isn’t just about making the same information available in another language; it’s about capturing all the feelings, images, ideas, and considerations behind each word and phrase, and the culture and history underlying the text. Frankly, it seems impossible to do this, for a number of reasons.

For one thing, all readers read a different book. Our individual backgrounds, experiences, interests, and beliefs lead us to interpret and understand each text in a slightly different way than all other readers. For example, imagine a dog right now. What are you seeing in your head? How big is the dog? Is it a mutt or a specific breed? What color is the dog’s fur? How old is it? How large is its tail? We all understand that the word “dog” refers to a furry, four-legged canine of some sort, but in reality, it doesn’t mean the exact same thing to any two people. Take this concept writ large and it is easy to see how each text produces different reactions and feelings and images in each reader. Five readers who read a book could be said to be reading five different books and five translators would translate a book in five different ways. If you consider a translator to be first and foremost a reader (a translator, after all, has to thoroughly read and understand the text in order to be able to translate it), then all translations are dependent on how the translator reads the original document and then on how the readers of the translation understand the translator’s re-creation of the text. So we’re already distanced quite a bit from what the author said in the source language.

The next problem is that languages (and cultures) don’t work in the same way. As with the dog example, there are words and phrases that represent one thing for people who come from a certain culture or speak a particular language, but would imply something else altogether for other groups. How many times have people discussed the fact that the Swedish word “lagom” is very difficult to translate? We can write “just right” or “enough” or something along those lines, but those insufficient English translations miss the whole culture behind the word. To be dramatic, one might even say that to not understand “lagom” is to not understand Sweden. Beyond vocabulary, it’s important to remember that grammar, word order, pronunciation, rhythm, sounds, and many other factors also influence meaning.

So if words don’t have a universal meaning even for people who speak the same language and if various languages emphasize different aspects or have different rules, translation becomes a very difficult task. We simply can’t say the same things in the same ways in all languages; instead, we often have to rephrase or change the meaning slightly.

For many non-fiction translations, it can be enough to just get close. A menu offers chicken and dumplings and salmon with a dill sauce or two parties agree in a contract to work together on a specific project or an instruction manual says to connect this piece to that one. Such translations are often more about the information being transferred than about the language itself and the feelings and images it suggests. But for literary work, the standards are higher and the challenges multiply.

There can never be a perfect translator or a perfect translation. However, as Mr. Rabassa writes, translation “may be impossible but it can at least be essayed.”

Translation as Treason

Earlier this year, I read If This Be Treason by translator Gregory Rabassa and wrote a short review of it that is forthcoming in Facköversättaren (the journal of the Swedish Association of Professional Translators).

The first part of the book is about Mr. Rabassa’s life in general, the second looks specifically at the authors and works he has translated, and the third attempts to answer the question that runs through the entire book: Is translation in fact a sort of treason?

Mr. Rabassa considers translation treason in several ways. A translator can not be truly faithful to the source text, since words do not work the same in different languages and do not have the same meanings or create the same images or feelings, so he commits treason against the individual words, and thus the language, and the culture behind the language. Mr. Rabassa writes that a “betrayal of language is many times the betrayal of words and at the same time it is a reflection of the hurdles present in communicating between cultures.”

He also mentions that there are several types of personal treason committed in translation, that against the author, since his words and meanings are not truly preserved, and against the reader, who only reads and receives the translator’s interpretation and re-creation of the original text, and even against the translator himself, since translators “sacrifice our best hunches in favor of some pedestrian norm in fear of betraying the task we were set to do.”

Mr. Rabassa suggests that one could consider all of life a translation and thus a treason, as “life is an idea, a word, in short, a metaphor for conscious existence and hence a translation. We are translating our existence and our circumstance as we go along living and before we are fatally assigned the translator’s lot once the treason has been done.”

If translation is treason, then I think it is a necessary sort of treason. Obviously, no one can read all texts in their original languages. Language often separates writers from their readers, and readers from information or enjoyment. But translators serve writers and readers by bringing them together, by bridging the language divide.

We translators can only do our best to make the treachery as small as possible.

An Interview with Brett

To continue looking at the basic questions of what translation is and who and what a translator is, I’m posting an interview with me that was published in “The Practicing Writer” in 2004. “The Practicing Writer” is a free monthly e-newsletter and website run by Erika Dreifus; it’s full of interesting and helpful information for writers.

The Translator's Practice: An Interview With Brett Jocelyn Epstein by Erika Dreifus

This month “The Practicing Writer” considers an aspect of the craft and business of writing that many of us don't necessarily think about every day: translation. What does a translator do? What are the ties between writing and translation? And where can we learn more? In an interview with Erika Dreifus, Brett Jocelyn Epstein shares insights on these essential elements of the translator's craft and business.

Erika Dreifus: Brett, can you briefly describe the job of a translator?

Brett Jocelyn Epstein: Translation is the art and craft of bringing an author's actual words, as well as his ideas, implications, moods, voice, style, and so forth, from the source language (the language to be translated from) to the target language (the language to be translated to), without being either overly literal and strict with the text or overly free and loose. A translator must consider what and how would the author have written this document if he were writing in the target language. So, translation is the delicate and formidable job of perfectly recreating the author's original document.

ED: What kinds of business opportunities are open to translators?

BJE: The great majority of translators support themselves with non-fiction work. My partner, Daniel Elander, and I mainly translate articles, websites, business documents, and menus from Swedish to English, though we've also worked with Danish. Translating legal documents, articles, reference works, textbooks, websites, and other such items unfortunately pays better and is much easier to get into than translating poetry, plays, or novels. I personally feel that translating creative work is more challenging and more interesting, but since only approximately two percent of all literature published in the United States is in translation (and the translations that do exist come primarily from Spanish, French, or German), it is clear that there is little work available for people who want to translate novels or poems. Most people who do this work don't do so because they want to make money (translating literature is far from lucrative), but rather because they are dedicated to literature and/or to the specific author or work and because they want the intellectual and creative challenge.

ED: In a recent article, you issued a call for more people to “join the ranks of translators.” In what ways may practicing writers be particularly suited to the work of translating texts?

BJE: I really do think that writers are the ideal people to be translators. To translate a text, you must understand it fully and be able to basically rewrite it in a new language. Clearly, then, it helps if a translator has experience with writing, the writing process, analyzing literature, and editing. Certainly there are good translators out there who do not work on their own original writing and likewise there are good writers who don't have the patience for or interest in working with other people's documents, but in general, I believe translating and writing are worthy and compatible mates and I find both that reading, analyzing, and translating texts has benefited my own writing and also that writing stories and articles has helped me better understand the English language and how to translate into it.

ED: What works “on translating” would you recommend for anyone interested in learning more on the topic?

BJE: One of the best ways, I think, to learn about translation is to carefully read and study a document in both its original language and its translation. When I did this with Pär Lagerkvist’s The Dwarf, I spent a lot of time trying to understand what words and phrases really meant and why the translator had made certain choices and I compared this to what I would have done, had I been the translator. In fact, I realized that I was not satisfied at all with the English translation and I hope that one day soon a publishing company will decide to issue a new version of this novel. As for actual works on translation, I have particularly enjoyed and learned from Vladimir Nabokov's essay “The Art of Translation,” William Weaver's essay “The Process of Translation” (which can be found in an interesting volume called The Craft of Translation, edited by John Biguenet and Rainer Schulte), and Performing Without a Stage: The Art of Literary Translation by Robert Wechsler.

ED: Thank you, Brett!

This interview is from the November 2004 issue of “The Practicing Writer” newsletter. Erika Dreifus is a writer, teacher, and the editor of “The Practicing Writer.” Please see http://www.practicing-writer.com/ for more information.

I hope in the future to include interviews with other translators in this blog; if you have questions you’d like to ask a translator, or if you are a translator and would like to be interviewed, let me know.

Unlocking the Prison of Language

If we know that translation goes far beyond the dictionary, where does that leave the translator?

Here’s a short article I wrote a couple of years ago, called “What Makes a Translator?” The third paragraph looks specifically at what skills and qualities a translator should have.

What Makes a Translator?

The “prison of language is only temporary…someday a merciful guard – the perfect translator – will come along with his keys and let us out,” Wendy Lesser wrote in an article, “The Mysteries of Translation,” in the Chronicle of Higher Education in 2002. The following questions remain, however: Who is this translator? What does he do? And what skills should he possess?

Simply put, a translator is a person who recreates a text in another language, attempting to keep a delicate balance between being so literal that the text sounds awkward and unnatural in the new language or being so free that the text has become virtually unrecognizable. A translator has to not only translate the words, but also the concepts. In other words, a translator unlocks the prison of language, as Ms. Lesser said, and helps a text break free of its limited original language, culture, and audience. This service is an unfortunately under-appreciated art and craft.

To do all the above, a translator must have the following things: a native or near-native level of proficiency in both the source language (the language to be translated from) and the target language (the language to be translated to); the ability to thoroughly understand all that a text says and implies; and excellent writing and editing skills. Ideally, the translator would also have a lot of knowledge about both the source and target language cultures, as this affects word usage and meaning, as well as about the author of the original document and his style of writing.

It all sounds rather formidable, certainly, but not impossible. There are, in fact, many excellent practitioners out there who fulfill these hefty requirements, but the tiny number of translated books published in the United States each year reveals the sad fact that few people take up this challenging and stimulating work. If only more people would join the ranks of translators and help unlock the prison of language.

In other words, the skills an ideal translator would possess are:

1. Native or near-native proficiency in the source language.

2. Native proficiency in the target language.

3. Excellent reading comprehension abilities.

4. Excellent writing abilities.

5. Excellent editing abilities.

6. Thorough knowledge of the source language culture.

7. Thorough knowledge of the target language culture.

8. Knowledge of the author.

No wonder not that many people work with unlocking the prison of language!

Of course, not all translators can live up to this ideal, but it is helpful to think about what we should be working towards.

Where the Dictionary Ends

Well, starting a blog about translation leads to two obvious questions: What exactly is translation? And what does a translator do? There are no short answers here and analyzing what translation is and what a translator does or should be is precisely what I plan to look at in the course of this blog.

Basically, translation is the act of recreating a text in a different language. Etymologically speaking, it is the “carrying across” of words from one language to another. This does not mean, however, that to translate is merely to look up each word in a given text (each word, that is, in the so-called “source language”) in the dictionary and then write down its equivalent in another language (the “target language”).

To illustrate how this technique can lead a translator terribly off-course, we can look at something some of my students do. I teach English to adults and a few of them are either resistant to the idea of learning a new language or else they simply feel “too old” or too discouraged to do so. A sneaky way they attempt to get out of actually putting in effort is to use the dictionary trick. If I assign some writing for homework, these resistant students might, instead of writing directly in English, write in their native language and then use the dictionary to translate their sentences word by word into English. It’s always pretty clear when someone has done this because many of the mistakes are obvious. One student, for example, repeatedly wrote the word “sheep” instead of “get” because the same Swedish word (“får”) covers both English words and he just picked the first word he saw in the dictionary and wrote it down without thinking about whether it was correct. He wrote, “I sheep food at a restaurant.”

You might think that someone who claims to be a translator would know better than to do this, but remembering some of the funny or odd mistranslations I’ve seen leads me to believe otherwise. Besides, translation is not just about the meaning of the words. A translator must carefully consider the culture behind the original text and how that influenced the author, and why an author made the choices s/he did, and how all this can be expressed in a new language in a natural way that does not lose or change anything. As Mikhail Ivanov wrote in an article entitled “Bulgakov’s Post Horses,” translation “begins where the dictionary ends.”

This topic will be continued in the next post.

Welcome

Welcome to this new blog! Here I will look at translation, language, literature, and any other related topics.

I’m originally from Chicago and now live in southern Sweden, where I translate from Swedish to English, copy edit, write, and teach English. This means that I work with language in a variety of ways, and this is great for me, since I’ve been fascinated by language for as long as I can remember.

I became interested in translation when I moved to Sweden and started to learn Swedish. In order to improve my language skills, I read children’s books. I was impressed by the quality of Swedish children’s books and began wondering how these books would sound in English and analyzing what made them work in Swedish and how that could transfer to English. Within a couple of years, I had started my own company, A Way With Words, and translation became one part of my business. Right now, I primarily do non-fiction translation (menus, recipes, contracts, instruction manuals, websites, advertisements, articles, tourist information, and so forth), but I would like to transition into working on literary translation as well. As I discovered when I first came to Sweden, there are many great literary works here that deserve an audience in English-speaking countries.

I’m excited about looking at translation in this blog and I welcome reader comments and suggestions.