Howdy, how y'all doing?! God has risen. Amen.
Howdy, how y'all doing?! God has risen. Amen.
note
Selina Sarah Tayler, (maiden name Peel, b.1881 Chorlton ) and her husband Bernard were missionaries in China; they were the parents of Gladys Yang
(b. c.1919, Peking) who, along with her husband, was a translator of Chinese literature. Selina died in 1970 on the Isle of Wight; one of her sisters, Annie Isabella Peel, who was my husband's paternal Grandmother, had an ironmonger's shop in Stretford. I'm given to understand that there was a family connection to Robert Peel but, so far, I've drawn a blank..
http://www.nytimes.com/1985/08/11/nyregion/ida-pruitt-96-who-fostered-friendship-with-the-chinese.html
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魏尔伦《月光曲》 梁宗岱译
Votre âme est un paysage choisi
你的魂是片迷幻的风景
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
斑衣的俳优在那里游行,
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
他们弹琴而且跳舞——终竟
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
彩装下掩不住欲颦的心。
Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
他们虽也曼声低唱,歌颂
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
那胜利的爱和美满的生,
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
终不敢自信他们的好梦,
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
他们的歌声却散入月明——
Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
散入微茫,凄美的月明里,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
去萦绕树上小鸟的梦魂,
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
又使喷泉在白石丛深处
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.
喷出丝丝的欢乐的咽声。
https://www.douban.com/note/489092495/
I endorse procrasti's kr5ddit.com commentary fields.
glad to see Masters out and about... I am here looking for an old post of mine... translation on 'dirty and quick'... connected with Maria the other day. She's editor of www.hypergridbusiness.com/category/metaverse ... Maria, I'll be watching you!
Kurt TUCHOLSKY (1890–1935) said it clearly, in German: Man kann alles übersetzen - man kann nicht alles übertragen . I, as a French amateur translator, put it into French as : Tout peut être traduit, mais tout ne se traduira pas.
I am looking forward to seeing a translation of Tucholsky's aphorism into English.
HenryR: You can translate anything but can't convey everything.
Harvey Sollberger Strawberry Point, IA January 31, 2014
Wonderful article Mr. Shugaar. As a musician who has recently translated Italian flutist Severino Gazzelloni's autobiography, I can say that there's definitely a parallel between realizing a musical score and "performing" a piece of writing from one language into another. And complimenti on translating Walter Siti's "Resistance is Futile". I'm just finishing reading his earlier "Troppi paradisi" ("Too Many Paradises") and have been asking myself what it would take to translate it. Aside from a plethora of terms having to do with body-building, gay sex and Roman "borgata-speak", this novel-memoir-autobiography assumes extensive knowledge of Italian television, politics and intellectual life. Certainly it can be translated, but without the context (or extensive footnotes or an appendix to establish it), what can it mean for most English speakers? I'd be interested in your opinion. Beyond that, many thanks for translating Siti, whose voice is indeed unique. I'll use your translation as my "crib" when I read "Resistere non serve a niente."
From commentaries on article:
https://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/01/27/william-weaver-and-translation-as-a-performing-art/?_r=0
http://augustinecollective.org/grasping-for-grace-the-strangeness-and-difficulty-of-faith-in-t-s-eliots-ash-wednesday/
"grasping for grace the strangeness and difficulty of faith
http://earlywashingtondc.org/people " O Can you see..."
http://www.rochester.edu/College/translation/threepercent/index.php?id=9432
Using William Weaver’s passing as a launching point, Italian translator Antony Shugaar wrote a really informative, interesting op-ed on translation issues for Monday’s New York Times.
There are a lot of great bits I could quote—like the description of FMR magazine, its espresso and prosciutto orders, the celebrities that visited the magazine’s offices—but I think the main thrust of Shugaar’s piece starts with his bit about Gadda’s masterpiece, That Awful Mess of Via Merulana:
I remember one specific comment on translation technique that was pure Weaver. The great white whale of Italian postwar literature is “Quer pasticciaccio brutto de via Merulana,” by Carlo Emilio Gadda. It’s a big, ungainly philosophical treatise of a murder mystery, interlarded with rich seams of dialect of all kinds: Roman, Neapolitan and various minor subdialects of the areas between those two cities. Gadda was an austere Milanese scholar, the opposite in personality and style of these overemphatic, swaggering, loud forms of speech. But Gadda was an acute observer and a gifted mimic. And the “Pasticciaccio” — “That Awful Mess,” in Weaver’s rendering — takes gleeful delight in lampooning, personifying and ultimately embracing these dialects, Italy’s equivalents of Brooklynese, Bronxese and perhaps Boston’s Southie accent.
“What did you do about the dialect?” I asked him, at one of our lunches. He laughed, and replied, “Oh, I just left it out!”
At first glance, it’s a little like translating “Moby-Dick” and leaving out all references to boats. But I understood. Weaver explains it better in his introduction to the English edition: “To translate Gadda’s Roman or Venetian into the language of Mississippi or the Aran Islands would be as absurd as translating the language of Faulkner’s Snopeses into Sicilian or Welsh.” Weaver asks the reader, therefore, “to imagine the speech of Gadda’s characters, translated here into straightforward spoken English, as taking place in dialect, or a mixture of dialects.” In other words, supply the boats yourself. [. . .]
The dialect problem is the reductio ad absurdum of translation. There are workarounds, but basically, when a translator runs into this kind of issue, she simply leaves it out. And the reader is none the wiser.
But the translator is. And though I remember Weaver’s good-humored resignation every time I have to do it, it’s bitter: a little like losing a patient. Translators don’t bury their mistakes, but they do get to sort of white-out their shortcomings.
God rest his soul and all that, but I have to say that Weaver’s translation of this book isn’t one of my favorite translations.1 But the point he made is true—you can’t map dialects from one country onto those of another without making the characters sound like total assholes. A hillbilly accent for a rural Frenchman? Just, no.2
But the point is bigger than this, as Shugaar points out—it’s not just about translating words, or dialects, but translating a whole world view.
People talk about untranslatable words, but in a way, there’s no such thing. It may take three words, or an entire sentence, or even an interpolated paragraph, but any word can be translated. Short of swelling a book into an encyclopedia, however, there is no way of dealing with the larger problem: untranslatable worlds.
In an interview with The Paris Review, Bill said something very fine: he explained that as a professor at Bard, he was sometimes asked what other departments his classes could be cross-referenced to, and he suggested performing arts. After all, a translation is a performance (whether in another medium or another language) of a written text. And that is what Bill, who died a few weeks ago at age 95 and is greatly missed, did so well: he conjured up worlds and made you see them.
The metaphor of translation as performance has been bandied about for years, but it’s one of the ones that I prefer: it gives the translator the proper credit as an artist, as the one in the spotlight while also emphasizing that their performance is one possible rendition of a work; the original work is the driving force, the thing that you come to witness, but you can’t witness it without the translator bringing it to life.
Anyway, go back to Shugaar’s essay for some really illuminating examples of the difficulties of translating culture. (I particularly like the one about not parking on the sidewalk.)
1 Since I have it right in front of me, here’s a bit of the opening of Gadda’s book in Weaver’s translation:
Everybody called him Don Ciccio by now. He was Officer Francesco Ingravallo, assigned to homicide; one of the youngest and, God knows why, most envied officials of the detective section: ubiquitous as the occasion required, omnipresent in all tenebrous matters. Of medium height, rather rotund as to physique, or perhaps a bit squat, with black hair, thick and curly, which sprang forth from his forehead at the halfway point, as if to shelter his two metaphysical knobs from the fine Italian sun, he had a somnolent look, a heavy, lumbering walk, a slightly dull manner, like a person fighting a laborious digestion; [. . .]
Weaver was one of the best Italian translators of the past century (see his translations of Eco and Morante and Svevo and Calvino and many others), which to me indicates that this Gadda novel is a beast. For a bit of insight into the difficulties of translating Gadda, here’s an essay Weaver once wrote on the subject. And here’s a sample of that paper that illuminates the crazy-making of translation:
Here, in Italian, is the Gadda paragraph:
“Un’idea, un’idea non sovviene, alla fatica de’ cantieri, mentre i sibilanti congegni degli atti trasformano in cose le cose e il lavoro è pieno di sudore e di polvere. Poi ori lontanissimi e uno zaffiro, nel cielo: come cigli, a tremare sopra misericorde sguardo. Quello che, se poseremo, ancora vigilerà. I battiti della vita sembra che uno sgomento li travolga come in una corsa precípite. Ci ha detersi la carità della sera: e dove alcuno aspetta moviamo: perché nostra ventura abbia corso, e nessuno la impedirà. Perché poi avremo a riposare.”
And here (without any subsequent cosmesis) is the absolutely first draft of the translation, complete with doubts, alternative solutions, puzzlements. This is the raw material:
“An idea, an idea does not (recall/sustain/aid/repair), in the labor of the building sites, as the hissing devices/machinery of actions transform things into things and the labor/toil is full of sweat and dust. Then distant gold(s) and a sapphire, in the sky: like lashes, trembling above compassionate/merciful/charitable gaze. Which, if we cast it, will still keep watch/be wakeful/alert. The pulses/throbbing of life, it seems, can be overwhelmed/swept away by an alarm, as if in a (precipitous race/dash. The charity of the evening has cleansed us (We are cleansed by the…: and where someone is waiting, we move: so that our fate/lot may proceed, and no one will block/impede/hinder it. Because then/afterwards/later we will rest/be able to rest/have our rest./”
First thoughts: the passage contains several words I hate.
2 Michael Henry Heim’s advice was to create a unique dialect through a combination of contractions, grammatical mistakes and the like. That by creating a sort of speech pattern that’s not distinctly southern or whatever, you could still get across the core information that would be contained in that dialect in the original, such as whether the character is poor, overly snooty, a farmer, etc.
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an excerpt from " Original/Translation: by Lucas Klein The Aesthetic Context of Kenneth Rexroth’s presented by BigBridge.org Translations of Du Fu and Li Qingzhao"
In “Mocking Birds”, Rexroth displays his plain-language combination of poignant, startling, and seemingly ordinary imagery as it envelops his open-nervous system themes of memory, love, and the rub between nature and psychological realities. He also lands on tree frogs, fourteen years before publishing Wang Hung Kung’s poem is Love and the Turning Year:
In mid-March in the heart of
The night, in the center of
The sterile city, in the
Midst of miles of asphalt and
Stone, alone and frustrated,
Wakeful on my narrow bed,
My brain spinning with worry,
There came to me, slipping through
The interstices of the
Blowing darkness, the living,
Almost imperceptible,
Faint, persistent, recurrent
Song of a single tree toad—
A voice sweeter than most birds.
Seven years ago we lay
Naked and moist, making love
Under the Easter full moon,
The thick fragrant light shaking
With the songs of mocking birds.
http://www.shicimingju.com/4199.html
文学主张
赵执信不仅是清初的一位著名的现实主义诗人,还提出了一套较为完整的诗歌理论。他主张“诗之中要有人在”,反对脱离现实,无病呻吟;主张“诗之外要有事在”,强调诗歌的现实意义和教育作用;主张“文意为主,以语言为役”,要求形式服从内容,语言为内容服务;主张作家“从其所近”,自由选择艺术风格,反对用“神韵”的唯一尺度去衡量作品的好坏;反对京派主义倾向,培养真 赵执信书法正的新生力量;反对赏识善于谄媚逢迎的庸人,要选择有真才实学的”佳士“等一系列主张和见解。在当时的诗坛上,王士祯的“神韵说”风靡一时,而在创作上与之抗衡、在理论上与之辩驳的唯有赵执信。赵、王二人之所以由原来相互唱和、彼此欣赏发展到相互诟厉,关键就在于他们的诗歌理论不同,各执一端,互不相让。
关于赵、王诗派评论,《清史列传》卷七十一及《四库全书总目》卷一百七十三有所论述:“平心而论,王以神韵缥缈为宗;赵以思路境刻为主。王之规模阔于赵,而流弊伤于肤廓;赵之才锐于王,而末派病于纤小。使两家互救其短,乃可以各见其长;正不必论甘而忌辛,好丹而非素也。”今人任道斌先生给了赵执信一个更中肯的评价:“虽然执信一生潦倒以终,但在漫长而坎坷的生活道路上,他自强不息,勤奋创作,为后人留下了一千多首诗歌和多篇散文、诗论,能在形式主义诗风盛行、“神韵说”泛滥的清初诗坛上独树一帜,以现实主义的笔触去揭露封建社会的残酷与黑暗,并表现自己不与世沉浮的抗争精神,丰富了清初的诗坛,为当时的文学发展增添了绚丽的色彩。”
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