Pulvers and Beichman by Kyu

Pulvers

The idea of how “re-creation” acts as a critical aspect in translating poems was striking, especially since translation, to me, until this point, was more about textual correctness. The line “textual correctness… is a prerequisite of a good translation, but not the deciding factor in the art” seemed like a perfect explanation for this.  The key takeaway from the reading was that a poem has to speak in the same voice as the original, even after it is translated. This made me realize how difficult translating a poem is since, as the reading says, “no matter how faithful it is to the text… it has to be a poem in its own right.” In a sense, you’re not just a translator but also a poet at the same time. 

The example given was great in describing how “re-creation” should be utilized in translating poems. In translating "Ame ni mo makezu,” recreating negative words into positive ones effectively carried forward the qualities of the words which mirrored the original. The idea of straying away from the syntax of the original, in order to get closer to the original was fascinating.

Beichman

This reading explored what is meant by “poetry is what gets lost in translation,” and it was done through analyzing examples of various translations, each focusing on a concept within a translation. I understood the idea of how translating a poem was hard since a poem is highly dependent on sound and form for its effect, elements that are the hardest to reproduce in another language. Yet I didn’t understand what the exact challenges were, but discovering the struggles and how the translator overcame each little component was very insightful. 

The idea of how freedom in translating is so crucial to preserving art became very clear through the text. In this sense, the translation of La Lune Blanche was interesting since it was one of the poems that were modified the most in terms of structure and meaning. For example, in the translation, the space between lines was closed up, changing six lines into five. Additionally, the words which are the lover’s in the original French text become the words of the branches addressing the moon. The effect of this makes it as if the trees are trembling with joy as the moon coming to them, making the trees and the moon become lovers. In translating any text, I believe there is no doubt that anyone would be focused on getting the textual correctness right. Yet here, Kafu inputs his own arrangement, which in effect brings the relationship of speaker and landscape even closer and makes the landscape seem alive. It could be argued that the translation is not faithful to the original, but the art of poetry remains. This unconventional method of translation was striking yet interesting to learn. 

I also found the segment on lineation interesting. The part where Higginson kept the enjambment where the first cell kurojimi no spills over to the next cell that starts with michi was surprising. To imitate this, instead of writing “black frozen road (next line) going into night) which would be according to the ordinary English syntax, the words “road” and “going” was put together to prevent the monotonous rhythm (creating the ‘spillover effect) and subtly suggesting the way the road itself runs on into the darkness. This highlights the importance of understanding the poet’s intent since it’s easy to translate text in a way that makes the most sense in that language, but that often loses the art that’s present in the original. 

Small details such as refraining from repeating the same words in a translated poem were interesting, too, especially since I think it is easy to overlook these. Repetition of words can often sound beautiful in Japanese, but not necessarily in English. If I was the one to translate, most time, I would probably find myself being too faithful to the text and repeating the words, so I enjoyed learning this.

Speaking of structure, in the first Akiko’s tanka translated by Biechman, the word “fall” was placed by itself between the two lines that end with “coral” and “lapis lazuli” to create the sense of the rain continuing. This technique was interesting since it seems quite unconventional, yet it was effective in preventing the lines from having any closure, which in Beichman’s opinion, is better to do for tanka. Additionally, creating a larger margin space as the lines move on illustrated the falling aspect to be more visually clear. This effectively utilizes the aspect of visual effect, another key concept in a poem. Similarly, this was done in the next translation of Akiko’s tanka, where the line towards the end gets shorter and shorter. I believe the long line was effective in imitating the grand sound of the bell, and the shorter line aligned well with the smaller voice of private grief which is present in the original poem. Overall, understanding how, as the conclusion writes, a poem is an art whose importance derives from its very “imperfection” it struck me. A poem or any art is subjective and up to the interpretation of the reader. There is freedom in creating the original form, but when we go through the form of translation, I believe we get stuck into factors such as literally translating the words or mimicking the syllable number, which restricts the process. If I ever get to translate a poem, this creative aspect would be something that would be interesting to explore.