On Beichman and Pulvers

 The idea of "tone" in the context of translation is one that I have always felt to be off-putting. Tone is a word that is so intrinsically fused with a personal interpterion of a text, that so often it does nothing more then stifle people and translators who have yet to form their own personal interpretation of a text. To clarify, I do yet still believe that the "tone" of a text or the voice of an author is a thing, but I instead believe it to rely much more heavily on the context in which the reader finds themselves. Someone might argue that Murakami's voice is cold, while someone would argue that it's warm, and while to some extent all readers may find themselves with a semblance of a universal agreement on which tone a piece might have, I believe that the tone that each person perceives is more complex then can be done justice by merely words, it is maybe myriad shades of a multitude of colors, or perhaps a sensation on the skin, or a nostalgic memory. Regardless though, I would qualify tone as being the effect that the author's choice of word and prose have on the individual, through its deviation from the standard, most basic sentence structure. Though strictly a translation without the tone of the original is still a translation nonetheless, tone is, in my mind, the second most important thing. 

In regards to the question posed on Beichman however, I have far more tempered thoughts. Particularly, that it has never mattered to me whether or not the translation of poetry has a point to it. Unlike prose, which oftentimes is striking in it's subject matter or the way the subject matter is delivered, poetry is more visceral, and if I had to describe why, I would have to say that in prose you experience the meaning of the words, in poetry you experience the words themselves. The structure of the poem itself so often deviates so greatly from the norm that you are, from the first word, forced to experience something different, something so very unlike any other text in that language. It has ever been the pervasive thought that poetry is untranslatable, which to some extent, I do agree with. I believe it impossible for a reader in another language to have the same experience from a translation that a native reader would have of the original text. And although the results may be awful, or amazing, like they were in the case of La Luna Blanche, I feel the attempt would never be in vain.

PS. Sorry I forgot about this again

Beichman and Pulvers reading Late Comment

  As the two authors have concluded, I never thought translating poetry was impossible. I’ve read some Chinese translations of Tanikawa Shuntarou as well as the Japanese one and did not have too much feeling of strangeness. However, when it comes to English translation, it does become weird in the sense of rhythm and the existence of the sentence subject. It is surely challenging to translate Japanese poetry into English, such as the rhythm, sounds, implications, and tone, which are indeed important. 
Beichman had given many examples in his essay to explain why poetry is hard to be translated. Meanwhile, he offered ideas that explain why it is essential to make an effort in translating poetry. Poetry is usually a depiction of a moment full of emotion, and those emotions are very significant to be shown in translation. Also, I would like to agree with his idea that the tone of the poetry is one of the essential things to consider when translating. He mentioned that translation is not a clone, and I agree. But it does not mean translation is to recreate or write the translator’s interpretation. 

Beichman and Pulvers on Poetry in Translation

I really enjoyed the readings this week. This is mainly because I had to translate a poem (called “送友人" by 李白) from Chinese to English back in high school for my English class (I have attached a picture of my translation). I was proud of the final result, but I had a difficult time translating. Since Chinese, similar to the Japanese language, is really different from English, I had a hard time trying to align the tone, mood, flow, and even words to the original piece. At the end of the day, just like what Beichman said, "the aim of translation is not to produce a clone, but rather to evoke a sense of difference." It is impossible to even accurately translate a modern piece of literacy, let alone poems with fewer words. In many Chinese poems, each line has five words, and there are two lines in one sentence. Although I was able to break each sentence into two lines, the flow of the poem is still different because I couldn't have matching numbers of syllables in English. This is because each of the Chinese characters has complicated meanings behind it, and it was difficult to match it with the right English word. I think what made me really proud of this translation was the fact that I researched the background of this poem and tried to understand the author's emotion through knowing the time period this poem was written in. So I agree with what Pulvers said about how translating poems require a thorough knowledge of the original piece because poems often have a lot of deeper meanings in them and merely translating the words on the surface is not enough. 

Sophia

Beichman and Pulvers reading

 Both readings touched upon the same subject which was translating poetry and they found common grounds in saying that indeed, poetry is translatable. I think I both agree and disagree with this notion. The main reason being as Beichman said, translating poetry is like looking at it through a dark glass: we see a new light. There are both benefits and fallacies to this idea and the main one I think being, can we still call it a translation if we have to see it in a different light? I think that when it comes to poetry, there is quite literally no choice. To encapsulate the same expression, tone, rhythm and feel between two starkly different languages such as Japanese and English is impossible. Therefore in a sense, a perfect translation is never possible but at the very least I think, it could give off a similar expression and convey the same imagery. When Beichman akins translating to looking through darkened glass, I think its important to recognize how dark that glass is and analyze whether that "new light" is similar enough to the old one to call it a translation, or interpretation. 

The benefits on the flipside however, are that we get that new light. You get the second self of a poem and if you know both languages, then you get to experience two sides of the same coin. I do agree that poetry is one of the hardest art forms to translate but that doesn't mean because it's hard, the translator can create their own interpretation of it and say its a translation, it's not a valid excuse for poor translation. It requires great effort and skill to create a masterful translation and although they can't be perfect, we should at least try and get close to it. 

Jon

Pulvers and Beichman Reading Response

     Translating poetry seems to be very difficult as the elements that compose poetry can be easily lost in translation. As Beichman states in his introduction, poetry is "dependent on sound and form for its effect," making poetry "difficult to produce in another language." In fact, both the authors of our reading this week, Pulvers and Beichman mention the difficulty level of translating poetry. However, both of them claim that poetry can be translated. Personally, I believe that to also be the case, but I also understand that when translating from languages like Japanese to English, some elements are indeed lost in translation. 

   In "On Translating Poetry", Pulver states that the voice is crucial to a poem. I agree with this statement. The voice or tone of the translation needs to be considered when translating a poem or any other medium. The original tone of the author and the writing is important as well, but a translation lives and dies by the "voice of the translator in the new language." Any translated work, especially poetry, has to be able to stand on its own. If it is not a "poem in its own right," then it has failed as a translation in my opinion. 

    One thing from Beichman's "Through a Glass Darkly" that caught my attention was the actual mentioning of seeing through a glass darkly. I interpreted this phrase to be about the process of translating itself. From just my own few personal experiences, translating anything seems to involve a whole bunch of reading. I read and reread the original works for our previous assignments over and over when working on my own translations. For each read through, I learned some new detail from the original that I could implement to improve my translation. This is what I think that Beichman meant by there being a "new light." 

-June

Beichman and Pulvers

 Both Beichman and Pulvers illustrate the same idea that poetry can be translated, while recreation would be needed. I like Beichman's point that small changes make a great impact on the poem. It is especially seen from the translations of My Song how word choice could enhance the beauty of the poem. On the other hand, Pulvers goes with big changes that "turns a negative force into a positive one, and the resulting language has a quality that mirrors the language in the realm of the original." While I can understand his purpose in doing so, there is something I don't feel quite right about. It is not to say his translations are not to the point, but I would feel there should be a way that slight changes can be enough to convey the Japanese author's intention.

The title of the reading of Beichman is also interesting. She compared translation to seeing through a glass darkly, and I think it is wonderful. It is how I would feel sometimes while translating: I would read the sentences over and over again, but it is hard to understand the true purpose of the author. She also ends the reading by saying that we see through the glass darkly, but in the darkness, there is a new light. I think it correlates with how she thinks that translation is "the imperfect art," and how the "imperfection" is the new light that brings a second face in another language.

Iris

What makes it possible to translate?

 Learning four different languages, what I realized is that you cannot replace with a word in one language with a word in another language.

I like explaining with this concept with turkey. If you say Turkey in English, American people could remind gravy sauce and mashed potato, thanksgiving, meal you have with your family, etc. Turkey is called 七面鳥, but this word cannot make Japanese people remind of anything above. They would just recall a image of gigantic bird, or big chicken meats. Even though those two words are indicating the same animal, but since the cultural basis that two languages share are different,  they are not read the same by the readers. 

In the same context, I believe it is not possible to keep the entire context exactly same while translating. It will be hard even if the author tries to do it unless he can speak many languages in certain fluency. 

I would not deny it is hard to translate poetry. I did try to translate poetry for many times. Yes, it is difficult to describe convey the same scenery to the ones who grew up in different cultural background. I just want to ask what makes it impossible. If anyone would like to say it is impossible to translate poetry because you cannot convey the whole context, I'd ask back if doing the same thing is possible for any kind of text. If one says the translator's own interpretations, feelings, and appreciations will be included, I'd ask what makes the different from the other texts? Rhymes, sounds, implications, homonyms, yes, they matters, but they originally matters while translating. 

Getting back to the original topic, is it possible to translate poetry? I'd say yes. I believe the basic principle does not change, and what the translator should do is to write a text that arouse same scenery as the original text do, just like translating the other texts.

Hyungsoo

Pulvers and Beichman

 Both Pulvers and Beichman believe that poetry is translatable between languages. For me, I only believe that to an extent. For example, translating poetry between romance languages would more easily keep its original intent because of its grammar, vocabulary, sentences structure, etc. But between Japanese and English, I think it would be really difficult to convey its original intent and for the most part, a lot of it is lost in translation.

In Pulver's translation of Ame ni mo makezu, one of the lines goes as "Watashi wa zettai ni makenai" which literally translates as "I absolutely won't give in" but he opts for "I'm definitely going to get through it". Pulver says that 'the wormhole of recreation turns a negative force into a positive one, and the resulting language has a quality that mirrors the language in the realm of the original.', which I do think that the translation mirrors the original in a sense I don't like it. The mood of the original compared to the translation is just different, it isn't exactly what the poet tried to convey. I am not saying that I can do any better or downplaying Pulver's translation, but this type of translation just doesn't sit right with me. Pulver says in the text, 'Distancing yourself from the syntax of the original may be the way to get closest to that original.' 

If I were to read Pulver's translation and the original poem, I would probably be able to tolerate it, I wouldn't like it, but I would tolerate it because it wasn't too radical of a change. I cannot say the same for Beichman.

In the reading, Beichman says a multitude of things about the editing, sound, lineation, and flow. I can understand from where she is coming from but for her translations I just can't help but feel conflicted. In Kojiki, Beichman talks about how this poem has this wavelike flow into a moment of closure where it stops and then you go on from there. She then says, "In tanka I think it works better- there may be exceptions of course- but in this particular poem I think it works better to try and imagine it as not having an closure, just melting into the page." I don't know why but that one sentences just really irritates me. I cannot put it into words. For her translation, she decides to start new lines, put indentations, use a one word line, and match up the line endings to form a type of slope. I do understand that this is what you interpret this poem as but I feel like this is just a disservice to the original poet. Is this really what the poet wanted? Rather than translating, I think she just made a whole new poem.

Brian

 

Is It Possible to Translate Poetry?

 After reading Pulvers and Beichman, the main point that stuck out to me was maintaining the spirit of the original in the translation. That when translating poetry, it is essential to make sure that the original voice and tone is displayed, otherwise there is no "soul" to it. I think that in translating poetry, it is even harder to decide how much loyalty you will have to the original because often, when translating artistic literature, adding, or changing things to fit the message is a necessary sacrifice.

Another point in Beichman that I found interesting was the idea that a reason people translate isn't just because they love the poetry, but because they are in love with their native language. This perspective is something I had not thought about. I personally find my own native language as a kind of chain that keeps me from fully understanding and learning other languages. I then realized that despite this negative option, I didn't have any disdain or love for my native language (in terms of being in love with the sound, aesthetic, etc.), and wondered if maybe this is something I have to figure out to become a better translator.

 

Ariel

Pulvers and Beichman

I loved the topic of poetry translation in this week’s readings. I have always wondered how translators go about translating all the nuances of poetry. I have read Japanese to Chinese or Chinese to Japanese poetry translations and due to the similarities of the languages, they seem to come out easier as less changes need to be made. However, when it is a more distant language like English, sometimes your only choice is to give up on translating over an aspect of the poem. In the Pulvers reading, it really stood out to me when he said, “distancing yourself from the syntax of the original may be the way to get closest to that original.” I was really shocked when he gave the example of translating the line “watashi wa zettai ni makenai!” The difference was huge in the syntax, however, it did seem like a more fitting poetic choice in English. I think that showed me that poetry translation requires you to be more adventurous and daring. 

I also really enjoyed the specific examples that the Beichman reading gave regarding different things to consider when translating. I feel like it showed that there are more things to consider compared to translating prose in terms of the number of words. Specifically, with the tone being so crucial to a poem, just reading it under different stages of your life can change everything about it. I will definitely be referring to this reading when I do my own poem translations this week. 

Celine

Pulvers and Beichman commentary

Poems have fewer words than other forms of writings, which means that with the small number of words they have in the poem, the translator has to deliver the message including the background and atmosphere. Therefore, I believe that although poetry can be translated, meanings and other important elements will get lost in translation. I thought both Pulvers and Beichman’s writings were very interesting because they both supported the idea of poetry can be translated into other languages. It was also interesting to compare poems written in different languages. Pulvers mentioned that “how” and recreating the original meaning allows poems to be translated into another language, which I understand, however, I still believe that poetry is an art so the meaning is not the only factor that makes poems. Even if the translator understands backgrounds and resonates with the poet, there are other important elements such as sounds and wordplay, which cannot be translated. Beichman gives examples of successful translation of poems for each element of poems, however, the translator is changing how the original poem is written slightly in order to adapt to their culture or their language. This creates a great poem in another language and, however, I do not like how the translator changes the way the poem is written purposely. After reading both writings, I was able to understand how some poems deliver a very similar message and nuances, however, I still believe that translating a poem cannot be perfect and important elements get lost in translation.

 

Mitsy

Pulvers and Beichman

These two articles made me realize that translation isn't always a formulaic process, especially in the case of poetry. I found Pulvers' description of his translation process particularly interesting, as he asserted that the translation of poetry requires the translator to become intimately familiar with the content and intent of the original poem in order to create the poem anew. Oftentimes, translating poetry requires one to focus on the delivery and sound/rhythm to the point that lines must be rearranged or rephrased with slightly different words. This got me thinking about the power of a translator. For those who are unable to read original versions of poems written in foreign languages, translators have complete creative authority over what the reader will get out of the poem. 

Beichman's comments on his translation process were similar to those of Pulvers. He writes, "...the aim of translation is not to produce a clone, but rather to evoke a sense of difference". In the examples he cites in his commentary, Beichman shows that he alters the meaning of some lines in his translated poems by changing words from negative to positive and vice versa while also preserving the meaning of the poem. He uses his creative authority to make changes while still preserving what he feels is the original feeling and intention behind the poem, which I find to be a remarkable skill to master. 

 

Alexa

Comments on Pulvers and Beichman

R. Pulvers, “On Translating Poetry”

    Even before I read the article, the topic itself is something to think about. I hadn’t considered what translating poetry would be like before, and I realized it comes with its own challenges. Notably, how does a translator preserve the style of the original writer? Poetry is very artistic, and rarely straightforward, so translating it is made even more difficult, as you want to convey the meaning of the original author while not deviating from the content itself. The question brought up in the article, “What is the poem trying to say?” has different meanings depending on how one interprets it. In a way, that reflects the differing approaches translators take to translating works.

    In addition, when translating poetry, it is sometimes necessary to do more research. The section about Miyazawa’s life illuminates this well; his background and childhood give us insight into what he might have been thinking when he wrote his works and how his past experiences shaped them.

    When translating poetry, translators themselves need to be able to think creatively. We have discussed the rhythm of writing in class and its importance, and it is even more so in poetry. Since a perfect translation is impossible, translators need to be able to take liberties with translations in order to both express its meaning clearly and keeping the original author’s voice in the writing.


J. Beichman, “Through the Glass Darkly”

    Reading through the passage, I found the line, “so much is lost in translation that a great deal must be put back in” interesting. Beichman cites an English poet, who describes the process of translating as adding a new “spirit” into the writing, so it does not become an “empty shell”. It’s an elegant way to put translation, and a poetic take on the process.

    I enjoyed the side-by-side comparisons of the original text with its translation, La Lune Blanche in particular. Due to the nature of the course, we focus on translating from Japanese to English. However, it is also interesting to see translations to and from other languages. Beichman analyzes the translation of the poem into Japanese, noting that the Japanese translator Kafū changed the wording of the poem. In doing so, it brought upon a new interpretation of the poem.

    Furthermore, Beichman talks about the rhythm of poetry in her speech, comparing the pacing of Japanese poetry with their English translations. As I mentioned in my comment on Pulvers’s article, the rhythm of the writing contributes greatly to a poem. Poetry expresses a lot in little words, so aspects such as rhythm and wording become even more prominent. Beichman cites the translating of haikus, which conform to a specific number of syllables. It then falls to the translators to manipulate words to convey a similar meaning. Lastly, Beichman’s parting words about the idea of not considering translation as a reproduction of the original text, but a way to express the difference between two languages, goes against what translation is commonly viewed as. However, in a way there is truth to her words. With all the grammatical and cultural differences, a perfect recreation is impossible. Thus, it is up to the translators to fill in those gaps with their own creativity.

Alex

Pulvers and Beichman response

I will be the first to say, I am not a big fan of poetry and I rarely read it. I think it is extremely difficult to write, understand, appreciate, and now translate! Both translators addressed the common idea that translating poetry is near impossible, and requires an entirely new set of skills in addition to those required to translate novels or other fiction. Aspects like word choice, punctuation, syntax, and grammar carry much more weight in poems which tend to be briefer and more concentrated, intense. And then there are even details that they mention that are unique to poetry such as flow and lineation. To answer some of the questions I posed to the class, I think all the characteristics of poetry that I've mentioned so far contribute to a poem's "voice." To me, the voice is almost like the personality of the work, and I would use adjectives I use to describe people to describe literary voice, such as awkward, friendly, funny, or dorky. What I noticed about both translators is that they acknowledged that translating poetry requires more of themselves to be inserted into the translation. It is less important to get a literal translation, and more important to have emotion in the poem, which can only be achieved through a more liberal hand with the translation. Beichman calls it editing, and both translators add and change the original content a lot more than the translators we've seen previously, to retain the feel. As a film major, I also really liked Carl Sesar's cinematic language that he used to describe the action in the poem that he was translating. This seems like a great technique that he uses to first visualize the story, to best translate its essence. 

Joanne

Pulvers and Beichman Discussion Questions

 Pulvers: 

Pulvers says that in translating poetry, "tone is everything." How would you define tone, and literary voice? What adjectives would you use to describe different voices, such as Murakami's? Yoshimoto's (Amrita)? What components of writing forms the voice? Is it the voice of the author or of the work itself? Do you think it is necessary as a translator to have knowledge of the author and incorporate that understanding into the translation, as Pulver claims in Kenji Miyazawa's case? 

 Beichman:

Do you agree that translating poetry is possible, and more importantly, worth doing? How is translating poetry different from translating novels, based on the topics Beichman touches on? What impact can punctuation have on a poem? Spacial organization? What do you think Beichman means when she says, "We see through a glass darkly"? 

-Joanne

Regarding Edward Seidensticker, On Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari

 Seidensticker talks about many interesting points of translation. One that stood out to me is the disposition of dark and light, where dark means the Chinese characters and light means the Japanese kana. I too had the same reaction as Seidensticker; I never thought of the beauty of the balance between Chinese characters and Japanese kana. It was also interesting to know about pure Japanese since it was normal for me to think that Japanese always consists of Chinese characters.

Another interesting point is the nuance of girl and woman. For me, it was easy to tell why Shimamura was angry; I felt that it was the vagueness in Japanese that I appreciate. Another phrase I appreciate is the expression Shiru hito zo shiru. I've never thought of an English translation for the phrase, but the one Seindensticker mentions flow very naturally. The Japanese phrase also poses two ways of translation: either translate shiru literally as one meaning or as rendering it as two meanings.

I also liked how Seidensticker says that there is no rule in translation. I also liked how he agreed with the quote "It is possible to train someone to be a critic but not to be a novelist." These moments remind me of how machine learning can translate terms from one language to another. It always makes me wonder how the machine is implemented to translate.

 Iris

Edward Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari

 The reading was quite interesting and touched upon what I think is one of the most important aspects in translating, which is the trade off between rhythm and accuracy. This is the one of the hardest aspects of translating and I think that depending on the text, the importance of the trade off varies, as for example, when Seidensticker talks about his translation of the famous passsage where the train comes out of the tunnel and the night is white. In my opinion, when translating that passage the diction and beauty of the words outweighs the rhythm of the phrase but trying to translate it 1:1 is a hopeless endeavour as you either lose out in the eloquence of the phrase, or the rhythm. If he was faithful to the translation, it would’ve meant rhyming white with night which creates rhyme where there initially wasn’t, affecting the rhythm of the phrase. Hence why either way I don’t think he could’ve satisfied every Japanese reader. 

When he talks about the impact of translation early on in the reading, it was interesting as it was quite different to the reading from last week, where it mentioned that through translation sometimes the original work can be changed and improved on, a stark contrast in opinion. Maybe I wouldn’t say translating could make a piece better, just different. Maybe the translated phrase brushes off on the reader more than intended and whether the author likes it or not, is subjective. I think the most important part is just staying true to what the author is trying to say and not injecting yourself into it but that being said, is much harder than it sounds.

Jon

Regarding Edward Seidensticker, On Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari

     Seidensticker says a lot in this reading. One of the things that I found interesting was how he was talking about how the Japanese critics would count the number of pronouns in the original Japanese text and compare it to the number of pronouns in the translated text (which would be lower) and use it as a point of argument in how the translation is a bad one. I find this as a rather funny way to find fault in a translation. Depending on the translation and what the text is, things like the number of pronouns don't make or break a translation. Especially how these two languages are drastically different in how things are presented. If removing some pronouns are required to maintain the rhythm of the sentence, then the removal of them should be done. Which now goes into the Seidensticker's philosophy of translating. Italians call the translator a betrayer or traitor, Seidensticker thinks of them as counterfeiters. As counterfeiters, you should imitate the original to the best of your ability, not changing anything. Seidensticker's example of counterfeiting a one-dollar-bill goes like this, if you are recreating George Washington on the one-dollar-bill, you should recreate his imperfections and what is shown, you do not prettify. To prettify George Washington means to make him a handsomer boy would only make for a bad counterfeiter. You don't make the counterfeit better than the original, you shouldn't be able to distinguish between both the original and the counterfeit. If your translation is praised to be better than the original, you didn't translate the piece, you made it into something else. This isn't something in the scope of what a translator should be doing. 

Brian

Edward Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari

In this reading, one topic that stuck out to me was finding a balance between loyalty and necessary improvement. I felt that Seidensticker in a way was contradicting himself in saying that while translators have no business improving a work they are translating, the author's errors and imperfections are something that need to be fixed for the readers' sake. I felt like maybe if translators were to remain consistent in following Seidensticker's philosophy, it would make more sense to include the error as they are a part of the work and the author's essence. Of course, translators can just ask the authors of the works they are translating, but many are not alive. Then It's a constant struggle trying to determine where loyalty ends.

I also liked how Seidensticker talked about how translating Japanese is  a constant process of making little decisions. As translators, hours could be spent going over minute details trying to decide the best way to translate something, but in the end, no matter how much time is spent on it, it will never be perfect. In my translations, in the first text, my mindset was far different from the one I have now. I find myself trying to stay loyal to the author while maintaining the rhythm of western dialogue/narration. In text 1, I was very intent upon translating everything to the letter and only making exceptions when word order truly threw off the rhythm of the translation. 

I feel that there is a way to carry over the voice of the author without improving it. Thinking hard about the voice and theme, person, intention of the passages helped me do that in this more recent translation.

Ariel

Edward Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari

 

This reading was very interesting and informative. Seidensticker covered a lot of topics about translation and gave very specific examples for each which really helped clarify his points. I was especially intrigued by him talking about translating Shakespeare from English to Japanese. As an English major, I have read a lot of Shakespeare, but I cannot even imagine where I would begin to translate Shakespeare into another language. The number of syllables and the meter are so integral to Shakespearean language, which I feel would be almost impossible to get right. I had not even considered the use of syllables and rhythm in my translations but from now on I will pay more attention, however, I think I’m leaning towards having to sacrifice that for clarity’s sake at least at my level right now. I think I will attempt to read some Shakespeare in other languages now. 

One point that also really stuck out to me was how about how authors should remain faithful to the original and not attempt to improve upon it. Even as I was doing my translations, I had to hold myself back from adding my own flair or including extra information, not that I think I am better but I kind of wanted to make my translation unique. But now I realized that to be a good translator is to convey the original as completely and perfectly as possible and not to create a subjectively great piece of work. I learned a lot from this reading, I did hope he would have talked more about Nagai Kafu though as I read a lot of Kafu for another Japanese class. 

Celine Yuan

On “On Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari”, E. Seidensticker

 Translating from Japanese into English, I feel Seidensticker's thoughts on the matter are as descriptive of the matter as can be. Even at an incredibly basic level, it's still necessary that one contemplates whether to rearrange word order in a way that is more natural to a native English speaker, or to keep the word order in the original text, even at the risk of it sounding more "foreign." Personally in deciding on my choices and sacrifices, I find it helps to note what I would not change, or what I would never sacrifice, in the original text. To translate the opening sentences of Snow Country as he did, ultimately resulting in an internal rhyme, is something I would find very difficult to do, though necessary at times it may be. 

Improving on the text is something that, after all is said and done and the translation is over, is something I'm sure that many are guilty of. How often is an addition to a text an intended improvement, rather then something the translator just thinks is necessary to make the sentence work in English? If nobody ever looked over my translations, I'm sure that I would have never improved on any text. 

As for intuitive judgement, the last time I used it was two days ago. Intuition is oftentimes for me the last and first resort, when there is nobody else to get a second opinion from. 

Steven

Response to "Edward Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari"

 Edward Seidensticker's beliefs regarding translation between English and Japanese was very insightful. The one part that stuck out to me personally was the bit about every translation choice is "inadequate". I do believe that there are a lot of "good" translations between the two languages, but obviously some details and nuances are lost in the translation. This end result with lost context is what I consider Edward Seidensticker to be describing as "inadequate". Any translation is just an interpretation on what the original was trying to convey, and the original is often times the best way of conveying whatever it may be. It is mentioned as well that translations can result in more clearer sentences in terms of them potentially being less vague as a result of the translator bringing out the deeper meaning to produce a coherent sentence in English. However, I believe that, although it may be "better" sentences in the sense that they are more understandable, the true intent of the sentence by the Japanese author may have been lost as a result of making that somewhat necessary change in the translated version. This is where sacrifices need to be made. In my opinion, I think that these sacrifices should be taken. A translated version of an original Japanese text is never going to be completely like the original. Ideally, translators should consider the rhythm of the original when translating, but I think that it is important to understand when to deviate whether it be just a little or perhaps a considerable change. While translating the last two texts, I did find myself unconsciously trying to improve upon the original, and it is quite difficult to not go wild with it. As time passes, it is a given that things, such as diction, become outdated. As long as straying away from the original does not vastly affect the narrative, I believe that it is perfectly fine to make intuitive "sacrifices" while translating.

-June 

Discussion Question for "Edward Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari" from Sophia

 Seidensticker mentioned that the process of translating between remote languages is a constant repetition of choices. How do you make your choices and decide on what to sacrifice? Do you consider the rhythm of the original when translating?

Have you found yourself unconsciously trying to improve upon the original when translating? Was it difficult for you to stay faithful when you translated the last two texts?

What was a time when you used your intuitive judgment when translating?

Commentary on "Edward Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari"

It was very interesting to read the translator of older Japanese books that are difficult to translate. I think there were many places that show that Edward Seidensticker is a good translator. For instance, he really understands the translator’s job and makes sure that he reproduces the original book but in English. He says how sometimes people praise a translator for writing a better book than the original but that means the translator is not doing his/her job properly. I never thought of this before because when people say translation is better, they say it to praise the translator so I never questioned if it actually is supposed to be praise or not. Furthermore, until I read this piece, I did not know that the translated version of the book delivers clearer meaning than the original even though the original book has vague and ambiguous phrases. As a person who loves to read Japanese books, sometimes I feel that the ambiguity of sentences is what makes the book amazing and they are usually vague on purpose. However, I also think that it is almost impossible to translate Japanese into English and deliver the exact nuances and meaning because everything including the fundamental structure is different. He gave an example and tells how Kawabata does not like using subjects and how he sometimes have opinions on how Kawabata writes but it is not his job to provide advice to Kawabata. I related what he said here to the previous reading I did and I learned that to become a translator, it is very important to balance between delivering the meaning of the text and adjusting to the English readers. 

 

Mitsy

Commentary on “On Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari”, E. Seidensticker

     Seidensticker in his speech touches upon some important aspects of being a translator. One of these aspects that stood out to me was in a quote from the speech: "...and you, the translator, are perfectly aware that every one of these possibilities is inadequate, not a perfect solution." Sidensticker speaks about the multiple possibilities in translating a piece of work. There are numerous different ways a translator could take. However, regardless of the choices the translator makes, a translation will never be perfect. Some nuances will always be lost; such is the nature of language and cultural barriers. He even echoes this in the speech. No matter what translation choice he makes, it will not be a perfect mirror of the original content.

            Another aspect of the article I found interesting was the part where he talks about the struggles of not improving upon a translation. It’s something about translating that I never considered. Naturally, translators want to be as faithful to the original translation as possible, even if they have different opinions on the structure or wording of the piece. Even if a translator can improve upon the original work, it would be a disservice to as it becomes no longer the work of the original author.

            Seidensticker’s anecdotes about his experiences translating also shed light onto his experiences as a translator. In the paragraph about the “girl” vs. “woman”, Seidensticker mentions that his translation didn’t convey the original meaning as well as he wanted, but it was the best he felt he could do. He even took suggestions from other people, before deciding to stick with his original wording. Seidensticker also talks about his translation of Snow Country, particularly the beginning and how famous it is. As a result, he felt pressured to translate it the best way he can. Despite his best efforts, he received criticism for the end result, noting that it was an inevitability no matter how good his translation was. A translator faces many challenges in their work, and Seidensticker is no exception. However, in discussing these challenges we can be more conscious of the choices we make in our own translations.

Alex

Thoughts on Seidensticker

I much enjoyed reading Seidensticker's article on his own experiences with translation. He is a very opinionated translator and human being it seems, but he brings up many intriguing points. His attitude about translation and his work is also very unique. When he says things like translation work is not perfect and will be flawed, it struck me as very negative in the first read-through, but then I found it sort of encouraging because you don't have an expectation to be perfect. He says that often there simply will not be a perfect choice or option, especially when considering single words, and it is ok to be imperfect. Like in the example of girl and woman in the story, Snow Country. It's also interesting that he doesn't think it is a compliment when it is said that your translation is better than the original. He doesn't believe surpassing the original is fulfilling the role of a translator, although better or worse is always subjective in my opinion. Seidensticker brings up the idea of clarity, similar to some of our other readings, which seems to be a much debated topic in translation, possibly even more so with Japanese translation. I agree with his statement that unintentional lack of clarity is not a good thing, and I think these nuances would be very difficult to deal with without being able to consult the author. One thing that was entirely new to me that he brought to my attention was the difference between writers who tend to use only traditional Japanese words, and those who also incorporate Chinese based vocabulary. I'm not at the level of Japanese yet where I can really see the differences, but I imagine they would give off a different feeling/mood as he says. Reading this excerpt, it also made me think, Seidensticker is a very good writer and I wonder if a good translator is always a good writer as well. Why does one choose to translate, instead of write their own stories if they have the ability to write well. I would be curious to know the answers of some translators to this question. 

Joanne

Commentary on "Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari"

In Seidensticker's discusses numerous detail-oriented points in his interview. To me, one of the most interesting points he raises relates to "translator's intuition". When asked how he would train an aspiring translator to improve at naturally "feeling" a language to improve their translations, Seidensticker says that it intuition is a very difficult thing to teach. In my opinion, I would imagine that language intuition comes from voracious reading and writing. Exposure to language is key to becoming accustomed it its nuances. 

I also found Sidensticker's discussion of the importance of linguistic rhythm in his own translations. He gives the listener/reader a few examples of poorly translated lines, translated purely with the goal of staying faithful to the original meaning intended by the author. These lines are noticibly out of place and disturb the reader's concentration while reading. In a sense, poor rhythm breaks the life-like illusion of the story. Prior to reading Sidensticker's interview, I had never considered rhythm as a factor in translation. 

My impression of Sidensticker is that he pays a great deal of attention to detail, and his goals in the act of translation are multifaceted. In other words, he is not translating with the sole goal of preserving meaning and nuance from Japanese to English and vice versa. He is also considering the value of rhythm, culture, and grammar patterns which affect the way the sentence "feels" to the native reader. His translations seem to be a careful balancing act, trying to preserve as much of the original literature as possible without abandoning any of the crucial factors which impact the work as a whole. 

Alexa

Alexa

Commentaries on "Seidensticker on Nagai Kafu and Kawabata Yasunari"

    It is intriguing to see Seidensticker making the statement that he took control on not making his translation better than the original texts, as I always find his version of The Tale of Genji is much easier to read than others. Besides, he pointed out many obstacles of translation such as communicating with the author and the editor. I’ve read the Snow Country in Chinese translation and read a little bit in its original language Japanese. I do find it was ambiguous in the way of not indicating the subject, as well as the implied information, and totally understand why Seidensticker says it is hard not to be clear when translating it into English. One more thing I found helpful from reading this interview record is the question that whether it is necessary to communicate with the original author, and according to Seidensticker, it seems that in a lot of cases the author could not help much. So I believe that although translating and writing seem to be similar activities——both of them are about writing in a person’s own language, they are actually different. I do not read much, but from my reading experience, I feel that a book conforms more or less to its author’s personality. As for reading in the original language, I know the author’s writing style and can get a feeling of what kind of person he/she is. However, I can hardly feel the translator from the book he/she translates, just like how the interpreters do as we talked about in last class. Though every translator has his/her own style of translating, in most cases, it is not in the way that he/she usually writes.

Linwei

Super Late Commentary on "8 Ways to Say You"

Being able to submit a post incredibly late is not without it's merits; it gives you ample time to read through your classmates posts. While many of the posts (very rightfully) elaborate on the extraordinary lengths Cathy Hirano goes through to properly and fully introduce a largely unaware audience to the many implications that juku has on both the story and on Japanese society as a whole, to me it is not quite as impactful as the idea of arrogance, and how important it is to her as a translator. 

The idea of being arrogant as a trait in any translator is no doubt one that is alien to most, myself of a year or so ago included. Doubtless it is rare that any person would take an interest in translation because they feel themselves above the texts or languages that they work from. Nonetheless, I feel that something must drive a translator, especially working from Japanese into English, that allows them to make difficult decisions, difficult especially when you need to mangle a perfectly fine, or beautiful even, sentence into English in order to deliver it to an audience. The idea of that alone, of having to leave something out or put unnecessary words in the authors mouth, is a daunting one, and while many are loathe to do so, eventually such a scenario appears. Something must change, some compromise must be made, and something must be behind your decision. Few things, in my experience as a translator, and in general, are as awful as second guessing yourself. Like Cathy Hirano, what helps me make difficult decisions, and find the gumption to submit a post 2 days late, is a necessary arrogance. 

Steven

PS: I don't know if this will actually publish, or if I'm in the right place. Also, I'm using the wrong email. 

"Eight Ways to Say You: The Challenges of Translation," by Cathy Hirano.

 Hirano raises many points in the difficulty of translating Japanese to English. For one, the grammar structure between the languages are not the same. In English, you would use follow a sentence structure like subject -> verb -> object, where as Japanese you would follow subject -> object -> verb. If you decide to translate a text literally from Japanese to English, you would end up with a sentence that just read awkwardly or maybe you were trying to write in a way that just wants to confuse a reader (which if that is what you are going for, by all means). When sentences are short, you can just easily switch around the verb and object without much problem, but when the sentences get longer, you will have to get crafty with how you place things together. From what Hirano said "When the sentences are embellished with extra clauses, this is rather like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle" which is would be a pretty good description. Another point I really liked was how writing styles are differ. Hirano says that English is supposed to flow in a linear fashion, while Japanese appears circular. I think this is more of a cultural difference, because stereotypically Japanese culture don't really do confrontation and stereotypically American culture is a lot more straightforward and blunt. I believe this is more of a generalization rather a complete fact. Readings like "Korokke" was pretty straightforward in what it wanted to present, but there are readings in English that go in the opposite direction. Hirano also talks about cultural differences like translations that don't have a concrete equivalent in English. For this example, she talks about juku and how it is easily understood by someone in Japan but not easily understood by someone outside of Japan. She talks about her strategy where she inserts key information woven naturally into the text. I feel like this is a really smart decision although it might create awkwardness if done incorrectly. This is a better decision compared to just finding a place to stop the story and just insert a whole section just to explain which would break the flow of the story. On another note, the title says eight ways to say you but we only got to see one way. 

Brian

Commentary on “Eight Ways to Say You: The Challenges of Translation,” by Cathy Hirano

Hirano's "Eight Ways to Say You" made many interesting points relating to the art of translation, which illuminated exactly why translation is more of an art than a mechanical procedure. Prior to having read her article, it had never occurred to me that cultural differences can pose a major challenge to translators. Hirano's anecdote on how she worked to translate the concept of juku to English by adding in new sentences which are not present in the original Japanese version was very thought provoking to me. Additionally, her commentary on how translating humor from Japanese to English can sometimes feel like giving away the punchline got me thinking about the nuances of translation and how it is more of an in-depth process than merely checking a dictionary. Overall, Hirano's reflection on her experiences being a translator allowed me to further understand the step-by-step process of translation and the obstacles one may encounter when working with Japanese.

Alexa

Commentary on “Eight Ways to Say You: The Challenges of Translation,” by Cathy Hirano

When I was reading this, I was able to relate to most of the points that she made. I faced similar challenges when I was translating Japanese into English (also from English to Japanese) before. But the part I remember the most is when she raised an example of how Japanese have multiple ways of saying “you” and how it delivers the atmosphere and feelings just by the way the character says “you”. She mentioned the example of “Kimi” and how it sounds snobbish and condescending tone, but it is very hard to show that in English. This was very interesting to read because I never actually realized how complicated Japanese is even when we’re just addressing someone “you”. Another part that was memorable is when she mentioned “juku” because I have an experience of trying to explain what “juku” is to my non-Japanese friends because there is no equivalent word in English. In addition, because I understand most of the background cultural context of Japan, I never came across this thought but when she mentioned how she has to explain the background context for example, how schools in Japan start in April, I realized that that translator has to follow the story but at the same time, they have to make sure that the customs in Japan are also explained to aid the reader’s understandings. Not only that, I have never read a Japanese book that is translated into English, so it was interesting to read the difficulties translators face when translating Japanese humor into English. This made me learn how humor is deeply affected by culture. I now want to try to read a book both in Japanese and English at the same time and compare the phrases and word choices.

Mitsy

Commentary on "Eight Ways to Say You: The Challenges of Translation" by Cathy Hirano

Hirano shared a lot of useful tips on translation in her essay. To be honest, I was kind of surprised when she suggested deleting the original text and making up a completely different joke as the solution to translate culture-specific jokes. For me, it opens new possibilities of what a translator could do more than just translating the meaning. According to Hirano’s essay, one significant thing in translation is to let the readers experience emotions that the author wants them to experience. Therefore, it is ok to revise the texts for readers that have different cultural-background, and it is necessary to add on some explanations for specific terms, such as “juku” that Hirano mentioned. In the aspect of creating new content with the author’s consent, the process of translating becomes more like doing art, since it does need creativity and courage to make decisions. More than that, It is also based on the translator’s understanding of one culture and the use of language. It is important to have a great knowledge of human activities in different countries as well. Like what Hirano said, she watched American movies and read American children’s books to understand how children in America speak to each other. I used to focus on translating the contents more accurately: never add an unnecessary word, and never delete any word in the original texts. But now I learned, translation is far more than that. The purpose of translating literature is about conveying the emotion and reading experience to readers.

Linwei Fu

 It is very interesting how Hirano talks about the intended readership and the purpose of translation. It made me realize that while I should always respect the author, and the author comes first, there should also be certain changes to let the intended audience understand the text and the culture better. She gave the example of juku, and I thought it was an amazing example. In my perspective, juku was where I went to after school as well, so it made sense to me; however, if I was translating the book, I would not have been considerate enough to add explanations for my English-speaking audience. It also reminded me of when I was translating the term oseibo. I didn't translate it to an English term but added a footnote, but after reading this excerpt, it made me think maybe it wouldn't be bad to add descriptions in the text for more fluent reading.

Iris Ho

Commentary on "Eight Ways to Say You: The Challenges of Translation" by Cathy Hirano

This was a really interesting article about the complexity of translation especially from Japanese to English. I read this article after I turned in my translation of Korokke and realized I struggled over all the challenges Hirano stated in the article. I think the organization of my translation was more similar to Japanese. I did alter some parts so that it sounded more natural in English, but the overall structure was still more similar to the Japanese version. There were a lot of sentences I found difficult trying to capture the tone of Japanese using English words. I am curious to see how Hirano would translate Korokke.

Sophia

 

Eight Ways to Say You by C Hirano

This was a very interesting read especially compared to last week as Hirano is a translator herself. Her comparison of the differences between English and Japanese as languages were very precise and it was exactly what I had struggled with during my translation of “Korokke”. These include the vast difference in grammar, the more subtle and roundabout way that Japanese is written in, instances of humor, levels of politeness in the language, and difference in culture. I really appreciated all the examples she gave of what a direct translation would be and how she worked to make them more natural in English. One specific parallel was Hirano’s example of juku, which would translate to cram school, but it’s hard for readers to understand all the nuances of cram school for Japanese children. This was what I felt about the word oseibo, I ended up translating it as “year-end gift”, but I felt like it left out a lot of cultural implications. I wonder how she would translate that? I also really resonated with what she said about being an arrogant translator. I struggled for quite a while reading my translation back and forth trying to make it better, but I realized that at some point I needed to just trust in myself at the moment and finish it up. One question I had reading this was I wonder how she chose to do translation after reading and gathering all the background information and talking to the authors. I had been to a translation seminar before where the translator talked about their style of translating which is to translate on the first read without knowing anything so they have a fresh perspective.  

Celine Yuan

Cathy Hirano "Eight Ways to Say You" Questions for Class Discussion

In learning the Japanese language, what were some of the hardest aspects of the language to understand? (for example: sentence structure, honorifics, etc.)

Do you enjoy the Japanese style of literature in terms of how it conveys themes and messages? What are some differences you've seen between Western and Japanese literature?

Do you consider yourself an arrogant translator? Do you display more humility in your translations?

How will you as a translator overcome obstacles when trying to maintain the message of the Japanese author while keeping in mind Western literature practices?

Has learning Japanese and or reading Japanese literature forced you to explore new perspectives and change your way of thinking? If so, what are some examples.

Ariel McMillan

Cathy Hirano article post

    The thing I most liked about this article was that the author drew on her personal experiences to speak about the challenges of translation. Even though I have just started translating in a classroom setting, I found myself agreeing with many of her main points. For example, her jigsaw puzzle metaphor to describe the necessity of rearranging different parts of a sentence was very relatable. As I struggle through the differences in grammar between Japanese and English, trying various organizations of the same sentence is so far the most tedious aspect. Another important distinction she mentions is the focus on clarity in English literature, while the Japanese style tends towards subtlety. This is something that I have definitely picked up on while reading translated Japanese novels, and it is an art to achieve a balance between the two so that the content is understandable without losing the original author's style. One thing I learned that was helpful to consider was about Hirano's beginning process, to know the intended readership and purpose of the translation. She approaches academic writing very differently from literature, as one emphasizes content and the other style just as equally. Her examples from "The Friends" novel really show the importance of preserving aspects such as rhythm, flow, and voice when translating fiction. Not to mention the added challenge of translating culture as well. I wonder if some ideas, like the example she used of juku, can ever be completely successfully translated to an audience that is unfamiliar with one of the cultures. Especially without explicitly explaining it in a way that would definitely negatively impact the reading experience. This cultural void being only one of the many challenges I will have to face in this class!  

Joanne