Essays by Meredith McKinney on literary translation
janine.beichman
******
Ross Bender
--
PMJS is a scholarly forum.
You are subscribed to PMJS: Premodern Japanese Studies.
To post to the list, send email to pm...@googlegroups.com
To unsubscribe, send email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com
Visit the PMJS web site at www.pmjs.org
Contact the group administrator at edi...@pmjs.org
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "PMJS: Listserve" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/pmjs/CAL-GZE7uTXxyPuby7gZ7N0V19LisiOAD6Z%3D4Fmbrv%3D4vCuBDEA%40mail.gmail.com.
Mikhail Skovoronskikh
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/pmjs/CAMEQgpE4kRmL04q02%3Do_KJ_yDiYWAqO6qPGeJhssH0wVVA%3DYRw%40mail.gmail.com.
Salm, A.J.N. van der
Dear colleagues,
I first wanted to express my thanks, to the author and the community, for bringing up these two insightful articles. I just happened to be finishing up a review of the new (Vos 2018) Dutch translation of Makura no sōshi – the previous had been based on Morris’s still insufficiently praised one – and although there will be few who want to take the detour, recommended by Charles De Wolf, through Dutch to see how this version has been rendered, it was interesting to see that my own argument about Vos’ work, which tends to make the language as colloquial and familiar as possible – came very close to Meredith McKinney’s observation (2018: 120f.) that there seems to be a general tendency to render ‘classical’ language in increasingly everyday wording. I am not very familiar with the Genji translations outside English and Dutch, but I am sure that for example examining the various Ise translations – e.g. Kavaliersgeschichten (Schaarschmidt 1981) in German, and the French Contes d’Ise by Renondeau (1969) – would also yield some interesting insights. And imagine applying McKinney’s idea, that the exact same phraseology could be fresh to Sei Shōnagon but archaising to a Kamo no Chōmei to that text: what does that mean for the ‘feel’ of that text for the (admittedly elusive) original readership of its various stages of development?
At the same time, I think the language of the opening paragraph of Makura no sōshi still deserves some more thought, at least as for those familiar with the original language.
Of course, McKinney (in the passages quoted by Ross Bender) is in good company when she explains the difficulties in dealing with this passage, and I would not be surprised if it is the single most famous example for illustrating (Classical) Japanese’s potential for concise expression, and I can see why it was chosen here as an example to make her point, viz. how translators can (or cannot) avoid imposing themselves on the text, i.e. from the point of view of the translator and their target language.
As students of the classical bungo language, however, who are expected to deal with the language as an original medium – and I am aware that I will sound hopelessly like an antiquated philologist when I point this out – I do believe we can take more care in choosing the terms with which to think about classical Japanese. When attempting to translate haru wa akebono into sensible English (or Dutch, French, German…), there is much to be said for adding some form of verb, but is it really fair to speak of ‘ellipsis’ and ‘verb-less’ sentences in a language where a single noun phrase can be the predicate (just as in modern Japanese, sore nani? or omae, dare?). Like – no doubt – many, I have been trained to think of these phrases as ‘actually’ being sore wa nan desu ka or anata wa dare desu ka in a different linguistic register (to reapply that notion here), but if we only look at the linguistic facts available to us – the ‘physical’ phrases haru wa akebono, sore nani? instead of the intellectually constructed ‘original’ or ‘true’ (underlying, UG) expressions – it feels somehow unjust to impose the Indo-European desire for the copula ‘to be’ on a language that can perfectly well cope without. As indeed could English –
September: the freshmen. Gradually they have been filling up the campus, and now they come swarming out of the woodwork, trailing in long files outside the coffee shops and cafeterias.
Before Christmas break: the TAs. When they are coming in to discuss the undergrads’ grades with us, they already have a haggard look about them, but it is even worse when I peek in on them as they finish their work and as they head on home, the last light in their eyes seems to peter out like fireflies in the night. It’s even worse when we don’t get any snow.
Spring break: the sophomores. They are the biggest party-goers, and you see them strolling by in groups of three and two, four and three, off to the next party, being joined by their friends as they disappear into the distance.
Year’s end: the PhD candidates. When they are working hard on their exams, they are already a sight to behold, let alone when you run into one who’s computer has just crashed. But then, as a gentle sea breeze announces the arrival of summer and they get the news they almost did not dare to hope for, there is nothing quite like seeing their burden being lifted from them.
To be sure, the effect may be a little cheaper in English because we are more accustomed to reading (at least in prose) proper sentences with all the parts of speech in their proper place, and fabricated linguistic evidence is no evidence, but I would still hazard the guess that for anyone who has an idea of what campus life looks like, the phrases at the head of each ‘season’ feel quite natural and need no further explanation, suggesting that we are not so much dealing with ‘elegant ellipsis’ but rather a way of phrasing that suggests intimate familiarity with the topics being discussed. (The colons, which I think are a better rendition of the particle wa than the interpretation of the topic particle as a subject particle in the tentatively ‘closer’ translation ‘Spring is dawn’, may also help a bit.) And that may be the best argument for rethinking what we read into the four phrases: if we shift away our attention from the question what was elided (and the postmodernists are more than welcome to take me to task for this) and (back?) to look at what is actually there, what we may notice is that Sei Shōnagon simply associated notions from two major categories – the seasons, and times of day – suggesting that (both of!) these were important categories through which the author could think and represent the world she lived in in a meaningful way.
Indeed, that is why I feel McKinney’s translation, with only a comma and a definite article (marking that these ideas were at the top of one’s mind, needed no explanation, were atarimae – in Dutch or German I would probably go for in de lente or im Frühling as well, but unfortunately in the spring sounds a little off in English) does strike the right note, unlike Vos – who knows and mentions McKinney’s translation – and who (in the 2018 translation) does fill in these blanks (which thus are our blanks, not those of the original). But I am sure there are other views on ellipsis, and I would be keen to hear what others think about this question – maybe about that other pernicious problem, that of adding the ‘missing’ personal pronouns, which is probably even more notorious, but for which I am also under the – possibly misguided? – impression that readers of the original with a strong command of classical honorifics have less trouble with it than one might expect from those familiar laments of the Genji translators, and it would be interesting to see what others think this might (or might not) imply about the tone and literary quality of Makura no sōshi’s opening passage.
Kindest regards,
Niels van der Salm
Leiden University
Verzonden: maandag 2 september 2019 20:21
Aan: pmjs
Onderwerp: Re: [PMJS] Essays by Meredith McKinney on literary translation
Jos Vos
Thank you Mr Van der Salm for bringing my recent Dutch translation under the attention.
Allow me to point out that I’ve translated the Pillow Book’s opening section twice.
(1) For Eeuwige reizigers, my 2008 anthology of classical Japanese literature:
In de lente, het ochtendgloren. Geleidelijk wordt het lichter, de bergkammen krijgen een zachtrode schijn, purperen wolkenslierten glijden aan de hemel voorbij.
In de zomer, de nachten. Over maneschijn hoef ik niet te schrijven, maar op een donkere nacht is het heerlijk om glimwormen heen en weer te zien schieten. Zelfs regenbuien hebben hun charme.
In de herfst, de avonden. Als de stralende zon is weggezonken tot aan de bergkim, vind ik het aandoenlijk om te zien hoe kraaien naar hun nest terugvliegen in groepjes van drie, vier of twee. Nog prettiger is een vlucht wilde ganzen, als stipjes zo klein. En als de zon is ondergegaan, het huilen van de wind en het zingen van de insecten.
In de winter, de morgenstond. Overbodig uit te weiden over ochtenden waarop het gesneeuwd heeft. Als er stralend witte rijp ligt, en ook op bitterkoude dagen als dat niet het geval is, zie je hoe paleisbedienden zich haasten om vuren aan te steken, en hoe ze houtskoolvuurtjes heen en weer dragen: een aanblik die het seizoen wonderwel past. Tegen de middag, als de kou begint af te nemen, blijft er in de stoven alleen witte as over, die er bijzonder onprettig uitziet.
(2)
For Het hoofdkussenboek, my complete translation of
枕草子
which was published by Athenaeum, Polak & Van Gennep last year:
In het voorjaar gaat er niets boven het ochtendgloren. Geleidelijk wordt het lichter, de bergkammen krijgen
een zachtrode glans, purperen wolkenslierten glijden aan de
hemel voorbij.
’s Zomers spannen de nachten de kroon. Over maneschijn hoef ik het niet eens te hebben,
en op donkere nachten schieten er volop glimwormen heen en weer. Als er maar
een of twee opvliegen, zachtjes glanzend, is dat óók heerlijk.
Zelfs regenbuien hebben hun charme.
In de herfst de avonden. Wanneer de stralende zon is weggezonken tot aan de bergkim,
is het zelfs aandoenlijk om
kraaien naar hun nest te zien vliegen in groepjes van drie ofvier...
en dan weer twee of drie... Nog prettiger is een vlucht
wilde ganzen, als stipjes zo klein. En het ruisen van de wind,
of het zingen van de insecten als de zon onder is – daar zijn
geen woorden voor!
In de winter de vroege morgen. Als het sneeuwt is dat te
heerlijk voor woorden, en ook als er stralend witte rijp ligt,
maar zelfs op bitterkoude dagen wanneer dat niet het geval
is, haasten de paleisbedienden zich om vuren aan te steken
en lopen ze heen en weer met houtskool: een aanblik die het
seizoen wonderwel past. Tegen de middag, als de kou begintaf
te nemen, blijft er in de stoven alleen nog witte as over,
wat er bepaald niet aangenaam uitziet.
As I hinted at in my Foreword to
Het hoofdkussenboek, I chose not to use ellipsis in the first two paragraphs of my most recent translation.
In making such a decision, I was – of course – not alone; just think of Michael Stein’s recent German translation (Manesse Verlag, Zürich 2015) which begins:
'Im Frühling liebe ich die Morgendämmerung, wenn das Licht allmählich wiederkehrt...'
Or think of the 2002 Spanish-language translation by Pinto Román, Oswaldo Gavidia Cannon and Hiroko Izumi Shimono (quoted on p. 225 of Valerie Henitiuk’s Worlding Sei Shōnagon – The Pillow Book in Translation, a book I strongly recommend as it contains more than forty translations of that same opening passage):
'En primavera, la alborada es lo más hermoso…'
Of course it'll always be up to the reader to decide which version they prefer – with or without ellipsis (if such it can be called). Perhaps I’ll attempt a new translation in a few years’ time and sing my tune somewhat differently.
Yours sincerely,
Jos
Sent: 05 September 2019 20:38
To: pm...@googlegroups.com <pm...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: RE: [PMJS] Essays by Meredith McKinney on literary translation
Ross Bender
In the summer, the nights. I don't have to write about moonshine, but on a dark night it is wonderful to see fireflies shooting back and forth. Even rain showers have their charm."
In the summer the nights take the crown. I don't even have to talk about moonshine, and on dark nights there are plenty of fireflies rushing back and forth. If only one or two fly up, softly shiny, that is also delicious. Even rain showers have their charm."
Jos Vos
Sent: 05 September 2019 23:05
To: pmjs <pm...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [PMJS] Essays by Meredith McKinney on literary translation
PMJS is a scholarly forum.
You are subscribed to PMJS: Premodern Japanese Studies.
To post to the list, send email to pm...@googlegroups.com
To unsubscribe, send email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com
Visit the PMJS web site at www.pmjs.org
Contact the group administrator at edi...@pmjs.org
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "PMJS: Listserve" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com.
Salm, A.J.N. van der
Verzonden: vrijdag 6 september 2019 2:03
Aan: pm...@googlegroups.com
Onderwerp: Re: [PMJS] Essays by Meredith McKinney on literary translation
Salm, A.J.N. van der
Verzonden: vrijdag 6 september 2019 8:45
Aan: pm...@googlegroups.com
Onderwerp: RE: [PMJS] Essays by Meredith McKinney on literary translation
Mark Schumacher
Translation is an art. One can never know "precisely" what the original means -- and the "original" nearly always changes its meaning over the centuries.
Let us move more closely to our own timelines (lifetimes) -- to English translations of Franz Kafka's "Metamorphosis" -- the original German story appeared in 1915.
Why do scholars and translators disagree on the true meaning (and
proper English translation) of Kafka's story, even though it was
written in the early 20th century?
If we cannot agree on modern translations within our own language
group, how can we agree on premodern Japanese translations?
It seems that "disagreement" is the norm -- that translations and re-translations differ as a matter of course, much like the changing interpretations of music.
We "play" in our time, not in premodern times -- and our
interpretations are colored by our own time.
We cannot even translate a recent writer like Kafka without
disagreement.
I know this message does not "help" in building a consensus on the issue. Nor does it contribute to a better understanding of the various translations of the same Japanese work. But it can at least help us realize -- and fess up to -- our own modern "limitations" in understanding the past. Was Gregor Samsa (Kafka's character) born as a gigantic cockroach, or a monstrous vermin, or a huge insect?
gassho from across the great pond
mark in kamakura
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/pmjs/7399CDA4D11B134B9DD829E7C9A7868F3A12B105%40SPMXM07.VUW.leidenuniv.nl.
|
MARK SCHUMACHER |
Ross Bender
Charles De Wolf
Even those with only a casual interest in translation will be aware that renditions of a text from Language A into Language B will vary over time, (a) because Language B changes, (b) because the original (strictly on linguistic grounds) is better understood, and (c) because linguistic fashions change, for example, when a colloquial replaces a formal literary (archaic) style. (The 1611 translation of the Bible was deliberately written in a kind of bungotai. Nowadays, the preference seems to be for anything that sounds daringly hip, i.e. clunky.) The notion that the meaning of the original text also changes may seem counter-intuitive, but Mark Schumacher is right at least to this extent: our perception of a text may be so imbued with the mindset and values of our own time that even the most strenuous effort to “suspend disbelief,” as it were, is not enough to allow us to experience the “original” original, the true Urtext, as we can only imagine such to be. (I still believe, quite unfashionably perhaps, that a text is more than what we may think it is. Somewhere underneath the Tin Woodman’s tin there is still the essence of the woodman.)
Can we say that Genji “loves” (never mind what words we use in translations) Yūgao? Well, yes, of course: romantic love is universal! No, of course not: to say so is both culturally incongruous and anachronistic. Genji is certainly infatuated with a woman of the lower orders, but that is not at all the same—the argument may go—as that noble sentiment that Dante, for example, sees as a stepping stone to divine love: “la somma sapïenza e ’l primo amore.” And to the extent that Murasaki Shikibu “romanticized” her hero’s feelings, she was later condemned for stirring up wanton passions.
Still, I confess that I lean more towards (naïve-?) universalism than skeptical relativism. And even in translations we can learn to accept a word or phrase with a grain of salt, rather than rejecting it out of hand.
Formal or informal? “Literary” or colloquial? In Maria Teresa Orsi’s Italian translation, Genji cries out to Yūgao, most politely, as she is dying or dead: “Vi prego mia signora, tornate in vita!” (あが君、生き出でたまへ。) The German and French translations likewise use a formal register: “Hört mich! Kehrt doch zum Leben zurück!” ‘Hear me. Return to life!’ (Oscar Benl uses the second-person-plural familiar form in the now archaic formal sense.) “Madame, revenez à vous!” In the English translations (Waley, Seidensticker, McCullough, Tyler, Washburn), we find, “my own darling,” “my dear, my dear,” “my darling,” “my love,” and “my love.” Jos Vos, interestingly enough, who, unlike the English translators, who have no tu-vous problem to confront, must choose between formal and informal, opts for the latter: “Lieveling, kom [not: komt u] weer tot leven!” (‘Darling, come back to life!’)
Overall, Oscar Benl, whose German translation appeared in 1966, employs a deliberately archaic style. I must say that I admire it, though I am also distracted by a propensity to nitpick, for the mistranslations are not so very infrequent. As cheeky as I may sound, I also much admire Jos Vos’s much more colloquial rendition and often consult it.
As has often been said, one rediscovers a text from reading a translation. A favourite example of mine is the well-known introductory paragraph of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, in which the verbs are all in the simple past, though their sense is imperfective—up to a subtle turning point: “And the leaves fell early that year…” The French and Italian translations more clearly mark the momentary shift, going from imperfective to simple past, which in French is a strictly literary form: tombèrent. The sound itself has a sense of finality about it.
Ah, Kafka! Until a few years ago, I had never read Kafka other than in German and so was rather surprised not only at the difference of tone but also at the errors in the English renditions I saw. (I am only speaking of those few translations I have seen, and I am not picking on any one translator!)
Kafka’s style is peculiar. It is plodding, yet meticulous, as though deliberately imitating (or so it seems to me) the manner of faceless bureaucrats. The striking contrast between Kafka’s matter-of-fact (sachlich) language and the nightmares he describes is surely part of what makes his work so fascinating. It simply doesn’t have the same “feel” in English, though I hate even to think so, as such may smack of a Teutonic Nihonjinron, suggesting the futility of the translation effort.
How does the translator of a Classical Japanese text avoid unwanted associations? One can begin by avoiding the obviously incongruous, certainly beginning with “dysfunctional”…“neurotic”? No. “hysterical” No. “depressed”? I’m not sure: context-dependent. “Longing”? Yes. “Melancholy”? Yes. (One need not think of its etymology or distinctly Occidental origin.) “Nostalgia”? I think not, even if Prof. Orsi, whose translation I also greatly admire, uses the term with considerable frequency. I remain humbly open-minded.
René Sieffert was not simply being a snob when he declared in his introduction to the Le Dit du Genji that he had eschewed any word postdating le Duc de Saint-Simon. But, of course, old words take on new associations. The dictionary tells us that inappropriate dates from around the beginning of the 19th century, with unappropriate an earlier form. And yet…
「見たてまつらぬこそ、口惜しけれ」と、胸のうちつぶるるぞ、うたてあるや。
The author is making an editorial comment regarding her protagonist, who momentarily finds himself again lusting after a lady he has promised to be a father to, she being the consort to the emperor, his secret son. うたてあるや must surely be, socio-linguistically speaking, close to that oft-heard and (for some of us) terrifying phrase: “nasake-nai wa!”
Scheid, Bernhard
Dear Mark, thank you for recalling Kafka’s Gregor Samsa to my mind. I do not know the translations into English nor discussions about it, but the last sentences of the novel resound in my memory:
Stiller werdend und fast unbewußt durch Blicke sich verständigend, dachten sie daran, daß es nun Zeit sein werde, auch einen braven Mann für sie zu suchen. Und es war ihnen wie eine Bestätigung ihrer neuen Träume und guten Absichten, als am Ziele ihrer Fahrt die Tochter als erste sich erhob und ihren jungen Körper dehnte.
This family idyll takes place after Samsa eventually dies a slow painful death from an apple in his insect belly thrown by his father. Probably even people as far away from us as we are from Heian nobility will grasp the bitter irony of this scene.
Best
Bernhard
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/pmjs/cfc4f74c-e190-30f7-ed54-3666972a7cdc%40onmarkproductions.com.
Ross Bender
Even those with only a casual interest in translation will be aware that renditions of a text from Language A into Language B will vary over time, (a) because Language B changes, (b) because the original (strictly on linguistic grounds) is better understood, and (c) because linguistic fashions change, for example, when a colloquial replaces a formal literary (archaic) style. (The 1611 translation of the Bible was deliberately written in a kind of bungotai. Nowadays, the preference seems to be for anything that sounds daringly hip, i.e. clunky.) The notion that the meaning of the original text also changes may seem counter-intuitive, but Mark Schumacher is right at least to this extent: our perception of a text may be so imbued with the mindset and values of our own time that even the most strenuous effort to “suspend disbelief,” as it were, is not enough to allow us to experience the “original” original, the true Urtext, as we can only imagine such to be. (I still believe, quite unfashionably perhaps, that a text is more than what we may think it is. Somewhere underneath the Tin Woodman’s tin there is still the essence of the woodman.)
Robert F Wittkamp
Thanks to De Wolf for his observation that not only does Language B change, but that the meaning of the original text also changes as the original is better understood on linguistic grounds. Textual criticism is an ancient discipline, but it continues to alter the meanings of ancient texts as not only recensions from different periods are compared, but various commentarial traditions are more fully explored. Although I don't know much about the Heike, English language studies have dug into this sort of stuff.By contrast, English work on Man’yōshū is still in its infancy. Hopefully the new Reiwa nengō will spur things on. The best new work is the Vovin translation and the Oxford Ninjal OJ Corpus, both ongoing projects.Just a few comparisons here. From Mack Horton's 2012 translation:
<image.png>From Vovin's 2009 translation with commentary:
<image.png>Which is a better translation - Vovin's literal or Horton's 'poetic'? Perhaps we need a medieval panel of judges, such as in Thomas McAuley's translations:"The Gentlemen of the Right state: ‘tomb’ (tsuka) and ‘cypress’ (kae) are frightening. The Gentlemen of the Left state: ‘evergreen’ (kashi) is the same, is it not?" http://www.wakapoetry.net/2017/12/Certainly Vovin's "my lord" for kimi is more accurate, and even more poetic, than Horton's "you". On the other hand is "sandbar where the river meets" more poetic than "shallows in the inlet"?I would invite poets, poetasters, critics and judges, experts and amateurs to comment. As for me I don't know much about poetry but I know what I like.Ross Bender
On Sat, Sep 7, 2019 at 5:54 AM 'Charles De Wolf' via PMJS: Listserve <pm...@googlegroups.com> wrote:Even those with only a casual interest in translation will be aware that renditions of a text from Language A into Language B will vary over time, (a) because Language B changes, (b) because the original (strictly on linguistic grounds) is better understood, and (c) because linguistic fashions change, for example, when a colloquial replaces a formal literary (archaic) style. (The 1611 translation of the Bible was deliberately written in a kind of bungotai. Nowadays, the preference seems to be for anything that sounds daringly hip, i.e. clunky.) The notion that the meaning of the original text also changes may seem counter-intuitive, but Mark Schumacher is right at least to this extent: our perception of a text may be so imbued with the mindset and values of our own time that even the most strenuous effort to “suspend disbelief,” as it were, is not enough to allow us to experience the “original” original, the true Urtext, as we can only imagine such to be. (I still believe, quite unfashionably perhaps, that a text is more than what we may think it is. Somewhere underneath the Tin Woodman’s tin there is still the essence of the woodman.)
<i sold my soul.jpg>
--
PMJS is a scholarly forum.
You are subscribed to PMJS: Premodern Japanese Studies.
To post to the list, send email to pm...@googlegroups.com
To unsubscribe, send email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com
Visit the PMJS web site at www.pmjs.org
Contact the group administrator at edi...@pmjs.org
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "PMJS: Listserve" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/pmjs/CAMEQgpH3aMPFc0MKnJWxSXNCEgq%2BWWa29WpOPoTq1z%3D9BQcyJA%40mail.gmail.com.
Ross Bender
| 0 | 武庫能浦乃 | mukwo no ura no |
| 1 | 伊里江能渚鳥 | iriye no sudori |
| 2 | 羽具久毛流 | pa gukumoru |
| 3 | 伎美乎波奈礼弖 | kimi wo panarete |
| 4 | 古非爾之奴倍之 | kwopwi ni sinu besi |
Chris Kern
--
PMJS is a scholarly forum.
You are subscribed to PMJS: Premodern Japanese Studies.
To post to the list, send email to pm...@googlegroups.com
To unsubscribe, send email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com
Visit the PMJS web site at www.pmjs.org
Contact the group administrator at edi...@pmjs.org
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "PMJS: Listserve" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to pmjs+uns...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/pmjs/CAMEQgpFvr2UfwJ5VQ_2TcSf6EYxmoDeT%3Dc5Rxzo1UnJ8MBqS_w%40mail.gmail.com.