On Nov 12, 12:33 pm, gabbydott <[email protected]> wrote: > Buh, this sounds like the pee water adaption! A dreadful twang in pink tütü! > > But you are right, your English language is definitely more poetic than the > sober German language, for example. > I was actually thinking of an English version of Faust I began that seemed uninspiring to me at the time. I have since read a much better version thankfully. What do you think Francis? Is it the German language or was I the victim of a poor translation? I don't remember who translated it but it was in the annoying format of having the German on the left side of the page in a column going down and the English on the right. Each sentence was numbered. Very distracting. I never finished that version of course.
Thanks for the link to the blog about translations. dj > On Sat, Nov 12, 2011 at 6:48 PM, Don Johnson <[email protected]> wrote: > > I thought this was very interesting. I'm very appreciative of how > > writing can flow with a special place in my heart for alliteration. > > I've noticed some translations are unbearable to read because of lost > > flow. The title really caught my eye. > > > WORD CRAFT: Found In Translation > > > I have spent the last three years translating Homer's "Iliad," a > > project I began because none of the English translations on my > > bookshelf interested my ear enough to get past Book 1. Translating is > > a specialized kind of work, but in the most general sense, it is the > > art of listening. It has lessons for anyone who cares about the sound > > of their writing. > > > With Homer, the first thing that I do is my homework, looking up the > > Greek words I don't know and studying the commentaries. I'm left with > > a bramble of possibilities handwritten on the right-hand page of my > > notebook and a blank page on the left. > > > Below, for example, is a passage from the very beginning of the > > "Iliad." Apollo's priest has been offended by King Agamemnon and prays > > to the god to inflict disaster on the Greek army camped before Troy. > > Apollo strides down from Mount Olympus and starts shooting his plague > > arrows. > > > Then he sat down apart from (opposite) the ships and shot (let fly) an > > arrow, > > > and terrible was the twang from the silver bow. > > > First he attacked the mules and the swift dogs, > > > then he shot his sharp (piercing) arrows on the men themselves, > > > and forever the pyres of the dead kept burning thick (close > > together). > > > This is raw stuff, as any literal version must be, with no life in the > > language. At this point I begin to listen for the rhythm (a music that > > I hear before the words themselves come into focus in my ear), and > > line by line, sometimes after a minute, sometimes after 10—magically, > > it seems—the words begin to configure themselves, my hearing creates > > what I want to hear, the pen starts to write, and I am a fascinated > > witness. > > > Here is my second draft: > > > Then he dropped to one knee and an arrow flew, > > > and a dreadful twang arose from the silver bow. > > > First he attacked the mules and the flickering dogs, > > > then he let fly his arrows on the men themselves. > > > And night and day the pyres of the dead kept burning. > > > Not bad, but the language is still quite awkward, the rhythm choppy, > > and it ends with a fizzle, not with the kind of commanding harmonic > > cadence I am listening for. > > > The rest of the work, over the next few days or weeks, is a process of > > refining, of testing every word, every sound, against my sense of what > > Homer's music should sound like in English, an English that is rapid, > > direct and noble, as his Greek is. Sometimes it takes five or six > > drafts until my ear is satisfied, sometimes 30 or 40. > > > Here is the passage in its final form: > > > He dropped to one knee and drew back a deadly arrow, > > > and a dreadful twang rang out from the silver bow. > > > First he attacked the mules and the dogs, but soon > > > he shifted his aim and struck down the men themselves. > > > And the close-packed pyres of the dead kept burning, burning, > > > beside the Achaean ships, all day and all night. > > > I like the insistent sound of the d's in the first line here. > > "Dreadful twang" was good already, I thought, but "twang/rang" sounded > > even better. And the extra "burning," which I stumbled upon in the > > fourth draft, made my skin tingle. > > > Before you finish a piece of your own writing, you might try reading > > it out loud or silently, paying attention just to the sound of the > > words. If you come to a phrase that doesn't sound quite right, let > > your ear, rather than your thinking, revise the line. You may be > > surprised by what you didn't know you knew. > > > —Mr. Mitchell is a writer and translator whose many books include "Tao > > Te Ching," "The Book of Job" and "Gilgamesh." His translation of > > Homer's "Iliad" was published last month. > > >http://online.wsj.com/article/SB1000142405297020419070457702447079869...- > >Hide quoted text - > > - Show quoted text -
