On the Art of Translation - Part III
In Part II of this running series, I have mentioned that Pope often takes too many liberties, and as a result, his own poetic vision of Homer's Iliad begins to interfere with the reader's interpretation of the characters in the poem.
Consider the following two examples. The first one is taken from nearing the end of Book III, when Helen is persuaded by Aphrodite (Venus) to go to bed with Paris.
Lattimore: "So [Aphrodite] spoke, and troubled the spirit in Helen's bosom." (III, 395)
Way: "Thrilled by her voice was the soul of the lady, and Helen turned..." (III, 395)
Fagles: "Enticing so / that the heart in Helen's breast began to race." (III, 456-457)
Pope: "[Venus] spoke, and Helen's secret soul was mov'd; / She scorn'd the champion, but the man she lov'd." (III, 487-488)
The second one is taken from early Book IV, when Athena convinced Pandarus to let an arrow fly at Menelaus.
Lattimore: "So spoke Athene, and persuaded the fool's heart in him." (IV, 104)
Way: "Then by Athene's words was his witless soul overborne." (IV, 104)
Fagles: "So Athena fired the fool's heart inside him." (IV, 120)
Pope: "He heard, and madly at the motion pleas'd..." (IV, 135)
I have only read the first six books of The Iliad from all four versions. I have not had the time to do all twenty-four books. (At any rate, the Way translation only goes up to Book VI; it's old and out of print.) While I'm convinced that upon closer reading, Pope's bias will be more evident, the two examples quoted above will do justice to my claim. As you see, in both of these extracts, while the other three translators portray the situation such that human minds are helplessly affected by divine powers, Pope thought otherwise. In the first example, our three translators all agree that Aphrodite fired Helen's passion for Paris, Pope maintains that Helen already loves Paris. Notice how Pope phrase his line: it is "Helen's secret soul", not just Helen's soul; this implies that Helen already labours a secret love for Paris, which is contrary to other translators' words of Helen later on in the poem (she loves Menelaus, her lawful husband).
In the second example, our three translators are convinced that Athena, in a way, forced the decision onto Pandarus. Lattimore's version is more neutral, but the emphasis of all three translations is on Athena, implying the power of the gods. In Pope's version, on the other hand, it was as if Athena merely dropped in the choice, and Pandarus made a conscious choice in shooting Menelaus. If it wasn't Athena who made the suggestion, another mortal could have said the same thing, and Pandarus would still think it a good choice to shoot Menelaus.
In other words, in Pope's translation, he seems to consciously and subtly imply a doctrine of free will and human independence from the divine. This bias on Pope's part is because he is part of the neo-classical tradition, which affirms androcentricism, or the human being as the center of the universe (see Pope's Essay on Man). Human beings, although they are part of a divine order, a great Chain-of-Being, they are the only species who has to ability to move up or down the chain. Hence we see Pope's characters in his translations, although greatly affected by the gods, nevertheless enjoys the final decision on things, or free will. But due to the poet's task of translating, not adapting, the story of The Iliad, Pope can only be subtle in his attempt to establish his neo-classical doctrine.
One can accuse Pope of betraying his task as a translator, if one is to see a translator as someone who should be transparent, like glasses for the viewer. If we carry on this metaphor, then Pope's translation is really a pair of shades, colouring the Homeric world with Neo-classical biases. But this assumes two fallacies: 1) the translator can actually be transparent; 2) the translator should be transparent. The idea of transparency for a translator, upon closer consideration, is an absurd one. Firstly, the languages are different, so there is no way a translator can be different; secondly, as mentioned before in Part I, a translator's task is not to translate the words but the spirit of the poem. If indeed the Popian glasses bring the Homeric view much more accurately than the others, then there is certainly nothing wrong with a shaded view. Furthermore, I have mentioned before that The Iliad is a performed poem - it must be chanted by a great bard. Historically speaking, it is believed that this poem is passed on from bard to bard in a verbal tradition. Hence, every bard will have their own version of The Iliad before it was settle down in words. In a sense, a line-for-line translation would destroy this vision of the great chanting bard, because it takes away the element of improvisation, of interpretation on the part of the bard, of memory of the past and representation of the present.
Translation can be liken to a pianist performing a piece by a composer: it has been naively said that the goal is to play the piece as close to the composer's intention as possible. But that is ridiculous. We can never know the composer's intention. Here I am reminded of two extraordinary performances of piano music that is definitely not the composer's intention, yet is extremely moving. The first is Gould's playing of Bach's piano concerto in D minor. Now, Bach has never heard of the piano; in a sense, Gould could be criticized as being unfaithful to authorial intention. But Gould's performance is Bach "in spirit" - clear, clean, balanced and pious. The other piece is Arthur Rubinstein's interpretation of Beethoven's "Appassionata" Sonata (#23 in F minor). Beethoven could not have known Rubinstein's tremendous expression, his fire and energy - at the time of Beethoven his piano simply does not have the capacity to do such a thing. But the performance is a fantastic representation of Beethoven's "second period" of composition: passionate, romantic, yet never self-indulging. Both Gould and Rubinstein betrayed their vocation as faithful interpreters, as far as the notes written by the composers; but they are true musicians because they understood the Muse that guided Bach or Beethoven in their compositions. And if we appreciate these great "unfaithful" performers (listen to Gould's outrageous performance of Brahms' D minor concerto - most people play the first movement within 20 mins; he took 25 mins), then we should also appreciate Pope the great translator. Pope brought Homer alive to his audience. In a sense, Pope becomes the bard, carrying on the verbal tradition, only in written verse.
Consider the following two examples. The first one is taken from nearing the end of Book III, when Helen is persuaded by Aphrodite (Venus) to go to bed with Paris.
Lattimore: "So [Aphrodite] spoke, and troubled the spirit in Helen's bosom." (III, 395)
Way: "Thrilled by her voice was the soul of the lady, and Helen turned..." (III, 395)
Fagles: "Enticing so / that the heart in Helen's breast began to race." (III, 456-457)
Pope: "[Venus] spoke, and Helen's secret soul was mov'd; / She scorn'd the champion, but the man she lov'd." (III, 487-488)
The second one is taken from early Book IV, when Athena convinced Pandarus to let an arrow fly at Menelaus.
Lattimore: "So spoke Athene, and persuaded the fool's heart in him." (IV, 104)
Way: "Then by Athene's words was his witless soul overborne." (IV, 104)
Fagles: "So Athena fired the fool's heart inside him." (IV, 120)
Pope: "He heard, and madly at the motion pleas'd..." (IV, 135)
I have only read the first six books of The Iliad from all four versions. I have not had the time to do all twenty-four books. (At any rate, the Way translation only goes up to Book VI; it's old and out of print.) While I'm convinced that upon closer reading, Pope's bias will be more evident, the two examples quoted above will do justice to my claim. As you see, in both of these extracts, while the other three translators portray the situation such that human minds are helplessly affected by divine powers, Pope thought otherwise. In the first example, our three translators all agree that Aphrodite fired Helen's passion for Paris, Pope maintains that Helen already loves Paris. Notice how Pope phrase his line: it is "Helen's secret soul", not just Helen's soul; this implies that Helen already labours a secret love for Paris, which is contrary to other translators' words of Helen later on in the poem (she loves Menelaus, her lawful husband).
In the second example, our three translators are convinced that Athena, in a way, forced the decision onto Pandarus. Lattimore's version is more neutral, but the emphasis of all three translations is on Athena, implying the power of the gods. In Pope's version, on the other hand, it was as if Athena merely dropped in the choice, and Pandarus made a conscious choice in shooting Menelaus. If it wasn't Athena who made the suggestion, another mortal could have said the same thing, and Pandarus would still think it a good choice to shoot Menelaus.
In other words, in Pope's translation, he seems to consciously and subtly imply a doctrine of free will and human independence from the divine. This bias on Pope's part is because he is part of the neo-classical tradition, which affirms androcentricism, or the human being as the center of the universe (see Pope's Essay on Man). Human beings, although they are part of a divine order, a great Chain-of-Being, they are the only species who has to ability to move up or down the chain. Hence we see Pope's characters in his translations, although greatly affected by the gods, nevertheless enjoys the final decision on things, or free will. But due to the poet's task of translating, not adapting, the story of The Iliad, Pope can only be subtle in his attempt to establish his neo-classical doctrine.
One can accuse Pope of betraying his task as a translator, if one is to see a translator as someone who should be transparent, like glasses for the viewer. If we carry on this metaphor, then Pope's translation is really a pair of shades, colouring the Homeric world with Neo-classical biases. But this assumes two fallacies: 1) the translator can actually be transparent; 2) the translator should be transparent. The idea of transparency for a translator, upon closer consideration, is an absurd one. Firstly, the languages are different, so there is no way a translator can be different; secondly, as mentioned before in Part I, a translator's task is not to translate the words but the spirit of the poem. If indeed the Popian glasses bring the Homeric view much more accurately than the others, then there is certainly nothing wrong with a shaded view. Furthermore, I have mentioned before that The Iliad is a performed poem - it must be chanted by a great bard. Historically speaking, it is believed that this poem is passed on from bard to bard in a verbal tradition. Hence, every bard will have their own version of The Iliad before it was settle down in words. In a sense, a line-for-line translation would destroy this vision of the great chanting bard, because it takes away the element of improvisation, of interpretation on the part of the bard, of memory of the past and representation of the present.
Translation can be liken to a pianist performing a piece by a composer: it has been naively said that the goal is to play the piece as close to the composer's intention as possible. But that is ridiculous. We can never know the composer's intention. Here I am reminded of two extraordinary performances of piano music that is definitely not the composer's intention, yet is extremely moving. The first is Gould's playing of Bach's piano concerto in D minor. Now, Bach has never heard of the piano; in a sense, Gould could be criticized as being unfaithful to authorial intention. But Gould's performance is Bach "in spirit" - clear, clean, balanced and pious. The other piece is Arthur Rubinstein's interpretation of Beethoven's "Appassionata" Sonata (#23 in F minor). Beethoven could not have known Rubinstein's tremendous expression, his fire and energy - at the time of Beethoven his piano simply does not have the capacity to do such a thing. But the performance is a fantastic representation of Beethoven's "second period" of composition: passionate, romantic, yet never self-indulging. Both Gould and Rubinstein betrayed their vocation as faithful interpreters, as far as the notes written by the composers; but they are true musicians because they understood the Muse that guided Bach or Beethoven in their compositions. And if we appreciate these great "unfaithful" performers (listen to Gould's outrageous performance of Brahms' D minor concerto - most people play the first movement within 20 mins; he took 25 mins), then we should also appreciate Pope the great translator. Pope brought Homer alive to his audience. In a sense, Pope becomes the bard, carrying on the verbal tradition, only in written verse.
posted by Tristan at 1:23 p.m.
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