On the Art of Translation - Part IV (Final Part)
Under the light of the fact that I am not (yet) an English professor, I would like to offer my readers some last comments on the art of translation. It is my pleasure in this last part to show just some of the clever translations that our translators (meaning, of course, largely Pope, and Fagles too!) have made in comparison to others. There will be a couple of readers who will sincerely be interested in my observations; others will think in lightheartedness and laugh at my serious interest in the cleverness and beauty of poetry.
One observation (and perhaps an apology) I would like to make before we proceed on is that I have gone back to Lattimore's translation and read the translator's notes. I actually did not read any introductory material for any of the four translations, and thought that I would figure out the styles of each just by reading and comparing. But now, having read the notes Lattimore himself made before the actual translation of The Iliad, I realized that, while my observations that his translation is as close to Greek as possible, I did him unjustice by using an English criteria to evaluate his work, and dismissed it as mere line-for-line translation. As his notes indicated, he indeed intended to give that Greek feeling to the translation, which would of course sound weird to the English reader. On this point, I would like to apologize for my unjust bias and evaluation. But my decision in my previous entries to use Lattimore as the standard comparison stands correct; presently, however, I would just like to say that Lattimore's translation should not be viewed in a negative light; it functions perfectly as a standard for us to see just how clever (or not) our other translators are.
Consider the opening line of the poem. All four translators call for the muse to sing the poem. But notice how all versions vary from one another:
Lattimore: "Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilleus..."
Way: "The wrath of Achilles the Peleus-begotten, O Song-queen, sing..."
Fagles: "Rage - Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles..."
Pope: "Achilles's Wrath, to Greece the direful spring / Of woes unnumber'd, heav'nly Goddess, sing!"
Lattimore's greek-based version is rather typical and dry. All other three translators have the poetic sense to place the ultimate theme of the epic poem as the first few words of the opening line. Both Pope and Way in particular highlights Achilles' rage, meaning to say, Achilles' rage for the death of Patroclus, his closest friend. Fagles' version, however, is ingenious, because he starts the poem, introducing this theme without hesitation - "Rage" is the very first word of the poem. What is more ingenious about this beginning is that, when we read the poem again, we are also reminded of other instances in the poem, where rage plays an important role in determining the outcome of events. In fact, we are reminded that the casualties of Trojan War is the outcome of not just Achilles' rage, but Menelaus' rage, the gods' rage at one another and at the mortals - the entire world has fallen into victim of the intense passion of anger. Arguably, rage is the root of this greek epic tragedy. Fagles is intelligent enough to highlight this key theme in the first line.
In book two, there is a rather puzzling line which deserves some attention. Very early in the book, Zeus decides to send Agamemnon a dream to tell him to attack the Trojans. Here are the translations:
Lattimore: "Go forth, evil Dream, beside the swift ships of the Achaians." (II, 8)
Way: "Speed thee, O Dream of bane, to Achaia's sea-swift ships..." (II, 8)
Fagles: "Go, murderous Dream, to the fast Achaean ships..." (II, 9)
Pope: "Fly hence, deluding Dream! and light as air..." (II, 9)
Here we have a problem: the adjective used by the translator to describe the "Dream" are all different: evil, bane, murderous and deluding all have very different meaning. If Zeus' dream is "evil", this means it can bring nothing good, but the dream acts kind of as a tempter instead of a force; if "bane", then it is to cause harm, but not as much harm as "murdering"; if "murdering", then does Zeus mean to murder the Greeks? but he was to grant the Greeks victory; if "deluding", then the dream actually causes misdirection for Agamemnon, which means Agamemnon has no choice but to be deluded. We can group the binaries this way: Way is against Fagles; Pope, Lattimore. How one can reconcile this difference, I really do not know. But my own interpretation is that Pope's choice of "deluding" is more correct than the other three. Indeed, Agamemnon seems to be deluded with the idea of victory when he wakes up later in the book; but Fagles' choice of "murderous" works as well, since it was Agamemnon's command that causes all those Greek and Trojan soldiers to fall by the end of Book IV. Lattimore's choice of "evil" is problematic because "evil", at least according to Nietzsche, is really a Christian concept; for the Greeks, there is only "good" or "bad", and it is used in an entirely different sense. Way's use of "bane" is too weak.
Book IV has another point of contention. Early in the book, Menelaus is wounded by Pandarus, and this line describes the reaction of Agamemnon:
Lattimore: "...[Agamemnon's] spirit was gathered again back into him..." (IV, 152)
Way: "And [Menelaus'] spirit revived in his breast and his courage was kindled afresh." (IV, 152)
Fagles: "...[Agamemnon's] courage flooded back inside his chest." (IV, 172)
There are several points I wish to make here. Firstly, Pope does not have this line (which describes Agamemnon's reaction) at all. The omittion is certainly puzzling: it seems that Pope must really value the character Agamemnon - he requires Agamemnon to be brave and great at all time. Secondly, Way's translation, which is line-by-line rhymed, also omits Agamemnon's reaction. It is understandable how Pope can omit lines - Pope never did intend a line-by-line translation; but how can Way omit this? That is just baffling. Finally, I have to praise Fagles' translation; compared to Lattimore's, it is far more imaginative - we normally consider flooding water out of something (or flooding courage out of his chest); Fagles took the reverse of that, which is very clever.
But Pope is simply so much more clever in his poetry. Even one example (among many) will do. The best heroic couplet line is considered when it has a perfect rhyme, preferibly with one verb and one noun; in iambic pentameter with subtle variations; and within the couplet there should be as many parallels as possible. Taken from the battle in Book IV, consider the following translation by Pope:
"So to the fight the thick Battalions throng,
Shields urg'd on shields, and men drove men along." (IV, 484-485)
Compare to other translations:
Lattimore: "so thronged beat upon beat the Danaans' close battalions / steadily into battle, with each of the lords commanding / his own men..." (IV, 427-429)
Way: "So rank after rank they rolled onward, the Danaan men, to the war / Without cease: through the trampling the cry of the captains rang out everymore; / But in silence the rest of them followed..." (IV, 427-429)
Fagles: "so wave on wave they came, Achaean battalions ceaseless, / surging on to war. Each captain ordered his men / and the ranks moved in silence..." (IV, 496-498)
One can readily notice the similarities between the three versions. Way's version, however, lacked the metaphoric "wave" of Fagles' translation; nor does it have Fagles' dramatization, ending the passage with "silence". Pope's couplet, however, is simply a perfect adaptation of the passage - the neoclassical couplet at its very best. "Throng" and "along" are perfect rhymes, and "throng" is a verb. The first line of the couplet follows the iambic pentameter pattern ( x \ x \ x\ x \ x \ ; with x being weak stress and \ being strong); the second line's pattern varies ( \ \ x \ x \ \ \ x \ ). The first and the seventh accents are stressed, and notice which word are those accents: "shield" and "drove", both battle words, which needs to be stressed to achieve its effect. As a result, the entire line is heightened and dramatized. Notice, too, the parallelism of the second line, "shields urg'd shield", "men drove men". All these wonderful poetic effects in just one couplet. The couplet, in its condense and intense construction, is far better expression than the more literal translations given by the other three translators.
Pope's translation is full of these poetic devices and effects, which makes his translation so much more enjoyable. In a sense, one can consider this a virtuosic work, like a clever Liszt piano transcription of a Beethoven symphony. I would, however, like to make one final point about the style of the heroic couplet. The heroic couplet, in the hands of a master like Pope, of course will achieve its full capacity for expression. But even at this very full capacity, there is something that Pope can never achieve: Pope, without exception, has to have ten syllables for each line; there are moments in the poem which demands less for a better expression. For example, Achilles, in Book I, tells Agamemnon words to the effect of the modern translation of "f--k off" (now that is a vulgar but strong translation). Pope's translation is this: "Command thy vassals, but command not me." (I, 391) Fagles, with a freer translating style, is able to pull of something like this: "don't give me commands!" (I, 346) Pope uses the metric princple to convey his expression. His line runs like (x \ \ \ x x x \ \ \) - a total disruption of the metric principle, which effectly presents to the sensitive reader Achilles' state of mind. But Fagles' translation (\ \ \ x \) has but one weak stress. This is a very forceful line, far more effective than Pope's. Pope's neoclassical heroic principle has reached its very limit.
Coming towards the end, I hope my four parts on the Art of Translation has been insightful to my dear readers. Ancient literature is extremely valuable for us modern readers, because that is where our memory lies - our cultural memory. To better understand ourselves, we must understand the past. But the past is often inaccessible, which is why we need interpreters - skillful interpreters - to guide us. The art of translation is not a simple re-reading of old works: it is indeed an art for a skillful master, so that those who are incapable of reading the original at least will get a good taste of it in a translated form.
*Note: Fagles has translated both The Iliad and The Odyssey; Pope has also translated the two works by Homer; for a translation of The Aeneid, as far as I know, Dryden's translation (Dryden, who reigns in Neoclassical poetry with Pope) remains the best there is in English, although I have been told that the young Keats also translated The Aeneid in his teen years, but in prose.
One observation (and perhaps an apology) I would like to make before we proceed on is that I have gone back to Lattimore's translation and read the translator's notes. I actually did not read any introductory material for any of the four translations, and thought that I would figure out the styles of each just by reading and comparing. But now, having read the notes Lattimore himself made before the actual translation of The Iliad, I realized that, while my observations that his translation is as close to Greek as possible, I did him unjustice by using an English criteria to evaluate his work, and dismissed it as mere line-for-line translation. As his notes indicated, he indeed intended to give that Greek feeling to the translation, which would of course sound weird to the English reader. On this point, I would like to apologize for my unjust bias and evaluation. But my decision in my previous entries to use Lattimore as the standard comparison stands correct; presently, however, I would just like to say that Lattimore's translation should not be viewed in a negative light; it functions perfectly as a standard for us to see just how clever (or not) our other translators are.
Consider the opening line of the poem. All four translators call for the muse to sing the poem. But notice how all versions vary from one another:
Lattimore: "Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilleus..."
Way: "The wrath of Achilles the Peleus-begotten, O Song-queen, sing..."
Fagles: "Rage - Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles..."
Pope: "Achilles's Wrath, to Greece the direful spring / Of woes unnumber'd, heav'nly Goddess, sing!"
Lattimore's greek-based version is rather typical and dry. All other three translators have the poetic sense to place the ultimate theme of the epic poem as the first few words of the opening line. Both Pope and Way in particular highlights Achilles' rage, meaning to say, Achilles' rage for the death of Patroclus, his closest friend. Fagles' version, however, is ingenious, because he starts the poem, introducing this theme without hesitation - "Rage" is the very first word of the poem. What is more ingenious about this beginning is that, when we read the poem again, we are also reminded of other instances in the poem, where rage plays an important role in determining the outcome of events. In fact, we are reminded that the casualties of Trojan War is the outcome of not just Achilles' rage, but Menelaus' rage, the gods' rage at one another and at the mortals - the entire world has fallen into victim of the intense passion of anger. Arguably, rage is the root of this greek epic tragedy. Fagles is intelligent enough to highlight this key theme in the first line.
In book two, there is a rather puzzling line which deserves some attention. Very early in the book, Zeus decides to send Agamemnon a dream to tell him to attack the Trojans. Here are the translations:
Lattimore: "Go forth, evil Dream, beside the swift ships of the Achaians." (II, 8)
Way: "Speed thee, O Dream of bane, to Achaia's sea-swift ships..." (II, 8)
Fagles: "Go, murderous Dream, to the fast Achaean ships..." (II, 9)
Pope: "Fly hence, deluding Dream! and light as air..." (II, 9)
Here we have a problem: the adjective used by the translator to describe the "Dream" are all different: evil, bane, murderous and deluding all have very different meaning. If Zeus' dream is "evil", this means it can bring nothing good, but the dream acts kind of as a tempter instead of a force; if "bane", then it is to cause harm, but not as much harm as "murdering"; if "murdering", then does Zeus mean to murder the Greeks? but he was to grant the Greeks victory; if "deluding", then the dream actually causes misdirection for Agamemnon, which means Agamemnon has no choice but to be deluded. We can group the binaries this way: Way is against Fagles; Pope, Lattimore. How one can reconcile this difference, I really do not know. But my own interpretation is that Pope's choice of "deluding" is more correct than the other three. Indeed, Agamemnon seems to be deluded with the idea of victory when he wakes up later in the book; but Fagles' choice of "murderous" works as well, since it was Agamemnon's command that causes all those Greek and Trojan soldiers to fall by the end of Book IV. Lattimore's choice of "evil" is problematic because "evil", at least according to Nietzsche, is really a Christian concept; for the Greeks, there is only "good" or "bad", and it is used in an entirely different sense. Way's use of "bane" is too weak.
Book IV has another point of contention. Early in the book, Menelaus is wounded by Pandarus, and this line describes the reaction of Agamemnon:
Lattimore: "...[Agamemnon's] spirit was gathered again back into him..." (IV, 152)
Way: "And [Menelaus'] spirit revived in his breast and his courage was kindled afresh." (IV, 152)
Fagles: "...[Agamemnon's] courage flooded back inside his chest." (IV, 172)
There are several points I wish to make here. Firstly, Pope does not have this line (which describes Agamemnon's reaction) at all. The omittion is certainly puzzling: it seems that Pope must really value the character Agamemnon - he requires Agamemnon to be brave and great at all time. Secondly, Way's translation, which is line-by-line rhymed, also omits Agamemnon's reaction. It is understandable how Pope can omit lines - Pope never did intend a line-by-line translation; but how can Way omit this? That is just baffling. Finally, I have to praise Fagles' translation; compared to Lattimore's, it is far more imaginative - we normally consider flooding water out of something (or flooding courage out of his chest); Fagles took the reverse of that, which is very clever.
But Pope is simply so much more clever in his poetry. Even one example (among many) will do. The best heroic couplet line is considered when it has a perfect rhyme, preferibly with one verb and one noun; in iambic pentameter with subtle variations; and within the couplet there should be as many parallels as possible. Taken from the battle in Book IV, consider the following translation by Pope:
"So to the fight the thick Battalions throng,
Shields urg'd on shields, and men drove men along." (IV, 484-485)
Compare to other translations:
Lattimore: "so thronged beat upon beat the Danaans' close battalions / steadily into battle, with each of the lords commanding / his own men..." (IV, 427-429)
Way: "So rank after rank they rolled onward, the Danaan men, to the war / Without cease: through the trampling the cry of the captains rang out everymore; / But in silence the rest of them followed..." (IV, 427-429)
Fagles: "so wave on wave they came, Achaean battalions ceaseless, / surging on to war. Each captain ordered his men / and the ranks moved in silence..." (IV, 496-498)
One can readily notice the similarities between the three versions. Way's version, however, lacked the metaphoric "wave" of Fagles' translation; nor does it have Fagles' dramatization, ending the passage with "silence". Pope's couplet, however, is simply a perfect adaptation of the passage - the neoclassical couplet at its very best. "Throng" and "along" are perfect rhymes, and "throng" is a verb. The first line of the couplet follows the iambic pentameter pattern ( x \ x \ x\ x \ x \ ; with x being weak stress and \ being strong); the second line's pattern varies ( \ \ x \ x \ \ \ x \ ). The first and the seventh accents are stressed, and notice which word are those accents: "shield" and "drove", both battle words, which needs to be stressed to achieve its effect. As a result, the entire line is heightened and dramatized. Notice, too, the parallelism of the second line, "shields urg'd shield", "men drove men". All these wonderful poetic effects in just one couplet. The couplet, in its condense and intense construction, is far better expression than the more literal translations given by the other three translators.
Pope's translation is full of these poetic devices and effects, which makes his translation so much more enjoyable. In a sense, one can consider this a virtuosic work, like a clever Liszt piano transcription of a Beethoven symphony. I would, however, like to make one final point about the style of the heroic couplet. The heroic couplet, in the hands of a master like Pope, of course will achieve its full capacity for expression. But even at this very full capacity, there is something that Pope can never achieve: Pope, without exception, has to have ten syllables for each line; there are moments in the poem which demands less for a better expression. For example, Achilles, in Book I, tells Agamemnon words to the effect of the modern translation of "f--k off" (now that is a vulgar but strong translation). Pope's translation is this: "Command thy vassals, but command not me." (I, 391) Fagles, with a freer translating style, is able to pull of something like this: "don't give me commands!" (I, 346) Pope uses the metric princple to convey his expression. His line runs like (x \ \ \ x x x \ \ \) - a total disruption of the metric principle, which effectly presents to the sensitive reader Achilles' state of mind. But Fagles' translation (\ \ \ x \) has but one weak stress. This is a very forceful line, far more effective than Pope's. Pope's neoclassical heroic principle has reached its very limit.
Coming towards the end, I hope my four parts on the Art of Translation has been insightful to my dear readers. Ancient literature is extremely valuable for us modern readers, because that is where our memory lies - our cultural memory. To better understand ourselves, we must understand the past. But the past is often inaccessible, which is why we need interpreters - skillful interpreters - to guide us. The art of translation is not a simple re-reading of old works: it is indeed an art for a skillful master, so that those who are incapable of reading the original at least will get a good taste of it in a translated form.
*Note: Fagles has translated both The Iliad and The Odyssey; Pope has also translated the two works by Homer; for a translation of The Aeneid, as far as I know, Dryden's translation (Dryden, who reigns in Neoclassical poetry with Pope) remains the best there is in English, although I have been told that the young Keats also translated The Aeneid in his teen years, but in prose.
posted by Tristan at 3:25 p.m.
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