“Hence the vanity of translation; it were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its color and odor, as seek to transfuse from one language into another the creations of a poet. The plant must spring again from its seed, or it will bear no flower—and this is the burden of the curse of Babel.” — Shelley, A Defense of Poetry
We caught the Adam and Ilya show over on the Poetry Foundation site: the critic and former-Seamus-Heaney-student-at-Harvard critic and the Russian-transfer-student-professor poet were debating the finer points of translation—points, thankfully, which are easily translatable.
Ilya Kaminsky was for it, Adam Kirsch was wary of it. Ilya was climbing the tower as fast as he could while Adam was standing on the ground, looking up, saying…I don’t know…
Ilya Kaminsky was selling his book (The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry) and Adam Kirsch was selling valid notions of translation.
Then Sam Hamill commented on the discussion:
“I’ve grown very weary of these arguments, especially when they are relentlessly Eurocentric. Not a single mention of a Chinese poet, or Japanese or Vietnamese, no poem from Tamil, from Sanskrit, from Thai; no thought of Native American languages and traditions.”
We’re getting ahead of ourselves, obviously, reprinting a remark which followed the debate by two young titans, but grouchy Hamill helps us to see how problematic the whole issue is: Fail! no poem from Tamil. The tower is big, baby.
The tower is big, so big, it’s probably best to stay on the ground and hang out with Philip Larkin, who, when asked about Jorge Luis Borges, retorted, “Who’s Jorge Luis Borges?” Just congratulate yourself that you speak English, which practically the whole educated world speaks, and note that English is a language both Romance and Germanic, as close to an Ur-language as ancient Latin, Greek, or Sanskrit.
Fluency in English is enough. Who needs to learn other languages when you’ve got Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Byron, Shelley and Keats? If studying Latin and Greek made those old English poets better, it was because English is fed by Latin and Greek, on a purely practical, mechanical, nuts-and-bolts level; it makes as much sense, then, to study Latin today, as it did then. (Are MFA poetry students studying Latin, today? Nope.) Or, to study Pope, because he knew French, Italian, Latin and Greek. A reader not fluent in English, unable to appreciate Pope, what can they defend?
We think it richly, funny, then, this whole silly debate, for one either knows a language fluently, or one learns another one, but if neither the poet, nor the reader, nor the translator, is an Alexander Pope, it is a hypocritical farce, all this blather about ‘translation’ and ‘international poetry.’
Translation from what, to what, for whom, and to what end?
That is the question.
Poetry must ask this question all the time, whether it involves translation, or not. Translation is the last of our worries, really. Study French or Italian or German or Latin or Greek or Chinese or Shakespeare or Pope to make your English better and shut up. Don’t tell me I need to read some comtemporary Russian poet or some contemporary Greek poet or some contemporary Vietnamese poet translated into contemporary English.
Now, I could read the mumblings of WC Williams or the rantings of Ezra Pound, or the kickapoo of Jorie Graham. Would that make me more internationalist, or just hopelessly pretentious? I suppose it depends on which American academic dialect one speaks. It doesn’t take a linguist to warp and bend my native tongue into something new and strange. It doesn’t take a Russian to mangle English; a speaker who only knows English can do that just fine. Neither does it take a Russian to teach me facts about Russia; the human is universal enough that I can ‘get’ Russia through English reporting. Personalities vary enough within one language, differences are profound in one country, even within one family, that it’s not necessary to seek difference in another tongue. What seek I in another tongue, then? Only an advantage to myself, only an advantage to my language, or, if I were going to resettle in another land with another tongue, but now we are in a practical realm far from poetry, or, close to poetry, depending on who my new neighbors are.
If I could snap my fingers and know all languages, of course I would. Duh. But poetry is any language that is good; Pope in English is better than WC Williams in 600 languages. Let us come right out and say it: poetry is the cream of language, by its very definition, and those who peddle ‘international poetry’ because the product happens to be ‘international,’ when it turns out the poetry itself is pedestrian, are doing good work as a matter of course, but let’s be really honest: in terms of poetry and pedagogy, in terms of real interest in language, contemporary translations of contemporary international poetry is important only in terms of polite diplomacy and in nothing else; in terms of real learning and real poetry it probably does more harm than good, ultimately. Let these MFA poets who feather their nest with ‘translation’ creds take note: before you vacation in Italy, why not spend some time learning Vietnamese?
Professor Kaminsky struck what seemed to be a mortal blow against his opponent when he said politely, responding to Adam (“wouldn’t you agree there is no such thing as an international poem?”) Kirsch’s wary approach to translation:
“I’m assuming that when you speak about your “persistent doubts about poetry in translation” you aren’t speaking about the classics, from Chapman’s Homer to the King James Bible to Pound’s Cathay.”
I thought, at that point, Kirsch will never get up from that mat. But he did. Kirsch said that well-known examples of successful translations are really not so much translations as “reinventions.” Kirsch delivered a knock-out blow of his own with: “the foreign poem is made to serve the translator, not vice versa.”
The question then comes back to what I said earlier: Translation from what, to what, for whom, and to what end?
Translation is heated lovemaking, and both lovers, in every successful case of translation, transcend ‘the heated babble’ of the ‘translation debate’ itself. The rest is a mere lover’s spat by mediocre translators.