Translating Contemporary Korean Poetry and Evaluating Translations
Brother Anthony
1. The evaluation of previous translations
At the start of July 2008, the KLTI organized a press conference where
the chair of its Translation Evaluation Committee, Professor Song
Seung-cheol, spoke of the results of their work so far. Indeed, the
members of the committee are undertaking a very important task,
examining as carefully as possible the English translations of the most
important works of modern Korean literature published in recent decades
to evaluate their quality and acceptability. They have reflected deeply
on the current theories of translation, in order to develop an approach
and criteria that are as fair and objective as possible. The committee
includes several non-Korean English speakers who evaluate the quality
of the English, as well as Koreans with a high level of English skills
to compare the translations with the originals. They have developed as
precise a set of criteria as possible by which to evaluate what exists.
They have written (but KLTI does not plan to publish) an interim report
of the committee’s examination of works of fiction. They are now
evaluating poetry translations.
As those active in the field already suspected, far too many
translations fail to meet the minimum expected of a careful
translation. The main problem they identify is an unacceptably
careless, ‘sloppy’ approach to the Korean, with omissions of whole
passages, even whole paragraphs, failure to translate many of the words
in sentences, blending several sentences into one, insertions of
additional explanations, a levelling out of style, as well as multiple
mistranslations. This they find is often hidden by a superficial screen
of quite acceptable English readability. They have therefore,
inevitably, found themselves obliged to give rather more weight to
‘faithfulness’ than to ‘readability’ (the two main categories in
evaluating any translation). They also pinpoint some translations where
the spoken dialogues are marred by an excessive use of strongly
American idioms and slang. Their work, based on a close reading of
selected portions of each text, deserves very close study by all who
are involved in translation.
This press conference was reported (in very poor English) by the Korea
Times : “Song Seung-cheol, English language and literature professor of
Hallym University, head of the project team, said that most of the
wrong and poor translations come from not a lack of English ability but
a lack of historical background knowledge or poor Korean language
skills. ‘Also, the quality of the translation is closely related to
Korean literature critique which guides the right interpretation of the
original meaning. The poor translations are partly a result from a lack
of understanding of the original works,’ Song said. He said that the
overall translated sentences sound natural, are easy to understand and
show a good readability in general. ‘But many have a problem in
remaining loyal to the original text, which fails to revive the
literary beauty and meaning,’ said Song. Song said that in some cases,
the mistranslations were a result of an editor's mistake and a
translator's expediency.”
The poor quality of the journalist’s English make it very hard to
understand much of what is being blamed and even harder to see what
kind of understanding of the act of literary translation underlies the
committee’s work. What emerges from this, and from the Korean press’s
reports, too, is the strongly negative quality of the report. The brief
mention of the readability of a large number of translations is
completely overshadowed by the comments as to their lack of accuracy,
although when it comes to ‘globalizing’ Korean literature, it could
also be argued that the readability of a translation is the single most
important factor in its acceptance abroad. Judging from chance remarks
I have heard, the effect of this seemingly very negative press
conference, widely reported in the Korean Press, has been to diminish
the standing of all the translators of Korean literature, since the
Korean public has been given a strong impression that there are no good
translations at all because all translators are uniformly sloppy, know
little Korean and are totally ignorant of Korean culture. It seems
likely that the aim of the press conference was above all to enhance
the standing of the KLTI in Korean eyes, and make as strong a case as
possible for its current programs. The unintended offshoot, however,
has been to insult all translators by refusing to pay any tribute to
their labors in the past 30 years.
The press conference was held just as I was ending a week-long workshop
with 10 fine young translators from North America and England, heritage
Koreans and non-Koreans together. All are already well on the way to
becoming published translators, and they are certainly strongly aware
that in today’s world literary translators are often thought to enjoy
considerable freedom to translate the essence of a text in a variety of
‘creative’ ways, without being bound to translate every word and
sentence exactly. During our workshop, it was striking that almost
every time we referred back to the Korean original in discussing a
participant’s translation, alternative, closer translations appeared.
In the light of this, it is going to be important to open a full debate
on the manner in which translators currently negociate the
transformation of Korean into English in preparing their first drafts.
It is probably always the case that source language evaluations are
inclined to pinpoint failures to follow the original closely, but the
Korean evaluators are right to be shocked at the cavalier way too many
translators have treated the originals. What makes things worse is the
fact that many of these translators are Koreans. The claim by some
(when challenged) that the portions they have omitted were ‘redundant’
might in theory be justified because Korean publishers have no style
editors; but the reduction of a short story in such a manner and
without the author’s permission, is surely never justified. Reducing a
very repetitive and wordy novel filling over 500 pages to a more
acceptable length is perhaps another matter. Verbal accuracy in
translation should be seen as a sign of respect for the original
author’s work.
2. Paul Ricoeur
The three late essays making up Paul Ricoeur’s On Translation (2006)
are major texts, required reading for all who work in literary
translation. A review by David Pellauer (DePaul University)
http://ndpr.nd.edu/review.cfm?id=8783 indicates some major
topics:
“In the first essay, "Translation as Challenge and Source of
Happiness," (. . .) Ricoeur takes up what he sees as "translation's
great difficulties and small delights". Beginning with the
difficulties, he says that what the translator does is itself something
like a wager, but also something that takes work. To develop further
this idea of the translator's work, Ricoeur uses an analogy drawn from
Freud's notions of a work of remembering and one of mourning, in order
to show that while a good translation can always accomplish something,
it can do so only by always also acknowledging some loss. Because of
this tension between gain and loss, we can say that both a commitment
to faithfulness and an always-possible suspicion of betrayal always
bind the translator, where translation as process and result occupies a
middle ground between these two limit cases. Continuing to use images
drawn from Freud, Ricoeur next argues that translation runs into
resistance in that it can be seen as a threat to the target language
since we can always ask whether this language can really say what was
already said in the other foreign, source language. (. . .) Resistance
can also come from the other side, that of the source language. There
it is expressed by the presumption of non-translatability. This is the
presumption that what is said in one language cannot be said in another
one. Ricoeur's own position is that this is a "fantasy nourished by the
banal admission the original will not be duplicated by another
original", a fantasy that itself usually gets strengthened by another
fantasy, that of a perfect translation.
“He concedes that once translation begins, it will always include
segments of untranslatability. By this, he means those inevitable
failures or losses in transferring what is said in one language to
another. Such losses are due to such factors as differing semantic
fields, intertextual references, syntactical differences, idioms, and
even the "half-silent connotations, which alter the best-defined
denotations of the original vocabulary, and which drift, as it were,
between the signs, the sentences, the sequences, whether short or long"
Beyond this, and central to any theory of translation, there is the
problem that there exists no neutral third language that can mediate
between the source and target language. That is, we cannot mechanize
translation by first translating the source text into an established
unambiguous language that itself can then be translated without loss
into the target language. The fact is that any evaluation of the
accuracy or adequacy of any translation will depend on people who are
sufficiently bilingual to attempt a retranslation of the work in
question. What is at issue therefore is always what Ricoeur calls the
paradox of an equivalence that is never completely adequate. This is
why major works such as the Bible or Homer or Dante are always subject
to retranslation.
“The work of mourning here then is that we must give up the idea of the
perfect translation and accept that translation always works through
approximation. This is not easy to admit, Ricoeur adds, pointing to at
least two other ways in which the fantasy of a perfect translation
keeps returning. One is the Enlightenment ideal of a universal library
"from which all untranslatabilities would have been erased" yielding a
rationality freed from all cultural constraints and local
peculiarities. The other is the dream of a perfect language, the kind
of messianic expectation expressed by Walter Benjamin. This would be a
pure language into which every language could be translated and where
nothing would be lost. What giving up these two unrealizable dreams
achieves, Ricoeur says, is "the happiness associated with translating"
(10). Indeed, this points to the need for what he calls a "linguistic
hospitality" that welcomes what is foreign.
3. The Korean situation
As in many other markedly nationalistic cultures, there exists a
conviction in Korea that the Korean language is untranslateable and,
for non-Koreans, incomprehensible; as Ricoeur notes, that conviction is
accompanied by a strong belief in the possibility of a perfect
translation, a dreamed-of Holy Grail that remains ever unachieved. The
inevitable interplay between translation’s gains and losses escapes
them, even if they know about it in theory; they always tend to ignore
the gains, lamenting only the losses. Therefore their screening
processes and criteria are open to the accusation of being unbalaced
and unfair. But that charge cannot be sustained in the present case,
where so much care went into establishing criteria. Rather, there needs
to be a shared debate between the Korean evaluators and non-Korean
translators on what is normal and acceptable practice in the
translation of literary texts, and what is unacceptable.
Before going any further, it is worth noting that a similar committee
set up to evaluate Korean translations of major works of British and
American literature found that 90% of the translations published were
seriously flawed. The KLTI committee’s 50% of not-too-bad translations
is an extraordinary achievement. It could also, of course, be argued
that it was better to have published very inaccurate but good-to-read
translations than not to have published anything. Korea ought surely to
remember with gratitude and celebrate the devotion of all those who
have been active in the translation of Korean literature so far, even
if their work was often deeply flawed. Something, we could argue, is
better than nothing and there was no alternative at the time. Who were
they, after all? Many were Koreans, professors of English literature in
Korean universities or permanent residents abroad. Others were foreign
missionaries residing for many decades in Korea. Others came to Korea
as Peace Corps volunteers. All their translations were first and
foremost labors of love, done as spare-time activities. These were not
full-time, professional translators of Korean literature. All were
amateurs, volunteers.
These translators, once they had done the best they could to render
their chosen texts into English, had to set about finding a publisher.
That was usually harder than doing the translation and they received
little or no help. Everyone has always known that many of those
translations were not particularly ‘good,’ and it is very important to
stress that many of the translators were working in the ‘wrong’
direction, from native Korean language into foreign English language.
Many of the native English speakers had limited Korean, little training
in literary style, less knowledge of literary translation, and less
still of creative writing. Above all, they were all very busy doing
other things in their full-time professions. Certainly, many of the
translations published are not accurate; some are also not very
readable. But still they deserve to be recognized for what they are,
the best the people available could do in the time available with their
limited abilities. The question can best be expressed as follows: if a
translation of a particular work, already translated, were to be
published again now or in the future, are any of the existing
translations good enough to be reprinted, or will it be better to
commission a new, more careful and accurate translation? That is
certainly a useful question and the KLTI committee have worked very
hard to give reliable answers from a source-language perspective. Now
it is the ‘creative translators’ turn to speak.
4. A translators’ view
As we translate Korean literature into western languages, we constantly
find ourselves, like Ulysses in the Odyssey, caught between Scylla and
Charybdis. Wikipedia says that the phrase “between Scylla and
Charybdis” is “believed to be the origin of the phrase ‘between a rock
and a hard place’.” For us, literary translators from Korean into
English, Scylla snarls, “That’s not exactly what the Korean says,” and
Charybdis growls, “That does not sound like natural English.” I
recently saw an evaluation of some translations where the Korean
evaluator said both things at once, to the effect that, “These
translations fail to represent accurately what the Korean originals say
and ignore the importance of translating poetry as poetry.” The
evaluator had surely not heard the French dictum: “Translations are
like women: you can’t find one that is at the same time beautiful and
faithful.”
I who live in Korea, who am all the time subject to the moaning of
Scylla: “Be faithful to the original,” mostly try to obey, in order to
have a quiet life but also because I am not strongly inclined to risk
betraying an author by moving my translation far from the original. But
then a Korean writer comes back from the United States complaining that
students in his class told him that the style of my (very precise)
translation of his work felt awkward, it needed revision. My only
defence is: “But that’s how you wrote it, your Korean style is awkward.”
The more translating I do, the more I find myself convinced that,
indeed, I do not fully understand Korean, cannot feel Korean poetry as
a Korean does, and do not know how to write a form of poetic English
that might sufficiently and accurately correspond to the Korean
originals. I think I must have been lucky to happen upon fairly easy
poets in my younger days. A first consolation comes when Korean poets
in their 50s or 60s tell me that they too, often, cannot understand the
poems being written in Korea by the new generation in their 20s and
30s. As a kind of solution, when I translate I always try to find a
sympathetic Korean with poetic sensitivity and good English who can
point out the places where I have misunderstood and misrepresented the
original. On the other side of the equation, I have recently done a lot
of work with 2 American poets, who have suggested ways of making my
translations sound more naturally poetic in English. But at that point,
a third monster comes rising up to scream, “You’ve made him sound like
a Californian poet, not a Korean!”
5. Ezra Pound and other models of free translation
Ezra Pound, notoriously, did not know Chinese at all when he wrote
“Cathay” (1915) and never knew it very well, even later. Senior Korean
scholars of American poetry like to present papers in which they
diligently list all the “dreadful mistranslations,” the serious errors
they have found in his poems. The way they speak makes it clear that
they cannot understand at all why western readers admire the poems and
are not bothered in the slightest by the presence of such errors, but
rather shrug them off. “But he made so many mistakes, he was ignorant!”
“So what? He was a poet, he’s allowed to take liberties.”
I am not Ezra Pound, of course. Kevin O’Rourke is a very experienced
translator and I think I can say without betraying him that he insists
strongly on the translator’s freedom to transform poetry into poetry
without being constrained by each and every word (or ‘nuance,’ as
Koreans often put it) in the original. He, and surely only he, could
ever have had the idea of taking 신경님’s words at the start of 전설
‘Legend’:
늘 술만 마시고
미쳐서 날뛰다가
마침내 그 녀석은 죽어버렸다
and producing:
The poor bugger drank all the time
a lunatic on the loose;
eventually he died.
He makes Shin Kyŏng-Nim sound as Irish as he might desire to be. More cautious and conservative, I proposed:
He was always drinking,
he went mad, grew rowdy,
then finally the rascal died.
Kevin also, in the Columbia Anthology of Modern Korean Poetry, took the start of 김춘수’s ‘Flower’
내가 그의 이름을 불러주기전에는
그는 다만
하나의 몸짓에 지나지 않았다.
and transformed it into:
You were
nothing,
a mere sign,
till I named you.
Translators of that poem are always faced with the challenge of having
to represent ‘그는’ by either ‘he’ or ‘she’ and Kevin’s change to ‘you’
certainly solves the problem. But the Korean poem is not a tribute poem
of friendship or love directly addressed to the person in question, it
is a private meditation on significance in relationship, addressed
mainly to himself, and that might be felt to matter rather a lot in
translating it. Or does it? 김종길 adopted another translation strategem.
He phoned the poet and asked him what gender the person had been he had
had in mind as 그는. The poet’s reply was a clear “it was a man.” So he
translated that stanza:
Until I spoke his name,
he had been
no more than a mere gesture.
And I, in a version also submitted for the Columbia Anthology, proposed:
Before I spoke his name
he was simply
one set of gestures, nothing more.
I am not interested in saying this or that is ‘better,’ I just want to
indicate the differences that exist, the multiple options we have, and
above all the question as to what a translated poem is meant to be.
6. Brother Anthony’s view
Most translators of Korean might know the multiple (parodic) versions
of Sowol’s ‘Azaleas’ I composed in 1996. That was to illustrate the
same question, expressed as follows:
http://hompi.sogang.ac.kr/anthony/Foreign.htm
“Fidelity is a fundamental duty of the respectful translator, who
desires to attain a state as near transparency as possible, in the hope
that the qualities of the original text will bring praise to the
original text's author. Yet as Barnstone insists against Benjamin,
translators do not translate, they interpret. It is for this reason
that those of us who translate should be very careful to respect the
work of other translators, even if we disagree with some of the
solutions they propose. There are many ways of rendering every phrase
in every work, depending on the priorities a translator has decided on.
The writing of polemical articles denouncing other people's
translations, "translator- bashing", shows a lack of generosity and a
failure to recognize the full variety of approaches that can be
considered as translation. If translators misunderstand something, or
make some obvious error, it is normal courtesy to tell them in private
and suggest revisions in future editions.
“Some famous translators (such as Christopher Logue) read a page of
their original text, shut the book, and write a page in the target
language which may have only a vague relationship with the original.
Others slave with dictionaries, metronomes, and rulers to make lines
that have exactly the same number of syllables and the same stresses
and sound-patterns as well as the same meaning as the original. Every
translator will find readers to acclaim the result of their efforts;
every translator has some reason for each word and grammatical form
chosen. Even "mis-translations" may well be part of the translator's
attempt to re-create the original text elsewhere.
“There can be as many different translations of a poem as anyone cares
to make, and different people will produce different translations; it
is not because some are "closer" to the original in some mechanical way
that they will be "better" or even "more faithful": better than what,
faithful to what? The best comparison might be with the "Theme and
variations" in music, every translation being a new "Variation on a
theme by...". Perhaps indeed we ought always to offer several versions
of every poem we translate, as a way to help the readers better
encompass the full richness of the original. Benjamin has a deep
reflection on certain works' quality of "translateability" that is a
function of their established value, their "immortality", even.
“Certainly, translators always dream of a
moment of perfect correspondance, when the gaps interfering with
communication are all overcome in a moment of perfect union. The
spectre of the perfect translation is a powerful one that has sometimes
to be exorcized. There can never be a full, perfect and exact
translation from one language into another. What we offer are vague
resemblances, unfocussed photos of remote beauties, travellers' tales
that evoke uncertain images of often exotic landscapes in the hearers
elsewhere while we know that to the people living in the work's native
land, our exotic is their familiar everyday.”
The point I was making is that there are multiple, mutually
incompatible differences of approach to the translation of poetry as of
fiction and that we all, including the KLTI, need to be aware of
them. The British review Modern Poetry in Translation indicates on its
home page: “We want also to widen and diversify the very idea of
translation, and in that spirit we invite transformations and
metamorphoses of all kinds: down the ages, across the frontiers and
cultures, from one genre or medium to another.” Creative, free
translation is perfectly familiar to us in the West, even if we do not
see the point of the use of Irish dialect words in Heaney’s Beowulf.
However, almost all Koreans demand literal translation at all costs,
and sometimes even seem to prefer Konglish to English. This can be a
very serious obstacle to the creative metamorphosis of Korean works,
since funding is at stake.
7. Fitzgerald’s Rubaiyat and the stuffed eagle
Fitzgerald’s version of the Rubaiyat is probably the most famous /
notorious example of free translation. It is also the most enduring
translation ever published, with some 20 editions currently in print,
after 120 years. “Everyone” knows the quatrain 12 (from the 5th
edition, 1889):
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
The same text, translated (in 1988) by an outstanding Persian
translator, Karim Emami, with a desire to be ‘faithful to the original’
says:
In spring if a houri-like sweetheart
Gives me a cup of wine on the edge of a green cornfield,
Though to the vulgar this would be blasphemy,
If I mentioned any other Paradise, I'd be worse than a dog.
Fitzgerald himself expressed our problem very well in letters written
to a friend: "My translation will interest you from its form, and also
in many respects in its detail: very un-literal as it is. Many
quatrains are mashed together: and something lost, I doubt, of Omar's
simplicity, which is so much a virtue in him" (letter to E. B. Cowell,
9/3/58). And, "I suppose very few People have ever taken such Pains in
Translation as I have: though certainly not to be literal. But at all
Cost, a Thing must live: with a transfusion of one’s own worse Life if
one can’t retain the Original’s better. Better a live Sparrow than a
stuffed Eagle" (letter to E. B. Cowell, 4/27/59). He employed the word
“transmogrification” to express the process of translation as he
performed it, “mog” being (I assume) the same word as “mug” in “ugly
mug” – slang for “face.”
Maybe we should have a vote on the live sparrow / dead eagle options.
But if we want to receive funding from a Korean foundation, we all know
which bird to favor. It is true that some translators of fiction manage
to omit whole paragraphs without being detected; I have heard of people
who merrily skip what they cannot easily deal with as they translate! A
tempting option that (need I say?) must be resisted at all costs.
Returning to Kevin’s wisdom, he is the first to admit that only certain
Korean poems inspire him to take real creative liberties. I have a
feeling that this is something that Walter Benjamin mentions in talking
about “the afterlife of a poem” – the way certain really great poems
cry out to be reinvented, while most remain as stuffed eagles, even in
the original.
8. Proposed guidelines for the KLTI Anthology
One translation project that several of us are involved in at present
is the KLTI anthology, both their small annual anthologies and one Big
Representative Anthology. We in the committee for translation have
decided that guidelines are needed to help maintain a certain
uniformity of process. The works have been selected by another
committee, we have no say over that. Guidelines for prose are quite
easy to formulate, at least as wishful thinking, but it was less
obvious what to say for poetry. Finally, we decided on the following:
Fiction
1. Translators should adopt a respectful approach to the author's
decisions as to the vocabulary chosen, the grammatical constructions,
the paragraph breaks. S/he must be assumed to have had a precise reason
for every aspect of the published work.
2. The goal must be to represent in one way or another every word found
in the original, although the great difference between Korean and
English means that there can be no such thing as a ‘word-for-word’
translation. The basic rule should be "add nothing, omit nothing."
3. Grammatically correct Korean should be translated by grammatically correct English.
4. Plain Korean sentences should be represented by plain English sentences.
5. Complex Korean sentences should be translated by complex English sentences.
6. Ordinary, everyday Korean vocabulary is to be translated by
ordinary, everyday English vocabulary; abstruse or high-level abstract
vocabulary by terms of a similar level, vulgarity by vulgarity (but see
Problem 1 below)
7. Natural-feeling modern Korean prose should be translated into natural-feeling English prose.
8. Excentricity of style should be indicated by excentricity of style.
Multiple repetitions of a word (for example) should be preserved.
9. One Korean paragraph should usually be represented by one English
paragraph. (But this might be reviewed at a later stage of stylistic
revision).
10. A lively narrative style must be translated by a lively narrative style. A plodding style demands a plodding style.
The translator’s difficulties begin with a number of problem situations which have no easy solution:
1. Word-play. colloquial expressions, slang, oaths or regional dialect employed in dialogue.
a) Finding puns to translate puns is the ideal but not always possible solution.
b) Colloquial language should be translated by a colloquial style, but
if possible one not too aggressively North-American or British (the
ideal is ‘mid-Atlantic’).
c) Vulgarisms should not be coarsened downward (there is probably no
Korean term that needs to be translated by a word such as ‘fucking’!).
‘Son of a bitch’ is to be avoided if possible.
d) An existing, identifiable English-language dialect should never be
used in place of a Korean regional dialect, since the codes do not
coincide. Instead, a simple statement that a character is speaking in a
particular dialect should be inserted, if it is needed.
e) Korean frequently employ hierarchical titles in addressing or
referring to others (선생님, 형, 언니, 아버지) and these will often need to be
omitted in translation, in order to avoid awkward style. In English
conversation, ‘you’ is usually sufficient.
2. Vocabulary for objects or activities that have no equivalent in English culture.
a) It is usually possible to transcribe kimchi, soju, ondol, makkolli
without translating. Other aspects of traditional culture, such as the
parts of a traditional house, or other items of food and drink, or
clothing, need to be treated with great care.
b) Translators should compile a Glossary of all such terms with their
preferred translations and a brief explanatory note. This will be a
necessary part of the whole Anthology.
3. The use of different grammatical ‘levels’ to indicate social hierarchy or personal feelings.
This will often have to be transformed into a brief indication of what
is being implied, when the level has a clear function (to humiliate or
mark age / class distinction, for example) in a context. If the styles
used are natural consequences of age or class difference, with no
special force, they should be ignored. A slightly more or less formal
style or vocabulary will usually be enough.
Any considerable degree of stylistic editing of a text, that clearly
modifies some aspect of the original (systematic changes in phrase
order, sentence breaks, paragraph breaks, etc.) should only be
undertaken after completion of a seriously reviewed 'full' translation
on the conservative lines outlined above.
Poetry
1. While the fundamental rule is that poetry should be translated as
poetry, translators are requested to adopt relatively conservative
strategies for the anthology, since those using the volume may wish to
refer to the original poem at the same time.
2. Rather than making free transformations, the translators’ goal
should be to represent in one way or another every word found in the
original, although of course the great difference between Korean and
English means that there can be no such thing as a ‘word-for-word’
translation. The basic rule should be "add nothing, omit nothing."
3. Because of the ‘conservative’ option being adopted, stanza breaks in
the original should be reproduced in the translations. The number of
lines will depend on various factors.
Still, I believe that in the end, the best guideline for translators
will have to be “Do what you can, and do not bother about getting
everything ‘right’.” Because we want our stuffed eagles to have at
least something of the live sparrow about them.
9. Problems in translating contemporary Korean poetry
The chief problem I find myself facing is what I can only call the
obscurity of so much contemporary Korean poetry. Even
‘transmogrification’ assumes that there is something which can survive
in translation, I shall not repeat the stale dictum about what gets
lost. But we have recently been working on a kind of poetry that I
believe defies translation in special ways.
In August at the Manhae Festival, Professor Kim Jong-Gil tells me he is
planning to say in his paper that the process of translation of modern
Korean poetry into western languages is in fact a kind of giving back
of gifts received, since modern Korean poetry has been so deeply
influenced by western poetry. In the paper that I have prepared for the
same event, I stress that every poem is written in a particular
literary space, regional or national, and that the specific life
experience of the people in that space, different from any other, is
reflected in the poetry and its reception. Also, every poet writes in
dialogue with the poems written previously within that space.
Therefore, I think, young Korean poets are currently writing poems that
are radically unlike anything being written in English anywhere, in
reference and in style. Some of them seem to be developing a kind of
neo-Modernism, an exhuberance of dispersed, fragmented images gathered
into poems whose coherence lies beyond anything we can pin down as
narrative structure or emotional flow. Certainly these poems are very
hard to perform at readings, as we saw recently, but that is another
issue.
So what can we do about translating such intensely untranslateable
poems? Are there any valid guidelines? First, I asume that we need to
provide a very exact translation of what each of the Korean words
actually says. Some translators seem to glide across Korean poems,
producing English versions that are far from giving a full, precise
account of the whole contents, perhaps they are in a hurry to produce
something that sounds / looks poetic, vaguely similar to the original.
I think that this more-or-less approach will not be helpful. Above all,
I, at least, cannot spot in such difficult poetry elements of pun or
wordplay, and am blind to the subterranean links between apparently
unconnected sets of imagery. Unless there is a Korean helping us, one
who is capable of a sympathetic in-depth reading and explication of
these poems, we are often going to be at a complete loss. Of course,
the poet in person may be available, though I find that many poets are
unable to explain their work.
My own opinion is therefore that we should not try at all costs to make
a translated poem sound ‘poetic’ in English. We are in an age when the
old style of cosy, familiar-feeling translations of Russian classics
has given place to the ‘as is’ version, warts and all, ‘Tolstoy is as
Tolstoy does’ kind of version. Modern Korean poetry is not modern
American or British poetry in light disguise; it is not the case that
all we have to do is strip off a thin layer of Korean language and
briskly polish up the result a bit to have it turn into a convincing
English poem. Perhaps the utter difference, the real strangeness of it
has to remain blatant, in which case our task is, indeed, to produce
English versions that say exactly what the Korean says, and that make
no attempt at all to sound like Californian, or Irish, or any other
kind of poem.
10. Josef Brodsky and the limits of the target language
We might end by pondering on a notorious case, that of Josef Brodsky’s
self-translations. In a book review of From Russian with Love: Joseph
Brodsky in English, by Daniel Weissbort, London: Anvil Press Poetry,
2004, in the Kenyon Review, Cynthia L. Haven writes:
http://www.kenyonreview.org/issues/summer06/haven.php
“When Brodsky burst upon the American scene in 1972, he seemed to have
emerged from a time capsule. It was long before the advent of any “New
Formalist” movement. The era marked the high-tide of confessional,
rambling verse. And Brodsky offended with comments like this: “[W]e
should recognize that only content can be innovative and that formal
innovation can occur only within the limits of form. Rejection of form
is a rejection of innovation. . . . More than a crime against language
or a betrayal of the reader, the rejection of meter is an act of
self-castration by the author.” 2
“Brodsky insisted that the translation of a poem must match it in
form—rhyme for rhyme, dactyl for dactyl. He attempted to reproduce “the
whole body, the feel, movement, as well as the shape of the poem”
(195), says Weissbort. Brodsky’s enormous facility for invention and
rhyme—Milosz said it was the work of a daimon—made it feasible. It
didn’t always make it verse, let alone poetry.
He never quite acquired an English ear, despite his love affair with
our language. Often he wrote English, as Robert Hass puts it, “like an
eighteenth-century hack rewriting Shakespeare.” Or more often, given
Brodsky’s unlimited admiration for Auden, like one of those “clever
young Englishmen of indeterminate age down from the university and set
to make a splash.” 3 In the New Republic, Hass lamented egregiously
awful translations and “fatal miscalculations of tone,” citing this one
from “Lullaby of Cape Cod”: “Therefore, sleep well. Sweet dreams. Knit
up that sleeve. / Sleep as those only do who have gone pee-pee.”
“He finally concludes that reading Brodsky’s poetry “is like wandering
through the ruins of what has been reported to be a noble
building.” Hass wasn’t the only one to deliver such a
verdict—though many waited till after the funeral. There was good
reason for some of the Western literati’s resentment, anger, and
silences—besides jealousy. Brodsky was a bit of a bully.
(. . .)
“Weissbort argues that Brodsky “was trying to Russianize English, not
respecting the genius of the English language, . . . he wanted the
transfer between the languages to take place without drastic changes,
this being achievable only if English itself was changed” (195). In
short, Weissbort invites us to listen to Brodsky’s poetry on its own
terms. As he tells a workshop: “It’s like a new kind of music. You may
not like it, may find it absurd, outrageous even, but admit, if only
for the sake of argument, that this may be due to its unfamiliarity.
Give it a chance, listen!” (110). Well, Brodsky certainly had the
hubris to demand to be heard on his own terms—to invent “his English”
(221). If he failed, it was because of the Herculean nature of the
undertaking, and the fact that Brodsky was, as always, the linguistic
lone wolf, playing by his own rules, without giving others his decoder
ring.
“Brodsky’s galumphing self-translations—and he interfered with his
translators so much that one might extend “self-translation” to many
poems that give official credit to others—were universally deprecated,
and did much to damage his literary reputation, perhaps fatally. Yet,
in one of the chapters, Weissbort compares Brodsky’s own translation
against his own, and comes out definitively for the former. Despite a
few infelicities, Brodsky at his best could make a persuasive
rendering. (. . .) In the years to come, when time has forgiven, if not
forgotten, the forced and clumsy rhymes, the annoying affectations in
tone—we will still be left with an off-the-scale metaphorical
inventiveness and delight in wordplay and conceits that are perhaps
unmatched in our time, and hint at what the Russian poems offer. That’s
one reason why he’s important.”