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From: Norma Jean <nsawicki>
Date: Tue, 25 May 2004 10:02:35 -0500
I apologize for momentarily derailing the current discussion by sending the following but it is an excellent article about translations that appears in today's New York Times. It may provide insight to those interested in translations. Norma Jean
May 25, 2004
A Translator's Long Journey, Page by Page By ANDREW BAST
In Gregory Rabassa's crowded bookshelves is a first edition of "Rayuela," the experimental 1963 novel by the Argentine novelist Julio Cort?zar. Mr. Rabassa had just finished his Ph.D. in Portuguese in the mid60's when an editor at Pantheon ? who had noticed his work editing a failed literary magazine at Columbia University ? asked him to translate Mr. Cort?zar's book from Spanish into English. Without having read what has been called a
"fiendishly esoteric" novel, Mr. Rabassa sat down and typed a draft in English, word by word. In 1967 Mr. Rabassa's work, titled "Hopscotch" in English, won the first National Book Award for translation.
"I've got 50 of them behind me," Mr. Rabassa said, reflecting in the Upper East Side apartment he shares with his wife, Clementine. He has a slight build and white hair that he wears like a crown. He is surrounded by novels written by literary giants like Jorge Amado, Mario Vargas Llosa, Jos? Lezama Lima and Gabriel Garc?a M?rquez, the original Spanish or Portuguese edition beside his published English translation.
Now, at 82, Mr. Rabassa is finally going to publish his own first full-length book, "If This Be Treason: Translation and Its Dyscontents," a playful reflection on his life's work that New Directions is planning to bring out next spring.
"My thesis in the book is that translation is impossible," Mr. Rabassa said.
"People expect reproduction, but you can't turn a baby chick into a duckling. The best you can do is get close to it."
If that is true, then Mr. Rabassa has gotten about as close as one can. He is widely considered one of the greatest practitioners of his craft.
"Rabassa's great gift is to find the music in English that is true to the language of a wide range of writers in Spanish," said Dan Simon, the founder of Seven Stories Press, which has published some of Mr. Rabassa's translations. "Had Rabassa become a diplomat or brain surgeon, we could easily imagine not having readable translations of Cort?zar and Garc?a M?rquez."
Yet for all the accolades, translation is still a difficult and poorly understood art. Often the translator's name will not even appear on the cover of the book, Mr. Simon said, yet "a poor translation of a text kills it in the market."
Walter Benjamin, the German literary critic, once wrote, "No translation would be possible if in its ultimate essence it strove for likeness to the original."
Mr. Garc?a M?rquez has said that Mr. Rabassa read "One Hundred Years of Solitude," sat down and then rewrote it in English. (He also said that Mr. Rabassa's translation improved on the original.)
But Mr. Rabassa contends that rewriting is not at all what he does: "I'm reading the Spanish, but mostly I'm reading it in English, and it comes out that way.
"When I talk about it, I say the English is hiding behind his Spanish. That's what a good translation is: you have to think if Garc?a M?rquez had been born speaking English, that's how a translation should sound."
In the case of Cort?zar, Mr. Rabassa developed a relationship with him, and they became good friends, spending days and nights listening to 78's of Count Basie and Lester Young. Mr. Rabassa translated Luis Rafael S?nchez and lounged with him on the beaches of Puerto Rico. And after translating "Seven Serpents and Seven Moons" by Demetrio Aguilera-Malta, a former Ecuadorian ambassador to Mexico, he ended up with one of the author's paintings hanging on his apartment wall.
Yet Mr. Rabassa has also produced brilliant translations without developing any relationship with the author. Jorge Armado and Mr. Garc?a M?rquez wanted nothing to do with their books in English.
Mr. Rabassa said he typed his translation of Mr. Garc?a M?rquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" page by page, just as he did with Cort?zar's novel. Yet unlike his blind excursion with "Hopscotch," Mr. Rabassa had already read Mr. Garc?a M?rquez's magical epic about the Buend?a family, before he tried the translation. "I knew it was a damn good book, but it wasn't as much fun knowing all about it," he said.
Sitting in his armchair, nibbling on a greek pastry, Mr. Rabassa explained that titles pose their own challenge. He translated the 19th?ntury Portuguese classic "Mem?rias p?stumas de Br?z Cubas" by Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis, which literally means "The Posthumous Memoirs of Br?s Cubas." When Noonday Press issued the novel with the title "Epitaph of a Small Winner," Mr. Rabassa complained.
"You don't mess around with a classic," he said. "That's like calling
`Madame Bovary' the story of a middle-class adulteress." (Oxford University Press published the book with Mr. Rabassa's translated title in 1997.)
Half of Mr. Rabassa's book will consist of reflections on each of the many authors he has translated, and half will be a memoir of how he ended up as a translator. The epilogue, he said, will be printed unfinished, as
"translation is never finished."
Mr. Rabassa was born in Yonkers in 1922. His father was a Cuban sugar broker, but, he said, "the old man didn't speak much Spanish around the house." The young Mr. Rabassa studied French and Latin in high school; then at Dartmouth, he said, he "began collecting languages." There he studied Portuguese, Russian and German. In conversation, his voice wanders seamlessly among the five he still speaks.
"I'd dabbled in Italian," Mr. Rabassa said. "But then I bought a beautiful edition of Dante. I used Spanish and Portuguese ? they're so similar to Italian ? as I went along, substituting the real Italian words, and finally I was talking Italian."
In 1942 Mr. Rabassa volunteered for the Army and, because of his language skills, ended up in the Office of Strategic Services. Mr. Rabassa translated encryptions, or what he called English into English, and he also conducted interrogations.
When he returned to the United States after spending time in Italy and Northern Africa, Mr. Rabassa lived on Morton Street, watched Charlie Parker play in Greenwich Village and wrote poetry. He studied for his master's in Spanish at Columbia, then, tired of the language, kept on with his studies but finished his doctorate in Portuguese. At a cocktail party Mr. Rabassa met an administrator at Queens College and he ended up being hired as a professor there. He still teaches the freshman lecture course Hispanic Literature in Translation.
"When I began teaching," he said, "I was the same age as my students, and I still labor in the delusion. So it's a good, youthful operation."
Mr. Rabassa says that although he is translating a new generation of Hispanic writers, little has changed since he translated the giants. Despite the differences in writing styles, the way he approaches the text is essentially the same.
"They're all so different, the ones I did," he said. "I think it works because I don't think I have a translation style. It's a positive feeling I have about them. I find a lot of instinct in what I do. You have to just hit it right. I'm never sure whether something is right, but I know damn well when something is wrong."
Copyright 2004?The New York Times Company | Home | Privacy Policy | Search | Corrections | Help | Back to Top
Received on Tue 25 May 2004 10:02:35 AM CDT
Date: Tue, 25 May 2004 10:02:35 -0500
I apologize for momentarily derailing the current discussion by sending the following but it is an excellent article about translations that appears in today's New York Times. It may provide insight to those interested in translations. Norma Jean
May 25, 2004
A Translator's Long Journey, Page by Page By ANDREW BAST
In Gregory Rabassa's crowded bookshelves is a first edition of "Rayuela," the experimental 1963 novel by the Argentine novelist Julio Cort?zar. Mr. Rabassa had just finished his Ph.D. in Portuguese in the mid60's when an editor at Pantheon ? who had noticed his work editing a failed literary magazine at Columbia University ? asked him to translate Mr. Cort?zar's book from Spanish into English. Without having read what has been called a
"fiendishly esoteric" novel, Mr. Rabassa sat down and typed a draft in English, word by word. In 1967 Mr. Rabassa's work, titled "Hopscotch" in English, won the first National Book Award for translation.
"I've got 50 of them behind me," Mr. Rabassa said, reflecting in the Upper East Side apartment he shares with his wife, Clementine. He has a slight build and white hair that he wears like a crown. He is surrounded by novels written by literary giants like Jorge Amado, Mario Vargas Llosa, Jos? Lezama Lima and Gabriel Garc?a M?rquez, the original Spanish or Portuguese edition beside his published English translation.
Now, at 82, Mr. Rabassa is finally going to publish his own first full-length book, "If This Be Treason: Translation and Its Dyscontents," a playful reflection on his life's work that New Directions is planning to bring out next spring.
"My thesis in the book is that translation is impossible," Mr. Rabassa said.
"People expect reproduction, but you can't turn a baby chick into a duckling. The best you can do is get close to it."
If that is true, then Mr. Rabassa has gotten about as close as one can. He is widely considered one of the greatest practitioners of his craft.
"Rabassa's great gift is to find the music in English that is true to the language of a wide range of writers in Spanish," said Dan Simon, the founder of Seven Stories Press, which has published some of Mr. Rabassa's translations. "Had Rabassa become a diplomat or brain surgeon, we could easily imagine not having readable translations of Cort?zar and Garc?a M?rquez."
Yet for all the accolades, translation is still a difficult and poorly understood art. Often the translator's name will not even appear on the cover of the book, Mr. Simon said, yet "a poor translation of a text kills it in the market."
Walter Benjamin, the German literary critic, once wrote, "No translation would be possible if in its ultimate essence it strove for likeness to the original."
Mr. Garc?a M?rquez has said that Mr. Rabassa read "One Hundred Years of Solitude," sat down and then rewrote it in English. (He also said that Mr. Rabassa's translation improved on the original.)
But Mr. Rabassa contends that rewriting is not at all what he does: "I'm reading the Spanish, but mostly I'm reading it in English, and it comes out that way.
"When I talk about it, I say the English is hiding behind his Spanish. That's what a good translation is: you have to think if Garc?a M?rquez had been born speaking English, that's how a translation should sound."
In the case of Cort?zar, Mr. Rabassa developed a relationship with him, and they became good friends, spending days and nights listening to 78's of Count Basie and Lester Young. Mr. Rabassa translated Luis Rafael S?nchez and lounged with him on the beaches of Puerto Rico. And after translating "Seven Serpents and Seven Moons" by Demetrio Aguilera-Malta, a former Ecuadorian ambassador to Mexico, he ended up with one of the author's paintings hanging on his apartment wall.
Yet Mr. Rabassa has also produced brilliant translations without developing any relationship with the author. Jorge Armado and Mr. Garc?a M?rquez wanted nothing to do with their books in English.
Mr. Rabassa said he typed his translation of Mr. Garc?a M?rquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" page by page, just as he did with Cort?zar's novel. Yet unlike his blind excursion with "Hopscotch," Mr. Rabassa had already read Mr. Garc?a M?rquez's magical epic about the Buend?a family, before he tried the translation. "I knew it was a damn good book, but it wasn't as much fun knowing all about it," he said.
Sitting in his armchair, nibbling on a greek pastry, Mr. Rabassa explained that titles pose their own challenge. He translated the 19th?ntury Portuguese classic "Mem?rias p?stumas de Br?z Cubas" by Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis, which literally means "The Posthumous Memoirs of Br?s Cubas." When Noonday Press issued the novel with the title "Epitaph of a Small Winner," Mr. Rabassa complained.
"You don't mess around with a classic," he said. "That's like calling
`Madame Bovary' the story of a middle-class adulteress." (Oxford University Press published the book with Mr. Rabassa's translated title in 1997.)
Half of Mr. Rabassa's book will consist of reflections on each of the many authors he has translated, and half will be a memoir of how he ended up as a translator. The epilogue, he said, will be printed unfinished, as
"translation is never finished."
Mr. Rabassa was born in Yonkers in 1922. His father was a Cuban sugar broker, but, he said, "the old man didn't speak much Spanish around the house." The young Mr. Rabassa studied French and Latin in high school; then at Dartmouth, he said, he "began collecting languages." There he studied Portuguese, Russian and German. In conversation, his voice wanders seamlessly among the five he still speaks.
"I'd dabbled in Italian," Mr. Rabassa said. "But then I bought a beautiful edition of Dante. I used Spanish and Portuguese ? they're so similar to Italian ? as I went along, substituting the real Italian words, and finally I was talking Italian."
In 1942 Mr. Rabassa volunteered for the Army and, because of his language skills, ended up in the Office of Strategic Services. Mr. Rabassa translated encryptions, or what he called English into English, and he also conducted interrogations.
When he returned to the United States after spending time in Italy and Northern Africa, Mr. Rabassa lived on Morton Street, watched Charlie Parker play in Greenwich Village and wrote poetry. He studied for his master's in Spanish at Columbia, then, tired of the language, kept on with his studies but finished his doctorate in Portuguese. At a cocktail party Mr. Rabassa met an administrator at Queens College and he ended up being hired as a professor there. He still teaches the freshman lecture course Hispanic Literature in Translation.
"When I began teaching," he said, "I was the same age as my students, and I still labor in the delusion. So it's a good, youthful operation."
Mr. Rabassa says that although he is translating a new generation of Hispanic writers, little has changed since he translated the giants. Despite the differences in writing styles, the way he approaches the text is essentially the same.
"They're all so different, the ones I did," he said. "I think it works because I don't think I have a translation style. It's a positive feeling I have about them. I find a lot of instinct in what I do. You have to just hit it right. I'm never sure whether something is right, but I know damn well when something is wrong."
Copyright 2004?The New York Times Company | Home | Privacy Policy | Search | Corrections | Help | Back to Top
Received on Tue 25 May 2004 10:02:35 AM CDT
