Monday, April 18, 2011

Just Some Poems: Du Fu in Translation

In translation, even Du Fu’s name is not a constant.  At the time Kenneth Rexroth translated him, the name in English of this Tang Dynasty poet was “Tu Fu.”  Or, as poet Charles Simic put it, “Du Fu, eh?  I knew him when he was Tu Fu.  A swell guy!”

In another of the alarming gaps in my education, I learned of Du Fu, who is “generally described as the greatest of China’s poets,” as an aside to a poet I was after at the time.  As I thought about the instability of Du Fu’s name in English, I couldn’t help but think, and what about the poems?

I’d gathered up three books that contain some of his poems, each by a different translator, and set about searching for a poem that appeared in every book.  That alone was a challenge; even the titles didn’t match up.

I was reminded by this of Anne Carson’s description of the translator’s dilemma—and the joy:
Prowling the meanings of a word, prowling the history of a person, no use expecting a flood of light.  Human words have no main switch.  But all those little kidnaps in the dark.  And then the luminous, big, shivering, discandied, unrepentant, barking web of them that hangs in your mind when you turn back to the page you were trying to translate.
Translator David Hinton provided some clues to the problem of translating from Chinese to English:  “The most immediately striking characteristic of classical Chinese is its graphic form” and “its grammatical elements are minimal in the extreme.”
prepositions and conjunctions are rarely used, leaving relationships between lines, phrases, ideas, and images unclear; the distinction between singular and plural is only rarely and indirectly made; there are no verb tenses, so temporal location and sequence are vague; very often the subjects, verbs, and objects of verbal action are absent.
So what, pray tell, is a poor translator to do?  In translating Du Fu, David Young took this approach:
My being able to situate a poet like Du Fu in the poetic practices of his time is more important, finally, than any fluency in Chinese.  Knowing the literal meaning of a group of characters is merely the first step, even for native speakers and readers, toward a successful interpretation of a poetic text.
As for Rexroth?  Of his work in translating this poet, cherished since adolescence, Rexroth wrote:  “I make no claim for the book as a piece of Oriental scholarship.  Just some poems.”

With that, here are Rexroth’s, Hinton’s, and Young’s translations of a poem by Du Fu.

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WRITTEN ON THE WALL AT CHANG’S HERMITAGE

It is Spring in the mountains.
I come alone seeking you.
The sound of chopping wood echoes
Between the silent peaks.
The streams are still icy.
There is snow on the trail.
At sunset I reach your grove
In the stony mountain pass.
You want nothing, although at night
You can see the aura of gold
And silver ore all around you.
You have learned to be gentle
As the mountain deer you have tamed.
The way back forgotten, hidden
Away, I come like you,
An empty boat, floating, adrift.

-translated by Kenneth Rexroth

***

INSCRIBED ON A WALL AT CHANG’S RECLUSE HOME

In spring mountains, alone, I set out to find you.
Axe strokes crack—crack and quit. Silence doubles.

I pass snow and ice lingering along cold streams,
then, at Stone Gate in late light, enter these woods.

You harm nothing: deer roam here each morning;
want nothing: auras gold and silver grace nights.

Facing you on a whim in bottomless dark, the way
here lost—I feel it drifting, this whole empty boat.

-translated by David Hinton

***

I WRITE TWO POEMS ON THE WALL AT ZHANG’S

I
I came to find you here this spring
among these greening mountains

whack whack of a distant axe
otherwise just huge quiet

I crossed fast mountain brooks
still rimmed with snow and ice

I climbed past Stone Gate cliffs
to seek you out at sunset

when you glimpse gold and silver
you can just ignore them

you hobnob with the deer
and learn their harmless ways

we walk so far into the woods
that we almost get lost

as free of care as empty boats
drifting with any current.

-translated by David Young

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Credits:

Nox, by Anne Carson

Classical Chinese Poetry, translated and edited by David Hinton (greatest poet, p. 190; on classical Chinese, Introduction, pp. xx-xxi; poem, p. 192)

One Hundred Poems from the Chinese, translated by Kenneth Rexroth (just some poems, Introduction, p. xii; poem, p. 4)

Du Fu, A Life in Poetry, translated by David Young (Simic quotation, Introduction, p. xvii; Young on translation, Introduction, p. xii; poem, p. 15)

12 comments:

  1. Translating poetry can only be done by a poet. Even then the poet will be of his own time and use words which belong in his own time.
    To do the poet to be translated justice the translator has to immerse himself not only in the poem but also the culture, the life, the literary language, the history of the original poet.

    For years I have been searching for translations of poems from German into English and vice versa, without great success. There is always something lacking.

    I like Rexroth's version best of the three.

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  2. This is why I despair at ever really knowing what a poet is really saying unless she has said it in English, the only language, I should be embarrassed to say, I am fluent in.

    I think a translator should be more concerned with getting a clear transcription than in stylistic fluency in the language it is translated into. This will probably result in a weak poem, but the alternative will certainly be primarily an expression of the translator's subjective interpretation.

    Of the 3 versions above, 1 and 3 read more fluently to me, but I have no way of knowing which of the 3 is most accurate.

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  3. Dear Raining Acorns,
    thank you for that very interesting post! As you might know I translate literature (but not poems, and of course always from English to German). The publishers in general pay very little for that job (I have another one that brings in the money, and so I can do translating as a hobby - and take my time. A translator who has to live on the money he earns translating - well, I feel sorry for him). Translation is much more than bringing one word from a language accurately into another. I say that a good translator must be a poet. So the translation by Dorothea Bjelvenstam of "The Moomin Stories" into German is in my eyes much better than the more exact one of Brigitte Kicherer. But : Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder - I love the David Hinton translation here moret, but that is a personal decision, you cannot measure it.
    In Germany we have now a study "Literary translation" - very interesting.

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  4. This is a charming post and I like Charles Simic. Thanks for the introduction.

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  5. I really liked David Hinton's version of the poem. It's so interesting to see how each translator used poetic license here.

    This makes me think of the books of the Bible translated over the centuries - who knows how the original versions actually read?

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  6. Wow, what an interesting idea, to show three different translations of the same poem. It is doubly interesting because they are translations of an asian language to English. Translation from one Latin based or Romance language to another seems perilous enough, but from a character-driven language to English seems near impossible.

    In fact, "translation" seems the wrong word to use (no pun intended!). It is almost as if the translator has to give us the essence of the poem. "Translate" implies a dry, academic transfer of words. But in a poem, the translator needs to read, embrace, inhale the work, and then produce a reasonable work in the other language.

    @C-A: I agree with your comment regarding the Bible. I do think many seminarians have to learn Hebrew and Greek so as to read it in its original forms. And how many disagreements and arguments have been had due to differing interpretations of ancient texts in today's prose?? Very sad.

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  7. To all of you: Thank you for the fascinating comments, which merit a post of their own.

    Friko and Britta: it’s a real privilege to get the thoughts of both of you, who are translators and know what the limitations are and what it takes to even come close to getting it right.

    Mark: In Hinton’s book, he gives an example of a poem in its Chinese characters, with a literal transcription beneath each, then offers his own interpretation. I would love to see the Chinese characters and literal transcription for the poem I found in all three books.

    cybersr: Indeed Charles Simic is an interesting fellow, and I am sure you noted that he lived in Chicago and even attended U of Chicago for a time.

    Carol-Ann: Interesting indeed to think about the Bible in this regard.

    WOS: I love your statement, “It is almost as if the translator has to give us the essence of the poem.” When looking back at what Friko and Britta have written, this seems to me exactly right.

    I was interested, too, in the choices of “favorite” translation. I was predisposed toward Rexroth’s version, and I think it does still win out for me, but as I read and re-read, I found myself migrating back and forth from one to another. I liked Hinton’s compression more than I thought I would (“silence doubles” was a phrasing I particularly admired). Young did a beautifully fluid job as well, though I found the use of “hobnob” jarring.

    Translation is indeed an art all of its own, the result of which perhaps can only be, as Ned Rorem said of the musical setting of a poem, not the poem itself, but “a third thing.” As Anne Carson observed, “Human words have no main switch.” Yet there is much to savor: “all those little kidnaps in the dark.”

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  8. Hi Raining Acorns .. I had to wait for the intelligentsia to comment .. and now I've learnt a lot .. the commenters know their stuff .. and that's great for you .. and me!!

    Thank you - interesting read .. I preferred the first two poems .. cheers Hilary

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  9. I am so happy to have stumbled on this beautiful post. I feel a bit like my 'tongue' has been snatched away as I try to imagine how to comment intelligently on what you have done. Reading three separate translations was a joy and it would seem Friko is right: the very act of translating is a poem in and of itself.

    Thank you for this.

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  10. Hilary: Hey, whenever you choose to comment, it's nice of you to stop by!

    Suze: Welcome to RA. So glad you enjoyed the post!

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  11. Here's an earlier, subtly different, Hinton translation of the poem:

    INSCRIBED ON THE WALL AT CHANG’S HERMITAGE

    In spring mountains, alone, I set out to find you.
    Axe strokes crack—crack and quit. Silence doubles.

    I pass snow and ice lingering along cold streams,then,
    Late light wavering at Stone Gate, enter these woods.

    Deer graze here each morning, for you harm nothing.
    And because you want nothing, auras of silver and gold

    Grace nights. Facing you on a whim in bottomless dark, the way
    Here lost—I feel it drifting, this whole empty boat.

    I think I prefer the third stanza of this version and the second stanza of the 'Classical Chinese Poetry' version.

    (from The Selected Poems of Tu Fu, p.4)

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  12. I find this earlier Hinton translation of the poem slightly easier on the ear than the one featured in Classical Chinese Poetry:

    INSCRIBED ON A WALL AT CHANG’S HERMITAGE

    In spring mountains, alone, I set out to find you.
    Axe strokes crack—crack and quit. Silence doubles.

    I pass snow and ice lingering along cold streams,then,
    Late light wavering at Stone Gate, enter these woods.

    Deer graze here each morning, for you harm nothing.
    And because you want nothing, auras of silver and gold

    Grace nights. Facing you on a whim in bottomless dark, the way
    here lost—I feel it drifting, this whole empty boat.

    ReplyDelete

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