> Buh, this sounds like the pee water adaption! A dreadful twang in pink tütü!
>
> But you are right, your English language is definitely more poetic than the
> sober German language, for example.
>
I was actually thinking of an English version of Faust I began that
seemed uninspiring to me at the time. I have since read a much better
version thankfully. What do you think Francis? Is it the German
language or was I the victim of a poor translation? I don't remember
who translated it but it was in the annoying format of having the
German on the left side of the page in a column going down and the
English on the right. Each sentence was numbered. Very distracting. I
never finished that version of course.
Thanks for the link to the blog about translations.
dj
> On Sat, Nov 12, 2011 at 6:48 PM, Don Johnson <daj...@gmail.com> wrote:
> > I thought this was very interesting. I'm very appreciative of how
> > writing can flow with a special place in my heart for alliteration.
> > I've noticed some translations are unbearable to read because of lost
> > flow. The title really caught my eye.
>
> > WORD CRAFT: Found In Translation
>
> > I have spent the last three years translating Homer's "Iliad," a
> > project I began because none of the English translations on my
> > bookshelf interested my ear enough to get past Book 1. Translating is
> > a specialized kind of work, but in the most general sense, it is the
> > art of listening. It has lessons for anyone who cares about the sound
> > of their writing.
>
> > With Homer, the first thing that I do is my homework, looking up the
> > Greek words I don't know and studying the commentaries. I'm left with
> > a bramble of possibilities handwritten on the right-hand page of my
> > notebook and a blank page on the left.
>
> > Below, for example, is a passage from the very beginning of the
> > "Iliad." Apollo's priest has been offended by King Agamemnon and prays
> > to the god to inflict disaster on the Greek army camped before Troy.
> > Apollo strides down from Mount Olympus and starts shooting his plague
> > arrows.
>
> > Then he sat down apart from (opposite) the ships and shot (let fly) an
> > arrow,
>
> > and terrible was the twang from the silver bow.
>
> > First he attacked the mules and the swift dogs,
>
> > then he shot his sharp (piercing) arrows on the men themselves,
>
> > and forever the pyres of the dead kept burning thick (close
> > together).
>
> > This is raw stuff, as any literal version must be, with no life in the
> > language. At this point I begin to listen for the rhythm (a music that
> > I hear before the words themselves come into focus in my ear), and
> > line by line, sometimes after a minute, sometimes after 10—magically,
> > it seems—the words begin to configure themselves, my hearing creates
> > what I want to hear, the pen starts to write, and I am a fascinated
> > witness.
>
> > Here is my second draft:
>
> > Then he dropped to one knee and an arrow flew,
>
> > and a dreadful twang arose from the silver bow.
>
> > First he attacked the mules and the flickering dogs,
>
> > then he let fly his arrows on the men themselves.
>
> > And night and day the pyres of the dead kept burning.
>
> > Not bad, but the language is still quite awkward, the rhythm choppy,
> > and it ends with a fizzle, not with the kind of commanding harmonic
> > cadence I am listening for.
>
> > The rest of the work, over the next few days or weeks, is a process of
> > refining, of testing every word, every sound, against my sense of what
> > Homer's music should sound like in English, an English that is rapid,
> > direct and noble, as his Greek is. Sometimes it takes five or six
> > drafts until my ear is satisfied, sometimes 30 or 40.
>
> > Here is the passage in its final form:
>
> > He dropped to one knee and drew back a deadly arrow,
>
> > and a dreadful twang rang out from the silver bow.
>
> > First he attacked the mules and the dogs, but soon
>
> > he shifted his aim and struck down the men themselves.
>
> > And the close-packed pyres of the dead kept burning, burning,
>
> > beside the Achaean ships, all day and all night.
>
> > I like the insistent sound of the d's in the first line here.
> > "Dreadful twang" was good already, I thought, but "twang/rang" sounded
> > even better. And the extra "burning," which I stumbled upon in the
> > fourth draft, made my skin tingle.
>
> > Before you finish a piece of your own writing, you might try reading
> > it out loud or silently, paying attention just to the sound of the
> > words. If you come to a phrase that doesn't sound quite right, let
> > your ear, rather than your thinking, revise the line. You may be
> > surprised by what you didn't know you knew.
>
> > —Mr. Mitchell is a writer and translator whose many books include "Tao
> > Te Ching," "The Book of Job" and "Gilgamesh." His translation of
> > Homer's "Iliad" was published last month.
>
> >http://online.wsj.com/article/SB1000142405297020419070457702447079869...- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
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