Can one translate poetry without
knowing the source language? Certainly
that was what Ezra Pound did. In his
volume Cathay (1915), Pound
translates a total of 19 pieces of ancient Chinese poetry, spanning a period from
the 11th Century B.C. to
4th Century A.D. But of
course he couldn’t have done it without help from someone who had knowledge of
the Chinese language, in this case Ernest Fenollosa, an American orientalist. The
unusual situation, however, was that Pound was approached by Fenollosa’s wife after
the man’s death. At the time, in the 1910s-20s,
English information about Chinese poetry must have been scarce, thus Pound’s
only basis for the translation was Fenollosa’s meticulous unpublished notes. In addition to providing
a word-by-word mapping between Japanese and English, the notes also include line-by-line
draft translation into English.
Given Pound’s lack of knowledge of Chinese
at the time, it is probably not a big surprise that Cathay contains quite a few citation errors. For example, the first
poem in the collection, “Son of the Bowman of Shu,” is cited by Pound as from
Kustugen (the Japanese name for Qu Yuan) in the 4th Century B.C.,
however it in fact is an anonymous work collected in Shijing (also known as Book
of Songs), the earliest known volume of Chinese poetry. Another example is the third poem, the famous
“River Song.” Though correctly cited as from Li Bai (whom the Japanese called “Rihaku”),
one of the most acclaimed poets in the Tang Dynasty, Pound had mistaken two
poems as one. The first 22 lines of “The
River Song” correspond to a poem titled “江上吟”
(“Humming on the River”), while the rest, starting from “The east wind brings
the green color…”, correspond to a different poem by Li Bai titled “侍从宜春苑奉诏赋龙池柳色初青听新莺百嗽歌”, meaning
literally “Following orders to write about listening to new birds singing in early
spring, while serving the Emperor in Yichun Park.” Two completely different
occasions in distinct settings. It is
curious that Pound would regard their contents as fitting perfectly in a single
poem. There are a few other minor errors that I will skip here.
If the above
errors are merely technical, wherever Fenollosa had missed the original Chinese
meaning (though such occasions were few), the same problem also transferred
into Pound’s “translation.” Take “The
River Merchant’s Wife: A Letter” as an example. In Li Bai's original poem, "长干行," there is this famous
line that has since become a timeless allusion known as "bamboo horse and
green plums":
郎骑竹马来,绕床弄青梅。
Which Pound translated as (underlines
are mine):
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
Here, the word “床” usually means “bed,” but in ancient Chinese it also
means the fence of a backyard well. The latter meaning happens to be what Li Bai
is referring to in this poem. Such language nuance can present difficulties for
even a native speaker, not to mention a foreigner. Curiously, In Fenollosa’s
notes the word is translated as “seat” instead of the usual meaning “bed.” He
might not have known the other, less-common meaning of the word, and felt that
“bed” wouldn’t have made sense: the first part of the line obviously refers to
an outdoor setting. Either “you walked
about my seat” or “you walked about my bed” wouldn’t read right,
but apparently Fenollosa went for the less nonsensical. Pound might or might not have noticed this
inconsistency, but there was not much he could do about it, being unable to
read the original text. In any case, a glitch like this could probably be
explained away by “poetic license.” So the error is kept. In the same line, “blue plums” should actually
be “green plums,” indicating the fruits are unripe, a metaphor for the young
girl and boy. This metaphor is
completely lost in the translation.
Another interesting thing to note
is that the original poem alludes to an allegory known as “Holding-pillar faith,”
which originates from a book by ancient Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi. The
allegory goes like this: a man is
waiting for his female date under a bridge. Before the woman arrives, however,
the river water unexpectedly rises. To be faithful to his promise, the man
doesn’t leave; he holds onto a pillar of the bridge until he drowns. The moral of this allegory is one can place
love above his own life. Li Bai's lines that allude to this
十五始展眉,愿同尘与灰。
常存抱柱信,岂上望夫台。
were translated by Pound as
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?
In Fenollosa's notes, he had
written a draft translation “I always had in me the faith of holding to pillars
/ And why should I think of climbing the husband looking out terrace.” This is quite accurate literally; however it
is unclear whether he was aware of the allusion. In any case he did not explain
it. At this point Pound, who had faithfully followed Fenollosa’s translation so
far, took the liberty to exclude that line completely, probably because he couldn’t
make sense of it. In its place he put
“Forever and forever and forever.” The meaning of “forever” was indeed implied
by Li Bai in his poem, but the great Chinese poet would never have said it so
tritely; that would not be his poetic style.
This example is one of a few places
where Pound's translation departs from Fenollosa’s notes. Reading the two men’s translations side by
side for this poem, one can see that Pound copied Fenollosa’s complete lines more often
than not. T.S. Eliot said in a 1928 essay that “There is as much as to say that
Chinese poetry, as we know it today, is something invented by Ezra Pound.” It seems to me in that statement Ernest
Fenollosa’s name should have at least been in line with, if not replacing, Ezra
Pound’s.
Interestingly, Pound’s translation
of the Chinese poetry – or should I say Fenollosa’s translation instead? –
especially of the longer poems, often reads more fluid than what I’ve seen from
ethnic Chinese translators. Let’s compare
two different translations of the first poem included in Cathay.
---------------------------------------
The Chinese original:
采薇
采薇采薇 薇亦作止
曰归曰归 岁亦莫止
靡室靡家 玁狁之故
不遑启居 玁狁之故
采薇采薇 薇亦柔止
曰归曰归 心亦忧止
忧心烈烈 载饥载渴
我戍未定 靡使归聘
采薇采薇 薇亦刚止
曰归曰归 岁亦阳止
王事靡盬 不遑启处
忧心孔疚 我行不来
彼尔维何 维常之华
彼路斯何 君子之车
戎车既驾 四牡业业
岂敢定居 一月三捷
驾彼四牡 四牡骙骙
君子所依 小人所腓
四牡翼翼 象弭鱼服
岂不日戒 玁狁孔棘
昔我往矣 杨柳依依
今我来思 雨雪霏霏
行道迟迟 载渴载饥
我心伤悲 莫知我哀
---------------------------------
Ezra Pound's translation:
SONG OF THE BOWMAN OF SHU
Here
we are, picking the first fern-shoots
And saying: When shall we get back to our country?
Here we are because we have the Ken-nin for our foemen,
We have no comfort because of these Mongols.
We grub the soft fern-shoots,
When anyone says "Return," the others are full of sorrow.
Sorrowful minds, sorrow is strong, we are hungry and thirsty.
Our defense is not yet made sure, no one can let his friend return.
We grub the old fern-stalks.
We say: Will we be let to go back in October?
There is no ease in royal affairs, we have no comfort.
Our sorrow is bitter, but we would not return to our country.
What flower has come into blossom?
Whose chariot? The General's.
Horses, his horses even, are tired. They were strong.
We have no rest, three battles a month.
By heaven, his horses are tired.
The generals are on them, the soldiers are by them.
The horses are well trained, the generals have ivory arrows and quivers ornamented with fish-skin.
The enemy is swift, we must be careful.
When we set out, the willows were drooping with spring,
We come back in the snow,
We go slowly, we are hungry and thirsty,
Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know of our grief?
--------------------------------
A translation by Yang Yixian and Dai Naidie, from A Choice Selection of Ancient Poems(Chinese—English),
published by Foreign Language Press in China:
We Gather Vetch
We
gather vetch, gather vetch,
While
the young shoots are springing;
Oh,
to go back, go back;
But
the year is ending.
We
have no house, no home,
Because
of the Huns.
We
cannot sit or take rest,
Because
of the Huns.
We
gather vetch, gather vetch,
While
the shoots are tender;
Oh,
to go back, go back;
Our
hearts are sad.
Our
sad hearts burn,
And
we hunger and thirst;
But
our garrison duty drags on,
And
no messenger goes to take news home.
We
gather vetch, gather vetch,
But
the shoots are tough;
Oh,
to go back, go back;
The
tenth month is here again,
But
the king’s business is unending;
We
cannot sit or take rest;
Our
sad hearts are racked with pain,
And
no one comes to comfort us on our march.
What
splendid blossom is that?
It
is the blossom of the cherry tree.
What
great chariot is that?
It
is the chariot of a nobleman.
His
war-chariot stands ready yoked
With
four proud stallions;
How
can we settle in one place?
We
march to three different posts in a month.
The
four stallions are yoked
To
make a sturdy team;
The
nobleman rides in the chariot,
We
take cover behind;
Four
stately stallions,
Ivory
bow-ends and a fish-skin quiver;
Every
day we must be on our guard,
We
are hard-pressed by the Huns.
When
we left home
The
willows were softly swaying;
Now
as we turn back
Snowflakes
fly.
Our
road is a long one
And
we thirst and hunger,
Our
hearts are filled with sorrow;
But
who knows our misery?
--------------------
The translators were/are all
literary experts in their own native language.
However, when it comes to translation, neither party appears to have
sufficient knowledge of the nuance of the other language. Though both translations are fairly accurate
in meaning, they read quite differently as poetry.
This Chinese poem, "采薇," from the 11th
Century B.C., laments soldiers’ homesickness as they guard their kingdom’s
border against nomad invaders from spring to winter. Its meaning is
straightforward and there are no allusions, but like other poems in Shijing, this one
maintains a singing/chanting rhythm throughout, in which a refrain occurs often,
not only between stanzas but also within a line.
The Chinese translators certainly
understood the form and meaning of this poem better than Pound, and their
translation attempts to render the folk song quality with the refrain pattern. However their English is not nuanced enough to
match their Chinese level of artistic quality. For example, admittedly nitpicking: using “to
go back” without context is a common Chinglish way of expressing “returning
home.” It is rather unclear here and could lead to basic misunderstanding of
the literal meaning. In comparison, Pound’s translation has lost the original
poem’s style and folk-song quality, but reads much more fluid and natural (and
"get back to our country" quite clear). This is to say, each translation has its own strengths
and weaknesses. This also implies that, it is possible to keep the strength of
each and avoiding many of the weaknesses by combining the two.
Consider a modified version that blends
the above two translations and fixes their errors. For the sake of the sounds, I'm
adopting the word "vetch" for 薇,
since there are so many interpretations for what this wild vegetable actually is/was
– spinach, wild peas, fern shoots, vetch, etc., you name it – and I have no way
to tell which is most accurate. For similar reasons, I'm keeping "Xianyun"
from the original poem for the name of the "foemen" tribe.
Picking
vetch, picking vetch, the first shoots are springing
Saying
“Return,” saying “Return,” the year is already ending
No
family, no home, because of Xianyun the foemen
No
rest, no comfort, because of Xianyun the foemen
Picking
vetch, picking vetch, the shoots are soft and fresh
Saying
“Return,” saying “Return,” our hearts are full of sorrow
Sorrowful
minds, sorrow is burning us, so is hunger, so is thirst
Our
defense is not yet certain, no one can be sent home
Picking
vetch, picking vetch, the shoots are getting tough
Saying
“Return,” saying “Return,” it is October already the tenth moon
No
ease in the king’s affairs, no break for us
Our
hearts pain with sorrow, we still can’t go home
What
fabulous blossom is that? It is the
cherry tree’s
Whose
great chariot is that? It is the general’s
The
war-chariot is yoked, the four horses are tall
No
one dares rest, three battles a month
Four
horses are driving the chariot, four strong horses
The
higher men are on them, the lower men are by them
The horses are well
trained, bows of ivory, quivers ornamented with fish-skin
No
one dares relax, the enemy is swift
When we set out, the willows were drooping with spring
When
we come back, snowflakes fly everywhere
We
go slowly, we are hungry and thirsty
Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know our misery?
If my modified version above is indeed an improvement in the
translation, then a case can be made that better literary translation would be
a cooperative project between two translators, one a native speaker and expert of
the source language, and the other the target language. Only in this way, can the nuances in both
languages could be captured and presented in the translation. This, of course, is mainly for the benefit of
readers and the quality of the translated literature. I do understand that not every translator
would be willing to share his or her work or cooperate with another translator.
6 comments:
Made a small change in the translation toward the end.
This is lovely work. I have to study more.
唉。。这首诗真的动人心弦。。你的翻译怎么棒!好像你把中英式的优点结合起来啊!你有没有两个母语呢��
@Zhang Luo: 谢谢。 我的母语是中文。英文成为主要语言是在而立之年以后。
Really interesting work here! I'm a student at NYU Shanghai studying Ezra Pound's "translations" and all his idealisation of the Chinese ideology and culture, and it's a pleasure to read this post when working on my essay to be published. Inspired me a lot, especially the comparative analysis on the two versions of “采薇”. Translation is such an esoteric yet stimulating field to explore!
Glad it helped!
Post a Comment