Towards a Foreign Likeness Bent: Translation Is Published As Duration : Poetics Number One, Part of the Durationpress.Com E-Books Series
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towards a foreign likeness bent 1 all work is copyright their respective authors & may not be reproduced without permission. towards a foreign likeness bent: translation is published as duration : poetics number one, part of the durationpress.com e-books series. jerrold shiroma, editor http://www.durationpress.com 2 towards a foreign likeness bent : translation d u r a t i o n : p o e t i c s / 1 3 c o n t e n t s Ammiel Alcalay / Politics & Translation 6 Charles Bernstein / Breaking the Translation Curtain: The Homophonic Sublime 10 Norma Cole / Nines and Tens: A Talk on Translation 13 Marcella Durand / What Makes It New: The Secret Springs of French Poetry 26 Forrest Gander / Homage to Translation 31 Bill Marsh / Poetry in Gesturo-Haptic Translation 35 Sawako Nakayasu / Keeping it Sounding Real (Strange) 44 Kristin Prevallet / Risking It: Scandals, Teaching, Translation 47 Ryoko Sekiguchi / Self Translation, or the Artifice of Constraint 52 Jonathan Skinner / A Note On Trobar 54 / Petit Chansonnier: Provençal Lyrics 61 Rick Snyder / The Politics of Time: New American Versions of Paul Celan 78 Jalal Toufic / An Interview 91 Keith Waldrop / Translation as Collaboration 97 Rosmarie Waldrop / Irreducible Strangeness 106 Chet Wiener / The Legacy and Future of “Horizontal” and “Vertical” Translation in Contemporary Poetry 111 4 Always in a foreign country, the poet uses poetry as interpreter. --Edmond Jabès 5 A m m i e l A l c a l a y P o l i t i c s & T r a n s l a t i o n A Discussion with Ammiel Alcalay, Esther Allen, Michael Henry Heim, Michael Hoffman, Susan Sontag, and Steve Wasserman Sponsored by PEN American Center at New York University We tend to talk about translation in a very narrow context, comparing, for example, how few translations get done in this country as opposed to most other places in the world with similar or even fewer resources. Such an approach can buttress the idea that translations, ultimately, get done because of cultural importance or literary quality. Although this may occaisonally be the case, it usually isn’t. Texts that manage to sneak through the policing of our monolingual borders still only provide a mere taste — fragmented, out of context — of what such works might represent in their own cultures, languages, historical and political contexts. A single novel or book of poems by a single writer, removed from the cluster of other writers and artists from which it has emerged, without correspondence, biographies, gossip, debates or critical studies, more often than not just reinforces our uniquely military-industrial-new critical approach to the work of art as an object of contemplation rather than as part of a dense social, political, cultural and historical fabric. In other words, like so many other things in this country, we tend to talk about translation as if it was removed from either personal or collective politics, an approach that, unfortunately, reminds me of Paul Wolfowitz’s recent comments in Iraq: “You don’t build a democracy like you build a house,” Mr. Wolfowitz said over tea, honey pastries and water buffalo cheese. “Democracy grows like a garden. If you keep the weeds out and water the plants and you’re patient, eventually you’ll get something magnificent.” The fact is that, like any commodity, texts cross various borders, checkpoints, holding pens and tarrif stations along the way. And these are both internal and external, the picket lines we dare not cross in our own consciousness and imagination, and the very real political barriers that exist in the world. There are reasons why, for example, more translations from Hebrew are published by American publishers than translations from Arabic, despite the fact that there is one very small , partially Hebrew speaking country while there are more than a dozen larger Arabic speaking countries in the world. Those reasons can lead to great confusion 6 and misplaced emphasis, as when a prominent American book reviewer can write, in a major magazine, without debate, comment or consequence, something like this: “Choices and consequences are thrust upon the Israeli writer David Grossman, whether he wants them or not. There isn’t a more interesting novelist in the West today.” Given that Israel, situated along the Syrian-African rift, is actually in Asia, there is certainly geographical confusion; and one also wonders whether the choices and consequences thrust upon the Israeli novelist are of the same magnitude as those thrust upon writers living slightly to the southwest or slightly to the north, like former political prisoners Sunallah Ibrahim in Egypt or Faraj Bayraqdar in Syria or, for that matter, a neighbor in Palestine like Mahmoud Darwish, not to mention so many others. Since the events of September 11th, oppositional voices in this country have mostly been concerned with exposing, publicizing or drawing attention to what THEY are doing, at home, in Iraq, occaisonally even in Afghanistan and other places. But very little energy has been spent on examining how we got to this point, and whether we might take some individual and collective intellectual and political responsibility for it. Translation, it seems to me, and engagement with other parts of the world is a crucial aspect of this responsibility but the American system presents some real obstacles that must be thought through and struggled against on a number of fronts. We all know, more or less, the saga of the consolidation and conglomeration of commercial publishing and the fact that we would hardly have any intellectual or literary life at all worth speaking of were it not for small, independent presses. We are a little more reticent to examine the function editing has as a form of censorship that enforces social and political assumptions and silences (the kind of editing, for instance, that allows an Israeli novelist to be Western). As far as translation and politics go, the freer space of independent publishing presents a whole other set of problems. On the literary side, we tend to privilege texts that seem formally innovative at the expense of texts that might appear more conventional but which emerge from a more radical political consciousness. This creates a kind of two-tiered set of literary neighborhoods in which there are “ethnic” or “political” enclaves and “experimental” or “sophisticated” downtowns. It is very difficult, as we also know, for translators to make a living without doing commercial work. This makes it almost impossible for small presses to support the translation of non-literary texts, since literary texts are often taken on by passionate writers and can, occasionally, be supported by grants. In order to understand how crucial this element of the whole issue is, we have to consider the structures through which we sanction and legitimize knowledge — i.e. the university system, and its growth and disciplinary arrangement during the Cold War. To put it bluntly, the Western European languages remained the domain of “legitimate” culture, the “western” tradition, while most other languages, and the area studies accompanying them, were either completely exotic or functioned as an arm of the State Department and the C.I.A. The general abdication of responsibility by writers and independent intellectuals over other languages 7 and parts of the world helped create a vacuum that could be occupied by “experts” and become a breeding ground for disinformation, at worst, or mythology, at best . Thus, we have gotten to the point where a theory that was pretty much ignored or discounted, like Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations, has come to determine our understanding of the world, whether for or against. The extent to which this is true for things relating to the Middle East is astonishing and the massive failure and acquiescence on the part of American intellectuals, a true lack not just of responsibility but of response, on the human, creative, historical and political levels to the Arab world, Palestine, sanctions against Iraq, and so many other issues, has allowed ideologues and apologists to occupy disproportionate amounts of cultural and political space. Again, were even popular scholarly texts about the Arab world generally available from other parts of the world, the occupation of this space would have to be struggled for and not simply handed over. So what I am saying is there is a real need for greater activism and advocacy by writers. This means following and reporting on things happening in other languages, demanding to review books in other languages, advocating for the appearance of other writers — in short, giving up some of one’s own space to make room for others. I would like to point out one of the great ironies about operating as a translator/writer/critic in this mass- media society. It has become very clear to me, through many years of experience working in and on different languages and different kinds of texts, that in order for translated work to be effective in this country, for it not to become a disposable item quickly consumed, it must challenge those writers who are, in effect, the custodians of our language. By this, I generally mean the poets who constitute the real mainstream of our poetic language but who have been relegated to the margins in terms of recognition and readership. Because of this, I’ve often preferred to work with small presses when I know a book will reach certain kinds of writers and readers. It is instructive to note some of the projects poets have been involved in, and the very disproportionate and deep effect their work in translation has had, if one is thinking only in terms of circulation or copies sold.