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 TRANSLATION CAFÉ 

CTITC
CENTER FOR THE TRANSLATION AND INTERPRETATION OF THE CONTEMPORARY TEXT

MTTLC
MA Programme for the TRANSLATION OF THE CONTEMPORARY LITERARY TEXT

TRANSLATION

CAFÉ

Review of Contemporary Texts in Translation and E-Learning

                                                       Nr. 5/April 1, 2007

Director: LIDIA VIANU

© CTITC
    MTTLC

ISSN 1842 – 9149

Issue Editor: Valentina-Monica Barba (MTTLC student)

These translations are an online seminar of literary translation, part
of Lidia Vianu’s course [Guide to Contemporary Literature and Its Translation],
and the second session of E-Learning in the MA Programme for the Translation of the
Contemporary Literary Text, directed by Lidia Vianu.
The texts have also been discussed in translation group at

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/translationcafe/  

GUEST WRITER: EVA SALZMAN


How pleasant to have some of this forum’s inquiring minds bent on the task of finding Romanian equivalents for my NYLON - New York/London – vernacular! (And speaking of bridges, Lidia seems to have engineered a fine Romanian/English one!) Since my poem is a sonnet - if the architectural complexity of my little invention weren’t difficult enough - I thought I’d talk here about my favorite form.

Poets are often asked how, and when, the shape of a poem is decided, especially when a traditional form is the result. One hopes that the best vehicle for “translating” the poem’s intent drives up to the door, early in the writing process, but different models might show up. It’s a tricky art recognising, or devising, the right solution. Choosing wrongly, one might head off merrily in the wrong direction. Backtracking is difficult, especially from received forms. Furthermore, the “real” poem often lurks beneath the poem you think you’re writing. Even in free verse – which contain formal elements too – one tries for a seamless line between form and content, with neither wholly in service or sacrificed to the other.

Sometimes, translators decide to disturb certain technical elements, even in a poem in strict form, so long as they acknowledge it in some way and if such structural variation keep to the spirit of the poem: its emotional or intellectual underpinning. For example, an exact duplication of rhyme scheme, however tempting it may be to adhere to this, doesn’t necessarily make for accurate communication of the poem’s overall intent, especially if linguistic or cultural equivalents are lacking. A creative interpretation may be the truer one.

The sonnet is traditionally a love poem consisting of 14 lines in iambic pentameter but modern interpretations allow for freer interpretations of content and form, sometimes borrowing from both the Elizabethan or Italian styles within a single poem, for example. Even more radical departures are possible. How can a poem not in iambic pentameter and not a love poem, and perhaps longer than 14 lines, still be considered a sonnet?! The pedants recoil in horror…but the poet rubs her hands together mischievously!

The sonnet’s design has always permitted flexibility in the rhyme scheme, and even a regular iambic pentameter (a natural meter in the English language, to this poet’s ear) establishes its presence partly by breaking with itself, taking “breathers”. This in-built versatility licenses and even invites further variations. Although grammar manuals sometimes seem to want us to believe otherwise, language isn’t stagnant but evolves constantly; part of the success of the English language is its magpie qualities, the way it steals from other nests. The poet has a more active and conscious part in this process, renewing and reinventing poetic forms too.

The “turn” in the Italian sonnet is the hinge nearly in the middle of the poem. Much can happen in that mysterious space between the octet - the first eight line stanza - and the sestet - the six line stanza which follows (although the poem may be presented on the page as a single stanza). What happens in this space? Everything and anything. The sestet develops the octet’s theme, or approaches it from a different perspective, or it may implicitly clarify earlier themes, or somehow resolve them. An unexpected juxtaposition may unfold the poem into an extra dimension. In this space, or pause, a bird flies up. Maybe the heart is revealed.

The sonnet’s structure is more malleable than may seem apparent at first. The villanelle is a more framed or sealed form, dependent more heavily on the lyric qualities of the final exactly duplicated line, instead of that power or effect being shared equally with the poem’s overall thematic development. Any of these aspects of the sonnet might influence the translator’s choices.

The word “stanza” comes from the Italian word for room. In fact, when I think of the sonnet form, I imagine a room with its four walls falling away, to vistas east, west, north and south. The sonnet always seems to have contained within its form a limitless potential, more possibilities than its size may suggest. The word “sonnet” means a “little sound”. Little, maybe, but pretty great too!

March 2007

68 Fairfax Road
London N8 ONG U.K.
efs23@columbia.edu  
www.evasalzman.com