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19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei: With More Ways
The difficulty (and necessity) of translation is concisely described in Nineteen Ways of Looking at Wang Wei, a close reading of different translations of a single poem from the Tang Dynasty—from a transliteration to Kenneth Rexroth’s loose interpretation. As Octavio Paz writes in the afterword, “Eliot Weinberger’s commentary on the successive translations of Wang Wei’s little poem illustrates, with succinct clarity, not only the evolution of the art of translation in the modern period but at the same time the changes in poetic sensibility.” This classic study of translation has been expanded to include still more ways of looking at Wang Wei.
88 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1987
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About the author
Eliot Weinberger
100 books161 followersEliot Weinberger is a contemporary American writer, essayist, editor, and translator. His work regularly appears in translation and has been published in some thirty languages.
Weinberger first gained recognition for his translations of the Nobel Prize winning writer and poet Octavio Paz. His many translations of the work of Paz include the Collected Poems 1957-1987, In Light of India, and Sunstone. Among Weinberger's other translations are Vicente Huidobro's Altazor, Xavier Villaurrutia's Nostalgia for Death, and Jorge Luis Borges' Seven Nights. His edition of Borges’ Selected Non-Fictions received the National Book Critics Circle Award for criticism.
Weinberger first gained recognition for his translations of the Nobel Prize winning writer and poet Octavio Paz. His many translations of the work of Paz include the Collected Poems 1957-1987, In Light of India, and Sunstone. Among Weinberger's other translations are Vicente Huidobro's Altazor, Xavier Villaurrutia's Nostalgia for Death, and Jorge Luis Borges' Seven Nights. His edition of Borges’ Selected Non-Fictions received the National Book Critics Circle Award for criticism.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 227 reviews
October 7, 2013
In this book Eliot Weinberger examines the difficulties inherent in translating classic Chinese poetry into Western languages by considering a special case in detail: he selects one poem by Wang Wei (699/701 - 761), romanizes it, gives a literal translation and then considers 16 different translators' versions of the poem in English, French and Spanish. In my review
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
of a book of translations of Wang's poetry I discuss some of the difficulties one necessarily encounters in such translations and why I enjoy reading them nonetheless.
One should keep in mind that, in choosing this poem by Wang Wei, entitled "Deer Park" or "Deer Grove", Weinberger deliberately selected an example towards the difficult end of the scale (though certainly not one of the most difficult), and one which is of sufficient significance to have merited many translations. The poem is a shih consisting of four lines of five characters each. In Chinese Lyricism , which I review here
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Burton Watson examines the same poem in some detail, providing another (not identical) character by character literal translation. Some of the differences between the two are of the type "man" vs. "people,person" and "wood" vs. "forest", but Weinberger indicates, in addition, that the same character can be read in different ways depending on context, and when the context is not determinant, then the ambiguity remains. One must assume that an accomplished poet like Wang intended that ambiguity to enrich the meaning of the poem (or perhaps he felt that the context was, in fact, determinant). As an example, for the second character in the third line, Watson gives "light" while Weinberger gives "bright(ness)/shadows". Weinberger does note that Francois Cheng points out that the first two characters of that line form a classic trope for "rays of sunset", and it is in this meaning that Watson and most of the others translate those two characters.
Here is Watson's literal translation of the poem:
Upon the reports of the knowledgeable, in Chinese this poem is vigorous and engaging. This literal translation is, well, pathetic. It is necessary to clothe this skeleton with some flesh in order to present it as a poem in English, or any other Western language. And here you see part of what I meant when I wrote in another review
"The aim in using the concept and association agglomerations indicated by the "pure" noun, verb, and attribute characters was to invite the reader to use his imagination/literary and cultural experience to take a walk on his own in a setting proposed by the author in the poem. This goes beyond the usual "much is left unsaid or implied" (which is certainly also at hand); in such poetry the reader is expected to be active in a manner which goes well beyond the "deciphering of meaning" familiar to readers of Western poetry."
Wang deliberately left aside all the extensions Chinese has at its disposal to specify, to make precise what is meant.
Weinberger then gives us 16 fleshed out versions of this poem by different translators, two of which are in French and one in Spanish by Octavio Paz (who also contributes a little essay), providing each with rather apt commentary. He certainly was not shy about expressing his negative feelings about some of them. The translations are presented chronologically from 1919 till 1978.(*) I find it to be very illuminating to have all these different versions side by side.
Here are my two favorites from this book, the first by the scholar, Burton Watson.
The second is by the American poet, Gary Snyder.
In the end, personal opinion will determine which translation one prefers, where on the scale between "true to the author" and "true to the poetics of the host language" one comes down. Perhaps you will find, as I have over the years, that to have more than one perceptive reading of the same poem is a good thing, and not confusing at all. And, finally, as Weinberger writes:
(*) I have some more recent translations of the same poem by David Hinton and others, so this poem is still exerting a strong attraction.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
of a book of translations of Wang's poetry I discuss some of the difficulties one necessarily encounters in such translations and why I enjoy reading them nonetheless.
One should keep in mind that, in choosing this poem by Wang Wei, entitled "Deer Park" or "Deer Grove", Weinberger deliberately selected an example towards the difficult end of the scale (though certainly not one of the most difficult), and one which is of sufficient significance to have merited many translations. The poem is a shih consisting of four lines of five characters each. In Chinese Lyricism , which I review here
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Burton Watson examines the same poem in some detail, providing another (not identical) character by character literal translation. Some of the differences between the two are of the type "man" vs. "people,person" and "wood" vs. "forest", but Weinberger indicates, in addition, that the same character can be read in different ways depending on context, and when the context is not determinant, then the ambiguity remains. One must assume that an accomplished poet like Wang intended that ambiguity to enrich the meaning of the poem (or perhaps he felt that the context was, in fact, determinant). As an example, for the second character in the third line, Watson gives "light" while Weinberger gives "bright(ness)/shadows". Weinberger does note that Francois Cheng points out that the first two characters of that line form a classic trope for "rays of sunset", and it is in this meaning that Watson and most of the others translate those two characters.
Here is Watson's literal translation of the poem:
empty mountain not see man
only hear man talk sound
return light enter deep wood
again shine green moss on
Upon the reports of the knowledgeable, in Chinese this poem is vigorous and engaging. This literal translation is, well, pathetic. It is necessary to clothe this skeleton with some flesh in order to present it as a poem in English, or any other Western language. And here you see part of what I meant when I wrote in another review
"The aim in using the concept and association agglomerations indicated by the "pure" noun, verb, and attribute characters was to invite the reader to use his imagination/literary and cultural experience to take a walk on his own in a setting proposed by the author in the poem. This goes beyond the usual "much is left unsaid or implied" (which is certainly also at hand); in such poetry the reader is expected to be active in a manner which goes well beyond the "deciphering of meaning" familiar to readers of Western poetry."
Wang deliberately left aside all the extensions Chinese has at its disposal to specify, to make precise what is meant.
Weinberger then gives us 16 fleshed out versions of this poem by different translators, two of which are in French and one in Spanish by Octavio Paz (who also contributes a little essay), providing each with rather apt commentary. He certainly was not shy about expressing his negative feelings about some of them. The translations are presented chronologically from 1919 till 1978.(*) I find it to be very illuminating to have all these different versions side by side.
Here are my two favorites from this book, the first by the scholar, Burton Watson.
Empty hills, no one in sight,
only the sound of someone talking;
late sunlight enters the deep wood,
shining over the green moss again.
The second is by the American poet, Gary Snyder.
Empty mountains:
no one to be seen.
Yet - hear -
human sound and echoes.
Returning sunlight
enters the dark woods;
Again shining
on the green moss, above.
In the end, personal opinion will determine which translation one prefers, where on the scale between "true to the author" and "true to the poetics of the host language" one comes down. Perhaps you will find, as I have over the years, that to have more than one perceptive reading of the same poem is a good thing, and not confusing at all. And, finally, as Weinberger writes:
As such, every reading of every poem, regardless of language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader's intellectual and emotional life.
(*) I have some more recent translations of the same poem by David Hinton and others, so this poem is still exerting a strong attraction.
July 12, 2020
This was so sexy and not just because of the way he dragged all the bad translators
December 8, 2013
I gave the book five stars not so much because I always agree with Weinberger's critique of translated poems (he does focus on the negatives more than the positives), but because it's been a while since I learned so much about poetry and translation in such a little space (a mere 51 pages, with plenty of white space in between). Brilliant and simple.
February 2, 2023
Nineteen Ways of Looking at Wang Wei is a book by Eliot Weinberger that explores different translations of a single poem by Tang Dynasty poet, Wang Wei. The book examines the art of translation and how it has evolved over time, highlighting the challenges and complexities involved in the process. Through examining 19 different translations of the same poem, Weinberger illustrates the variations in interpretation and style that can occur when translating from one language to another. The book is considered a classic study on translation and has been expanded to include even more ways of looking at Wang Wei.
November 16, 2010
I came across this book almost by chance – I thought I might like it, but I didn't expect to be chuckling most of the way through. Weinberger has taken a classic poem by Wang Wei (the 8th century Tang poet) and pursued it through 75 years of translation. A few versions are excellent; a few are awful. Weinberger is good at annotating the excellence, but even funnier elucidating the inept.
I read the book in less than an hour and enjoyed every minute. Well, maybe not the last few. The "Further Comments" by Octavio Paz are, as you'd expect, sensitive and intelligent commentary – but a bit dull by comparison with the sprightliness of what's come before. Up to now, I've only known Weinberger for his fine introduction to The New Directions Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry (2004). However, poking around online, I discover that he's much celebrated for his essays. Who knew? So I now have his Oranges and Peanuts for Sale next on my To Read list.
I read the book in less than an hour and enjoyed every minute. Well, maybe not the last few. The "Further Comments" by Octavio Paz are, as you'd expect, sensitive and intelligent commentary – but a bit dull by comparison with the sprightliness of what's come before. Up to now, I've only known Weinberger for his fine introduction to The New Directions Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry (2004). However, poking around online, I discover that he's much celebrated for his essays. Who knew? So I now have his Oranges and Peanuts for Sale next on my To Read list.
May 26, 2009
Eliot Weinberger’s 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei (subtitled “How a Chinese Poem is Translated”) presents Wang Wei’s famous “Deer Park” poem in 19 versions: Chinese, transliterated Chinese (Pinyin), and a word-by-word rendering, then in 16 (or so) translations with Weinberger’s comments. (The translations are primarily into English, although a Spanish version and two French versions are also included.)
From the title, which appears to be inspired by Wallace Stevens’s “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” I expected something a little more contemplative. I found Weinberger’s comments, on the whole, to be unnecessarily vicious and judgmental. It’s as if every section of Stevens’s poem ended with the line “But this way of looking at a blackbird is wrong.” Weinberger never does offer a translation of his own, although he appears to have some kind of ideal in mind of which every translation he profiles somehow falls short.
This would not in itself be a bad thing--for we must recognize that every translation does, in some way, depart from the original. But Weinberger seems to feel that any change to the poem, especially any expansion, is due to the translator’s special hatred for the poet and contempt for his readers’ intelligence. In section 8 he states that additions to a translation are “the product of a translator’s unspoken contempt for the foreign poet” (p. 17). He goes on to suggest that the translators of the version on which he is commenting were too dense to realize that Wang Wei could have written X (as in the translation) but chose to write Y. While I think his point is well-taken, it could easily have been made without the caustic innuendo. Reading some of the translations, you do wonder what these guys were thinking--but I don’t believe that assuming they’re stupid oafs at best or malicious tinkerers at worst is really the right way to approach things.
I found the brief essays by Octavio Paz to be more what I expected: commentary on the poem itself, as well as a balanced and interesting exploration of the issues involved in translating it. He explains calmly why he made the choices he did in his Spanish version (also present in the book), and why he made certain (and significant) changes from his original draft.
While it is interesting and perhaps even enlightening to have such a varied collection of translations side-by-side, any real insights as to what the comparison says about “How a Chinese Poem is Translated” will have to be deduced by the reader alone, as Weinberger’s jeering comments are rarely much help in this direction. The concept is a solid one, but I wish the presentation were a little more balanced.
~
From the title, which appears to be inspired by Wallace Stevens’s “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” I expected something a little more contemplative. I found Weinberger’s comments, on the whole, to be unnecessarily vicious and judgmental. It’s as if every section of Stevens’s poem ended with the line “But this way of looking at a blackbird is wrong.” Weinberger never does offer a translation of his own, although he appears to have some kind of ideal in mind of which every translation he profiles somehow falls short.
This would not in itself be a bad thing--for we must recognize that every translation does, in some way, depart from the original. But Weinberger seems to feel that any change to the poem, especially any expansion, is due to the translator’s special hatred for the poet and contempt for his readers’ intelligence. In section 8 he states that additions to a translation are “the product of a translator’s unspoken contempt for the foreign poet” (p. 17). He goes on to suggest that the translators of the version on which he is commenting were too dense to realize that Wang Wei could have written X (as in the translation) but chose to write Y. While I think his point is well-taken, it could easily have been made without the caustic innuendo. Reading some of the translations, you do wonder what these guys were thinking--but I don’t believe that assuming they’re stupid oafs at best or malicious tinkerers at worst is really the right way to approach things.
I found the brief essays by Octavio Paz to be more what I expected: commentary on the poem itself, as well as a balanced and interesting exploration of the issues involved in translating it. He explains calmly why he made the choices he did in his Spanish version (also present in the book), and why he made certain (and significant) changes from his original draft.
While it is interesting and perhaps even enlightening to have such a varied collection of translations side-by-side, any real insights as to what the comparison says about “How a Chinese Poem is Translated” will have to be deduced by the reader alone, as Weinberger’s jeering comments are rarely much help in this direction. The concept is a solid one, but I wish the presentation were a little more balanced.
~
December 21, 2023
did not expect this to be so fun and bitchy LOL. the academic drama cited (and incited) in the TWO postscripts would've been great in nabokov's pnin... 19 (or in this edition 29) different translations is also so many, putting them side by side rly brought out all the different ways of interpreting the richness within this concise poem and its surround (buddhist philosophy, grammatical > metaphysical differences across chinese and english and spanish w octavio paz's translations, what moss is or isn't geographically accurate...). after reading this i tried my own translation that weinberger definitely would've roasted!
because of my lil project on pound/cathay last semester, and because it's so easy to get institutional support for being chinese LOL, i'm somehow stuck in a tang poetry kick that i don't know what to do with, or how to get out of, i guess i'll keep reading stuff like this but wondering how to bring it into conversation w smth more contemporary, or less academic, than western modernism. maybe it's ok to start there, or to even start w the poems themselves which are tbh old and boring and incomprehensible to me in chinese, but also cool for how they evoke a world where to be a poet was to be drunk and lonely and in love w nature
because of my lil project on pound/cathay last semester, and because it's so easy to get institutional support for being chinese LOL, i'm somehow stuck in a tang poetry kick that i don't know what to do with, or how to get out of, i guess i'll keep reading stuff like this but wondering how to bring it into conversation w smth more contemporary, or less academic, than western modernism. maybe it's ok to start there, or to even start w the poems themselves which are tbh old and boring and incomprehensible to me in chinese, but also cool for how they evoke a world where to be a poet was to be drunk and lonely and in love w nature
January 20, 2023
Ich habe dieses Buch wirklich sehr genossen. Es war die richtige Mischung von Sachlichkeit und Humor. Auch wenn ich nicht überall einverstanden war, es ist sehr schön geschrieben, und man fühlt die Liebe zur Lyrik und der Kunst des Übersetzens.
Es wird mehrmals auf dieKomplexität des Übersetzens - und besonders des Übersetzens von lyrischen Texten - eingegangen, und als jemand, der grosses Interesse in beiden Themenbereichen hat, war es unglaunlich spannend zu lesen, wie unterschiedlich diese eine Übersetzung angegangen wurde. Nicht nur von Übersetzer zu Übersetzer unterschiedlich, sondern auch klare Änderungen im Trend der Zeit.
Besonders geschätzt habe ich die modernen Nachträge sowie die deutschen Fassungen.
Jetzt möchte ich Gedichte anslysieren und sie selber übersetzen, hat jemand Lust, mich zu bezahlen? 🥹
Es wird mehrmals auf dieKomplexität des Übersetzens - und besonders des Übersetzens von lyrischen Texten - eingegangen, und als jemand, der grosses Interesse in beiden Themenbereichen hat, war es unglaunlich spannend zu lesen, wie unterschiedlich diese eine Übersetzung angegangen wurde. Nicht nur von Übersetzer zu Übersetzer unterschiedlich, sondern auch klare Änderungen im Trend der Zeit.
Besonders geschätzt habe ich die modernen Nachträge sowie die deutschen Fassungen.
Jetzt möchte ich Gedichte anslysieren und sie selber übersetzen, hat jemand Lust, mich zu bezahlen? 🥹
April 24, 2021
Let's see if I can translate the poem after reading it literally like 25 times:
In the empty mountains, no one can be seen.
And yet, someone's voice echos from far away.
The setting sun pierces through the forest
And reflects upon the green moss, again.
I liked this book because it managed to make me angry at the translators who had the AUDACITY to talk about the moss wrong. Wtf is their damage honestly. Um Spanish moss is a plant from the new world??? And Wang Wei was obviously not talking about lichen?? Get a grip??
Also, the writer really @ed all the translators who added like eastern mysticism and orientalist tropes to their translations. That was really good. It's just kinda mad how much you can apparently milk what started off as like 20 symbols.
This book was also nice and short. Loved it.
In the empty mountains, no one can be seen.
And yet, someone's voice echos from far away.
The setting sun pierces through the forest
And reflects upon the green moss, again.
I liked this book because it managed to make me angry at the translators who had the AUDACITY to talk about the moss wrong. Wtf is their damage honestly. Um Spanish moss is a plant from the new world??? And Wang Wei was obviously not talking about lichen?? Get a grip??
Also, the writer really @ed all the translators who added like eastern mysticism and orientalist tropes to their translations. That was really good. It's just kinda mad how much you can apparently milk what started off as like 20 symbols.
This book was also nice and short. Loved it.
October 6, 2013
Informative little book on the translation of poetry out of ancient Chinese. Not something you would use everyday, but, in other ways, something we need all the time.
Read
August 20, 201920 karakters, eindeloos veel vertalingen
Wat een briljant klein boekje is dit. Vol humor analyseert Weinberger de nuances van een dertigtal vertalingen van hetzelfde gedicht (in het Nederlands waarschijnlijk het beste te vertalen als Hertenkamp), bestaande uit slechts 4 zinnen en 20 Chinese karakters. Nu was ik dit in China welbekende gedicht reeds tegengekomen tijdens mijn college Klassiek Chinees, en toen trof de eenvoud ervan me al.
Kort gezegd gaat het gedicht over een berg zonder mensen erop, terwijl op de achtergrond nog wat stemmen te horen zijn. De avond valt, licht komt het bos (op de berg) binnen, en dit licht weerkaatst op het groene mos. Het wordt echter meestal niet als louter landschapspoëzie geïnterpreteerd. Wang Wei was een Boeddhistische geleerde, en de weerkaatsing op het mos kan gelezen worden als de verlichting van iemand die mediteert. Het licht reflecteert bij degenen die in hun geest afstand hebben genomen.
Het is helemaal geen lastig gedicht, in beeldspraak noch woordgebruik. Maar het gevoel is krachtig, en dat passend overbreng blijkt een gigantische uitdaging.
Door het kijken naar verschillende vertalingen brengt Weinberger meerdere interessante aspecten naar boven: de grammaticale nuance van het Klassiek Chinees, de ambiguïteit van Tang-poëzie, en bovenal de verschillen tussen de klassiek Chinese en de moderne Westerse literaire traditie. Want die verschillen moeten tot op zekere hoogte overbrugd worden in vertaling. en dat lukt vaak niet, vindt Weinberger.
Waar gaan de vertalers vaak de fout in? Ten eerste maken ze het te vaak persoonlijk. Ze maken de geïmpliceerde ik-persoon expliciet, en halen daarmee de objectieve focus uit het gedicht. Ten tweede proberen ze het eenvoudige taalgebruik bloemrijker te maken met nodeloos complexe woorden. Daarnaast hebben ze vaak geen oog voor de parallellie, die zo'n grote rol speelt in het knotvers. En de leukste fout is misschien wel hoeveel van de vertalers de laatste zin vermoeilijken door beelden te scheppen van hangende mossen in de bomen. Deze zijn enkel inheems in de Nieuwe Wereld, en Wang Wei kan deze dus nooit gezien hebben. Het is gewoon mos.
Maar andere grammaticaal en stilistisch correcte vertalingen zijn te droog, en weten de bezieldheid van het gedicht niet over te brengen. Het voelt niet geïnspireerd, voelt niet harmonieus, niet alomvattend, zoals het gedicht wel in het Chinees voor me klinkt. De 'verlichtende avondschemer' is in veel vertalingen slechts woord zonder beeld. Dan zijn er enkele vrije vertalingen die mogelijkerwijs helemaal niet luisteren naar wat er precies gezegd wordt, maar toch de geest meer kunnen vatten. Of ze maken het gedicht eigen, proberen het niet te imiteren, maar juist eigen invulling te geven. Als je het niet leest als een gedicht van Wang Wei, de 8e eeuwse Chinese schilder, musicus en dichter, mag het zeker een vernieuwende klank hebben.
De hoeveelheid grammaticaal incorrecte vertalingen verraste mij. Ik ben absoluut geen expert in Klassiek Chinees, maar woordvolgorde wordt regelmatig genegeerd, terwijl dat de grootste leidraad is voor het vertalen (dat wordt er flink ingestampt in je eerste jaar). Zo worden bijvoeglijke naamwoorden veranderd in bijwoorden en zelfstandige naamwoorden, zonder dat dat het begrip van de tekst vergroot.
Dit boek bood geweldig veel inzicht in de complexiteit van vertalen in het algemeen, en naar aanleiding van dit boek heb ik zelf ook geprobeerd een vertaling te maken. Het resultaat is als volgt:
Lege berg, geen mens in zicht
Toch klinken echo's van mensentaal.
Terugkerend licht betreedt het diepe woud;
Opnieuw weerkaatst ze op het groene mos.
Het is verbazingwekkend hoeveel vertaalkwesties er kunnen zijn in zo'n kort gedicht. Ik heb enkele kunnen oplossen maar de volgende nog niet:
1. Is het berg of bergen?
2. Ik heb bù jiàn niet als een werkwoord vertaald, omdat het statischer beter past in het gedicht, maar grammaticaal is dat mogelijk problematisch.
3. Moet ik 'nog' toevoegen in de tweede zin om de tegenstelling duidelijker te maken?
4. Is mensentaal te bloemrijk? Is het niet veel simpeler in het origineel?
5. Terugkerend is een lang woord, en maakt niet helemaal duidelijk dat het gaat om de avondschemer. Is er een passender woord te vinden?
6. Is 'betreedt' te gepersonificeerd? Kan het niet beter zijn 'treedt binnen' of 'komt binnen'? Of verandert dat het ritme van de zin?
7. Mag ik een ; gebruiken? Dient dat de grammaticaliteit of het ritme van het gedicht?
8. Is 'opnieuw' de beste woordkeus? 'Weer' kan niet omdat daarna weerkaatst wordt gebruikt. Mogelijk is er een ander woord?
9. Mag ik 'ze' gebruiken in de laatste zin? Is dat niet te persoonlijk? Is licht vrouwelijk? In het Chinees is de zon mannelijk, dus dat lijkt het tegen te spreken, maar in het Nederlands lijkt 'hij' contra-intuïtief.
10. Is het ritme in het algemeen nog duidelijk te merken?
Wat ik naar mijn idee wel heb opgelost:
1. De toon is mooi onpersoonlijk en afstandelijk gebracht.
2. De parallellie is goed overgebracht, omdat hij ook niet volledig is in het Chinees.
3. 'Woud' klinkt mooi afgelegen, meer dan bos.
4. 'Weerkaatsing' is een treffende formulering voor de Boeddhistische achtergrond van het gedicht.
5. Verlichting en natuurwaardering komen duidelijk tot uiting in de tekst.
In deze vertaling probeerde ik zo goed mogelijk de oorspronkelijke stijl en betekenis over te brengen. Als experiment heb ik ook een eigenzinnigere vertaling geschreven:
Lege bergen zien geen mensen (in zich)
Horen enkel de echo's van menselijke grammatica.
Avondzon, vallend, terug, door diepe wouden
Schijnt herlevend op ons, groenige mossen.
De bergen worden hier gepersonifieerd, om de 'onmenselijkheid' van het gedicht te benadrukken. 'In zich' is een woordspeling op mijn oorspronkelijke vertaling met 'in zicht' en een verwijzing naar de afgelegenheid van de lege bergen. 'Grammatica' is eigenlijk 语法, niet enkel 语, en dus niet helemaal correct, maar ik vond 'grammatica' goed verwijzen naar de menselijke drang naar regels en orde, en dat deze drang in de verte nog te horen is, omdat de mediterende nog niet volledig afstand heeft kunnen nemen van de menselijkheid.
Het gedicht heeft een vrij sterke conceptuele scheiding, dus ik heb een witregel ingevoegd.
In mijn eerste vertaling vond ik het lastig duidelijk te maken dat het om de avond ging, dus dat heb ik expliciet gemaakt. Daarnaast heb ik bewust gekozen voor een licht ongrammaticale opsomming die een staccato gevoel geeft. 'Vallend' impliceert dat het vanuit de hemel komt (de religieuze ingeving), 'terug' duidt op de cyclische aard van het leven. 'Herlevend' heeft een ambigu lijdend voorwerp gekregen (thematisch past het zowel bij de avondzon als bij ons). Tenslotte heb ik lekker subversief expres de ik-persoon toegevoegd aan het eind van het gedicht in plaats van in het begin. We zijn naar mijn idee veel meer het verlichte mos dan de eenling op de berg. We bevinden ons namelijk niet in het landschap; we zijn het landschap.
Het is misschien niet mogelijk om poëzie echt te vertalen. Kunst is echter zo vaak enkel het resultaat van onmogelijke en hoogmoedige ondernemingen. Aanrader voor iedereen, niet alleen sinologen.
Wat een briljant klein boekje is dit. Vol humor analyseert Weinberger de nuances van een dertigtal vertalingen van hetzelfde gedicht (in het Nederlands waarschijnlijk het beste te vertalen als Hertenkamp), bestaande uit slechts 4 zinnen en 20 Chinese karakters. Nu was ik dit in China welbekende gedicht reeds tegengekomen tijdens mijn college Klassiek Chinees, en toen trof de eenvoud ervan me al.
Kort gezegd gaat het gedicht over een berg zonder mensen erop, terwijl op de achtergrond nog wat stemmen te horen zijn. De avond valt, licht komt het bos (op de berg) binnen, en dit licht weerkaatst op het groene mos. Het wordt echter meestal niet als louter landschapspoëzie geïnterpreteerd. Wang Wei was een Boeddhistische geleerde, en de weerkaatsing op het mos kan gelezen worden als de verlichting van iemand die mediteert. Het licht reflecteert bij degenen die in hun geest afstand hebben genomen.
Het is helemaal geen lastig gedicht, in beeldspraak noch woordgebruik. Maar het gevoel is krachtig, en dat passend overbreng blijkt een gigantische uitdaging.
Door het kijken naar verschillende vertalingen brengt Weinberger meerdere interessante aspecten naar boven: de grammaticale nuance van het Klassiek Chinees, de ambiguïteit van Tang-poëzie, en bovenal de verschillen tussen de klassiek Chinese en de moderne Westerse literaire traditie. Want die verschillen moeten tot op zekere hoogte overbrugd worden in vertaling. en dat lukt vaak niet, vindt Weinberger.
Waar gaan de vertalers vaak de fout in? Ten eerste maken ze het te vaak persoonlijk. Ze maken de geïmpliceerde ik-persoon expliciet, en halen daarmee de objectieve focus uit het gedicht. Ten tweede proberen ze het eenvoudige taalgebruik bloemrijker te maken met nodeloos complexe woorden. Daarnaast hebben ze vaak geen oog voor de parallellie, die zo'n grote rol speelt in het knotvers. En de leukste fout is misschien wel hoeveel van de vertalers de laatste zin vermoeilijken door beelden te scheppen van hangende mossen in de bomen. Deze zijn enkel inheems in de Nieuwe Wereld, en Wang Wei kan deze dus nooit gezien hebben. Het is gewoon mos.
Maar andere grammaticaal en stilistisch correcte vertalingen zijn te droog, en weten de bezieldheid van het gedicht niet over te brengen. Het voelt niet geïnspireerd, voelt niet harmonieus, niet alomvattend, zoals het gedicht wel in het Chinees voor me klinkt. De 'verlichtende avondschemer' is in veel vertalingen slechts woord zonder beeld. Dan zijn er enkele vrije vertalingen die mogelijkerwijs helemaal niet luisteren naar wat er precies gezegd wordt, maar toch de geest meer kunnen vatten. Of ze maken het gedicht eigen, proberen het niet te imiteren, maar juist eigen invulling te geven. Als je het niet leest als een gedicht van Wang Wei, de 8e eeuwse Chinese schilder, musicus en dichter, mag het zeker een vernieuwende klank hebben.
De hoeveelheid grammaticaal incorrecte vertalingen verraste mij. Ik ben absoluut geen expert in Klassiek Chinees, maar woordvolgorde wordt regelmatig genegeerd, terwijl dat de grootste leidraad is voor het vertalen (dat wordt er flink ingestampt in je eerste jaar). Zo worden bijvoeglijke naamwoorden veranderd in bijwoorden en zelfstandige naamwoorden, zonder dat dat het begrip van de tekst vergroot.
Dit boek bood geweldig veel inzicht in de complexiteit van vertalen in het algemeen, en naar aanleiding van dit boek heb ik zelf ook geprobeerd een vertaling te maken. Het resultaat is als volgt:
Lege berg, geen mens in zicht
Toch klinken echo's van mensentaal.
Terugkerend licht betreedt het diepe woud;
Opnieuw weerkaatst ze op het groene mos.
Het is verbazingwekkend hoeveel vertaalkwesties er kunnen zijn in zo'n kort gedicht. Ik heb enkele kunnen oplossen maar de volgende nog niet:
1. Is het berg of bergen?
2. Ik heb bù jiàn niet als een werkwoord vertaald, omdat het statischer beter past in het gedicht, maar grammaticaal is dat mogelijk problematisch.
3. Moet ik 'nog' toevoegen in de tweede zin om de tegenstelling duidelijker te maken?
4. Is mensentaal te bloemrijk? Is het niet veel simpeler in het origineel?
5. Terugkerend is een lang woord, en maakt niet helemaal duidelijk dat het gaat om de avondschemer. Is er een passender woord te vinden?
6. Is 'betreedt' te gepersonificeerd? Kan het niet beter zijn 'treedt binnen' of 'komt binnen'? Of verandert dat het ritme van de zin?
7. Mag ik een ; gebruiken? Dient dat de grammaticaliteit of het ritme van het gedicht?
8. Is 'opnieuw' de beste woordkeus? 'Weer' kan niet omdat daarna weerkaatst wordt gebruikt. Mogelijk is er een ander woord?
9. Mag ik 'ze' gebruiken in de laatste zin? Is dat niet te persoonlijk? Is licht vrouwelijk? In het Chinees is de zon mannelijk, dus dat lijkt het tegen te spreken, maar in het Nederlands lijkt 'hij' contra-intuïtief.
10. Is het ritme in het algemeen nog duidelijk te merken?
Wat ik naar mijn idee wel heb opgelost:
1. De toon is mooi onpersoonlijk en afstandelijk gebracht.
2. De parallellie is goed overgebracht, omdat hij ook niet volledig is in het Chinees.
3. 'Woud' klinkt mooi afgelegen, meer dan bos.
4. 'Weerkaatsing' is een treffende formulering voor de Boeddhistische achtergrond van het gedicht.
5. Verlichting en natuurwaardering komen duidelijk tot uiting in de tekst.
In deze vertaling probeerde ik zo goed mogelijk de oorspronkelijke stijl en betekenis over te brengen. Als experiment heb ik ook een eigenzinnigere vertaling geschreven:
Lege bergen zien geen mensen (in zich)
Horen enkel de echo's van menselijke grammatica.
Avondzon, vallend, terug, door diepe wouden
Schijnt herlevend op ons, groenige mossen.
De bergen worden hier gepersonifieerd, om de 'onmenselijkheid' van het gedicht te benadrukken. 'In zich' is een woordspeling op mijn oorspronkelijke vertaling met 'in zicht' en een verwijzing naar de afgelegenheid van de lege bergen. 'Grammatica' is eigenlijk 语法, niet enkel 语, en dus niet helemaal correct, maar ik vond 'grammatica' goed verwijzen naar de menselijke drang naar regels en orde, en dat deze drang in de verte nog te horen is, omdat de mediterende nog niet volledig afstand heeft kunnen nemen van de menselijkheid.
Het gedicht heeft een vrij sterke conceptuele scheiding, dus ik heb een witregel ingevoegd.
In mijn eerste vertaling vond ik het lastig duidelijk te maken dat het om de avond ging, dus dat heb ik expliciet gemaakt. Daarnaast heb ik bewust gekozen voor een licht ongrammaticale opsomming die een staccato gevoel geeft. 'Vallend' impliceert dat het vanuit de hemel komt (de religieuze ingeving), 'terug' duidt op de cyclische aard van het leven. 'Herlevend' heeft een ambigu lijdend voorwerp gekregen (thematisch past het zowel bij de avondzon als bij ons). Tenslotte heb ik lekker subversief expres de ik-persoon toegevoegd aan het eind van het gedicht in plaats van in het begin. We zijn naar mijn idee veel meer het verlichte mos dan de eenling op de berg. We bevinden ons namelijk niet in het landschap; we zijn het landschap.
Het is misschien niet mogelijk om poëzie echt te vertalen. Kunst is echter zo vaak enkel het resultaat van onmogelijke en hoogmoedige ondernemingen. Aanrader voor iedereen, niet alleen sinologen.
March 6, 2025
A great little introduction to both poetry appreciation and the difficulties of translation.
Useful to be familiar with Classical Chinese, but could absolutely be read by people with zero understanding of the Chinese language.
Useful to be familiar with Classical Chinese, but could absolutely be read by people with zero understanding of the Chinese language.
August 11, 2025
love when critics are mean and funny
July 10, 2025
I loved this. Weinberger has the all of the best attributes of a critic: clarity, originality and humour. Particularly loved the afterwords detailing the Furious Professor's constant attacks on this book.
Fav translations: Octavio Paz's, Watson's, and ofc Boodberg's "Hopkins on LSD" version
Here's my sorry attempt, written with 0 Chinese and much hubris. I love the simplicity of Chinese poetry, but perhaps have gone too simple:
Fav translations: Octavio Paz's, Watson's, and ofc Boodberg's "Hopkins on LSD" version
Here's my sorry attempt, written with 0 Chinese and much hubris. I love the simplicity of Chinese poetry, but perhaps have gone too simple:
Empty mountain—no one is seen
but distant voices echo.
The sunset slips back through deep woods
And shines once more on the green moss.
Read
January 16, 2023h/t santi for reminding me of this gem
"In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator’s ego: an absolute humility toward the text. A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator — that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking."
"In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator’s ego: an absolute humility toward the text. A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator — that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking."
January 19, 2018
* "The point is that translation is more than a leap from dictionary to dictionary: it is a reimagining of the poem. As such, every reading of every poem, regardless of language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader's intellectual and emotional life. As no individual reader remains the same, each reading becomes a different -- not merely another - reading. The same poem cannot be read twice."
* "A translation of, say, a poem into English is a kind of palimpsest. It is not a poem in English, as it will always be read as a translation: a text written on top of another text."
I bought this book last year when I was thinking a lot about translated works, the process of translating, and was even writing my own translations of poetry and shorts stories from Spanish into English (or vice versa) for fun.
What Weinberger does in this short book is that he looks at one poem written by Wang Wei and dissects and scrutinizes 29 translations people have done of that one poem. He points out what he thinks was done effectively and what was not. Sometimes he was a little harsh but many times he made great points. Translating anything is difficult but especially poetry. Poetry, of course, relies on subtleties and nuances (meter, rhyme, double meanings, etc) and many times those nuances cannot be translated, especially when cultures are very different.
I thought it was an entertaining read. It reminded me to be more mindful of what words I choose when translating because every word has a particular weight to it.
The parts on the Furious Professor, a Mexican professor who fervently disagreed with most of what Weinberger had to say in this essay, were so funny to me. Academic drama!!
* "A translation of, say, a poem into English is a kind of palimpsest. It is not a poem in English, as it will always be read as a translation: a text written on top of another text."
I bought this book last year when I was thinking a lot about translated works, the process of translating, and was even writing my own translations of poetry and shorts stories from Spanish into English (or vice versa) for fun.
What Weinberger does in this short book is that he looks at one poem written by Wang Wei and dissects and scrutinizes 29 translations people have done of that one poem. He points out what he thinks was done effectively and what was not. Sometimes he was a little harsh but many times he made great points. Translating anything is difficult but especially poetry. Poetry, of course, relies on subtleties and nuances (meter, rhyme, double meanings, etc) and many times those nuances cannot be translated, especially when cultures are very different.
I thought it was an entertaining read. It reminded me to be more mindful of what words I choose when translating because every word has a particular weight to it.
The parts on the Furious Professor, a Mexican professor who fervently disagreed with most of what Weinberger had to say in this essay, were so funny to me. Academic drama!!
April 1, 2020
Extremely fun homage to translation where Weinberger analyses nineteen versions of the same Tang poem by Wang Wei. His commentary, often biting and caustic, reveals much about the problems of translating Chinese poetry. Although the book is fairly upfront about Weinberger's biases and preferences, his critiques are fascinating and his writing style is incredibly engaging. (Supplemented by a great essay from Octavio Paz as well as some dramatic post-scripts.) This is a thoroughly great book for anybody interested in Chinese poetry and translation.
July 24, 2022
An interesting examination of translation and how many different ways one simple poem can be interpreted; delves into how the initial meaning of the poem can be lost or clouded by the western view, as well as how languages shape how someone interacts and perceives the world.
November 4, 2019
Translating even a four-line poem from Chinese will give you 19 different interpretations (even more in the appendix). While the impossibility and necessity of translation is the theme, smartly parsed with humor and insight, my takeaway was the angry critic, who dismissed the work of the author and even self-published a treatise on why he was so mistaken in his approach to translating classic Chinese poetry. Though only a minor character, his passionate madness feels an appropriate personification of the whole transition process.
January 11, 2010
It is of course interesting to read 19 different translations of the same poem. What is less interesting is Weinberger's commentary, which to me came across as obnoxious, pedantic, and occasionally quite contentious. Though, to be fair, SOME of his observations are interesting (he notes, for instance, the number of words they use - a seemingly obvious point, but one that I didn't really think about). Still, overall, I found him more grating than anything else.
April 30, 2022
In this short book Eliot Weinberger analyzes several different translations of a four-line Chinese poem.
His comments on translation are insightful and his assessment of some of the versions is hilariously grumpy making this a surprisingly fun read.
His comments on translation are insightful and his assessment of some of the versions is hilariously grumpy making this a surprisingly fun read.
March 7, 2025
me he quedao totalmente fascinada con este libro
February 6, 2025
like accidentally falling into a conversation with the most interesting person at a party. weinberger takes “deer grove,” a single poem by chinese poet wang wei - gem-like in its simplicity, four lines, twenty characters, painting the image of an empty mountaintop and sunlight falling across a patch of moss - before casting it through a prism. he presents and evaluates 19 different translations of the poem, most in english but a few in french and one in spanish.
like an expert horologist, he cracks open each translation to reveal its ticking innards, identifying for his readers where prior translators have overstepped and editorialized, or more rarely, hewed faithfully to the original in terms of sense, meter or structure. weinberger moves effortlessly from broad hsitorical insights (at one point he notes how ezra pound “created a new poetry in english” with his book cathay) to charmingly direct asides (at one point, he advises his reader to “try reading [a particular translation] aloud… for a jolt to the system”)
what could have been a dry technical manual is lightened by weinberger’s playful humor and clear passion for the work. one can almost hear him chuckling to himself as he writes of one translation that “the poem is more chang than wang.” completionists will also be rewarded by a charming anecdote in the postscript, in which weinberger describes being contacted by a professor incensed by his “curious neglect” of something called “boodberg’s cedule.” the cedule in question ends up being a hilariously bizarre version of the poem which weinberger describes as sounding “like gerard manley hopkins on LSD.” this wry and playful attitude shines through at multiple points throughout the slim volume.
these moments of levity are balanced nicely with deeper meditations on the art of translation, and poetry itself, most notably in the following moments:
“Poetry is that which is worth translating.”
“Great poetry lives in a state of perpetual transformation, perpetual translation: the poem dies when it has no place to go. The transformations that take shape in print, that take the formal name of "translation," become their own beings, set out on their own wanderings. Some live long, and some don't. What kind of creatures are they? What happens when a poem, once Chinese and still Chinese, becomes a piece of English, Spanish, French poetry?”
“‘Every force," said Mother Ann Lee of the Shakers, "evolves a form.’ Pound's genius was the discovery of the living matter of the force, of the Chinese poem-what he called the "newness that stays new" through the centuries. This living matter functions somewhat like DNA, spinning out individual translations which are relatives, not clones, of the original. The relationship between original and translation is parent-child. And there are inescapably, some translations that are overly attached to the originals, and others that are constantly rebelling.”
“It is a classic example of the translator attempting to "improve" the original. Such cases are not uncommon, and are the product of a translator's unspoken contempt for the foreign poet. It never occurs to Chang and Walmsley that Wang could have written the equivalent of ‘casts motley patterns on the jadegreen mosses’ had he wanted to. He didn't.
In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator's ego: an absolute humility toward the text. A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator - that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking.”
one last miscellaneous observation: poetry, or at least the translation of poetry, comes across as a surprisingly mathematical practice in this book. in the afterword, octavio paz runs through the metrical formats of a number of ancient chinese poetic styles and explains that he has left out the chart of all the various combinations, a feature that sounds like it’d be more at home in a calculus textbook. in our modern era of free verse, such constraints may seem anachronistically restrictive. still, there is, for lack of a better word, something poetic in the combination of such sumptuous, emotional imagery within such a rigid structure. i know, i know, hardly the most original observation in the world, but i still found it striking.
extremely frustrating that this one is out of print - i originally bought a hard copy to give to my sister-in-law who is studying chinese translation, but have decided to keep this one for myself and purchase at least three other copies to give as gifts to her and others. very much looking forward to reading weinberger’s the life of tu fu next.
like an expert horologist, he cracks open each translation to reveal its ticking innards, identifying for his readers where prior translators have overstepped and editorialized, or more rarely, hewed faithfully to the original in terms of sense, meter or structure. weinberger moves effortlessly from broad hsitorical insights (at one point he notes how ezra pound “created a new poetry in english” with his book cathay) to charmingly direct asides (at one point, he advises his reader to “try reading [a particular translation] aloud… for a jolt to the system”)
what could have been a dry technical manual is lightened by weinberger’s playful humor and clear passion for the work. one can almost hear him chuckling to himself as he writes of one translation that “the poem is more chang than wang.” completionists will also be rewarded by a charming anecdote in the postscript, in which weinberger describes being contacted by a professor incensed by his “curious neglect” of something called “boodberg’s cedule.” the cedule in question ends up being a hilariously bizarre version of the poem which weinberger describes as sounding “like gerard manley hopkins on LSD.” this wry and playful attitude shines through at multiple points throughout the slim volume.
these moments of levity are balanced nicely with deeper meditations on the art of translation, and poetry itself, most notably in the following moments:
“Poetry is that which is worth translating.”
“Great poetry lives in a state of perpetual transformation, perpetual translation: the poem dies when it has no place to go. The transformations that take shape in print, that take the formal name of "translation," become their own beings, set out on their own wanderings. Some live long, and some don't. What kind of creatures are they? What happens when a poem, once Chinese and still Chinese, becomes a piece of English, Spanish, French poetry?”
“‘Every force," said Mother Ann Lee of the Shakers, "evolves a form.’ Pound's genius was the discovery of the living matter of the force, of the Chinese poem-what he called the "newness that stays new" through the centuries. This living matter functions somewhat like DNA, spinning out individual translations which are relatives, not clones, of the original. The relationship between original and translation is parent-child. And there are inescapably, some translations that are overly attached to the originals, and others that are constantly rebelling.”
“It is a classic example of the translator attempting to "improve" the original. Such cases are not uncommon, and are the product of a translator's unspoken contempt for the foreign poet. It never occurs to Chang and Walmsley that Wang could have written the equivalent of ‘casts motley patterns on the jadegreen mosses’ had he wanted to. He didn't.
In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator's ego: an absolute humility toward the text. A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator - that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking.”
one last miscellaneous observation: poetry, or at least the translation of poetry, comes across as a surprisingly mathematical practice in this book. in the afterword, octavio paz runs through the metrical formats of a number of ancient chinese poetic styles and explains that he has left out the chart of all the various combinations, a feature that sounds like it’d be more at home in a calculus textbook. in our modern era of free verse, such constraints may seem anachronistically restrictive. still, there is, for lack of a better word, something poetic in the combination of such sumptuous, emotional imagery within such a rigid structure. i know, i know, hardly the most original observation in the world, but i still found it striking.
extremely frustrating that this one is out of print - i originally bought a hard copy to give to my sister-in-law who is studying chinese translation, but have decided to keep this one for myself and purchase at least three other copies to give as gifts to her and others. very much looking forward to reading weinberger’s the life of tu fu next.
Read
June 1, 2025With its infinite number of possible combinations, a translation is never finished.
Es sin duda uno de los libros más fascinantes que he tenido la suerte de leer a lo largo de mi vida, y atesoraré la profundidad que contiene y con la que me ha llenado.
Un poliedro de 29 caras no tiene nombre oficial, pero basándome en la nomenclatura habitual podría llamarse 'icosaeneaedro'. A lo largo de 29 traducciones distintas de un poema chino de 4 líneas y 1200 años de antigüedad, Weinberger explora la multiplicidad de la experiencia humana y la infinitud del lenguaje. 29 traducciones de 29 autores/as distintos/as que sirven como percepciones de las 29 caras del icosaeneaedro que encierra el poema original. Una traducción siempre va a ser un sobretexto, un texto escrito encima de otro texto, y no es tarea sencilla lograr una traducción lírica que no sea demasiado literal y que aun así conserve la sencillez y profundidad de significado del original. Recorrer las distintas traducciones sirve no solo como aproximación a una miríada de interpretaciones, sino también como un acercamiento a la historia de la traducción occidental y al entendimiento de la naturaleza y la vida/muerte en el budismo zen. Weinberger analiza cada traducción con precisión y lirismo, dando pie a un entendimiento cada vez más profundo y maravilloso de un poema que, de haber leído en una única traducción en un compendio de poesía china, probablemente habría pasado por mis ojos sin pena ni gloria. Tanto en torpes visiones antropomórficas que modifican el sutil significado original, como en intuitivas, intrincadas y bellas interpretaciones como las de Gary Snyder y Octavio Paz, se puede descubrir la cosmovisión de la persona que hay detrás. Es un poema que revela más de ti que de sí mismo.
De hecho, es muy posible que me esté equivocando al decir "significado original", pues ni siquiera aún este queda al descubierto. Es muy bello pensar que tras 1200 años un poema tan corto y sutil aún despierta una conversación tan intensa entre personas con vidas, experiencias e idiomas tan distintos. Me hace darme cuenta de que siempre vamos a ser criaturas de campo sobre una roca flotando en el espacio.
Es sin duda uno de los libros más fascinantes que he tenido la suerte de leer a lo largo de mi vida, y atesoraré la profundidad que contiene y con la que me ha llenado.
Un poliedro de 29 caras no tiene nombre oficial, pero basándome en la nomenclatura habitual podría llamarse 'icosaeneaedro'. A lo largo de 29 traducciones distintas de un poema chino de 4 líneas y 1200 años de antigüedad, Weinberger explora la multiplicidad de la experiencia humana y la infinitud del lenguaje. 29 traducciones de 29 autores/as distintos/as que sirven como percepciones de las 29 caras del icosaeneaedro que encierra el poema original. Una traducción siempre va a ser un sobretexto, un texto escrito encima de otro texto, y no es tarea sencilla lograr una traducción lírica que no sea demasiado literal y que aun así conserve la sencillez y profundidad de significado del original. Recorrer las distintas traducciones sirve no solo como aproximación a una miríada de interpretaciones, sino también como un acercamiento a la historia de la traducción occidental y al entendimiento de la naturaleza y la vida/muerte en el budismo zen. Weinberger analiza cada traducción con precisión y lirismo, dando pie a un entendimiento cada vez más profundo y maravilloso de un poema que, de haber leído en una única traducción en un compendio de poesía china, probablemente habría pasado por mis ojos sin pena ni gloria. Tanto en torpes visiones antropomórficas que modifican el sutil significado original, como en intuitivas, intrincadas y bellas interpretaciones como las de Gary Snyder y Octavio Paz, se puede descubrir la cosmovisión de la persona que hay detrás. Es un poema que revela más de ti que de sí mismo.
De hecho, es muy posible que me esté equivocando al decir "significado original", pues ni siquiera aún este queda al descubierto. Es muy bello pensar que tras 1200 años un poema tan corto y sutil aún despierta una conversación tan intensa entre personas con vidas, experiencias e idiomas tan distintos. Me hace darme cuenta de que siempre vamos a ser criaturas de campo sobre una roca flotando en el espacio.
Empty mountains:
no one to be seen.
Yet —hear—
human sounds and echoes.
Returning sunlight
enters the dark woods;
Again shining
on the green moss, above.
—Gary Snyder, Journal for the Protection of All Beings, No. 4, Fall 1978.
Read
January 6, 2025This is a short and simple examination of the challenges of translation, illustrated by 19 versions--one in modern Chinese characters, one a Pinyin transliteration, one a word-for-word literal analysis--the rest being attempts of various western poets through the years to translate the same Tang-era poem from Wang Wei. A fun game to play is to read each translation and try to predict whether Weinberger is going to trash or to praise it. Some are obvious, some are not, but his criticisms are mostly persuasive.
Octavio Paz has his version examined among the others by Elliot, then Paz has a chance to put in his word in response and he gives a modified translation that he later produced upon reflection. So a kind of dialog has occurred here.
This is not a thorough, deep, or particularly scholarly examination, but it is accessible and makes sense for what it is. There is no "answer" given in terms of the correct way to translate, but pitfalls are highlighted, and exemplars of successful approaches are presented.
This is another text that I managed to enjoy via Internet Archive's free online library. Here it is: Nineteen Ways....
Octavio Paz has his version examined among the others by Elliot, then Paz has a chance to put in his word in response and he gives a modified translation that he later produced upon reflection. So a kind of dialog has occurred here.
This is not a thorough, deep, or particularly scholarly examination, but it is accessible and makes sense for what it is. There is no "answer" given in terms of the correct way to translate, but pitfalls are highlighted, and exemplars of successful approaches are presented.
This is another text that I managed to enjoy via Internet Archive's free online library. Here it is: Nineteen Ways....
February 4, 2023
Iedereen die in contact komt met anderstalige poëzie zal wellicht gemerkt hebben hoeveel moeilijkheden zich kunnen voordoen bij het vertalen ervan. Voor Chinese poëzie is dit zeker ook waar, ik durf zelfs te zeggen dat het één van de verst verwijderde linguïstische systemen is. In de klassieke poëzie gelden dan niet alleen de taal en het taalgebruik als grote struikelblokken, maar ook de sociale context en achterliggende betekenissen (hoe moet een twintigste eeuwse vertaler nou weten dat "lege berg" helemaal niet verwijst naar de verlatenheid van de berg, maar wel naar het Boeddhistische concept van "leegte"). In dit kleine boekje bespreekt de auteur slechts 1 enkel klassiek gedicht uit de Tang dynastie, bloeiperiode van de Chinese poëzie, en de vele manieren om deze te vertalen. Hij haalt hierbij Engelse, Franse, Spaanse en Duitse voorbeelden aan. In essentie komt het erop neer dat er zoveel manieren zijn om een gedicht te interpreteren als er vertalers zijn, maar daarmee heb je de kwaliteit ervan nog niet beoordeeld. Het leest heel vlot, soms ook grappig en vooral leerrijk.
July 31, 2022
Some good gems in this and an insightful look into translation, but somehow deeply annoying? I will say, I enjoyed the postscripts about the Furious Professor more than some of his thoughts on the translations.
Here's a few bits I liked:
Here's a few bits I liked:
In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator's ego: an absolute humility toward the text. A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator - that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking.
The point is that translation is more than a leap from dictionary to dictionary; it is a reimagining of the poem. As such, every reading of every poem, regardless of language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader's intellectual and emotional life. As no individual reader remains the same, each reading becomes a different - not merely another - reading. The same poem cannot be read twice.
December 14, 2020
I'm so glad I got this specific edition from 2016, where the title ends in "(With more ways)", because besides more ways, it also features not one but two postscripts, and they're so good. I didn't mean to write a review talking only about the postscripts but I loved them. It epitomizes everything I appreciated about the writer's brutal honesty. This was a great read, and though a short one, gave me plenty to think about on the subject of translating poetry.
June 18, 2022
An extremely interesting look at poetry, translation, culture, and implication. I think it would’ve been interesting to have a conclusion at the end wherein the essayist takes a holistic look at the interpretations. He does draw comparison here and there between the different translations, but a final portion comparing what he deems the best and most lacking translations would’ve been a nice end.
May 20, 2025
Translation is a fascinating topic and this is a fun examination of many different translations of the same Chinese poem. It allows reflection on the forms of poetry in different languages, linguistics, word meanings and multiple meanings, and all the different aspects a translator has to consider and the choices to be made. It's a very quick read and quite enjoyable.
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