Where and how does the translator become visible?

 A line from Deborah Smith’s essay in response to The Vegetarian translation controversy has been in my mind since reading the piece: “[Translation is] …perhaps the only art that can be not just bad, but wrong, and will never not be flawed.” Demoralizing as this may be to an aspiring translator like myself, it actually helps me conceptualize the vast range of translation theory I have come into contact with throughout the past year. I saw the readings from this week on a sort of spectrum, with Nabokov on one extremely extreme side, Suzanne Levine on the other, and Bly sort of moseying through the middle space. I have come to realize and expect this about translation theory: agreements among translation practitioners are rare; definitive answers to questions of the practice are even rarer. So what am I to do with all of this?

I particularly appreciated this week’s readings because I did not strongly agree with any of their advocated approaches. While this was confusing to me at first, I now understand that by being able to articulate what I don’t think translation is, I am better equipped to embark on my own translations with some sort of confidence that while I may produce a flawed translation, it at least won’t be “bad, or wrong” (as Smith puts it). I had previously read Nabokov’s essay on translating Onegin, but I forgot how much enjoyment I got out of his sheer conviction in his own translation philosophy, his shameless advocacy for “footnotes reaching up as tall as skyscrapers,” and his off-color humor that delights as much as it offends. 

As I read Bly’s piece, I found myself dissuaded by his argument, if only because it lacked that same vigor and certainty that Nabokov exudes. I did appreciate Bly’s descriptions of his translation process, as well as some of his creative metaphors, like following “every eccentric branch [of the poem] out to its farthest twig” (70). Overall, though, I felt like his argument was marked by contradictions, as he sets out by stating a fairly humble goal (“I will not deal with the theory of translation…”) yet, throughout his step-by-step descriptions, he inserts a good deal of subjective assertions on how language sounds, popping up in instances like “As Frost correctly says…” (76), also offering opinions presented as universal truths: “the younger we are, the easier it is to make mistakes in tone.” (79). I was actually reminded by some of Damion Searls’ essays on translation, which I find convincing, yet also come to question whether I am convinced simply because of the compelling rhetoric or because I actually agree with what is being said. 

Because of this, I also enjoyed Suzanne Levine’s piece, as she does not try to downplay her inherent subjectivity as a translator, and rather embraces it, offering a unique and perhaps controversial approach in which she discusses how translators of modern works produce “another book,” one that allows space for the translator’s expression, too. She discards the classical confines of ‘faithfulness and ‘fidelity,’ stating instead that translation “reveals a language’s infidelity to itself.” (89). I’d love to see her in dialogue with Nabokov. 

- Luisa