Translation
There's a famous line in Baudelaire that goes:
Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon
(First line, verse two, "The Balcony")
Actually I thought it was from Proust, and now you can imagine how glad I am that I checked!
Anyway, this line is a sort of famous example of how some things are difficult to translate. Those of you who do not know French, or who think you're probably fairly fluent but actually you're being rather optimistic about that (like me), will already have translated it as:
The evenings illuminated by the ardour of carbon
Which is of course the only sensible translation. These people who pettifogg over unnecessarily precise details may prefer a different rendering but that's not us, eh? We appreciate the broad strokes of our intuitive understanding of the French tongue. Unfortunately that's not how the French would see it, so we have to actually find out what the words mean rather than guessing.
Here are some examples:
The evenings aglow with the heat of the coals (Elaine Marks, 1962)
Evenings illuminated by the glowing coal (Francis Scarfe, 1961)
In those evenings lit by the glowing coal (Francis Scarfe, 1986)
The nights ignited by the fire’s fierce fashions (Arthur Symons, c.1900-1920)
The eves illumined by the burning coal (Frank Pearce Sturm, 1906)
long hours illumined by the glowing fire (Lewis Piaget Shanks, 1931)
The evenings lighted by the hushed flame of the coal (George Dillon, 1936)
On eves illumined by the light of coal (Roy Campbell, 1952)
The evenings lighted by the glow of the coals (William Aggeler, 1954)
Evenings illumined by the glow of coals afire (Jacques LeClercq, 1958)
Evenings lighted by the burning of the coals (Wallace Fowlie, 1963)
On evenings by the ardor of the hearth illumned (Richard L. Tierney, 1981)
Evenings illustrated by living coals (Richard Howard, 1982, no relation)
Those evenings lighted by the lustrous coal-fire’s heat (William H, Crosby, 1991)
Evenings illumined by the ardour of the coal (James McGowan, 1993)
Evenings illuminated by the heat of a coal fire (Cat Nilan, 1999)
On evenings lit by the glowing coal-fire (Peter Low, 2001)
Those evenings lit by the glow of the coals (Rosemary Lloyd, 2002)
On evenings lit by the glow of the ashes (A. S. Kline, 2004)
evenings lit by burning charcoal (Keith Waldrop, 2006)
Evenings bathed in crackling firelight (Ira Lightman, 2007)
(If you want to read more from those translations, look here which is where I found them anyway)
Well there's a few possibilities. One was almost the same as my first attempt, wasn't it! And this is from professionals...
Interesting to see someone struck on an alternative meaning of "illuminated" ("illustrated", like an illuminated manuscript). I don't know if the word has those senses in French and English, though, so I can't make any judgement about its suitability.
So now we know it's hard to translate. But actually everything is hard to translate - unless you're a good translator. Then it is still hard but it looks easy. Remember Samuel Beckett translated Finnegans Wake into French! So anything is possible...
Aha look, you can hear James Joyce reading an excerpt himself with his own good voice hear!
Somehow it seems the best translations give you the feeling of the original, though they may not give the most literal exchange of meanings. The best line is the one that makes you feel the...er...ardour of carbon, as you are reading it.
Perhaps a sense of the social and historical position of the language of the original is possible, too. Cor Blimey, Strike a Light, Guv, that may be adding too many difficulties sometimes.
So something has to come across. Across the page, between the two languages, across the years to today, someone has to make a bridge between the original and the listener or reader. Well, isn't that rather like being an interpreter of music?
To hear a performance by Sviatoslav Richter or Glenn Gould, to take two strong examples, is in some people's eyes to hear a powerful personality imposing itself on the original. Or to hear a partial, or even eccentric, view. But that is not how I see it (or hear it).
Richter is a powerful personality, but what is powerful is the extent to which he's prepared to go to bring you the original. It's instantly recognisable as him, yet it is also instantly recognisable as the "right" music. (That's not to suggest that there's one right way, but if it can sound right or wrong, then I'm calling it right)
Gould is the same. Sadly too many writers describe him as eccentric, perhaps nearly all of them (I am at least one exception), and it makes it very difficult to hear what he's actually doing. I am a Gould sympathiser and I am still surprised when I listen and suddenly realise it's not eccentric. It is always Glenn, Glenn, Glenn, but Glenn likes the music, you see so it's not the same Glenn as if we were hearing some...other...player. (Still trying not to complain about others - they have a right to make a living too! Though they don't always have the right to do it the way that they do, in my view.)
How I imagine playing music is like this. I want to be the composer. I am trying to bring you the music as the composer thought of it - as far as I can understand that. But what is particular about my understanding of how one does this is that I see myself as representing the composer if he were alive today.
That means that things can be different sometimes. Also I do have free will so my "creative commune" can come up with a change in the performance, as, of course, many good players did anyway. Details can change, even the whole idea of the piece. They say Chopin never played the same way twice. It brought tears to the eyes of his pupils - first because of its beauty, second because as they tried to repeat the results it had already changed! How frustrating it must have been. But that was the way it was. And I guess that's the way it is for me, too. Things just can't be the same twice! Even if I tried.
I can't translate
Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon
Et les soirs au balcon, voilés de vapeurs roses.
Que ton sein m’était doux! que ton coeur m’était bon!
Nous avons dit souvent d’impérissables choses
Les soirs illuminés par l’ardeur du charbon.
Not today, anyway.
But I have other news from far away and long ago that I have to pass along to you. So that is what I will do, as best I can.
Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon
(First line, verse two, "The Balcony")
Actually I thought it was from Proust, and now you can imagine how glad I am that I checked!
Anyway, this line is a sort of famous example of how some things are difficult to translate. Those of you who do not know French, or who think you're probably fairly fluent but actually you're being rather optimistic about that (like me), will already have translated it as:
The evenings illuminated by the ardour of carbon
Which is of course the only sensible translation. These people who pettifogg over unnecessarily precise details may prefer a different rendering but that's not us, eh? We appreciate the broad strokes of our intuitive understanding of the French tongue. Unfortunately that's not how the French would see it, so we have to actually find out what the words mean rather than guessing.
Here are some examples:
The evenings aglow with the heat of the coals (Elaine Marks, 1962)
Evenings illuminated by the glowing coal (Francis Scarfe, 1961)
In those evenings lit by the glowing coal (Francis Scarfe, 1986)
The nights ignited by the fire’s fierce fashions (Arthur Symons, c.1900-1920)
The eves illumined by the burning coal (Frank Pearce Sturm, 1906)
long hours illumined by the glowing fire (Lewis Piaget Shanks, 1931)
The evenings lighted by the hushed flame of the coal (George Dillon, 1936)
On eves illumined by the light of coal (Roy Campbell, 1952)
The evenings lighted by the glow of the coals (William Aggeler, 1954)
Evenings illumined by the glow of coals afire (Jacques LeClercq, 1958)
Evenings lighted by the burning of the coals (Wallace Fowlie, 1963)
On evenings by the ardor of the hearth illumned (Richard L. Tierney, 1981)
Evenings illustrated by living coals (Richard Howard, 1982, no relation)
Those evenings lighted by the lustrous coal-fire’s heat (William H, Crosby, 1991)
Evenings illumined by the ardour of the coal (James McGowan, 1993)
Evenings illuminated by the heat of a coal fire (Cat Nilan, 1999)
On evenings lit by the glowing coal-fire (Peter Low, 2001)
Those evenings lit by the glow of the coals (Rosemary Lloyd, 2002)
On evenings lit by the glow of the ashes (A. S. Kline, 2004)
evenings lit by burning charcoal (Keith Waldrop, 2006)
Evenings bathed in crackling firelight (Ira Lightman, 2007)
(If you want to read more from those translations, look here which is where I found them anyway)
Well there's a few possibilities. One was almost the same as my first attempt, wasn't it! And this is from professionals...
Interesting to see someone struck on an alternative meaning of "illuminated" ("illustrated", like an illuminated manuscript). I don't know if the word has those senses in French and English, though, so I can't make any judgement about its suitability.
So now we know it's hard to translate. But actually everything is hard to translate - unless you're a good translator. Then it is still hard but it looks easy. Remember Samuel Beckett translated Finnegans Wake into French! So anything is possible...
Aha look, you can hear James Joyce reading an excerpt himself with his own good voice hear!
Somehow it seems the best translations give you the feeling of the original, though they may not give the most literal exchange of meanings. The best line is the one that makes you feel the...er...ardour of carbon, as you are reading it.
Perhaps a sense of the social and historical position of the language of the original is possible, too. Cor Blimey, Strike a Light, Guv, that may be adding too many difficulties sometimes.
So something has to come across. Across the page, between the two languages, across the years to today, someone has to make a bridge between the original and the listener or reader. Well, isn't that rather like being an interpreter of music?
To hear a performance by Sviatoslav Richter or Glenn Gould, to take two strong examples, is in some people's eyes to hear a powerful personality imposing itself on the original. Or to hear a partial, or even eccentric, view. But that is not how I see it (or hear it).
Richter is a powerful personality, but what is powerful is the extent to which he's prepared to go to bring you the original. It's instantly recognisable as him, yet it is also instantly recognisable as the "right" music. (That's not to suggest that there's one right way, but if it can sound right or wrong, then I'm calling it right)
Gould is the same. Sadly too many writers describe him as eccentric, perhaps nearly all of them (I am at least one exception), and it makes it very difficult to hear what he's actually doing. I am a Gould sympathiser and I am still surprised when I listen and suddenly realise it's not eccentric. It is always Glenn, Glenn, Glenn, but Glenn likes the music, you see so it's not the same Glenn as if we were hearing some...other...player. (Still trying not to complain about others - they have a right to make a living too! Though they don't always have the right to do it the way that they do, in my view.)
How I imagine playing music is like this. I want to be the composer. I am trying to bring you the music as the composer thought of it - as far as I can understand that. But what is particular about my understanding of how one does this is that I see myself as representing the composer if he were alive today.
That means that things can be different sometimes. Also I do have free will so my "creative commune" can come up with a change in the performance, as, of course, many good players did anyway. Details can change, even the whole idea of the piece. They say Chopin never played the same way twice. It brought tears to the eyes of his pupils - first because of its beauty, second because as they tried to repeat the results it had already changed! How frustrating it must have been. But that was the way it was. And I guess that's the way it is for me, too. Things just can't be the same twice! Even if I tried.
I can't translate
Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon
Et les soirs au balcon, voilés de vapeurs roses.
Que ton sein m’était doux! que ton coeur m’était bon!
Nous avons dit souvent d’impérissables choses
Les soirs illuminés par l’ardeur du charbon.
Not today, anyway.
But I have other news from far away and long ago that I have to pass along to you. So that is what I will do, as best I can.
Labels: meaning, peculiarities, performing, understanding
2 Comments:
I've been listening to Glenn Gould playing Mozart piano sonatas. Apparently he didn't like them very much! (apart from the 6 earliest ones which he thought were OK, but which most people think are weaker because they're not 'mature' Mozart). Some of his tempi are very unusual (ie. they are strikingly different from almost every other pianist) and this makes the performances sound very strange if you already know the music played as it usually is. But if you don't know the music, maybe it wouldn't sound so strange. For example, he takes the first and last movements of the A minor sonata, K310, at breakneck speed. But, perhaps because his technique is so flawless, this sounds very persuasive and exciting to my ears, and it actually makes me more interested in the music.
Maybe you should write some more about Glenn Gould and what you think of him?
- Andrew
Thank you very much for your thoughts.
I wonder what people are complaining about when they complain about Gould? Are they listening properly?
I will have a think and certainly try to say more about him soon!
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