Gilbert Alter-Gilbert Interview 1

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Stewart

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I want to bump this blog post up as it's full of names, mostly French and Argentinian, with a translator called Gilbert Alter-Gilbert.
JRMS: -- Do you think some things are untranslatable?

A-G: -- No. Translation is an interpretive art and, as such, infinitely plastic, infinitely flexible. Any given work is translatable in an infinite number of versions. The bigger question is: what is translation and what is mistranslation? Or, to put it another way: is there such a thing as false translation?​
 
Thanks Stewart. I've now managed to put up 3 of 6 planned posts of excerpts from Alter-Gilbert's book-length translations -- Huidobro, Asturias, and Redonnet. More to come!
 

Eric

Former Member
I think Gilbert Alter-Gilbert is right about an infinite number of versions. Theoretically, even if one word of a three-hundred page novel is altered (Alter!) this is a different translation. But in really, G A-G is talking about substantially different translations.

His question...

What is translation and what is mistranslation? Or, to put it another way: is there such a thing as false translation?

...is also worth thinking about. "False translation"; I've never heard it put that way before, but I presume he means a translations where the parts don't add up to a near approximation, in a new language, of what the author originally intended.

*

The list of translations suggests that G A-G knows a thing or two from actually translating books. The long interview is enlightening, and shows what goes on in the head of a translator:

a journey round my skull: Gilbert Alter-Gilbert Interview 1

What is interesting is that he can tell us about each author he has translated. For him an author clearly becomes a study in itself.

*

Note that G A-G believes in introductions and prefaces. So do I! He says:

I regard the function of introducing authors as a sacred office, and approach it with the utmost solemnity. I enjoy the impresario factor ? it's a quiet but genuine thrill to introduce a "new," important writer. I like writing prefaces and introductions because so many authors are intriguing personalities and their lives are every bit as dramatic and poignant (and, in some cases, mysterious) as their works.

I subscribe to every word of this - and from personal experience, resembling that of G A-G.
 

Stewart

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Thanks Stewart. I've now managed to put up 3 of 6 planned posts of excerpts from Alter-Gilbert's book-length translations -- Huidobro, Asturias, and Redonnet. More to come!

I've moved this from the blog bit to the Lit Translation section, as it's full of information and will only get lost elsewhere.

Here's the links to those excerpts: Huidobro, Asturias, and Carco. Didn't see a Redonnet. :confused:
 

nnyhav

Reader
JRMS?I see that Chad Post @3% has picked you up, with kudos, to which mine can add little more. Among other highlights, he seizes upon the literary historian aspect, which is interesting in any number of respects:
  • defining the cultural matrix grounding the original text (both prior and contemporary?how much familiarity to be granted to a particular time and place?);
  • setting the translator paradoxes (paradoces? paradoxen?) such as whether in allusions to refer to familiar versions of translated works, or how much to fill in for untranslated ones;
  • how to capture the idiosyncracies of voice and style relative to both common and literary usage ...
These are much in mind for me at present as I tackle Arno Schmidt (through John E. Woods), without having the depth in German Romantics that I ought.

One other thought: your interview and series might soon be fodder for the blog vs litjourno debate, as it is an exemplar of what literary journalism should be doing but by and large isn't.
 

Eric

Former Member
Nnyhav:

I didn't quite grasp the following. What do you think he means here:

setting the translator paradoxes (paradoces? paradoxen?) such as whether in allusions to refer to familiar versions of translated works, or how much to fill in for untranslated ones;

I do rather like the following diatribe that Chad quotes in the Three Percent article:

Marxist troglodytes who stalk the groves of academe have deemed that writers with religious foundations should not be taken seriously. It’s inexcusably petty to dismiss such writers out of hand merely on account of their religious proclivities. Cotton Mather is arguably more interesting to read than the majority of recent Nobel laureates and Bloy and Papini endured personal hardships and spiritual struggles that put to shame those of Augustine and St. John of the Cross and make them look like namby-pambies. The precious, hand-wringing academic mafiosi who blackball such writers are a pack of pretentious, politically-correct poltroons. Countless brilliant writers have been suppressed or, worse, ignored, simply on account of unorthodoxy.

Though I must admit that I had never before heard of Cotton Mather. Sounds like a Beat Poet, but in fact lived in the 17th-18th century.
 
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nnyhav

Reader
Nnyhav:
I didn't quite grasp the following. What do you think he means here:
setting the translator paradoxes (paradoces? paradoxen?) such as whether in allusions to refer to familiar versions of translated works, or how much to fill in for untranslated ones;
Sorry, what I mean is, a certain amount of cultural transmission has already occurred, and I'm asking to what extent the translator has to rely on it being already within the readers' grasp, i.e., how much to assume, and what to make explicit (and in fact correct from prior distortion in transmission. Hope that's clearer.
 

Stewart

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  • setting the translator paradoxes (paradoces? paradoxen?) such as whether in allusions to refer to familiar versions of translated works, or how much to fill in for untranslated ones;

Since it's easy to get to, there's a section on this in A Rose By Any Other Name, a piece Umberto Eco wrote for Guardian Weekly in 1994, where he talks on target- and source-oriented translations, referring specifically to his own novel, Foucault's Pendulum:
In other cases translation can and should be target-oriented. I will cite an example from the translation of my novel Foucault's Pendulum whose chief characters constantly speak in literary quotations. The purpose is to show that it is impossible for these characters to see the world except through literary references. Now, in chapter 57, describing an automobile trip in the hills, the translation reads "the horizon became more vast, at every curve the peaks grew, some crowned by little villages: we glimpsed endless vistas." But, after "endless vistas" the Italian text went on: "al di la della siepe, come osservava Diotallevi." If these words had been translated, literally "beyond the hedge, as Diotallevi remarked," the English-language reader would have lost something, for "al di la della siepe" is a reference to the most beautiful poem of Giacomo Leopardi, "L'infinito," which every Italian reader knows by heart. The quotation appears at that point not because I wanted to tell the reader there was a hedge anywhere nearby, but because I wanted to show how Diotallevi could experience the landscape only by linking it to his experience of the poem. I told my translators that the hedge was not important, nor the reference to Leopardi, but it was important to have a literary reference at any cost. In fact, William Weaver's translation reads: "We glimpsed endless vistas. Like Darien," Diotallevi remarked..." This brief allusion to the Keats sonnet is a good example of target-oriented translation.
I loved Foucault's Pendulum, although I would never have picked up on the allusion to On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer. Every English reader may not know it by heart, the way Italians would al di la della siepe, but it's an interesting topic and I would rather that the references were there to something I may pick up on, where possible, than have to read footnotes explaining the reference to some untranslated work.
 
Alter-Gilbert already agreed to do a follow-up interview, so I will get him to talk more about his ideas on translation.

I hope people enjoy that particular passage on "Marxist trogolodytes." Not that A-G. is being insincere in his dislike of some academics, or that he's being tongue-in-cheek, but I think he purposefully wrote that bit in the over-the-top, angry, controversial voices of Bloy and Papini to make us laugh a little (poltroons!). At the risk of diluting his words, and perhaps stating the obvious given his interests: he's friendly with plenty of academics!
 
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