I’m finding myself quite busy at the moment, juggling multiple projects. Along with the newsletter, I have the eminent release of my book of Kleist translations, Anecdotes, out at the end of this month. I’m also editing another book of translations, editing a friend’s long short story, translating a short story by the German Romantic author Jean Paul, and working on another essay about my Kleist translations. There are other projects too that I would rather not disclose at this time. A few weeks ago, I wrote a long essay for Greg Gerke’s excellent journal Socrates on the Beach. I still feel kind of tired from that one.
I’m not sure how sustainable this workload is, but I’m enjoying the work itself immensely and have little reason to complain, since the writer’s struggle mostly consists of getting people interested in the first place. I’m glad for the thoughtful attention and the informed praise I’ve already received regarding Anecdotes. I still don’t know how the book will fare in the wider marketplace, but I’ve met some wonderful people online and received some paid translation work because of it. That is success, full stop. If you haven’t already ordered a copy of Anecdotes, you can do so here.
Between these projects, I did find time to finish a very short but relatively well-known book on translation, 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei by Elliot Weinberger. The book analyzes 19 different translations (more in the revised edition) of “Deer Park” by the Tang Dynasty calligrapher and poet Wang Wei. The poem is brief: four lines of five characters each. The language is not especially complex. My girlfriend, who is studying modern Japanese, not classical Chinese, can recognize many of the characters and their meanings in context. Yet for more than a century various translators and poets have attempted to render it into their given language: English, French, German, Spanish and so on.
Weinberger’s book is known in translation circles primarily, I think, because of the spiciness of his arguments. He doesn’t hesitate in giving his opinion on this or that version. Regarding certain errors or stylistic infelicities, as he sees them, Weinberger can be rather harsh. But though I know next to nothing about Chinese poetics, Chinese linguistics, and Chinese writing systems, I rather agree with his assessment of the English and German versions. Above all, he values translations that serve as poems unto themselves. He has little time for the academic school that values accuracy and contextualization above all else. But Weinberger does give praise where praise is due. One of his favorite versions, and a favorite of mine too, is by the American Beat poet Gary Snyder, which I have nicked:
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.
But beyond a narrow professional interest for my part, the book also serves as a fun, pithy general purpose writing manual. The smallest details matter in the composition (and translation) of a great poem. Weinberger systematically brings to attention those details and how the treatment of those details matters. I found myself quite energized after reading it. If you have any sort of writing practice, or any sort of creative practice really, this is a book I would highly recommend.