I too am interested in Mark’s translation question for Rachel. I have been interested in translating for a while and have translated poems from German, French, and Spanish. But I never really did it for anything more than my own edification.

“Translating” was, in a way, one of my earliest experiences with poetry. (I suppose this harks back to an earlier symposium question as well.) My grandmother (who lived with us when I was a child) spoke only German — and she loved poetry. She used to recite poems and sing to me all the time: Goethe, Rilke...

I can relate to Rachel’s poems “Learning to Talk” and “A Copy of Ariel” in particular, which speak beautifully about that early lineage of language.

I have a beautiful journal from my Grandmother (dating back to 1914). As a young girl, she “collected” poems from friends and family. Just the other day, I was struggling fiercely to make a translation of four simple lines work right. I think translation is remarkably difficult, if one attempts to be true to the form of the original. I suppose sometimes it comes down to a choice of fidelities — form or meaning of a phrase — I consider it truly hard work to do it right.

I took some translation classes at Brown and also when I studied in East Germany in 1987 (I tried my hand at Brecht, Volker Braun...) Years ago, I did translate Rilke’s entire book, Das Marienleben, just as an exercise. I’m not delighted with my translation of it, but it was certainly an important part of my development. And I often ask my students at U. Miami to try their hands at translation, because I consider it important to developing one’s ear.

Though the only translation in Echolocations is a version of a poem by Mandelstam (from Russian, oddly enough a language I don’t know) I think translation informs many of my poems. “Kinder- und Hausmärchen,” the poem that opens the book, reveals that earliest influence of language and story-telling, as do many of the other poems in the book. (I think of your poem, Rachel, “In the Hammock,” which begins with the line “Start with fairy tales...”) My book opens via fairy tales.

I learned Spanish as a child as well and have traveled and lived in S. America. Just recently, Ali Habashi, a director of a film here, “Camino no Tomado” asked me to translate a poem for the film. I just saw the film a few weeks ago, and the poem was used as a kind of crescendo in it. I
had no idea how they were going to incorporate it, so it was rather exciting.

In the past few years I’ve been learning Greek. My life seems to have issued me that challenge. I try to impress my countless in-laws by reciting poems in Greek, even ones for children. Perhaps Rachel or Alicia know the one every Greek school child is supposed to know: “Fengaraki mu lambro, fenge mu na perpato...” I love Cavafy, Ritsos, Elitis. As my Greek develops, perhaps translation will be part of my development as well. Actually, I can’t imagine it wouldn’t be.

The more I think about it, the more I realize I would like to take on some new translation projects. (Thanks, Mark, for bringing up a topic so close to my thoughts.)

I’m curious, Rachel, how you chose your poets: Baudelaire, Valery, Karyotakis — Did you choose to translate them in particular, because you felt especially compelled. Or were you “offered” any as projects?

And naturally, I’m curious about Sam and Alicia’s thoughts on the topic.

Translation goes in and out of focus for me — I sometimes do it when asked, sometimes of my own accord — but it never fails to be interesting and challenging, and to uncover assumptions, strengths, and weaknesses in my own work, as well as (like teaching in this only more so) FORCING me to pay extremely close attention to a text instead of eternally skimming, hurrying etc.

So yes, very important. At the same time, it's good to be aware of older (sometimes very odd) translations and not simply assume everything always has to be translated afresh. Some new translations are over praised.

Translation is also a good way to hone your skills as a poet on days when you are not feeling particularly inspired. I myself write mostly short lyric poems, so I do not really have the option, say, a novelist might of sitting down every day and resuming the creative task where I left off, instead of confronting the immaculate blank page over and over. Am currently half-way through a book-length translation (Lucretius), and there are some advantages to having "work" to sit down to every day.