2019年11月17日 星期日

譯人 Constance Garnett Constance 1861~1946 (aged 84)



Constance Garnett: A Heroic Translator - BLARB
Bob Blaisdell remembers the translation genius of Constance Garnett.
連結  
In the midst of Mud and Stars: Travels in Russia with Pushkin and Other Geniuses of the Golden Age, Sara Wheeler takes a detour to a fellow Englishwoman, Constance Garnett (1861-1946), who between 1894 and 1934 published more than 60 volumes of translations of Russian literature and created the first mass English-reading audience for Dostoevsky and Chekhov. “Her work has stood the test of time,” declares Wheeler. “I love her, and I love her stuff. She had been weaned on the great English Victorian novelists, and she has their ear for language.” Garnett was not the indefatigable traveler that Wheeler is, but Wheeler must have enjoyed learning from Richard Garnett’s biography, Constance Garnett: A Heroic Life (1991), that his grandmother ventured twice to Russia. On her first journey she met Tolstoy at his Moscow house, where he praised her translation of his The Kingdom of God Is Within You and asked her to translate his revision of the Gospels; on her second journey she brought her 12-year-old son with her. Garnett wrote almost nothing of her own except letters, but she was savvy and generous as she “moved through the literary and political circles of a troubled time and emerged as a heroine, always on the side of the poor and oppressed, fighting in a man’s world,” writes Wheeler.
Garnett had been a whiz at ancient Greek at Cambridge University and seemed to absorb languages the way some artists absorb textures, shapes, and colors. “She began learning Russian just before she turned thirty when she fell in with a gang of fiery exiles,” Wheeler gushes. “Connie befriended many Russian Jews who had fled persecution after the assassination of Alexander Il.” Garnett learned enough of the language in a few months that, with the encouragement of a charismatic Russian revolutionary, she began translating a novel by Ivan Goncharov: “The first sentence took hours to puzzle out, but I soon advanced to translating a page a day.” She wrote her father-in-law a little later:
I do a few pages — some four or five —  […] every day, but I want a dictionary still for every sentence; and I think it will be some years before I have, as you say, ‘mastered’ the language, even in the sense of reading it as fluently as French. The idea of speaking it has faded away before an increased knowledge of the subtlety of the language.
She never did become a fluent speaker of Russian; like ancient Greek, Russian was primarily a written language for her.
But eventually she was translating at a sprint: five volumes of Turgenev in a year; 12 volumes of Dostoevsky in eight years; and, most famously, those 13 volumes of Chekhov in six years. “Her greatest virtues,” writes Gary Saul Morson, “were her profound and sympathetic understanding of the works themselves and a literary artist’s feel for the English language.” She has her detractors, as does any translator (often fellow translators, or academics who see opportunities to nitpick across enormous woven carpets). “[T]he Russian language,” sighed one such detractor, the scholar Henry Gifford, “has its inimitable brevities. It is in such small but crucial points that the translator meets his supreme challenge, and unless he can snatch a grace beyond the reach of art he will inevitably be defeated.” Such expectations are hardly realistic.
¤
Several years ago, when I was preparing an anthology of Great Love Stories for Dover Publications, I decided to translate a Chekhov story myself. My favorite is “The Lady with the Little Dog” (the very story Sara Wheeler was proud of herself for learning to read in the original in her late fifties), but there are so many great Chekhov love stories that I thought I should include one less well known. “A Misfortune” (“Neschast’e”) suggested itself. I read the story in Russian again and again until I knew on sight the meaning and relationship of every word. My Greek professor decades ago had insisted we first-year students not write our definitions on the pages of Xenophon’s Anabasis; “otherwise you’re not translating,” he had said, “you’re just reading your own English.” I knew my “A Misfortune” through and through. So I sat, in imitation of Garnett, with a pad of paper on my lap with the story at my side, and started translating, knowing that it would come out all right. I had in mind D. H. Lawrence’s description of Garnett “sitting out in the garden turning out reams of her marvelous translations from the Russian. She would finish a page, and throw it off on a pile on the floor without looking up, and start a new page. The pile would be this high … really almost up to her knees, and all magical.” But it’s good for us to know and appreciate that, for many years, because of vision troubles, she actually had to dictate her translations and “tried to use her eyes only for proofs.” That is, she translated by ear.
As for me, with my amateur, clumsy Russian, I like to make literal translations, at least to start, so I changed the syntax as little as possible and left out definite and indefinite articles from my draft of “A Misfortune” (the title of which I tried to recast but couldn’t; Garnett’s is just right). After a few days and more than 15 hours of staggering, I got through it and had a complete rough text. I was as pleased as a little boy who had made his own rickety tree-fort, but as soon as I sat myself on a park bench and started to try to make my version readable, it was as if sharp little points jutted up from the page. When I smoothed down one spot, broken shards popped up elsewhere. I had not had this difficulty, I thought, with some Tolstoy pieces I had painstakingly translated, and wasn’t Chekhov, as “everyone” agreed, easier to read in Russian than Tolstoy?
He is. But reading is not translating.
I could not smooth out and pave the rocky road. I contacted Vlad, one of my former Russian tutors, a translator and poet attending graduate school in the States, and asked if he could help me. He agreed, though he warned me his wife was pregnant with twins and she was counting on his help and attention. I sent him what I had typed up as well as Garnett’s version and told him he had free rein.
I could sense his difficulties when he sent me back the first few pages. Perhaps he deferred too much to mine. He broke up or sanded down some of my stiff phrasings, but his own phrasing was slippery, occasionally overlooking tiny details or distinctions in the Russian that even I could see. I took a shot at syncretizing our translations, but Chekhov’s quick, lively, humorous sentences now had a disturbing skittery limp that would have alarmed an orthopedist. The text was literally correct but sounded unlike any natural language and was funny for the wrong reasons.
I sent Vlad my new version of the first pages and he reviewed it, shrugged, and argued a couple of fine Russian points, which I, of course, conceded to him. My deadline for submitting the book manuscript was approaching. I asked if he could get me the rest of the translation within two weeks. He sent it to me in three weeks, the day before his wife gave birth.
I started reading the final version and felt myself wincing like someone sitting in the back of a truck that’s gone off-road.
And then, halfway through, Vlad had completely, marvelously smoothed it out! The language caught up to itself and cohered. We were rolling, flying down the highway! Vlad had found his rhythm and a consistent, easy voice: “She was sitting by the window, feeling miserable and cross. It is only by being in trouble that people can understand how far from easy it is to be the master of one’s feelings and thoughts.” Well, wait, that sounded so familiar that he must have borrowed a bit from Garnett. I read on: “Andrey Ilyitch, languid with hunger and exhaustion, fell upon the sausage while waiting for the soup to be brought in, and ate it greedily, munching noisily and moving his temples.” That too was Garnett. As was the next sentence, and the next. Vlad’s entire revision of the second half was Garnett’s!
So I sent Vlad a present for his babies and used the whole of Garnett’s “A Misfortune” in the book.
¤
When I began writing a biographical study of Tolstoy in the years he was writing Anna Karenina, I decided, after fussing with my own herky-jerky translations of passages from my favorite novel, that it would be less distracting to use one of the out-of-copyright editions by Garnett, Louise and Aylmer Maude, or Leo Wiener. My first response to any published translation is gratitude. What else should it be? Of course all three of theirs are better than what I could do, but Garnett’s shines brightest. She once said, “The qualifications for a translator are to be in sympathy with the author he is translating, and most important of all to be in love with words and interested in all their meanings.” She herself demonstrates this sympathy, this love, and this interest to the fullest.
Garnett’s 1901 version of Anna Karenina is so wonderfully hers, and her wordings are always different from mine. She truly has her own voice, but she also hears her authors’ voices and seems to catch their particular spirits. But no English voice can perfectly coordinate with Tolstoy’s, and realizing that is an important part of any good translator’s process of maturation. Garnett aimed only to give every translation her all. Once, having retranslated some stories the original versions of which she thought lost, she discovered those first renditions and realized “that though someone else might do a better version, it was clear that I could not myself. I had done the only version that I was capable of.”
I find that Garnett is like a cross-country runner who is so agile that her feet hop, skip, and spring where slowpokes hesitate and stumble. Her admirers admit she makes mistakes; her detractors, who, I can’t help thinking, resent her ease and pace, fume that she makes the translations sound like herself… and that she makes mistakes … and that she can’t convey the unconveyable.
To those objections I can only say: try it yourself.


Marc Chagall Art
Jul 18, 2015 - Tchitchikov recognised Nozdryov, the young man with whom he had dined at the public prosecutor's and who had within a few minutes become ...










Constance Garnett
Constance Garnett with her son David in the mid-1890s
Constance Garnett with her son David in the mid-1890s
BornConstance Clara Black
19 December 1861
Brighton, England
Died17 December 1946 (aged 84)
The Cearne, Crockham Hill, Kent
OccupationTranslator
LanguageRussian-English
NationalityBritish
EducationBrighton and Hove High School
Alma materNewnham College, Cambridge
Notable worksThree Plays by Turgenev, The Brothers Karamazov
SpouseEdward Garnett
ChildrenDavid Garnett
Constance Clara Garnett (née Black; 19 December 1861 – 17 December 1946) was an English translator of nineteenth-century Russian literature. Garnett was one of the first English translators of Leo TolstoyFyodor Dostoyevsky and Anton Chekhov and introduced them on a wide basis to the English-speaking public.

簡單談鄭明萱女士的翻譯一例:From Dawn to Decadence By Jacques Barzun《從黎明到衰頹:五百年來的西方文化生活》; Paris-Midi 午報或晚報


明萱;"20世紀美國論"(漢清講堂 2019年 鄭明萱紀念, 2019年12月底)
朋友,好久不見我計畫繼 "20世紀美國論"(漢清講堂 2019年胡適紀念演講, 2019年12月初) 。談談明萱翻譯作品與美國和20世紀。歡迎您來共襄盛舉。就我所知,小讀者起碼翻譯過3~4本與美國文明和歷史的書
Miao 可講其得獎記。
其他人要談主題,可與我商量。如要參加發表,請告訴大家您的時間建議。


YOUTUBE.COM

鄭明萱女士周年追思會 鍾漢清主持 2015-03-27
鄭明萱女士周年追思會 (3月27日) 參加者:繆詠華、梁永安、張華、蘇錦坤、石依華、許瑞宋、鍾漢清 早上,繆詠華告訴梁永安關於鄭明萱女士的惡耗 。 (梁)委婉地給我英文信,說我們的好朋友昨夜走了。據缪女士所知,明萱確...



我指的"鄭明萱女士的翻譯"與美國文明,指的是:《從黎明到衰頹:五百年來的西方文化生活》;哥倫布大交換:1492年以後的生物影響和文化衝擊

 , 包恩   鄭明 , 貓頭鷹 , 出版日期: 2004;認識媒體:人的延伸(麥克魯漢經典)
麥克魯漢   鄭明 , 貓頭鷹 , 極端的年代1914-1991(下)中文書 , 艾瑞克‧霍布斯邦   鄭明 , 麥田 , 出版日期: 1996-11-01等等



舉一例:From Dawn to Decadence By Jacques Barzun , pp.724~725
For another kind of allusiveness, read Balzac's play of 1847, Mercadet, and note the recurring line "waiting for Godeau", a character who is expected to solve everybody's troubles and who never appears.
中國、台灣的翻譯本都江浙翻譯了(Mercadet: 中國《梅爾卡代》VS 台灣《莫卡蝶》)。
然而,鄭明萱女士的譯本自己加了" 貝克特聲言他的《等待果陀》(Waiting for Godot) 與此劇無關。)
一句話,由鄭明萱女士的譯本可知她下過功夫。這點Wikipedia 的(Waiting for Godot 有些說明。
(Google:Mercadet  godeau  梅卡德·戈多)
http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/14246/pg14246.txt
   MERCADET
                        A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

                                  BY

                           HONORE DE BALZAC



                Presented for the First Time in Paris
                At the Theatre du Gymnase-Dramatique
                           August 24, 1851



 While Beckett stated he originally had no knowledge of Balzac's play Mercadet ou le faiseur, whose character Godeau has an identical-sounding name and is involved in a similar situation, it has been suggested he may have been instead influenced by The Lovable Cheat,[51]  Katherine Waugh & Fergus Daly (1995). "Film by Samuel Beckett"Film West20.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot




《從黎明到衰頹:五百年來的西方文化生活》

From Dawn to Decadence




Welcome to the SAMUEL BECKETT page for SAMUEL BECKETT fans. Come wait with us!

有本英文史學名著兩岸有翻譯,就Paris-Midi ,中國:午報 vs台灣:晚報

Paris-Midi est un ancien journal quotidien français, publié entre 1911 et 1944 et dirigé par Maurice de Waleffe1. Il s'agissait d'une édition de Paris-Soir. Son siège est au 37 rue du Louvre.



Paris-Midi is an old French daily newspaper, published between 1911 and 1944 and directed by Maurice de Waleffe1. It was an edition of Paris-Soir. Its headquarters are at 37 rue du Louvre.

巴黎-米迪 Paris-Midi)是法國的舊日報,於1911年至1944年之間發行,由莫里斯·德·沃爾夫 Maurice de Waleffe)1執導這是《巴黎晚會》的一個版本其總部位於盧浮宮路 37

***

Paris-Midi : seul journal quotidien paraissant à midi, SUDOC [1] [archive]
Paris-Midi: only daily newspaper published at noon, SUDOC [1] [archive]
巴黎-米迪: SUDOC [1]  [ 檔案 ] 僅在中午出現每日報紙

2019年11月16日 星期六

a pencil nestles in the hand. 視野"有的指perspective,有的指horizon,說不定還有對應vision....The Cambridge History of Chinese Literature .


The Cambridge History of Chinese Literature _2011(北京三聯在2013年有末章幾乎缺譯的版本。) 幾點缺點:索引不完全,譬如說主編者"孫康宜"只有1處,電子版下卷共有16處,內文3處;由於不同人翻譯各章,"視野"有的指perspective,有的指horizon,說不定還有對應vision;沒有一致或明白處理/翻譯 vernacular lyrics/novels......

----
Something about the way a pencil nestles in the hand—confiding, humble and powerful at the same time—seems to draw out ideas and words. From 1843

1843MAGAZINE.COM

Why writing with a pencil is better than with a pen
Getting to the nub of the issue


硬譯 nestles
關於鉛筆在手中的嵌套方式(同時充滿自信,謙虛而有力)似乎是在勾勒出想法和文字。





nestle
在某事物內部或內部安頓或舒適躺下。
  1. (巣の中の鳥のように)(…に)気持ちよく体をうずめる(down)≪in≫,心地よく(…に)寄り添う(up)≪toagainstbesideby
    • nestle up to ...
    • …にすり寄る
    • The baby nestled in his mother's arms.
    • 赤ん坊は気持ちよさそうに母親に抱かれていた
  2. 1a…を心地よく落ち着かせる;…を心地よく(…へ)すり寄せる≪onagainstbeside
  3. 2〈家などが〉(…に)ぐあいよく位置する,(木立の間などから)見え隠れする≪amongin
  4. 3〈鳥などに〉巣を与える

自我(就像鳥在巢中)(...)舒適地(向下)爬入>>,>>舒適地(...)依ugg(向上)<<到旁邊,再由>>
依to ...
...接近
嬰兒依his在母親的懷抱中。
嬰兒由母親舒適地抱住
1a其他...舒適地使自己平靜下來; ...舒適地(對...)
一個嬰兒緊緊地靠著母親
嬰兒爬媽媽
2 等位置非常好(...),可見和隱藏(從樹木之間等)<<在>>中
3給其他鳥築巢