VOLUM 2006

R O M Â N I A MINISTERUL EDUCAŢIEI, CERCETĂRII SI
TINERETULUI
UNIVERSITATEA “DUNĂREA DE JOS” DIN GALAŢI
STR. DOMNEASCĂ NR. 47
Tel.: (+40) 236 - 414.112; 413.602; 460.328 800008 - GALAŢI,
ROMÂNIA Fax: (+40) 236 - 461.353; 460.904; 460.426
E-mail: [email protected]
TRANSLATION STUDIES:
RETROSPECTIVE AND
PROSPECTIVE VIEWS
COORDONATOR:
CONF. DR. FLORIANA POPESCU
REFERENŢI ŞTIINŢIFICI:
Prof. univ. dr. ELENA CROITORU
Prof. univ. dr. MICHAELA PRAISLER
Prof. univ. dr. NICOLAE IOANA
Prof. univ. dr. ANCA GÂŢĂ
REDACTOR DE CARTE:
Lect. dr. GABRIELA IULIANA COLIPCĂ
COMITETUL DE ELABORARE A PROIECTULUI:
Conf. dr. FLORIANA POPESCU
Asist. drd. DANIELA ŞORCARU
Descrierea CIP a Bibliotecii Naţionale a României
STUDII DE TRADUCERE – RETROSPECTIVĂ ŞI
PERSPECTIVE.
CONFERINŢĂ INTERNAŢIONALĂ (2006 ; Galaţi)
Conferinţa internaţională „Studii de traducere –
retrospectivă şi perspective”: Galaţi, 16-17 iunie 2006 / coord.:
Floriana Popescu. - Galaţi :
Editura Fundaţiei Universitare „Dunărea de Jos”, 2006
Bibliogr.
ISBN (10) 973-627-349-0; ISBN (13) 978-973-627-349-0
I. Popescu, Floriana (coord.)
81’25(063)
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CONTENTS
ENGLISH CULTURAL AND TRANSLATION STUDIES
Ruxanda Bontilă – The Literary Translation: Felicities and Infelicities
5
Violeta Chirea – The Author and the Translator: A Writer - Re-Writer Relationship
12
Gabriela Iuliana Colipcă – Negative Aspects in Poetry Translation
18
Elena Croitoru and Antoanela Marta Dumitraşcu – Modulation – A Translation Strategy
24
Ágnes G. Havril – Aspects of Testing English for Specific Purposes
34
Tamara Lăcătuşu – Translation and Interculturalism
43
Carmen Maftei – The Challenge of Culture Specific Elements
51
Gina Măciucă – Suggested Ways of Expressing ‘Aktionsarten’ by Resorting to
58
Fvps. Contrastive Sketch: English, German, Romanian
Camelia Mihăilescu – From Psychoanalysis to the Symbolism of the Limit in
61
Translating and Interfering D. H. Lawrence’s Poetry
Nadia Nicoleta Morăraşu – Challenges in Translating Proper Names from Dickensian
Novels
68
Lidia Necula – Translating Literature/ Cultures
76
Diana-Elena Popa – Abusive Creativity in Humorous Literary Translation
88
Diana-Elena Popa – The Who and Why in Ethnic Humour. A Brief Theoretical
Introspection
92
Floriana Popescu – Translating Toponyms in English Idioms
97
Teodora Popescu – Teaching Translation to ESP Students
103
Ioana Sasu-Bolba - Translating Religious Poetry (Equilibrium Within Conflict –
Some Statements on Individuality and Social Consciousness)
108
Daniela Şorcaru – Translating Style: Language and Culture
112
Emma Tămâianu-Morita – Subtitling a Bilingual Film in a Third
118
Language: Some Paradoxes of Translation
Anca Trişcă – Latest Views on Translation
126
Daniela Ţuchel – New Poets, Old Politics
132
George
Volceanov
–
Appropriating
3
Through
Translation:
Shakespeare Translations in Communist Romania
138
FRENCH CULTURAL AND TRANSLATION STUDIES
Carmen Andrei - Regard croisés sur les sens de la notion de belgitude sur le web
146
Sofia Dima – Sur les traductions en français du «best seller» de tous
158
les temps: la Bible
Mirela Drăgoi – Les traductions allographes et auctoriales – œuvres de
164
propagande culturelle
Ana Guţu – L’autotraduction – Acte créateur complexe : entre l’équivalence et la
prolifération
171
Nicolae Taftă – La traduction littéraire
179
Angelica Vâlcu - Deux approches traductives: la traduction et l’interprétation
184
ROMANIAN CULTURAL AND TRANSLATION STUDIES
Doina Marta Bejan – Traducerile şi rolul lor în formarea limbilor literare moderne
188
Alina Crihană – Romanul obsedantului deceniu: de la alegoria corectă politic la
192
parabolă
Nicoleta Ifrim – Între Eros şi Thanatos: o re-lectură a ipostazelor arhetipale ale
feminităţii bacoviene
204
Doiniţa Milea – Textul labirint sau dialogul privilegiat cu jocurile intertextuale
210
Steluţa Stan – Spre o negociere a relaţiei dintre semnificat şi semnificant. Prezentare
sau reprezentare?
217
Anca Trişcă – Anglicisme în presa economică românească actuală
221
4
ENGLISH CULTURAL AND TRANSLATION STUDIES
THE LITERARY TRANSLATION: FELICITIES AND
INFELICITIES
Ruxanda Bontilă
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
„Studii de traductologie” este o disciplină/ştiinţă de sine stătătoare
care deplasează accentul de pe traducerea literară în exclusivitate pe
tehnici de traducere, perspective analitice, act traductiv, comportament
traductiv, caracterisici ale procesului de traducere. Teoriile traducerii din
perspectivă sociologică sau semiotică analizează acele constrîngeri
socioculturale specifice unei culturi, unei societăţi, unei epoci date, cu
accent pe faptul că repetiţia unui semn este atât diferită cât şi
deferenţiatoare (Bhabha 1994). Lucrarea de faţă îşi propune să exploreze
modul în care studenţii filologi înţeleg mecanismul (scop, intenţionalitate,
receptare) prin care traducerea literară devine exprimarea celor mai adînci
relaţii reciproce dintre limbi (W. Benjamin 1955). Ne interesează deasemenea perspectiva traducătorului consacrat despre felul în care
traducerea contribuie la consolidarea unei teorii a diferenţei culturale.
Counter-Disclaimer
The present paper features real characters and situations issued out
of the real experience of its author. Thus, any resemblance to known
characters is intended and not coincidental, as the saying of current
disclaimers goes.
Describing an experiment
The present investigation proposes to show how ‘Translation Studies’
may well assume the role of cognitive mapping, devised, on the one hand,
to help us find our bearings in the ‘vast, abstract, and empty space of
history’ (Jameson 1988), and, on the other hand, to make us take in
responsibility as regards a transnational knowledge of the world.
The seminar-case I intend to develop upon draws on the observations
I made having concluded the practical course in literature with fourth-year
students majoring in English, French and Theology. The intention of the
seminar, which I have made manifest, was to warn students about the fact
that what it looks like an ending of their scholarly endeavours is nothing but
a perpetual renewal of the necessity to ‘remain interested’ (Updike 54) in
5
the vast fields of culture. The hidden agenda, which I have kept to myself,
was cunningly busy: to have a feed-back on our own efforts/ achievements
as ‘taste-makers;’ to make the students aware of the high-standards required
in quality work performed in the fields of culture; and to check on how
aware students have become that ‘repetition of the sign is, in each specific
social practice, both different and differential’ (Bhabha 163).
The prompting seminar assumptions and subsequent working
hypotheses were: (1) philological students can, sooner than others, study
culture through texts; (2) philological students can read in and through
texts; (3) philological students can ‘translate’ cultures and can understand
the language of culture; (4) they can formulate a context-wise, fallacyproof, evidence-based argument; (5) they have acquired an
intellectualization of regard into the text, necessarily seen both as intertext
and pretext.
The content of the seminar was ‘keeping an eye,’ literally speaking,
on the Romanian cultural scene as described in the Romanian specialist
cultural/literary press—Literary Romania; Cultural Observer; Old
Dilemma; Magazine 22; The Word.
The seminar was managed by having teams of six students scheduled
to deliver 5-minute presentations in English, followed by 10-minute group
discussions, on significant events/cases, extracted from the literary press,
connected to general issues, such as: editorial news; the state of language;
film production; music production; life of translation; Romanian/world
political scene; history; etc. The students had to use and hand in prompts
edited in English, including: title, author, publishing details observing any
acceptable editing style, and a number of germinating ideas.
The evaluation, we have agreed on, based on: discursive accuracy
(oral and written), observing deadlines, seminar interventions, and seminar
record, i.e. silence valorization.
Here are some concluding remarks following our seminar
endeavours—which had their moments of illumination too.
(1) There is much fallacious argumentation going on because of the
students’ too little reliance on such enabling skills disciplines like
pragmatics—text/ discourse/ conversation analysis included; cognitive
linguistics; literary criticism/ theory; philosophy;
(2) There is a tendency with students to place a larger focus of
attention on the foreground of the text (story, plot) rather than the ground
(intentionality, medium) and consequently the logic, grammar and the
rhetoric of the text in question.
(3) There is a high frequency of ‘hackneyed slogans’ that students
prefer instead of the natural language both in their native language and the
6
foreign language; this may be caused by the students’ shaky grasping of the
continuities between creative literary language and creative language in
everyday use.
(4) There is a rather low interest with out students in keeping abreast
of the cultural events from Romania as elsewhere on their own account
(“Are you going to bring the magazines to us?” asked me one aspiring
graduate student when I first broached the subject of what the seminar will
consist in).
(5) There is strong resistance to forming deontological habits, be it
only to the annoyance of some nagging teachers deprived of the sense of
reality.
Translation/Translator/Translating: Postmodernist Clichés
Since all the reading students were expected to do was in Romanian,
they, by force, had to practice not only literary translation but also cultural
translation—which is somehow the most demanding dimension of
translation—since they had to be ever more cautious against generalizing
the contingencies and contours of local circumstance, in order not to
disregard the host culture whose language they have borrowed. Knowing
that such an enterprise is all too difficult so as to consider ourselves
completely safe from failure, I had to find something catchy to alert them
about the translator’s anxiety concerning the borderline moment of
translation, as well as about the huge efforts invested in the field of
Schattencultur (culture of shadows) as those responsible in the Göttingen
project coined it. Then, what I could come up with was to devise a
questionnaire (see Appendix 1) which I gave them to answer in the very
first seminar.
If, in the beginning, I was anxious about the translator’s anxiety
concerning the adoption of a necessary stand of detachment towards both
cultures (source and target), after going through the forty-four almostgraduates’ answers, I became anxious about their extreme detachment
towards the problematics of literary translation in its essentials.
I first asked them to mention three names of translators of literary
works whose performances they came to appreciate. The names the
majority of them avowed affinity with were: Leon Leviţchi, Andrei Bantaş,
Dan Duţescu, Horia-Florian Popescu and Petru Iamandi. This may well
prove that our students are still stuck in the condition of dependency upon
obligatory readings and miss the vital itch of temptation in the field of
literature. Such names like Antoaneta Ralian, Catinca Ralea, Frida
Papadache, or Mircea Ivănescu (the translator of Joyce’s Ulysses) have not
7
been invented. This certainly connects to the graduates’ malpractice of not
mentioning the name of the translator in the references.
In the second question I wanted them to mention three names of
contributors to the theory of translation whose theories they are familiar
with. Almost all acknowledged owing a lot to Leon Leviţchi’s Manualul
traducătorului, Elena Croitoru’s English through Translations, and Andrei
Bantaş’s Manualul traducătorului. This is all too good, but the only other
name mentioned was Geoffrey Leech. George Steiner (1975/1983), Walter
Benjamin (1955/2000), Tzvetan Todorov (1996/1999), Paul Ricœur (2005),
among others, are certainly both strange and foreign.
As to their choice between the original and the translation, ninety-five
percent of the respondents confessed that they consider reading the original
whenever available. This can be good news on condition they understand
that the translation ultimately serves the original’s objective afterlife—
which only two ventured to answer, when asked about the ultimate aim of
the translation (Q 4). The remaining ninety-nine percent considered that the
translation is meant to serve either the reader who does not understand the
original (socio-historically true), or, the purpose of expressing the central
reciprocal relationship between languages (half-true).
The fifth question asked them to choose the most appropriate
definition of translation between: (1) a faithful copy; (2) a transformation
and renewal of something living; (3) an accurate transmission of an
essential content. Fifty percent of the students opted for the last definition;
the remaining fifty equally divided their options between the first and the
second definition. That a translation is a transformation and renewal of
something living is certainly what all translators will testify to. So did Petru
Iamandi who graciously accepted to answer some questions I addressed
him to the purpose of offering the fourth year students a glimpse of the
torments of the trade (see Appendix 2, Qs 2,3,8). Antoaneta Ralian, a longrun translator, also assimilates translation to art.
As to question six, I asked students to judge whether there is such a
thing as a ‘real life’ of the translation. So, I wanted them to complete the
kernel sentence which read: ‘Translation can’t be but a provisional way of
coming to terms with the foreignness of languages.’ Unfortunately only
seven percent of the students valued the answer ‘since a final solution
eludes any direct attempt,’ as true. Petru Iamandi also admits that
‘translations have a limited lifespan and, sooner or later, they will
inevitably sound obsolete’ (Q5).
With question seven, I intend to alert students about the paradoxical
status of translation as a ‘more definitive linguistic realm since it cannot be
displaced by a secondary rendering’ (Benjamin 75)—fact which was sensed
8
by only two percent of the students. The rest of the students considered that
‘the relation between content and language is quite different in the original
and the translation,’—an assertion difficult to account for.
Question eight referred students to the task of the translator, which
was answered by the majority of the students (eighty-five percent) in
agreement with translation theorists. It is Benjamin who contends that ‘The
task of the translator consists in finding the intended effect upon the
language into which he is translating which produces in it the echo of the
original’ (76). Petru Iamandi says the same thing when he asserts,
‘Translators have to guess everything first and then help the readers do the
same, to the same extent that the author has helped them do it’ (Q 6). Or, as
Magda Jeanrenault clarifyingly puts it, the ethics of translation is concerned
with being truthful to the text’s intentionality (363).
Question nine means to synthesize major differences between the
literary work and the translation, in that ‘the intention of the writer is
spontaneous, primary, graphic; that of the translator is derivative, ultimate,
ideational’ (Benjamin 76-7). Or, as Petru Iamandi puts it, on the one hand,
‘the author is sometimes deliberately nebulous, trying to incite and confuse
the readers, and there’s always the impalpable’ (Q6); and, on the other
hand, the translator will always try to ‘stick to the author’s style, avoid
linguistic copy, make the meaning clear, help the author when he’s in
trouble’ (Q4). Some students have well described the difference between
literary work and translation by referring to the alchemy of the process they
have termed: ‘creation and re-creation.’
Here is a short list of postmodernist clichés—glossed so because they
keep bothering us—concerning the life of translation in the present times.
1. The politics of translation of Publishing Houses is never as
vivaciously supervised as in the present (see Magda Jeanrenaud, ‘A CaseStudy: Polirom,’ 179-220).
2. Translators—along critics, academics, teachers, journalists, the so
called ‘taste makers’—are both empowered and empowering in the process.
3. New criteria/ notions of translating strike forcefully the theoretic
aporias of ‘untranslatability.’
4. New theories on translation impose new translating strategies with
consequences on the status of translation (see Magda Jeanrenaud 246-249;
280-283).
5. Besides the so called translation universals recorded by
dictionaries, there is much talk about translation behaviour with reference
to socio-cultural constraints characteristic of a culture, society, epoch.
6. The ethics of translation imposes the principle of inter-culturality
as an important identity seme of the translator.
9
7. The task of the translator has never been as demanding as always!
Postscript: University studies as genuine ‘taste makers’
In conclusion, what I hope to have pointed out by describing this
experiment is that the long hoped-for democratization of university studies
requires a thorough re-negotiation of roles, needs, requirements. In order to
help students gain self-esteem, we need operate a re-configuration of the
specimen domains reflective of the students’ needs in real world. We need
also build an educational programme which consists in making essential
information/knowledge breed essential knowledge based on the sound
principle of reciprocity between interactants (firstly, between teachers,
secondly, between teachers and students). And only then, can we call the
system Higher-Than-Something-Else.
Appendix 1
QUESTIONNAIRE
This is an exercise in assessing together the needs vs. dead-ends in
this highly respectable but always risky job of translating/ the translator.
Your answers will help in further improving the translation component of
the practical course with undergraduates and graduates alike. Thank you.
1. Mention three names of translators of literary works whose
performances you came to appreciate. Edit the details on the translated texts
you are familiar with observing any one acceptable reference style.
(1)___________________________________________________
(2)___________________________________________________
(3)___________________________________________________
2. Mention three names of contributors to the theory of translation
whose theories you are familiar with. Edit the details on books/articles/etc.
in any one acceptable reference style.
(1)___________________________________________________
(2)___________________________________________________
(3)___________________________________________________
3. If you were to choose between the original and the translation
which one comes first?
Original ___; translation ___
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4. Who/what is a translation ultimately meant to serve?
(1) the reader who does not understand the original ___
(2) the original’s objective afterlife ___
(3) the comparative critic’s gusto for updating the canon
___
(4) the purpose of expressing the central reciprocal
relationship between languages ___
5. A translation is essentially
(1) a faithful copy of the original ___
(2) a transformation and a renewal of something living ___
(3) an accurate transmission of an essential content ___
6. Choose the sentence which may come as logical completion to
the following assertion: “Translation can’t be but a provisional way of
coming to terms with the foreignness of languages since…”
(1) a final solution eludes any direct attempt. ___
(2) there is a hidden seed to be discovered. ___
(3) its most genuine claim is a conclusive stage of all human
creation. ___
7. Choose the sentence which may come as logical completion to
the following assertion: “Translation transplants the original into a more
definitive linguistic realm since …”
(1) it represents a more exalted language than its own and
thus remains unsuited to its content. ___
(2) the relation between content and language is quite
different in the original and the translation. ___
(3) it cannot be displaced by a secondary language. ___
8. The task of the translator consists in
(1) devising a mode which is clearly distinct and differentiated
from the task of the artist. ___
(2) finding the intended effect upon the language into which
he is translating which produces in it the echo of the original. ___
(3) finding and using a language in which the independent
sentences, works of literature, critical judgements will never communicate
in themselves. ___
9. Fill in the gapped sentence so as to point out necessary
differences:
11
“Not only does the aim of translation differ from that of a literary
work, but it is a different effort altogether. The intention of the writer is
_____________; that of the translator is _____________.”
Appendix 2
INTERVIEW
Given your considerable experience in this thorny field of literary
translation (translator, both God—albeit temporary—and Ghost), let us try
to look into certain matters regarding (1) the life/ aim of translation; (2) the
torments/ agony of translating; (3) the difficulty of teaching/ learning how
to translate.
Ruxanda Bontilă: W. Benjamin in his “Task of the Translator,”
refers to translation as being “a mode,” in the sense that the original
contains the law governing its own translatability. Do you really think that
there are works that cry out their translatability and others don’t?
Petru Iamandi: Yes. The works that cry out their translatability
are written by people who are not keen on experimenting with the language
– to them language is just a vehicle. These authors are born storytellers, the
stories come to them naturally, in the ordinary reader’s language, therefore
they let themselves be carried away by the quick pace of the plot, not caring
too much about style. On the other hand, the works that don’t cry out their
translatability are written by those who take their time with the language:
being interested in exploring the full potential of the language, they play
with it, refine it, push it beyond its limits, and make it move according to a
logic of its own.
RB: It is also said that no translation, however good it may be, can
have any significance as regards the original (like any manifestation of life
has no significance to the phenomenon of life). Yet, by virtue of its
translatability, the original is closely connected with the translation. May
this imply that a translation issues not from the life of the original but rather
its afterlife?
PI: Ask ten people to translate the same work and you will get ten
different translations. Where’s their significance as regards the original?
Definitely in how close the translators have managed to get to the original.
The closer the better. Overlapping is impossible. Which makes them just
versions of the original. These versions can be poor, excellent, or … better
12
than the original. Yes, there are cases in which the translator can help a
careless author here and there, improving his style or even adding
something to the text that the author seems to have overlooked.
RB: Who, if any, do you particularly have in mind when
performing a literary translation?
PI: The author, by all means. Doing a literary translation is
probing into the author’s mind, trying to rebuild in your own language the
universe he has built in his own language. Rebuilding starts with the
exploration of every multi-semantic word, every complex sentence, every
complex paragraph, until you get the full meaning of the work and then you
come full circle.
RB: As there are different theories regarding translation, where do
you position yourself? What are your priorities towards achieving that
longed-for kinship of languages?
PI: I’m not much of a theoretician, although I’ve read quite a
number of books on the subject just to know how to go about it. There are
several basic rules that I always try to abide by: stick to the author’s style,
avoid linguistic copy, make the meaning clear, help the author when he’s in
trouble.
RB: Do you agree that while the original’s destiny is to endure in
its own language, even the greatest translation is destined to become part of
the growth of its own language and eventually to be absorbed by its
renewal? Is this also part of the torments of the translator?
PI: Yes, to the first question. Most of Shakespeare’s plays, for
instance, were translated into Romanian in the late 1950s and early 1960s.
If a teenager reads them now, he will find them very hard to follow, not to
mention that Shakespeare is hard to understand in his own country!
Therefore, translations have a limited lifespan and, sooner or later, they will
inevitably sound obsolete. As for the second question, I think the translator
is too busy doing the translation properly to worry too much about the
future. After all, who can anticipate where the language is going?
RB: One critic said the best translation is the one that allows the
best guesses, or causes the least impoverishment. Does this also link to that
element that does not lend itself to translation (the untranslatable)?
13
PI: There’s certainly a lot of guesswork in doing a translation – the
author is sometimes deliberately nebulous, trying to incite and confuse the
readers, and there’s always the impalpable. Translators have to guess
everything first and then help the readers do the same, to the same extent
that the author has helped them do it. Thus, the untranslatable can be made
to come out of the context.
RB: Some voice the idea that it is not the highest praise of a
translation to be said that it reads as if it had originally been written in that
language. Why so? Could it be that a translation should be obliquely
reflecting the original too?
PI: I think the reader should feel as comfortable when reading a
translation as when reading something in his mother tongue. A good
translator should have enough tricks in his bag to make that work. Readers
know they’re going to deal with a translation even before starting reading a
book: They can see “Translated by …” right below the title!
RB: Is translation (as a trade) teachable/ learnable? Will you
please enumerate the blocks you are most frequently faced with when
teaching students how to translate?
PI: It’s both. But you have to feel it in your bones first. Literary
translation is an art and, as any other art, it takes true calling and a lot of
apprenticeship/hard work to become proficient in it. There are a few
students who might become proficient translators but, no matter how good
they are at manipulating their mother tongue, they are helpless when
they’re trying to do a literary translation: They are tempted to do it word for
word, forgetting the requirements of their mother tongue and changing into
servants of the foreign language. As I said, apprenticeship takes time.
Bibliography
o Benjamin, W. (1955/ 2000) Iluminări, trans. Catrinel Pleşu, Ch.
„Sarcina traducătorului”, Bucureşti: Editura Univers, pp. 45-56.
o Benjamin, W. (1955/1970) “The Task of the Translator.” Illuminations,
trans. H. Zohn, London: Cape, pp. 69-82.
o Bhabha, H. (1994) The Location of Culture, London: Routledge.
o Croitoru, E. (1996) Interpretation and Translation, Galaţi: Editura
Porto-Franco.
o Iamandi, P. (May 2006) Interview. Author: Ruxanda Bontilă.
14
o Jameson, F. (1988) The Ideology of Theory: Essays, 1971-1986 (Vol. I,
Situations of Theory; Vol. II, Syntax of History). Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
o Jeanrenaud, M. (2006) Universaliile traducerii. Studii de traductologie,
Iaşi: Polirom.
o Leviţchi, L. (1974) Îndrumar pentru traducători din limba engleză în
limba română, Bucureşti: Centru de multiplicare al Universităţii din
Bucureşti.
o Ricœur, P. (2005) Despre traducere, trans. Magda Jeanrenaud, Iaşi:
Editura Polirom.
o Steiner, G. (1983) După Babel. Aspecte ale limbii şi traducerii (After
Babel: Aspects of Language and Translation, 1975), trans. Valentin
Negoiţă şi Ştefan Avădanei, Bucureşti: Editura Univers.
o Todorov, T. (1996/1999) Omul dezrădăcinat, trans. Ion Pop, Iaşi:
Institutul European.
o Updike, John. “Why Write?” 1974. Picked-Up Pieces. Connecticut:
Fawcett Books, 1975, 45-54.
THE AUTHOR AND THE TRANSLATOR:
A WRITER - RE-WRITER RELATIONSHIP
Violeta Chirea
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Cet oeuvre se propose d’analyser la relation d’entre l’auteur et le
traducteur, à savoir une relation entre écrivain et re-écrivain. La liaison
entre Salman Rushdie, l’auteur du roman Shame et la traductrice
roumaine, Cornelia Bucur, est tout spéciale, parce que Rushdie s’érige
aussi en translateur. Il établit de nouveaux règles d’écriture, pour le lecteur
international, en créant une Anglais hybride, parsemée par concepts Hindi
et Urdu qui sont “untraductibles” comme takallouf, mohajir, sharam etc.
En tant que traducteur, Rushdie croit que la seul manière de découvrir une
civilisation est de regarder les mots qui sont untraductibles. Par
conséquent, le texte en Roumain se présente comme une traduction
indienne – anglaise – roumaine posant toute sorte de problèmes analisés à
l’aide de divers théories de traduction dans de nombreux études
spécialisées.
15
It is common knowledge that the concept of globalization has been
extended all over the world and in the process of expendature cultures have
not been mixed and lost, but they were made even more distinct, brought,
however, closer to each other, the Colonizer to the Colonist, the Margins to
the Center. It brought about the need of identifying the Self without
rejecting the Other, hence the emergence of a society based on
plurilinguism, multiculturalism, and cosmopolitanism. The 21st century
society is not homogenous, but heterogeneous, a pot-pourri of cultures and
civilizations. As a consequence, a great challenge becomes more and more
prominent, namely to transform the perfect Babylonian chaos into flawless
communication and mutual comprehension. Here comes in the historic role
of the translator as the one attempts to bring cultures closer to each other,
not only by translating words from the SL into TL, but by getting to know
their historical background, and grasping their social values.
A case in point is Rushdie’s novel, Shame, which was translated
into Romanian by Cornelia Bucur who attempted to render into Romanian
the Muslim concepts of life in general, the impact of the religious beliefs
upon their partisans, as well as the historical and social issues. Therefore,
the reader should note the important role of the translator as a Re-writer, a
mediator of cultures, a renderer of the truth of the Other.
This study aims at presenting how the culture of the “Other “is
brought within other culture and who are the factors that produce this
interpenetretion of values. Consequently, we refer to the role of the
translator, as well as at the relationship between writer and translator. In our
case, there is a specific situation when the writer, Rushdie, is a translator
and the translator, Cornelia Bucur, is a Re-writer. Therefore, the focus of
this paper will lay less on the theoretical background and more on the
literary historiography and the role of the translator. Thus, they are both
bilingual and have a common instrument of communication, I.e. the English
language.
As a consequence, this paper deals with the English that Rushdie
uses in his novel Shame, and how it was translated into Romanian by
Cornelia Bucur. He is an Indian writer that uses the English language just
as a translator does. Therefore we have to deal with two bilingual writers,
two translators.
Before analyzing this particular translation, it would be important to
state that the process of translation dates far back in literary history and
George Steiner suggests a division in four periods. The first period extends
from the Roman translators to Alexander Fraser Tytler, being characterized
by an immediate empirical focus. The second period, characterized by
hermeneutic methodology of approach, goes up to Valery. During the third
16
period, structural linguistics and communication theory were introduced
into the study of translation, whereas the fourth period, beginning in the
early 1960’s, is characterized by a reversion to hermeneutic inquiries into
translation.
Translation has been seen as a linguistic problem by different
theoreticians such as Catford, for instance, whose believes that any theory
of translation must emerge from linguistics due to the fact that translation is
a linguistic act: “Translation is an operation performed on languages: a
process of substituting a text in one language for a text in another; clearly,
then, any theory of translation must draw upon a theory of language- a
general linguistic theory.” (Catford, 1965: vii).
Nevertheless, theoreticians have also considered both the aesthetic
and the ideological side of translation studies, laying emphasis on the
question of literary history. Thus, translation should not be simply regarded
as a replication of a text in another verbal system of signs but a replication
of an ordered sub-system of signs within a given language in another
corresponding ordered sub-system of signs within a related language.
Translation is not a transposition of significance or signs. After the act of
translation is over, the original work still remains in its original position.
[…] translation at once approximates the original and transcends. (Ganesh
1999: 186)
Ganesh also points out that the issues in translation studies are quite
similar to those in literary history since there are “the problems of the
relationship between origins and sequentiality.” (id. p. 187). He alludes to
the Indian philosophies about form and essence, structure and significance,
which is ahistorical in Indian view. Hence, the idea that the success of
Indian writers do not lay on their originality, but “the true test is the writers
capacity to transform, to translate, to restate, to revitalize the original. And
in that sense Indian literary traditions are traditions o translation”. (id. p.
187)
Having considered these views one can better understand Rushdie‘s
“historical background“, not only as a writer, but also as a translator and a
theoretician. Rushdie is an Indian writer, thus a bilingual one. He takes
special interest in the Indo-British writers who cannot reject English, but
must embrace it considering them to be “translated men”. He also went
against the idea that “something gets lost in translation” believing “that
something can also be gained”.
This gain is mirrored in the pollinated and enriched language (and
culture) that results from the act of translation - this act not just of bearing
across but of fertile coming together. Thus it is not only the case of IndoBritish writers but in that of all Indian English writers that the texts they
17
create are “translated”, the very act of their writing being one of translation.
(G. J. V. Prasad, 1999: 41).
Consequently, “the act of writing in English is not ‘merely’ one of
translation of an Indian text into the English language, but a quest for a
space which is created by translation and assimilation and hence
transformation of all three- the Indian text, context and the English
language.” (ibid., 1999: 41).
Thus, the idea of the Indianization of the English language is
forwarded and embraced by the non-initiated reader of such texts. And so is
the case of the Romanian translator, Cornelia Bucur, who has to cope with a
text that is in the so-called Indian-English and presents an unfamiliar
reality, and, at the same time, unknown concepts, words, meaning seem to
flood the text. Mukherjee says that “the Indian writer has to deal with nonEnglish-speaking people in non-English-speaking contexts and has to
overcome the difficulty of conveying through English the vast range of
expressions and observations whose natural vehicle is an Indian language.”
(Mukherjee, 1999: 43). Consequently, the choices of the writer are those of
a translator.
Thus Rushdie’s aim is to create an English that fulfills his
translational-creative aims. Singh says that “Rushdie’s use of Indian
vocabulary is altogether more natural and sophisticated” (Singh, 1999: 45).
Prasad reinforces the idea that it is the bilingual situation that leads
inevitably to this permeation of one language by another. However, there
are voices against it such as Ketaki Kushari Dyson who says that “Rushdie
cannot write a book in Urdu…. He may be a cosmopolitan, but he is a
monolingual writer. His use of Urdu adds colour to his texts, but does not
lead us to an Indian intellectual world.” (1993: 178). However, Rushdie
knows what he does to his texts, and he does it fully consciously because
his aim is to be understood by the reader, signaling the Indian-ness, the
otherness of his texts in language itself. Therefore, Rushdie’s novel reads
like translation because many Indian English writers create the language in
which they write, and part of their intent is to make things difficult for the
monolingual (English) reader. Far from using Indian words and expressions
for local colour, to create an exotic ethnographic text, they attempt to make
the process of reading as difficult as that of writing. (Prasad, 1999: 53).
As a consequence, to support this brief theoretical survey on
translation studies focused on Indian writings, some practical examples will
be provided analyzing the translation of the untranslatable or a series of
adjustments, adaptations to the new verbal system. Cornelia Bucur’s
translation of Rushdie’s Shame is not only an English-Romanian
translation, but an Indian-English-Romanian translation. What may disturb
18
the Romanian reader is that sometimes he/she may fail to understand some
of the Indian concepts used in the texts, even though in most cases the
meaning may be inferred from the text. He/she may have found it useful to
be provided with some explanatory footnotes or glossaries (which Indian
writers used to do in the past), but than the act of reading would not be as
difficult as the one of writing.
Cornelia Bucur, did not have a glossary to translate and the terms
were imported from one verbal system to another. She has chosen to obey
the original work and did not try to provide her own list of terms and
concepts, considering that the audience of the text has been changed from
the initiated Indian reader to the non-initiated Romanian one. If the Indian
reader did not need to be given explanations, the Romanian reader may find
himself at a loss among concepts that are totally unknown to him.
Nevertheless, in this case, they receive the translator’s explanations of some
notions, but the translator is Rushdie himself, whereas Cornelia Bucur is a
writer of a Romanian text, a Re-writer of Rushdie’s translation. She
achieves a fluent text in Romanian managing to preserve Rushdie’s theories
on translation, his style and his purposes.
In order to support the ideas stated above a table will be provided
showing practical examples of “untranslatability”, equivalence and culture
specific elements. Multiple ways of translation will be observed along with
the methods chosen by Cornelia Bucur to render Rushdie’s novel Shame
into Romanian. Before presenting the table it should be said that Rushdie’s
text abounds in untranslatable words from Urdu, especially. And as an
answer to the question “why are they untranslatable?” Rushdie himself
chooses not only to give an explanation, but also an example of
paraphrasing it, which would totally disrupt the fluency of the text:
To unlock a society, look at its untranslatable words. Takallouf is a
member of that opaque, world-wide sect of concepts which refuse to travel
across linguistic frontiers: it refers to a form of tongue-tying formality, a
social restraint so extreme as to make it impossible for the victim to express
what he or she really means, a species of compulsory irony which insists,
for the sake of good form, on being taken literally. When takallouf gets
between a husband and a wife look out. (Rushdie, Shame, 1983: 104).
Consequently, as far as the practical approach may be concerned, this
paper deals with a lot of untranslatable words, concepts, meanings. Thus, the
aim is to show the reader how these “intruders” flood into the text. If for the
Indian intended reader the flow of the text is absolutely natural, for the noninitiated, Romanian reader in this case, he/she may find it difficult at first to
grasp each and every meaning. That is why, Rushdie, himself a translator,
does not ignore the international reader and provides, from time to time,
19
explanations or he takes care that the meaning can be inferred from the
context. This procedure may very well be a reminder of Catford’s theory of
the two types of untranslatability. He discusses two types of untranslatability
i.e., linguistic untranslatability and cultural untranslatability.
Lack of formal correspondence between the source language and the target
language leads to linguistic untranslatability. This untranslatability can
occur because of oligosemy I.e., an item having a particularly restricted
range of meaning. In the same way cultural untranslatability occurs when a situational
feature relevant for the source language text is absent from the culture of the target
language text. (Suka Joshua, Translation: Its Brief History and Theory, 2002: 5).
Thus, the following table will provide examples as stated above:
Methods of translation
Salman Rushdie’s Shame
Ruşinea translated by
Cornelia Bucur.
Observatio
ns
Cultural untranslatability deals with elements related to birth, wedding, death, family,
religion, food habits etc They are mainly, Urdu and Hindi words that, according to Rushdie,
cannot be translated in another language
“Little bat”, his three mothers
called him tolerantly when they
learnt of his nocturnal flittings…,
a dark-grey chadar fapping
around his shoulder…” (22)
Sharam that’s the word. For which
this paltry shame is a wholly
inadequate translation. … A short
word
but
one
containing
encyclopedias of nuance …
embarrassment,
discomfiture,
decency, modesty, shyness… for
which English has no counterparts.
(39)
Also present was the town
postman, Muhammad Ibadalla,
who bore upon his forehead the
gatta or permanent bruise which
revealed him to be a religious
fanatic who pressed brow to
prayer-mat on at least five
occasions per diem….(42)
Raza and Bilquis were betrothed
beneath the bitter eyes of the
dispossessed multitudes; and
afterwards the gifts continued,
sweetmeats as well as bangles, soft
drinks and square meals as well as
henna and rings. (66)
“Micul liliac” îl botezaseră
tolerant cele trei mame când
aflară despre excursive sale
nocturne, …, cu un chadar
cenuşiu
fluturându-i
pe
umeri…(22)
Sharam, acesta e cuvântul.
Pentru care nevolnicul “ruşine”
nu este decât o traducere
inadecvată. …Un cuvânt scurt
dar
unul
care
cuprinde
enciclopedii
de
nuanţe
…stânjeneala, jena, decenţa,
modestia, timiditatea … pentru
care engleza nu are echivalent.
(43)
Era de faţă şi postnasal oraşului,
Muhammad Ibadalla, pe frunte
cu
gatta,
sau
vânătaia
permanentă care îl vestea ca pe
un fanatic religios atât de
împătimit încât îşi apăsa chipul
de covoraşul de rugăciune cel
puţin de cinci ori per diem. (48)
Raza şi Bilquis se logodiră sub
privirile acre ale multimillion
sărăcite: după aceea darurile
continuară, dulciuri pe lângă
braţări, băuturi răcoritoare, şi
mese bogate o dată cu henna şi
inele. (81)
20
Rushdie explains the very
procedure of his writing, namely,
why he chooses to keep words
untranslated, and Cornelia Bucur
cannot but respect his wish, thus
the originality of the paper,
Gatta is explained in detail in the
context, so the international
reader meats no difficulty in
dealing with it.
According to A Dictionary of Urdu,
Classical Hindi and English by John
T. Platts, the henna plant, cultivated
throughout India for its leaves, is used
by women to dye their hands and feet
a reddish-orange and by men to dye
their beards. It is a Mohammadan
ceremony of sending henna for the
bride before the wedding day.
The meaning may not be fully
understood from the context, and
Cornelia Bucur does not provide any
additional information for her reader.
“You, Billoo Begum, begone. …
Come on, mohajir! Immigrant!
Pack up double-quick and be off to
what gutter you choose.” (85)
And at breakfast, when she
began dutifully to spoon khichri
on to his plate, he roared in
good-natured fury, :why do you
lift your hand, daughter? A
princess does not serve. (59)
The two girls, unashamed, turn
to stare, still holding garments,
cosmetics, combs. ‘O, Isky’s
wifw, nothing to worry, Isky’s
ayah said to look.’”(93)
-…Tu, Billoo Begum, du-te.
…Haide mohajir! Imigranto! Fă-ţi
bagajele şi ascunde-te în ce sat vei
voi! (106)
Iar la micul dejun, pe când ea îi
aşeza cu lingura khichri în farfurie,
răcni cu o furie bonomă:
-De ce pui mana, fata mea?
Prinţesele nu servesc la masă.
(72)
Cele două fete, fără jenă, se întorc şi
o privesc, cu braţele pline de obiecte
de
îmbrăcăminte,
cosmetice,
piepteni.
-Ah, nevasta lui Isky, nu te
speria, ayaha lui Isky a zis să
ne uităm.(113)
Female attendant on children or
on a lady, nurse, lady's maid,
ayah.
Linguistic untranslatability deals with words from English which are not translated because they have
already been adopted by the Romanian language or because the translator has chosen to preserve them as
such.
To be frank: what a telescope began
at long distance, Omar Khayyam
continued in close-up. Let us not be
afraid to mention the word “voyeur”,
remembering that it has already been
mentioned……(45)
Ca să fim sinceri: ceea ce
telescopul începuse a face la
distanţă,
Omar
Khayyam
continua de aproape. Să nu ne
temem să rostim cuvântul
“voyeur”, căci el a fost pomenit
deja….. (53)
What’s a doctor, after all? A
legitimized voyeur,… who gazes
at what we take most trouble to
hide…an outsider admitted to
our
most
intimate
moments….(49)
Căci, ce este un doctor, la urma
urmelor? Un voyeur legitim….
Care vede ceea ce ne străduim
din răsputeri să ascundem…un
outsider primit în clipele
noastre cele mai intime… (58)
Outsider! Trespasser! You have
no right to this subject….(28)
Veneticule! Intrusule! N-ai nici
un drept asupra subiectului
astuia!…(29)
There’s an apocryphal story that
Napier, after a successful
campaign in what is now the
south of Pakistan, sent back to
England the guilty, one word
message, “Peccavi”. I have Sind.
…(88)
O poveste apocrifă spune că,
după o campanie reuşită în ceea
ce
este
astăzi
sudul
Pakistanului, Napier a trimis
înapoi în Anglia un mesaj
vinovat, de un singur cuvânt:
’Peccavi’. I have Sind. (110)
21
Word of French origin, voyeur is not
given
by
the
Explanatory
Dictionary of the Romanian
Language. However, it circulates in
the language and Cornelia Bucur
found it natural to use it untranslated,
especially due to the fact that it would
have been quite difficult if not
impossible to find a perfect,
Romanian counterpart.
The word outsider is adopted by the
Explanatory Dictionary of the
Romanian Language only that it has
a different acceptance i.e. a
participant in a competition that is
out of it. Cornelia Bucur deals with
the word differently: first she keeps
the original word, assuming that the
Romanian reader is aware of its
meaning, and secondly she
translates it because it seems to have
another sense that the one adopted
by the TL.
In this case the Romanian reader
deals with a play upon words, which
he/she has great chances to
misunderstand if he/she is not
familiar with the English language.
Cornelia Bucur does not even
provide
explanatory
notes,
considering the fact that her reader
is not necessary Rushdie’s bilingual
reader.
Considering the above exemplification, mention should be made of
the fact that “since language is to some extent culture oriented, translators
face the problem of translating certain culture-based words into another
language with a different culture.” (Bijay kumar Das, Problems of
Translation, 2002: 20).
Thus, Cornelia Bucur’s translation may be considered quite faithful
to the original, and at the same time has the fluency of a Romanian text
filled with Indian concepts which the reader gradually comes to understand
and appreciate as a cultural enriching exchange.
To sum up, it should be said that this hybrid English is part of
Rushdie’s creativity as well as personality, giving the reader the chance to
see the world through the Other’s eyes, to observe the the culture of their
culture just like a “voyeur”, through the lenses of his binoculars.
Bibliography:
o Bassnette-McGuire, S. (1988) Translation Studies,
London, Routledge
o Catford, JC. (1965) A Linguistic Theory of Translation: An Essay in
Applied Linguistics, London, OUP
o Croitoru, E (1996) Interpretation and Translation, Galati, Porto-Franco
o Devy, G. (1999) ‘Translation and Literary History. An Indian view’ in S.
Bassnett-McGuire, H. Trivedi, Post-Colonial Translation: Theory and
Practice, Routledge, 181-186
o Gentzler, E. (1993) Contemporary Translation Theories, London,
Routledge
o Joshua, S. (2002) ‘Translation: Its Brief History and Theory’ in M. K.
Ray (ed.). Studies in Translation, New Delhi, Mehra Offset Press, 1-9
o Kumar Das, B. (2002) ‘Problems of Translation’ in M. K. Ray (ed.)
Studies in Translation, New Delhi, Mehra Offset Press, 20-40
o Kundu, R. (2002) ‘Reconstructing the Tower of Babel: Equivalence in
Translation: A rare case study’ in M. K. Ray (ed.) Studies in Translation,
New Delhi, Mehra Offset Press, 56-65
o Nida, E. A. (1964) Towards a Science of Translation, Leiden, E.J. Brill
o Prasad, G.J.V. (1999) ‘Writing Translation. The strange case of the
Indian English novel’ in S. Bassnett-McGuire, H. Trivedi, Post-Colonial
22
Translation: Theory and Practice, Routledge, 41-54
o Rushdie, S. (1983) Shame, London, Pan Books
o Rushdie, S. (2001) Rusinea, Iasi, Polirom
o Steiner, G. (1975) After Babel: Aspect of Language and Translation,
Oxford
Dictionaries:
o *** (1998) Dicţionarul explicativ al limbii române, Bucureşti: Univers
Enciclopedic
o *** (2001) Dictionary of Contemporary English (3rd Edition), London:
Longman
o Platts, J. T. (John Thompson). (1884) A Dictionary of Urdu, Classical
Hindi, and English, London: W. H. Allen & Co.
NEGATIVE ASPECTS IN POETRY TRANSLATION
Gabriela Iuliana Colipcă
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Dificilă prin însăşi natura ei care presupune medierea între două
universuri lingvistice şi culturale, misiunea traducătorului se complică şi
mai mult atunci când textul-sursă care face obiectul interesului său este
unul literar, şi în particular un poem. Luând ca punct de plecare
încercarea de sistematizare de către profesorul Andrei Bantaş a câtorva
ipoteze privind cele mai importante aspecte practice ale traducerii de
poezie, lucrarea de faţă îşi propune să analizeze cauzele şi consecinţele
traducerilor de slabă calitate marcate de pierderi în încercarea de
echivalare a codurilor poetice, care pot afecta radical percepţia
publicului-ţintă asupra textului sursă. Pentru exemplificare, este adus în
discuţie cazul traducerii în limba engleză a operelor unor poeţi români
reprezentativi de către vorbitori nativi de limba engleză care, deşi animaţi
de dorinţa de a-i familiariza astfel pe cititorii occidentali cu sensibilitatea
şi talentul artistic deosebit al poporului român, nu rămân fideli
originalului modificându-i structura şi chiar alterând-i mesajul. O
comparaţie între două variante traduse ale poemului De-a v-aţi ascuns de
Tudor Arghezi – cea dintâi iniţial realizată de Dan Duţescu, dar ulterior
refăcută la cererea editorului canadian de către Alden Nowlan, cea de-a
23
doua aparţinându-i profesorului Andrei Bantaş – scoate în evidenţă
impactul negativ al pierderilor în procesul de traducere asupra
produsului rezultat care nu mai reuşeşte în final să transmită „inefabila
tensiune emoţională a originalului.” (Bantaş, 1999: 123)
That a good translator needs, above all, bilingual and bicultural
competence has already become common ground in modern translation
theories. As an applied linguist and a mediator between intercultural
situations of communication, (s)he must acquire, on the one hand,
knowledge of any of the five types identified by Hewson and Martin (1991)
– i.e. source language (SL) and target language (TL) knowledge, text-type
knowledge, subject area and cultural knowledge and finally contrastive
knowledge – and, on the other hand, decoding skills of reading and
encoding skills of writing. Her/ his task is not to look for an ‘equivalent’ in
the narrow sense of the word, but to analyse minutely the various elements
creating the overall effect of the source text (ST). That causes her/him to
eventually deal with the so-called “concave-mirror effect” which can be
accounted for by the distorting effect produced by the changing cultures and
by the connections made within the target language culture (LC2) that
interfere with those originally operating in the source language culture
(LC1). (Hewson and Martin, 1991: 152; Croitoru, 1996: 30-31) It is true
that, no matter how hard (s)he may try, the translator could never clearly
adopt a midway position and (s)he will always be anchored, to a greater or
less extent, in one LC. That is why, as Elena Croitoru emphasises, her/his
competence is determined “by her/his ability to analyse, compare and
convert two cultural systems, while respecting both the conflicting forces
within one LC and the interplay of these forces as the LCs are brought into
contact.” (Croitoru, 1996: 32) (S)he has to be what A. Bantaş
metaphorically calls “a servant of two masters” selling to her/his customers,
i.e. readers, the original product, i.e. the writer’s work, without cheating in
either quantity or in its original form. (1994: 81)
Nevertheless, when referring to literary translation, one more
important aspect is worth insisting upon. For as Levý points out, not only
the semantic content and the formal contour of the original have to be
taken into consideration, but also the entire system of aesthetic features
bound up with the language of the translation. (See Bassnett-McGuire,
1991: 6) Since it is not enough to render the meaning and the logical
structure, the translator also has to render the emotional content of the
SLT and so faithfully that the TT can have the same effect as the original
does upon the reader. (Leviţchi, 1993: 6) Consequently, the task of the
translator becomes somewhat harder than even the writer’s: “the writer
translates [herself/]himself, turning [her/]his imagination into words, thus
24
keeping faithful to [herself/]himself, whereas the translator must be
faithful to the writer, to the tradition from which [s]he translates, to the
language into which [s]he translates and to many other canons.” (Leviţchi
qtd. in Croitoru, 1996: 32) Transcending language but also cultural and
time boundaries, the translator must aim at rendering in the TT not only
the universe of ideas, but also the feelings implied by the original. By
means of a different linguistic system, (s)he has to perform what A Bantaş
calls “a transfer of spirit,” (1999: 18) keeping in mind that each and every
text has its own music, colours, movement and atmosphere. Besides its
material, literal meaning, each and every piece of literature has a less
apparent meaning which is the only one that can create inside us the
aesthetic impression that the poet meant to express. In order to render this
literary meaning of the literary works, we (the translators) must, first of all,
grasp it; but then it is not enough to grasp it; we must also re-create it.
(Larbaud qtd. in Meschonnic, 1978: 221)
Thus, literary translation can be considered a re-creation of the literary
work. In poetry in particular, the poet, who tends to perfection, implicitly
tends to express her/his ideas or feelings in the most effective way, aiming
at identifying and choosing those synonymic variants that might have the
strongest effects on all poetic language and diction levels as well as on the
affective level. “The translator who is willing as well as capable to
reproduce these elements in another language must be aware of all these
factors and provide [herself/]himself with all the means necessary for recreating the original, for equivalating the broad as well as small lines of the
original.” (S)he must render the original magic of the verse, its musicality
and power of suggestion. (S)he must be endowed with a special passion for
the word and know how to use it in order to transpose the poet’s experience
into another language and cultural context. “When [s]he reproduces all the
meanings and even all the metaphors and other figures of speech without
rendering also the music of the original [s]he may have accomplished [her]
his task, but if [s]he does not manage to convey also the ‘ineffable’
emotional tension of the original [s]he has failed and can be accused of
having violated the rules of the game: that is to say that no loss should be
tolerated on any facet of the original.” (Bantaş, 1989: 4-5; Bantaş and
Croitoru, 1999: 123) That does not mean that there cannot be accepted
losses in translating poetry, but they have to be made up for by choosing
from among the instruments offered by the rhetoric of the SL poetic space
the most adequate. And what is more important, (s)he must not miss the
effect meant by the poet, so as not to change, alter or even destroy the
emotion expressed by the poet.
25
Taking all these aspects into account, the conclusion can be reached
that the good translation of poetry is possible only when “there is enough
linguistic and literary expertise in order to discern the author’s intentions.”
(Bantaş, 1989: 9) That is why a complex, translation-oriented analysis of
the original (TOTA) must precede the translation process. It is only by
making a thorough analysis of the original, observing all its steps, through
a series of successive operations of selection and restriction, that the
translator will discover the so-called ‘inner mechanism’ of the literary
work and consequently the right way to a correct interpretation and
translation. (Bantaş and Croitoru, 1999: 123)
Even if the major principles of the above summarised theoretical
background for poetry translation have been clearly underlined, the practice
of poetry translation often seems to infringe them (more or less
consciously). In an attempt at summing up the negative aspects in poetry
translation, A. Bantaş advances in his article “A Few Hypotheses on
Translating Poetry” (1989) a hypothesis (as he puts it) that attaches them
essentially to “the failure to decipher the author’s code and/or intentions, the
translator’s failure to integrate [herself/]himself with them, to endorse them
[which] thoroughly may lead to their betrayal.” (1989: 24; see also Bantaş
and Croitoru, 1999: 133) In this respect, two categories of causes should be
distinguished between:
-objective causes: the impossibility of identifying the code of the
original even after analysis (i.e. the semantic and/or the prosodic code)
which may generate the temptation to replace it by the translator’s own
(perhaps favourite) code.
-subjective causes: the translator’s lack of competence in
deciphering the code, in discerning the system of the original or merely
lack of linguistic competence regarding either the SL or the TL or even
both of them; and the receptor’s lack of sensitiveness or his inability to
take in the poem to be translated which may also happen even in the case
of the reception of the original by the native speakers of the SL. (1989: 24;
1999: 133)
Such negative aspects seem to be particularly affecting the
translations made by Romanian translators together with English native
speakers. In this case, the causes determining the poor quality of the
translations may be both objective and subjective. Thus, even if the
Romanian translator is what one may call a good translator, able to identify
correctly, by means of a thorough analysis, both the semantic and the
prosodic code of the original, endowed with linguistic and literary
competence, there still remain the dangers related to the English-speaking
translator’s lack of sensitiveness when facing a new poetic universe or
26
her/his inability to understand it, which will obviously lead to the betrayal
of the original. For example, the very title of Blaga’s poem Mirabila
sămânţă has been rendered into English by Roy McGregor Hastie as The
Wonderful Seeds. Either deliberately or out of a total lack of understanding,
as A Bantaş emphasises, the translator has distorted two essential elements:
the singular of the noun seed used by the poet as a symbol of nature, of the
universe, of its development, of its embryo loses all its meaning, becoming just
one agricultural element out of many; changing mirabil into minunat again defies
the author because if he had intended to use the ordinary word, emptied of
connotations and in the last analysis impoverished in denotation as well through
frequent use, through routine, there would have been no easier thing to do; but it
stands to reason that the choice of a rarer, more impressive word had been
deliberate by Blaga, being meant to obtain spectacular effects. (1989: 9-10;
1999: 126)
Professor Bantaş’s example plainly demonstrates that, even at the
word level, a translator can kill both the author’s meaning and art. And the
temptation of replacing thus the original code (which perhaps was not even
correctly understood) seems even greater when the English-speaking
translator is at the same time a poet.
Both categories of deficiencies that have been identified above can
be easily found in the poems published in the volume Modern Romanian
Poetry edited by Nicholas Catanoy (1977). Although the intention of the
editor of showing to the Western World “something of the range and
quality of a poetry that has long ceased to be merely a regional off-shoot of
Balkan writing” and of “bringing home to many English readers the
unknown sensitivity of the Romanian people” (1977: 11-12) is indeed
praiseworthy, the versions included in the book are far from sticking to the
original music and power of suggestion of the Romanian poetry. As he
acknowledges in the Preface, although he initially relied on the ability of
the Romanian translators, starting from the idea that “being an art of words
and music, poetry is different from the art of translation and only poets
should translate poetry” (1977: 12), the editor sent the Romanian
translations to twenty-two Canadian poets, who, unfortunately, took too
many liberties with the text sometimes even modifying the sense and the
structure of the original.
In order to prove the shortcomings of these so-called “poetic translations”,
two translations into English of the poem De-a v-aţi ascuns/ Hide and Seek by
Tudor Arghezi will further be contrastively discussed. T1 was included in the
previously mentioned collection; it was originally made by Dan Duţescu but then
remade by Alden Nowlan. T2 belongs to professor A.Bantaş.
TUDOR ARGHEZI
De-a v-aţi ascuns (ST)
(1980: 111-112)
T1: Translated by D. Duţescu
English version by Alden Nowlan
(1977: 98-99)
27
T2: Translated by Andrei
Bantaş
1 Dragii mei, o să mă joc odată
2 Cu voi, de-a ceva ciudat.
3 Nu ştiu când o să fie asta, tată,
4 Dar, hotărât, o să ne jucăm
odată,
5 Odată, poate, după scăpătat.
6 E un joc viclean de batrâni
7 Cu copii, ca voi, cu fetiţe ca
tine,
8 Joc de slugi şi joc de stăpâni,
9 Joc de păsări, de flori, de
câni,
10 Şi fiecare îl joacă bine.
11 Ne vom iubi, negreşit,
mereu
12 Strânşi bucuroşi la masă,
1’ My small and precious ones. I know
a strange
2’ game that we’ll play some day.
3’ I don’t know when.
4’ But we will play it.
5’ Some evening, maybe, after the sun
goes down.
6’ Old people play it (it’s a tricky
game)
7’ with boys like you, and girls like
you, my sweet.
8’ Poor people play it: rich people
play it, too.
9’ Animals play it, and birds, and even
flowers.
10’ Everyone plays it well.
11’ We will love one another forever,
you and I,
12’ laughing around the dinner table
13’ under God’s roof, the sky;
13 Subt coviltirele lui
Dumnezeu.
14 Într-o zi piciorul va rămâne
greu,
15 Mâna stângace, ochiul sleit,
limba scămoasă.
16 Jocul începe încet, ca un
vânt.
17 Eu o să râd şi o să tac,
18 O să mă culc la pământ.
19 O să stau fără cuvânt,
20 De pildă, lângă copac.
14’ but one day I will start to walk
more slowly, you will see a difference
15’ in my eyes, my hands will shake
and, perhaps, I’ll cough.
16’ That’s how the game starts, quietly,
like the wind.
17’ I’ll laugh then and say nothing
more.
18’ I’ll go and lie down on the ground;
19’ I’ll lie there without moving and
won’t make a sound.
20’ Maybe I’ll lie down over there
beside that tree.
21 E jocul Sfintelor Scripturi.
22 Aşa s-a jucat şi Domnul
nostru Isus Hristos
23 Şi alţii, prinşi de friguri şi
de călduri,
24 Care din câteva sfinte
tremurături
25 Au isprăvit jocul, frumos.
21’ThisgamewasplayedintheBible;
22’ even Our Lord Jesus Christ played
it once,
23’ and others: fever and chills
26 Voi să nu vă mâhniţi tare
26’ So don’t be sad, my little ones,
when they come
27’ and lift me up and carry me away.
28’ They’ll put me in what they call a
grave,
29’ in soft or hard earth.
27 Când mă vor lua şi duce
departe
28 Şi-mi vor face un fel de
înmormântare
29 În lutul afânat sau tare.
30 Aşa e jocul, începe cu
moarte.
24’ shook them until they quit.
25’ But they played well.
30’ You see: the game begins with
death.
28
1” Dear children, some day
together we’ll play
2”Atsomeunconnygame,mypets:
3” When this will happen I
cannot say
4” But certainly we’ll play
the game some day,
5” Some day perhaps as soon
as th’sun sets.
6” It is a game of old folks,
sly and fell,
7” With kids like you, girls
out of schools
8” It’s played by servants
and by masters ’swell
9” By birds and flowers and
by dogs as well
10” And each of them obeys its
rules.
11” To keep our mutual love
we’ll never fail
12” Together sharing in our
mirthful dinner/Together
gathered in our mirthful dinner
13” Protected by God’s
canopy and veil.
14” Some day my leg’ll hang
limp and stale
15” My hand clumsy, my eye
drained, my tongue like tinder.
16” Slowly starts the game,
like winds around.
17” I’ll laugh and then keep
mum
18” Then stretch myself upon
the ground.
19” I shall be speechless, like
spellbound
20” For instance by that oaktree trunk.
21” The game is in the Holy Writ:
22” It was also played by
Jesus Christ our Lord,
23” By others, seized with
shivers and with heat
24” Who, out of several
trembling fits,
25” Could finally end the
game ungored.
26” You, kids, should not
take it to heart
27” When people lift me,
carry me away
28” And bury me with some
strange art
29” Into the clay/earth that’s
either soft or hard.
30” The game’s like that: it
starts with death, they say.
From the very beginning, the fact must be mentioned that T1 suffers
from a surprising lack of musicality and a striking violation of the “no loss,
no gain” principle in terms of prosody and rhyme. Unfortunately, a poetic
synonymy on the versification level cannot be established between ST and
T1, in which the English translator completely disregards the structure of
the lines and of the stanzas as well as the original rhyme, providing an
awkward, almost prose-like version. On the contrary, in T2, A. Bantaş
successfully manages to accurately render the metrical patterns of the
original, sticking to the structure of the stanzas made up of five lines,
displaying an a-b-a-a-b rhyme type, thus being closer to the original overall
effect and music of Arghezi’s poem, to the emotion the poet meant to
express.
Although preserving the broad lines of meaning and logical
structure, T1 is marked by many losses especially on the vocabulary level
(the semantic and formal or metaphorical code). Thus, in many cases, the
semantic choices of the English-speaking translator are rather vague and
common, lacking expressiveness, sometimes even tending to oversimplification by rendering the implicit denotations and especially
connotations of Arghezi’s metaphors too obvious. Here are a few examples.
In the second stanza, he unjustifiably replaces the Romanian copii (line 7)
having generic value (correctly rendered both semantically and stylistically
by kids in T2, line 7”) by boys (line 7’), although there is no reference to
boys in the co-text. Probably as a result of his not being familiar with
Arghezi’s family life, the foreign translator did not realise the fact that,
despite the introduction of copii with a generic meaning, in that particular
line, the poet addressed in fact his beloved daughter. Consequently, in T1,
there is a slight shift in meaning, as my sweet (line 7’), in final position,
determines both boys and girls thus implying that the poem is addressed to
all children, or at least to a boy and a girl, which is not the case. Then, in
the next line (8’), there is again a slight shift in meaning, a semantic loss, as
the T1 translator takes the liberty of replacing the two members of the
antinomic interplay in the ST (Joc de slugi şi joc de stăpâni – line 8) –
rendered as such in T2 (It’s played by servants and by masters ’swell – line
8”) – by poor people and rich people (line 8’), preserving thus only the
feature [+WEALTH] while missing in fact the essential one
[+SUBORDINATE] which the poet meant to emphasise. Further on, he
misses the effect of câni (line 9) (dogs in T2, line 9”). The word was
probably used, given also the immediate co-text, not only for its denotative
but especially for its connotative meaning (referring to character: “a
despicable, cruel man” – Webster’s Encyclopaedic Unabridged Dictionary,
1996: 422), which can by no means be rendered by animal, as the latter has
29
a generic value when used in its denotative meaning, as well as different
connotations (referring to the physical, carnal nature of man – 1996: 59)
and different contexts. (For e.g. She married an animal.)
In line 13, the original metaphor coviltirele lui Dumnezeu is, in its
turn, subject to modifications. The English-speaking translator practically
ruins all its stylistic effect when rendering it explicit in line 13’ by means of
a rather common phrase God’s roof (too modern also as compared to the
archaic coviltir), associated with the noun sky which definitely clarifies the
meaning. On the contrary, in T2, A. Bantaş’s choice (God’s canopy and
veil – line 13”) suits best both the semantic and the stylistic dimensions of
the ST, managing to preserve the effect Arghezi’s original metaphor may
have upon the reader.
Even more dissimilarities are to be found in lines 14-15 where T1 is
far from rendering even the meaning of the original ST. Adopting common,
well-known English terms used in describing the symptoms of old age, the
English translator does not offer the readers a translation proper of the two
lines, but a personal interpretation of poor quality, as a matter of fact, of the
ST, completely disregarding the poet’s semantic choices and the effect he
meant to create by using them (see lines 14’-15’). On the contrary, T2
closely follows the original, preserving not only the meaning and the
stylistic effect but also the rhetoric and the enumeration of elliptical
structures in line 15”: Some day my leg’ll hang limp and stale/ My hand
clumsy, my eye drained, my tongue like tinder.
Similarly, a large number of deliberate distortions are to be found in
T1 on the syntactic level. A striking example in this respect can be
identified in the fifth stanza, where the T1 translator completely modifies
the structure of the complex sentence extending over four lines in the ST.
First of all, a shift in emphasis marks line 22: in the ST, the stress is laid on
play (and T2 sticks to it: It was also played by Jesus Christ our Lord- line
22”), while in T1, on the contrary, it is laid on Jesus Christ (even Our Lord
Jesus Christ played it once-line 22’). Moreover, in the next three lines (2325), he prefers to cut the complex sentence into pieces, creating thus two
independent sentences. In particular, the latter But they played well (line
25’) completely changes the meaning of the original, as it is the manner
they play and not on the result or end of the game that appears thus
foregrounded, again deviating from the poet’s original intention. All in all,
the syntactic changes are accompanied by semantic changes which finally
lead to unacceptable losses on all the levels of the ST.
Many other examples of violations of the translation rules can be
further identified, pointing, on the whole, to the same conclusion: although
having rendered the broad lines of the original, by reproducing the general
30
meaning, the T1 translator did not manage to render the metaphorical code,
the music of the original and what is more important, he did not manage to
convey the ‘ineffable’ tension of the original (A. Bantaş 1989: 5).
Consequently, he failed to accomplish his task and violated the “no loss, no
gain” principle in point of meaning, clarity and stylistic value.
It is undeniable that steps have been taken to fixing the main
principles that should regulate literary – and in particular, poetry –
translation. Andrei Bantaş’s studies range among the most representative in
this respect. Yet, the production and publication of translations like those
included in the volume Modern Romanian Poetry referred to above
reinforce the general opinion that the discussion of the methodological
problems of translating poetry should be continued and extended, that more
emphasis should be laid on the relationship between scholarship and
practice so as to gradually contribute to the gradual decrease of negative
aspects, to help more translators to find the right way to communicate with
the original poems and finally to improve the quality of their translations.
Within the field of poetry translation, there is still a lot of work to be done.
Bibliography:
o Arghezi, T. (1980) Versuri. Vol.1, Bucureşti: Cartea Românească,
Colecţia „Mari scriitori români”
o Bassnett-McGuire, S. (1991) Translation Studies, New York: Routledge
o Bantaş, A. (1989) “A Few Hypotheses on Translating Poetry”, Revue
Roumaine de Linguistique, 34, no. 2, 1-26
o Bantaş, A. (1994) “Names, Nicknames and Titles in Translation”,
Perspectives. Studies in Translatology, no. 1, Museum Tusculanum
Press, University of Copenhagen, pp. 79-88
o Bantaş, A. Croitoru, E. (1999) Didactica traducerii, Bucureşti: Teora
o Bassnett-McGuire, S. (1991) Translation Studies, New York: Routledge
o Catanoy, N. (ed.) (1977) Modern Romanian Poetry, Oakville, Ottawa,
Canada: Mosaic Press/ Valley Editions
o Croitoru, E. (1996) Interpretation and Translation, Galaţi: Porto-Franco
o Hewson, L., Martin, J. (1991) Redefining Translation. The Variational
Approach, London & New York: Routledge
o Leviţchi, L. (1993) Manualul traducatorului de limba engleza,
Bucureşti: Teora
o Meschonnic, H. (1978) “Notes sur la traduction dans la poétique” in A.
Dobrescu-Warodin, R. Marcu, L. Repeteanu (eds.), Langue, vie et
civilisation françaises, Bucureşti: Editura Didactică şi Pedagogică
o Steiner, G. (1975) After Babel – Aspects of Language and Translation,
Oxford: Oxford University Press
31
o *** (1996) Webster’s Encyclopaedic Unabridged Dictionary, New
York/ Avenel: Gramercy Books
MODULATION – A TRANSLATION STRATEGY
Elena Croitoru and Antoanela Marta Dumitraşcu
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Modulation focuses on the events and states of affairs that the words
refer to. It is closely related to the way a speaker of the target language
would naturally conceive of what a word, a phrase, a structure or a text span
refer to. A much clearer way of defining it is that it includes types of
relationships between two texts.
1. The range of translation procedures, as discussed by J.-P. Vinay
and J.D. Darbelnet (1958/1995), L. Kelly (1979), P. Newmark (1988), Van
Hoof (1989), W. Wills (1994), S. Laviosa (2002), D. Katan (2004), or
translation strategies (Chesterman 1997), seems to be as coherent as useful,
because it proves once again that the decision-making act is prevailing in
the translation process. Moreover, a study of the translation procedures or
strategies points out interesting findings about cross-linguistic differences.
Given the fact that such strategies, from borrowing to adaptation, are
closely linked with the degree of difference between the source text (ST)
and the target text (TT), the most difficult task of the translator, especially
when there are great differences between the two languages, is to give the
right interpretation and make his final decision. The more numerous and the
more different the ways of rendering a ST expression in the TT, the more
difficult the decision-making act.
1.1. The degree of difference between the two texts determines the
use of one or another of the seven translation procedures described by J.-P.
Vinay and J. D. Darbelnet (1958:55/1995): 1) emprunt/ borrowing, 2)
calque / borrowing of a structure, 3) literal translation, 4) transposition, 5)
modulation, 6) equivalence, 7) adaptation.
There is a long way from borrowing, the case in which ST and TT
are identical (at that level), to adaptation which reflects a radical divergence
between the two texts. As it is obvious, modulation is a little bit down the
middle of the spectrum, coming after transposition. Although they consist
in doing different things in the translating process, they are logically
associated. We consider that a combination of the two strategies, i.e.
modulation and transposition, will make up a translation-inherent strategy.
32
Modulation is referred to as a change in point of view, whereas
transposition consists in changing the grammatical categories.
Generally, a clear-cut distinction is made between them. Thus,
modulation consists in looking upon the same situation from a difference
point of view, whereas transposition consists in changing the grammatical
structures but preserving the same meaning. In this respect, some analysts
consider that different grammatical forms express the same meaning,
whereas some others do not agree to this idea and argue that a change in
form brings about a change in meaning.
Van Hoof describes modulation as a type of transposition at the
global level, applying to categories of thought, not grammatical categories
(Van Hoof 1989: 126, and Salkie 2001: 434).
1.2. One major contribution of modulation is that it offers a new
perspective on the relationship between semantics and pragmatics, and lays
stress on the relevance theory. Modulation is also related to contrastive
linguistics since it helps in clearing up the relationship between the ST and
the TT, on the one hand, and contrastive linguistics uses translation aspects
in investigating differences between languages, on the other.
A contrastive linguistic perspective rather than a translation research
one is shared by H. Chuquet and M. Paillard (1987) and by R. Salkie
(2001). H. Chuquet and M. Paillard (1987: 10) do not agree to Vinayand
Darbelnet’s classification. They suggest a narrower range of translation
procedures which includes literal translation, transposition and modulation.
Thus, they do not consider adaptation to be a translation procedure “since it
goes beyond linguistic concerns to sociocultural and subjective ones” (id.,
ibid.) and argue that the first two procedures, i.e. borrowing and calque
(borrowing of a structure) are generally parts of the lexicon, whereas the
last but one procedure, i.e. equivalence, is a special type of modulation.
Their opinion is also shared by R. Salkie (2001: 434).
The basic principle of modulation, i.e. the change in viewpoint, may
be illustrated, for example, by two sentences describing the same situation.
Thus, the same situation may be equated with the same meaning for
sentences including, for instance, a modal verb or a modal phrase in the ST
rendered by a modal (phrase) or a verb form with the same meaning in the
TT. There are lots of examples in literary and technical translations with
which this approach goes very well.
There is also identity of meaning between passive and active
structures in an English ST and a Romanian TT, respectively. Consider the
following excerpt:
33
ST1: The visit was returned in due form. Miss Bennet’s pleasing
manners grew on the good will of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and
though the mother was found to be intolerable and the younger sister
not worth speaking to, a wish of being better acquainted with
them was expressed towards the two eldest. By Jane this attention
was received with the greatest pleasure….
(from J.Austen, Pride and Prejudice)
TT1: Au răspuns, după cum se cuvenea, la vizita ce li se făcuse.
Manierele încântătoare ale domnişoarei Bennet câştigară bunăvoinţa
doamnei Hurst şi a domnişoarei Bingley, şi, cu toate că pe mamă o
considerau insuportabilă, iar pe surorile mai mici nedemne de a li
se adresa vreun cuvânt, şi-au exprimat faţă de cele două surori mai
mari dorinţa de a le cunoaşte mai bine. Jane a fost plăcut
impresionată de acest lucru...
(translated and commented by Gabriela Colipcă, Carmen
Maftei, Daniela Croitoru 2004: 29)
Such examples may really mean a change in view point, besides the
grammatical argument that English favours the passive structures, whereas
Romanian favours the active ones.
Nevertheless, P. Nermark (1988: 88) considers the change from
active to passive and viceversa to be a “common transposition, mandatory
when no passive exists, and advisable where a reflexive is normally
preferred to a passive as in Romance languages”.
In Romanian, the reflexive grammatical relationship which implies
that “entitatea despre care se face comunicarea este dedublată într-un nume
subiect care face acţiunea şi un nume obiect (complementul direct) care
suferă acţiunea” (Avădanei 2000: 81) can be expressed by verbal idioms
with a reflexive pronoun in the accusative such as: a se lăsa pe tânjală, a
se culca pe lauri, a se ascunde după deget, with which the weak
accusative form of the reflexive pronoun is a special direct object /
“complement direct de tip special” (Dimitriu 1994: 240).
With the verbal idioms including weak dative forms of the reflexive
pronoun such as a-şi găsi naşul, a-şi lua inima-n dinţi, a-şi pune pofta-n
cui the grammatical relationship is an active one, because “dativul
neaccentuat al pronumelui reflexiv nu poate fi complement direct «de tip
special» care să reprezinte marca raportului reflexiv” (Avădanei op.cit.:
81).
34
1.3. However, the question may arise: What will be the argument in
all changes from affirmative to negative, abstract to concrete, means to
result, negation to the opposite considered by Vinay and Darbelnet (1958:
89) to be cases of modulation, or different temporal viewpoint, different
parts of the same process, especially from metaphor to no metaphor,
modalised to non-modalised, included by Chuquet and Paillard (1987: 30,
26, 28) within the modulation procedure and from marked to unmarked
collocations (our suggestion) ?
We consider that the aspects mentioned above up to changes from
metaphor to no metaphor are well integrated within modulation, maybe
expect for the changes from abstract to concrete in contexts like the
following:
ST2: This was odd justice in the eyes of those who still blinked in
the fierce light projected from the tribunal –a light in which neither
parent figured in the least as a happy example to youth and
innocence. (from H. James, What Maisie Knew)
TT2: Acest mod de a face dreptate părea ciudat în ochii celor care
încă mai clipeau orbiţi de lumina necruţătoare ce venea dinspre
tribunal – lumină în care nici unul dintre părinţi nu apărea câtuşi de
puţin ca un exemplu bun pentru o fiinţă fragedă şi nevinovată.
(translated and commented upon by Isabela Merilă and E. Croitoru,
in Croitoru – coord. – 2004: 69)
The translators commented upon the possibilities of rendering odd
justice and youth and innocence. The former, referring to the manner in
which justice was done, has no corresponding collocation in Romanian. It
really means a changing viewpoint, but the long syntagm used in the TT is
no longer marked stylistically. The same holds valid with the latter: “the
two English nouns do not point to the age of youth and innocent childhood,
but to the little girl, who was helpless under such circumstances (see the
manner in which she was disposed of: she was divided in two and the
portions tossed impartially to the disputants” (in Croitoru – coord. – 2004:
60). Even with the last sentence mentioned in brackets as a reference back
in terms of the co-text, there is modulation, but the stylistic loss in the TT is
due to the linguistic differences between English and Romanian.
Furthermore, we consider that changes from metaphor to no
metaphor and from marked to unmarked collocations in literary translations
to be a stylistic loss in the TT and a mistranslation of modality.
35
On the other hand, P. Newmark (1988: 88) refers to the ‘negated
contrary’, calling it ‘positive for double negative’ (or ‘double negative for
positive’), which is a concrete translation procedure applied to any action
(verb) or quality (adjective or adverb). He considers the double negative not
to be as forceful as the positive”: “[…] in fact the force of the double
negative depends on the tone of voice, and therefore the appropriateness of
this modulation must depend on its formulation in the context” (id., ibid.).
Moreover, Van Hoof (1989) adds shifts from popular to learned
vocabulary and shifts from one colour to another, As far as the latter shifts
are concerned, we share Van Hoof’s opinion considering the differences
between the two languages. For example, colour idioms such as the
following are translated by using the modulation strategy which makes use
of different structures, patterns or strings specific to Romanian: to be in the
red (be in debts), go into the red (start to owe money to the bank), come
out of the red (having paid back one’s debts), see red (become very angry
or annoyed), catch smb red handed (catch smb while they are doing smth
illegal or wrong), paint the town red (keep throwing parties), not to be
worth a red cent (not to be worth a farthing), red baiting (persecution of
communists), to draw a red herring (try using a trick), red tape (useless
official rules making things happen very slowly), green as grass
(inexperienced or naïve), black and blue (physically attacked and badly
bruised), be in the black (not to owe anyone any money; antonym: be in
the red), once in a blue moon (very rarely), etc. The important thing is that
the meaning is the same. This opposes situations which have nothing to do
with modulation due to the (partial) formal and semantic equivalence
between some colour idioms: white as a sheet/ ghost (very pale and
frightened), white as snow (very white in colour), red as a beet/beetroot
(very red in the face, to grow/become red in the face), a red letter day,
black sheep, not as black as you are painted, (in) black and white, out
of the blue, give smb the green light etc.
Modulation is also applied to translating culture specific idiomatic
collocations such as: red brick (university) (in England) – a university
without any tradition (antonyms Oxford and Cambridge); red cent (Am) 1
cent copper coin); red coat (Br) British soldier; the red ensign (Br) the
commercial flag of the British fleet; red eye (Am., informal) cheap
whiskey, etc.
However, as regards the shifts from popular to learned vocabulary,
the question may arise: What will be the degree of the target readers (TRs)’
perception of a ST like, for example, Ion Creangă’s Memories of My
Boyhood if such changes were operated ?
36
We consider that the changes combining modulation with
transposition may hold valid in situations where the TL lacks any other
means of linguistic expression, according to the expectations based on the
translator’s linguistic competence, or on the ‘equivalents’ listed in a good
bilingual dictionary, or, sometimes, on good collaboration with a TL native
translator on condition he has good knowledge of the SL. For example,
ST3: Nică, băiet mai mare şi înaintat la învăţătură pînă la
genunchiul broaştei, era sfădit cu mine din pricina Smărăndiţei
popei, căreia […] i-am tras într-o zi o bleandă pentru că nu-mi da
pace să prind muşte […]; şi unde nu s-apucă de însemnat la greşele
cu ghiotura pe o draniţă […] “Măi!!! S-a trecut de şagă, zic eu, în
gândul meu; încă nu m-a gătit de ascultat, şi câte au să mai fie !” Şi
unde n-a început a mi se face negru pe dinaintea ochilor şi a
tremura de mânios […]
Şi când mă uit înapoi, doi hojmalăi se şi luase după mine şi unde
nui încep a fugi de-mi scăpărau picioarele; […] cotigesc în stînga
şi intru în ograda unui megieş al nostru […]; şi se vede că i-a orbit
Dumnezeu de nu m-au putut găbui […]
A doua zi a venit părintele pe la noi, s-a înţeles cu tata, m-au luat ei
cu binişorul şi m-au dus iar la şcoală “Că, dă, e păcat să rămîi fără
leac de învăţătură, zicea părintele; doar ai trecut de bucheludeazla
şi bucheriţazdra […]”
Şi părintele mă ie la dragoste, şi Smărăndiţa începe din cînd în cînd
a mă fura cu ochiul, şi bădiţa Vasile mă pune să ascult pe alţii şi
altă făină se măcina la moară!
(from Ion Creangă, Amintiri din copilărie, pp. 11-12)
TT3: Nică, who was older than me and whose scholarship was a
trifle more than non-existent, had quarreled with me on account of
little Smaranda, whom […] one day I had been forced to shove
away because she would interfere with my catching flies […] and
didn’t just score mistakes wholesale on a piece of shingle; […]
“My word, this is past a joke,” I said to myself. He has not yet
finished examining me, and think of all the mistakes to come!” All
of a sudden, everything went black in front of me and I began to
tremble with anger […].
A glance over my shoulder showed me two hulking brutes already
on my tracks. Then didn’t I just start running so fast that my feet
struck sparks out of the ground! […] I turned left and entered the
yard of one of our neighbours. […]. Surely the Lord blinded them,
37
so that they could not find me! […]. The next day, however, the
priest came to our house and settled things with Father; they calmed
me down and took me back to school again. ”For really, it’s a pity
to be left without any education,” the priest was saying, “you are
now past your ABCs. […].
The priest put me down in his good books and little Smaranda
flashed a glance at me now and then; Master Vasile entrusted the
coaching of other boys to me, and, as the saying goes, a different
kind of flour was now being ground in the old mill.
(translated by Ana Cartianu and R.C. Johnston).
1.4. Chesterman (1997: 104) includes converses and paraphrase
among the strategies of modulation. The former expresses the same state of
affairs from opposite viewpoints. However, with the latter, specific
elements of meaning are disregarded in favour of the overall sense of a
larger unit. Consider, for example, the following excerpt:
ST4: Both parties possessed certain claims to distinction.
(from H. James, The Lanscape Painter)
TT4: Ambele părţi pretindeau că se deosebesc prin ceva anume.
(translated and commented by Izabela Merilă, Ana Maria Ursu,
Daniela Croitoru, Gabriela Colipcă)
ST5: She was divided in two and the portions tossed impartially to
the disputants.
(from H. James, What Maisie Knew)
TT5: Ea a fost împăţită în două, iar jumătăţile au fost aruncate fără
părtinire celor care şi-o revendicau.
(translated and commented by Izabela Merilă, Ana Maria Ursu)
ST6: The most popular with Locksley’s bwellwishers was that he
had backed out […] (from H. James, The Lanscape Painter)
TT6: Cel mai frecvent comentariu printre aceia care era urau de
partea lui Locksley era că el fusese cel care renunţase […]
(translated and commented by Daniela Croitoru, Gabriela Colipcă,
in Croitoru – coord. – 2004).
38
ST7: [...] for the sider too the prospect opened out, taking the
pleasant form of a superabundance of matter for desultory
conversation.
(from H. James, What Maisie Knew)
TT7: […] pentru cei care erau de partea unuia sau a celuillat, se
deschidea o perspectivă ce lua forma plăcută a numeroaselor
subiecte de discuţie inutile.
(translated and commented by Gabriela Dima, in Croitoru – coord. –
2004).
R. Salkie (2001: 437) considers converses and paraphrases to be
“good examples of a translator arriving at the same message using different
means, which is the way of conceiving modulation”.
In P. Newmark’s opinion, converses (called reversal of terms, also
mentioning Nida’s ‘conversive’ terms) are usually optional for making
language sound natural: e.g. buy/ sell, lend/ borrow. He also mentions the
English nouns loan, for which there are alternatives in other languages, and
credit, or debt depending on the point of view (Newmark 1988: 89).
1.5. As a matter of fact, P. Newmark (ibid.) considers Vinay and
Darbelnet’s categorization of modulation unconvincing. He considers
modulation to be one of the translation procedures in order of closeness,
coming the second after the componential analysis (Newmark 1991: 3).
According to his own categorization, the translation procedures
following modulation are: descriptive equivalent, functional equivalent,
cultural equivalent, synonymy, and paraphrase. He suggests that a general
principle of closeness in translation is that “normal or natural social usage
must be rendered by its normal, equally frequent equivalent in any text”
(Newmark 1991: 4).
2. Modulation lays stress not on words, but on what they refer to.
The most important reason for the translators’ use of modulation is that
“they believe that in a particular context, a span of text would be more
naturally formulated in a different way in the TT from the way it appears in
the ST” (Salkie 1997). The essential difference between modulation and
transposition, as underlined by Salkie, is that “Whereas with transposition
the translator’s primary concern is the grammatical resources available in
the TT, with modulation the principal consideration is the events of states
of affairs that the words refer to. In case of transposition, the guiding
question is how would the TL naturally express it?; with modulation, the
39
question is how would a speaker of the TL naturally conceive of it? (Salkie
2001: 437).
However, the skeptical conclusion which we share is that there are
no criteria for considering some text span as an instance of modulation and
excluding others. We consider that translation studies and contrastive
insights may benefit from considering more translation strategies in
analysing translation corpora.
2.1. Modulation is related to the analysability of idioms, i.e. the
degree in which the concepts (expressed by the constituent elements)
encoded in the idiom string can be used to access assumptions in memory
which will contribute to the derivation of the intended interpretation. In its
turn, it is related to transparency and conventionality (Vega-Moreno 2002).
The notion of transparency refers to the ease with which these assumptions
are accessed in a particular context and implications are derived. The notion
of conventionality refers to the relation between a certain word string and a
certain semantic representation. The fact should be mentioned that this
notion is always combined with an element of arbitrariness as to why a
certain linguistic label is used to express a certain conceptual
representation. For example, there is arbitrariness as to what something
costs an arm and a leg, and something else costs the earth.
In terms of analysability, idioms are classified into:
analyzable/compositional / decomposable idioms (those whose constituent
parts contribute to the overall idiomatic interpretation) and
unanalysable/non-compositional/non-decomposable idioms (those idioms
whose constituent elements do not contribute to the overall idiomatic
interpretation (Cacciari and Gluckberg 1991, Nunberg et al 1994, Titone
and Connine 1999).
The analysability of idioms is closely related to the theory of
relevance. One aspect is that for some idioms, one of the concepts encoded
in the idiom string acts as a better clue to the intended interpretation than
the rest: e.g. bark up the wrong tree, break the ice, spill the beans. There
are many idioms which are pragmatically enriched in every context: e.g. to
live from hand to mouth (ODEI), not to be worth a straw (LDCE), a man of
straw (ODEI), to bridle one’s tongue (ODEI), to look for a needle in the
haystack (LDCE) etc,., or the Romanian idioms a tăia frunze la cîini
(DLR), a prinde cheag (DEX), a se strînge funia la par (Dumistrăcel 1980:
187), a încresta în grindă (id.: 172), a merge ca ceasul (DEX), a pune
fuiorul (DLR), a-i pune/ parcă i-a pus sare pe coadă (DLR), a lovi sub
centură (Leviţchi 1981), a-şi băga nasul în (id., ibid.), a călca- merge pe
ouă (DEX), etc.
40
The result of a compositional processing of the idiom string in
context would often be an automatic narrowing or broadening of the
encoded concepts, so that metaphorical, loose interpretations may be
derived: e.g. to slip between one’s fingers → a-i scăpa printre degete, to
wash one’s hands of → a se spăla pe mîini de ceva, to go downhill → a
umbla lela/ a o lua la vale; a umbla treanca-fleanca (DLR).
The denotative vs. pragmatic (non-denotative) distinction can be
better understood by the fact that the denotative word strings which are
semantically encoded and stylistically marked may be parts of a sentence or
they may be closed units uttered under special circumstances as insertion
formulas after interrupting discourse: e.g. 1) na-ţi-o frîntă că ţi-am dres-o!
→ that’s torn it! (iron.) there you are; na-ţi-o frîntă că mi-am dres-o! →
now you’ve gone and done it!, 2) prinde orbul, scoate-i ochii! → you may
whistle for it!; you can’t take the breeks off a Highlander; (proverb) one
can’t get blood out of a stone; 3) vorba dulce mult aduce → good words
cost nothing and are worth much; there are more flies caught with honey
than with vinegar; fine words dress ill deeds; 4) vorbă multă sărăcia
omului! (proverb) much cry and little wool; many words will not fill a
bushel; all talk and no cinder; brevity is the soul of wit; (approx.) fine/ fair/
soft words butter no parsnips (Leviţchi, Bantaş, Gheorghiţoiu 1981). Such
idioms do not have a proper denotative value but a philosophical
metaphorical one. This holds valid with English idioms such as: 1) life is
cheap! (meaning that people’s lives have little value so if they die it is not
important); 2) life is just a bowl of cherries (used humorously to mean that
life is not very pleasant); 3) live the life of Riley (informal) (live a happy life
without work, problems or worries); 4) life’s too short (meaning that you
should not waste time doing or worrying about unimportant things); not on
your life! (informal) (meaning square refusal to do something); 5) that’s life
(meaning that you cannot prevent bad things from happening and that you
must accept them); 6) like it or lump it ! (meaning that you must accept an
unpleasant or embarrassing situation because you cannot change it); 7) live
and learn (Am.) (used when you have just discovered something that you
did not know) (CIDI).
Modulation is also used to render idioms with two (or more)
different meanings considering the semantic and pragmatic dimensions of
the context: e.g. get a loaf of that! (slang) (a) meaning surprise or approval;
b) used when you see somebody who is very sexually attractive). It may
also happen that the equivalents of idioms such as a face din ţânţar
armăsar, a da cinstea pe ruşine şi pacea pe gîlceavă, a fi scump la tărîţe şi
ieftin la făină, a-şi băga nasul unde nu-i fierbe oala will be stylistically
unmarled in the TL.
41
Modulation also includes shifts from nominal idioms to simple
nouns or combinations in the TL: e.g. ups and downs, heart and soul, give
and take, flesh and blood, part and parcel, wear and tear, pins and needles,
odds and ends, rank and file, ins and outs, etc. (LDCE). There are also
shifts from idioms with proper names to idiomatic phrases with common
nouns or to simple adjectives: e.g. keep up with the Joneses → a se ţine în
pas cu moda, a nu fi mai prejos decât alţii: Heath Robinson → improvizat,
ciudat.
The shifts from phrasal verbs, which are specific to English, to their
Romanian equivalents are the most numerous and some of the most
difficult to translate. Some of the nominalizations have been borrowed by
Romanian: e.g. hold up, play back (ODCIE). They have verbal idioms as
their equivalents from which they were formed by conversion: e.g. shut
down, show-off, hand out (Quirk 1972: 1012).
Moreover, with idioms expressing emotional states, there may be
shifts from one type of emotion to a different one: e.g. beat one’s breast
(expressing pain) → a se bate cu pumnul în piept (expressing praise).
Special attention should be paid to the shifts from the idioms
specific to the SL to those specific to the TL: e.g. kiss the Blarney stone,
fight like the Kilkeny cats (Avădanei 2000: 130), carry coal to Newcastle,
etc.; a bate apa-n piuă (Dimitrescu), a da sfoară în ţară, a lua la vale
(Dumistrăcel), a-şi aprinde paie în cap, a prinde în horă, a încresta în
grindă, a-i tăia nasul (Avădanei 2000: 131), etc.
We consider the following excerpt from Ion Luca Caragiale’s Conu
Leonida faţă cu reacţiunea to be very interesting and relevant.
ST8: Leonidas: „Mă, nene, ăsta nu-i glumă; cu ăsta, cum văz eu, nu
merge ca de cu fitecine: ia mai bine să mă iau eu cu politică pe
lângă el, să mi-l fac cumătru.” Şi de colea până colea, tura-vura,
c-o fi tunsă, c-o fi rasă, l-a pus pe Galibardi de i-a botezat un copil.
Efimitsa (cu ironie): Şi-a cunoscut omul naşul !
L (întrerupând-o): Da, da întreabă-mă să-ţi spun ce fel de oameni
sunt.
E: Ceva tot unul şi unul.
L: Ăi mai prima, domnule, aleşi pe sprânceană, care mai de care,
dă cu puşca-n Dumnezeu; volintiri, mă rog: azi aici, mâine-n
Focşani, ce-am avut şi ce-am pierdut !
42
L (asemenea): […] Da' o să-mi zici că cu încetul se face oţetul, ori
că mai rabdă, că n-a intrat zilele-n sac. (Cu tărie:) D-apoi bine,
frate, până când tot rabdă azi, rabdă mâine ?
E: Adică, zău, bobocule, de ! eu, cu mintea ca de femeie, pardon să
te-ntreb şi eu un lucru: ce procopseală ar fi cu republica ?
L: Ei ! bravos ! ş-asta-i bună ! Cum ce procopseală ? Vezi asta-i
vorba: cap ai, minte ce-ţi mai trebuie ?
TT8: Leonidas: “I see he’s not a nobody / he's not a man to trifle
with like with everyone. I think I’d better mind my politics and
make him my godfather”. And what with one thing and another,
to cut a long story short, he made Galibardi godfather to one of his
children.
Efimitsa (ironically): So our man found his match!
L (interrupting her): Yes... but why don’t you ask me what sort of
men they are.
E: I guess the best he can get.
L: The best of the best, each of them well chosen to go through
heaven and hell without any scruple; volunteees, after all. Today
here, tomorrow in China, so got so gone!
L (also from his bed): […] I know you're going to tell me that many
a pickle makes a mickle, or that there are still days to come, and I
must wait. (With emphasis) Look! I know that slow and steady
wins the race, and that patience brings everything about, but how
long can we wait? It can't go on like this, my dear! People have
had enough of tyranny, they need a republic!
E: Well, are you sure, dearie? I for one, judging with my brains of
a woman, may I ask you one thing: what good could there be in a
republic?
L: Good for you! I like that! What d'you mean what good could
be in that? You know there’s more beauty than brains.
43
2.2. Modulation is the relationship between the ST and the TT if
both of them yield the same mental representation. In this respect, the
relevance theory (Sperber and Wilson 1995), according to which someone
who hears an utterance or reads a text constructs a mental representation as
a result of the interpretive process, is very helpful to translation. As A.-E.
Gutt (1991) puts it, “a translator’s goal is to produce a text in the TL which,
in the right context, will enable the reader to construct a mental
representation that resembles the one constructed by the reader of the ST”
(Gutt 1991: 163). Thus, the ST and the TT can have different semantic
interpretations but yield the same mental representation. Therefore, at this
level they are equivalent.
The shifts caused by structural differences are not likely to affect the
thematic structure very much. However, when the focus of the sentence is
changed, the impact on the target reader (TR) will be different. Consider
the following excerpt:
ST9: I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed,
delightened me; what they approved I reverenced. They loved their
sequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique structure –
with its low roof […] – found a charm both potent and permanent.
(from Ch. Bronte, Jane Eyre)
TT9: Îmi plăcea să citesc ceea ce le plăcea şi lor: ceea ce pentru ele
era o bucurie, pentru mine era o încîntare; preţuiam tot ceea ce
ele apreciau. Ţineau foarte mult la locuinţa lor retrasă. Şi eu, la
rîndul meu, găseam un farmec pururea irezistibil în căsuţa aceea
cenuşie şi veche - cu acoperişul ei jos […].
(translated and commented by Gabriela Colipcă, Anca Irinel
Teleoacă, in Croitoru – coord. + 2004: 50)
The translators’ comment was that in the published versions “the
gradation and emphasis characterizing the ST were missed (id. ibid.). The
focus was changed in the TT.
2.3. An analysis of the shifts made in the TT helps to understand the
decision-making process underlying the product of translation and to infer
from it the translational norms adopted by the translator.
According to Van Leuven-Zwart (1990), the microstructural shifts
(semantic, stylistic, pragmatic, modulation) are reflected in the
macrostructural shifts concerning the interpersonal ideational and textual
function of language. S. Laviosa comments upon Van Lauven-Zwart’s
opinion about word order and cohesion to be the areas where “the effect of
44
the microstructural changes are noticeable in the textual and interpersonal
functions of language and at the discourse level” (Laviosa 2002: 78).
Such analyses may go beyond the descriptive examination of
parallel corpora and may try to explain the shifts in terms of the norms
adopted by the translator. Generally, the shifts appear to conform to the TL
norms.
2.4. Modulation refers to situations of asymmetry between
languages, for instance, in communicative interactions in oral interpreting
of specialized languages, and in literary translations, with the types of shifts
mentioned above.
A study of the shifts from ST to TT is also extremely useful in
assessing the norms that characterize language in parallel specialized corpora,
and in developing hypotheses regarding the links that exist between text types,
translation strategies and the norms governing the patterning of translational
behaviour against a given socio-cultural background. According to S. Laviosa
(2002: 86), the strategies of modulation and transposition with modulation
correlate with legal texts very well.
To conclude, whatever the type of text may be, the translator’s
ability to use the TL appropriately is an absolutely fundamental requisite.
The translator has to overcome the difficulties in formulating the sentences
in the TL. The translation strategy of modulation, combined with some
other strategy (strategies) will help the translator formulate the TT in such a
w ay that it may sound natural to a TL native speaker.
Bibliography:
o Avădanei, C. (2000) Construcţii idiomatice în limbile română şi engleză,
Iaşi: Editura Univ. “Al. I. Cuza”.
o Cacciari, C. and Glucksberg, S. (1991) “Understanding idiomatic
expressions: the contribution of word meanings”, in G.B. Simpson
(ed.), Understanding Word and Sentence, Amsterdam: Elsevier, pp.
217-240.
o Chesterman, A. (1997) Memes of Translation, Amsterdam, John
Benjamins Publishing Company.
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problèmes de traduction, Gap : Ophrys.
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Ed. Virginia
o Gutt, E.-A. (1991) Translation and Relevance, Oxford: Backwell.
45
o Gutt, E.-A. (2000) Translation and Relevance. Cognition and Context,
Manchester and Boston: St.Jerome Publishing.
o Hofstede, G. (1991) Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind,
London: McGraw-Hill.
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Interpreters and Mediators, Manchester, U.K. and Northampton MA:
St. Jerome Publishing.
o Kelly, L. (1979) The True Interpreter, Oxford: Blackwell.
o Newmark, P. (1988) A Textbook of Translation, Hemel Hempstead:
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70/3, pp. 491-538.
o Salkie, R. (1997) “Naturalness and contrastive linguistics”, in B.
Lewandowska-Tomaszczyk and P.J. Melia (eds.), Proceedings of PALC
’97, Lódź: University of Lódź, (1997), 297-312.
o Salkie, R. (2001) “A new Look at Modulation”, in Translation and
Meaning, part 5, pp. 433-441, Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing
Company.
o Sperber, D. and Wilson D. (1995) Relevance (2nd edition), Oxford:
Blackwell.
o Titone, D., Connine, C. (1999) “On the compositional and
noncompositional nature of idiomatic expressions”, in Journal of
Pragmatics, 31/3, pp. 1655-1674.
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Duculot.
o Vega-Moreno, R.E. (2001) Representing and Processing Idioms, UCL
Working papers in Linguistics, 13, pp. 73-107.
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de l’anglais, Paris : Didier.
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and English, translated and edited by Juan Sager and M.-J. Hamel,
Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company.
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and J. Simpson (eds.), The Encyclopaedia of Language and Linguistics,
vol. 9, Oxford: Pergamon, pp. 4747-4756.
Corpus:
o Cambridge International Dictionary of Idioms (1998), Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press (CIDI)
o Caragiale, I.L. (1983) Conu Leonida faţă cu reacţiunea, Bucureşti:
Editura Ion Creangă.
46
o Cowie, A.P. et al. (1975) Oxford Dictionary of Current Idiomatic
English, vol., 1-2, Oxford University Press.
o Creangă, I. (1995) Memories of My Boyhood, translated by Ana
Cartianu and R.C. Johnston, Sibiu: Editura Universităţii „Lucian
Blaga”.
o Croitoru, E. (2004) English through Translations, Galaţi: Editura
Fundaţiei Universitare „Dunărea de Jos”.
o *** Dicţionartul explicativ al limbii române (1975) Bucureşti: Editura
Academiei (DEX)
o *** Dicţionartul limbii române (1937) Bucureşti: Editura Academiei
(DLR)
o Dimitrescu, F. (1982) Dicţionarul de cuvinte recente, Bucureşti: Ed.
Albatros.
o Dumistrăcel, S. (1997) Expresii româneşti, Iaşi: Ed. Institutul European.
o Leviţchi, L., Bantaş, A., Gheorghiţoiu, A. (1981) Dicţionar frazeologic
român-englez, Bucureşti: Ed. Ştiinţifică şi Enciclopedică.
o *** Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English (1995) Longman
Dictionaries.
ASPECTS OF TESTING ENGLISH FOR SPECIFIC PURPOSES
Ágnes G. Havril
Corvinus University of Budapest. Centre of Foreign Languages for
Social Sciences
The explosion of the second industrial and scientific revolution in
this century has caused English to become the ‘lingua franca’ of the
international community. English language became a natural link within
multi-cultural, multi-lingual societies and a vehicle for international
communication. As a result of the above mentioned social, economic,
technological and scientific changes teaching and testing ESP have been
improving all over the world. We see ESP movement all around us in
colleges and universities (English for Academic Purposes) and in adult
schools (English for Vocational Purposes) as well. ESP testing is largely
addressed to adult learners who require English language competence to
further their education or to perform a social or working role.
After a short history of ESP and the development of several ESP
testing theories, a precise definition of specific purpose testing as
communicative language testing will be given. The characteristics of
47
communicative general language testing and communicative ESP testing
will be compared and contrasted.
A research on the nature of specific purpose language ability is
reviewed, which indicates that specific purpose language ability is an
interaction between specific purpose background knowledge and language
ability.
1. A short history of ESP
Certainly, a great deal about the origins of ESP could be written.
Notably, there are three reasons common to the emergence of all ESP: (1)
the demands of a Brave New World, (2) a revolution in linguistics, and (3) a
focus on the language learner. (Hutchinson and Waters 1987)
Hutchinson and Waters note that two key historical periods breathed
life into ESP. First, the end of the Second World War brought with it an
‘…age of enormous and unprecedented expansion in scientific, technical
and economic activity on an international scale, and for various reasons,
most notably the economic power of the United States in the post-war
world, the role [of international language] fell to English’ (1987: 6).
Second, the Oil Crisis of the early 1970s resulted in Western money and
knowledge flowing into the oil-rich countries. The language of this
knowledge became English.
This new focus on international markets and cooperation in
technology and commerce motivated people to begin learning English for
specific purposes. In reaction to these new market demands, a new
approach to English language learning emerged. This new approach
became more specialised branch of general language learning described in
terms of learners’ purposes for study, namely purposes general,
occupational/vocational and academic in nature. So English has previously
decided its own destiny, it now became subject to the wishes, needs, and
demands of people other than language teachers.
The second key reason cited as having a tremendous impact on the
emergence of ESP was a revolution in linguistics. Whereas traditional
linguists set out to describe the features of language, revolutionary pioneers
in linguistics began to focus on the ways in which language is used in real
life communications. They also pointed out one significant discovery that
spoken and written English vary. In other words, given the particular
context in which English is used, the variant of English will change. This
idea was taken one step further. If a language in different situations varies,
then tailoring language instruction to meet the needs of learners in specific
contexts is also possible.
48
ESP teaching and learning has been strongly influenced by the
contemporary emergence of the communicative approach to language
teaching. Communicative language teaching, in contrast to more
traditional approaches to language teaching, focuses on:
1. effective and socially appropriate communication not only
grammatical patterns,
2. learner needs and interests in course content not only a set of
linguistic criteria, and
3. meaning not only form and correctness.
ESP has made use of the communicative language teaching paradigm,
because it focuses on real language use outside the classroom.
The final reason Hutchinson and Waters (1986) cite as having
influenced the emergence of ESP has less to do with linguistics and
everything to do with psychology. The Age of the Person is described by
Curran (1982) and others (Tarone and Yule 1991) as humanistic and
participatory learning, where the learner, self-determined and involved, is at
the helm, facilitated by an egalitarian teacher. The focus in this approach is
on the learning process itself, with what learners bring to the learning
process, in terms of personal experience and needs. Teachers are resources
and co-learners who support learning and act as catalysts. Learner
autonomy and learner and teacher interdependence are the aims of this
approach.
ESP, then, has embraced this learner-centred approach to
language teaching. Learner-centredness is demonstrated in asking learners
to articulate their reasons and needs for study, and through learner
involvement and input into course content and outcomes. The approach,
while focusing namely on processes, does not ignore product. ESP teaching
seeks to have learners meet the real-world demands for communication and
interaction, whether oral or written and active or passive skills are required.
2. Assessing English for Special Purposes
One of the main concerns of my research is to arrive at a firm
description with respect to the identity of ESP tests, and to demonstrate
clearly how ESP testing can be distinguished from general English as a
Foreign Language (EFL) testing and, furthermore, how communicative
language ability can be assessed.
2.1 EFL and ESP tests
There has been a consensus among the experts that ESP testing is a
special form of communicative language testing. Though there are a lot
49
of similarities between the EFL and ESP tests (such as target-orientation;
objective testing; reliability and validity; test methods; test development;
piloting; marking criteria; practicality; washback effect etc.), ESP tests
differ from general language tests in two basic ways. First, the tasks in ESP
tests reflect specific language use more than general tests do. Second, nonlinguistic background knowledge plays a more significant role in ESP
tests.
Widdowson (1983) claims that the ESP problem is rather
atheoretical, and says that ESP has no status in theory. Davies (1990)
agrees that ESP tests are not theoretically justified, but he states that, ‘tests
of Language/English for Specific Purposes (LSP/ESP) are indeed possible,
but they are distinguished from one another on non-theoretical terms. Their
variation depends on practical and ad hoc distinctions that cannot be
sustained.’ (Davies 1990:62)
Although there are many concepts offering a detailed theoretical
rationale for ESP testing, other approaches underline the distinctive features
between ESP and EFL tests. Table 2 contrasts the characteristics of EFL
and ESP tests as seen by West (1998).
Table 1: Contrastive features of EFL and ESP tests (West 1998:50)
GENERAL EFL TESTS
ESP TESTS
General or social content
Specific/specifiable content
Wide test population
Narrow/closely defined test population
Objectives derived from textbooks or
syllabus
Objectives derived from target situation
Predictive validity is rarely important
Predictive validity is important
Detailed needs analysis is difficult
Detailed needs analysis is straightforward
Often concentrate on competence/usage
Usually concentrate on performance /use
Four skills given equal coverage
Skills tested according to need
Skills usually tested in isolation
Skills may be tested in combination
Texts/tasks often not authentic
Texts/tasks normally authentic
Scoring often norm-referenced
Scoring normally criterion-referenced
50
It is generally accepted that ESP tests cater for a narrower test population
than EFL tests and they aim to assess specific knowledge in terms of skills,
functions or subject-specific fields. ESP test constructors may decide to test
linguistic ability separately, or to give equal weight to listening, speaking,
reading and writing. Most ESP testing teams give equal coverage to the
four basic skills and reject the idea of integrated skills-testing. These
decisions represent a practical compromise since the framework intends to
cater for various disciplinary areas where the importance of these skills
might be very different. (The needs analysis can explore the target language
use situations clearly.) Of course, the testing of integrated skills would
result in higher situational authenticity and it would make language
performances less comparable across disciplines. Certainly, the overall
picture is not as straightforward as this comparison might suggest, since a
number of EFL proficiency tests set out to assess use as well as usage and
employ criterion-referenced marking.
We can say that the right column of Table 2 summarises the main
characteristics of performance-based ESP tests, where the constructors, by
means of different needs analysis techniques, first look at the discourse
domain associated with the special field to be tested in terms of skills,
functions and tasks (i.e. target language use situations), and then select
representative tasks to be sampled by test items. The test-takers’ linguistic
performance is usually compared to criteria derived from the target
language use in the form of ‘can-do’ statements. Thus, the predictive
validity of ESP tests, in general, is assumed to be high.
2. 2 Theories of ESP and ESP testing
Several theories have been developed over the past few decades.
Hutchinson and Waters (1987) define ESP as a learning-centred approach
and see ESP’s ‘coming of age’ with the introduction of the target situation
analysis, which followed register and rhetorical analysis. They emphasise
the need to concentrate ’less on differences and more on what various
specialisms have in common’ (1987:19). In their view the primacy of
language use over specialist content is stressed. With regard to language
use, they follow Munby’s (1978) watershed approach which focuses on
target language use analysis and concentrates on functions and skills.
Dudley-Evans and St John (1998) take a more cautious stance when
they claim the primacy of language use and state that ‘ESP is centred on the
language (grammar, lexis, and register), skills, discourse and genres
appropriate to these activities’ (1998:5). At this stage ESP is defined as
real-life instances of academic and professional communication which has
to be taught and tested.
51
The latest developments in ESP/LSP testing make a compromise
which resembles the Dudley-Evans and St John approach and it does not
examine the candidate’s specialist factual knowledge, although special
background knowledge plays a significant role in test performances.
Consequently, ESP assessment criteria formulate candidates’ output more
in linguistic terms than in the successful completion of the task itself.
The most up-to-date and commonly accepted theory of ESP testing
was developed by Douglas (2000). He discusses three problems in
ESP/LSP testing, and gives a theoretical justification and framework for
this testing. The main concerns of his approach are the following. In ESP
testing (1) the test content and the test methods are derived from a needsanalysis of the characteristics of the specific target language use situation.
Consequently, (2) the test tasks and content are authentically
representative of tasks in the target situation, which (3) allow an
interaction between the test taker’s language ability and specific purpose
content knowledge, and the test tasks. The tests, constructed by the
disciplines of the above, allow the examiners to make inferences about the
test taker’s capacity to use language in a specific purpose domain. (Douglas
2000:19)
The highly valid characteristic of ESP tasks and content can be
achieved by detailed needs-analysis of specific texts, carried out before
constructing the ESP test. In the process of needs analysis the best way is to
use the SSI technique (Spolsky 1995), which is based on the cooperation of
a subject specialist informant and a professional language teacher.
The role of needs analysis in the LSP/ESP setting evolved through
similar phases of development. Munby (1978) is best known for his
development of a Communication Needs Processor, which was a tool for
analysing what language would be required for various target situations
based on analysis of purposes, topics, settings, participants and mediums.
Thus we can find out the communicative needs that are prerequisite to the
appropriate specification of what to be taught and what to be tested. Tarone
and Yule (1991) suggest that determining what to teach/test involves both the
learning aims and language aims of the learner. They make clear that it is the
learner and the learner’s knowledge, perceptions and needs that are the
greatest source of information in planning language courses/tests. Brindley
(1989) observes that two types of needs analyses have emerged: product and
process. A product-orientation to needs analysis involves analysis of target
communication situations. A process-orientation defines needs as ‘the
situation’. The difference between product and process needs analyses
correlate with Hutchinson and Waters’ (1987) distinctions between target
needs (What does the learner need to do in the target situation?), and learning
52
needs (What does the learner need to do in order to learn?). The focus on the
latter is what is considered a learner-centred approach to needs analysis
itself.
Needs analysis before ESP test construction, must focus on specific
information about the communicative behaviours of language users.
The authenticity (Bárdos 2002) of tasks does not refer to the nature
of spoken/written texts said/written by natives, but it means that the test
tasks share critical features of tasks in the target language use situation
which are of interest to the test-takers. It is probable that the test-takers will
carry out the test task in the same way as the task would be carried out in
the actual target situation (i.e. business or economic situation).
Consequently, ESP test tasks must simulate the features of a target
language use situation and thus reflect real life situations.
Another crucial part of Douglas’s concept is specific purpose
language ability, which is based on Widdowson’s theory (1979) of
authenticity. Since the publication of Widdowson’s Explorations in applied
linguistics (1979) authenticity is viewed in the following way:
Not as a quality residing in instances of language but as a quality
which is bestowed upon them, created by the response of the
receiver. Authenticity in this way is a function of the interaction
between the reader/hearer and the text which incorporates the
intensions of the writer/speaker… Authenticity has to do with
appropriate response. (Widdowson 1979:166)
In response to this, authenticity is a function of an interaction between a
language user and a discourse, and it proposes two aspects of authenticity:
situational and interactional. The situational aspect is composed of
authentic characteristics derived from a needs analysis of tasks in the target
language use situation, the features of which are realised as test task
characteristics. Thus, situational authenticity can be demonstrated by
making the relationship between the test task characteristics and the
features of tasks in the target language use situation explicit. The
interactional aspect of authenticity involves the interaction of the test
taker’s specific purpose language ability with the test task. The extent to
which the test-taker is engaged in the task (by responding to the features of
the target language use situation embodied in the test task characteristics),
is a measure of interactional authenticity. Douglas (2000) also
emphasises that both these aspects are present in specific purpose language
tests, and claims that these inseparable duel components engage the test
takers’ communicative language ability. In conclusion, he states that
performances on specific purpose test tasks can be interpreted as evidence
of specific purpose communicative language ability. Of course, the
53
measurement of specific purpose language ability depends on the
interaction between the language knowledge of the test-taker and the
specificity of the test input.
Before explaining the terminology of specific purpose language
ability, I will have a look at the models of language ability.
3. Assessing communicative language ability
3. 1 Models of communicative language competence
The definition of language proficiency has always been an
intriguing task for those who have tried to measure or assess this multiplex
trait in any way.
The early models of language ability proposed by Lado (1961) or
Caroll (1961) distinguished between knowledge components
(phonology/graphology, grammar, vocabulary) and skills components
(reading, writing, listening, speaking), but did not say how these
components were interrelated in the concept of language proficiency.
It was Chomsky (1965), who first made distinction between the
notions of competence and performance asserting that competence is ‘the
speaker-hearer’s knowledge of his language’, and this is different from
‘performance which is the actual use of language in concrete situations’
(Chomsky 1965:4). Chomsky conceives of knowledge as a mental state
which has an absolute quality.
In contrast to Chomsky’s (1965) obvious interest in the knowledge
of language, Hymes (1972) was concerned with the fact that a crucial factor
of this knowledge is appropriate language use. Communication is always
context-specific and depends on the negotiation of meaning between
participants. So Hymes (1972) introduces a socio-linguistic element. His
two dimensional model thus reflects a broadened view of communicative
competence, which comprises both aspects of knowledge and ability for
use. The concept of ability for use encompasses both cognitive and noncognitive factors which are not necessarily specific to language
performance alone. For Hymes, it is part of competence to know ‘when to
speak, when not … what to talk about, with whom, when, where and in
what manner’ (1972:27).
Theorists assert that the communicative competence of a foreign
language learner has to be viewed differently from that of a native speaker.
Restrictions in a foreign language user’s grammatical and sociolinguistic
competence necessitate an additional skill, which came to be called
strategic competence by Canale and Swain (1980), later modified by
Canale (1983). The components of sociolinguistic competence
54
(sociocultural rules of use and rules of discourse) were separated by Canale
and thus, he ended up with the famous four-component model of
communicative competence:
1. Grammatical competence (concerned with the mastery of the
language code);
2. Sociolinguistic competence (addresses the appropriateness of
utterances both in terms of meaning and form);
3. Discourse competence (concerns mastery of how to organise speech
or writing into a cohesive and coherent whole);
4. Strategic competence (composed of verbal and non-verbal
communication strategies to enhance the effectiveness of message
conveyance).
This formulation of communicative competence thus includes the
knowledge of how language is used to achieve a particular communicative
purpose.
Bachman’s (1990a) model of Communicative Language Ability
(CLA) features similar characteristics but is based on research in the field of
language testing. He ‘attempts to characterise the process by which the
various components interact with each other and with the context in which
language use occurs’ (Bachman 1990a: 84). His proposed framework of
communicative language ability encompasses three components:
1. Language competence (specific knowledge components utilised in
language use) consisting of organisational and pragmatic
competence.
2. Strategic competence, which means the mental capacity for
implementing the components of language competence in
contextualised communicative language use and establishes the
relationship between language competence and features of the
situation.
3. Psychophysiological mechanism referring to the neurological and
psychological process behind the physical execution of language.
Mc Namara (1995) notes that Bachman’s framework is a major step on the
way to conceptualising language performance in test settings by separating
strategic competence from language competence and thus enabling test
developers to make theoretically grounded claims of measuring
communicative language ability.
Bachman’s model was revised by Bachman and Palmer (1996), and
underlined the fact that language use has an interactional nature and that
interactions are complex and multiple. Both language test performance and
non-test language use are proposed to be described by the same
components:
55
1. personal characteristics,
2. topical knowledge,
3. affective schemata,
4. language knowledge/ability,
5. strategic competence.
Language knowledge (previously termed language competence by
Bachman 1990a) comprises (1) organisational knowledge (controlling the
formal structure of language), (2) pragmatic knowledge (relating utterances
to their meanings and speaker intentions) and is available for use by (3)
metacognitive strategies termed strategic competence. The three identified
operations of the metacognitive components are goal setting, assessment,
and planning, which provide a cognitive management function in language
use.
3. 2 ESP tests as communicative language testing
In his book of Communicative language testing Weir (1990)
involves all the above mentioned concepts, and gives a precise and detailed
definition of communicative tests:
In testing communicative language ability we are evaluating
samples of performance, in certain specific context of use, created
under particular test constraints, for what they can tell us about a
candidate’s communicative capacity or language ability. (Weir
1990:7)
The key-terms of Weir’s definition are the following: communicative
language ability, specific context of use, test constraints and capacity.
Douglas (2000) proposes that specific purpose language testing has the
same characteristics since specific context of use refers to the field
specific context, and in these ESP test situations the candidates’
communicative language ability is called the specific purpose language
ability.
4. Specific purpose language ability or communicative specific purpose
language competence
Drawing on Bachman and Palmer’s (1996) Second Language (SL)
framework Douglas (2000) developed a model called Specific Purpose
Language Ability, which includes three components: language knowledge,
a modified formulation of strategic competence and specific purpose
background knowledge,
In this framework (see Table 2) language knowledge consists of
grammatical knowledge (knowledge of vocabulary, morphology, syntax
and phonology), textual knowledge (knowledge of how to structure and
56
organise language into larger units: rhetorical organization; and how to
mark such organization: cohesion), functional knowledge (knowledge of the
ideational, manipulative, heuristic and imaginative functions of language),
and sociolinguistic knowledge (sensitivity to dialects, registers, naturalness
and cultural references and figures of speech).
Strategic competence comprises the process of assessment
(evaluating the communicative situation and engaging a discourse domain,
a cognitive interpretation of the context), goal setting (deciding whether
and how to respond to the situation), planning (deciding what elements of
language and background knowledge are required), and control of
execution (organizing the required elements to carry out the plan).
Background knowledge here refers to specific purpose
background knowledge related to academic, professional or vocational
contexts. There are a few studies which suggest that, background
knowledge does not influence test performance to any significant degree,
but, on the other hand, several other studies found significant interactions
between background knowledge and language test performance. It appears
that under some conditions, where test content and tasks are sufficiently
specified, background knowledge makes a difference to language test
performance. In ESP test situations specific purpose background knowledge
and language knowledge will interact, resulting in a performance that can
be interpreted as specific purpose language ability.
In Douglas’s model strategic competence serves as a mediator
between background knowledge and language knowledge, controlling the
interaction between them. Thus the engagement of strategic competence is
of central concern in ESP testing. As a cognitive aspect, strategic
competence is responsible for assessing the characteristics of the language
use situation ( including the language user’s own background and language
knowledge, as well as, subsequently, assessing the success of
communicative response to the situation), setting communicative goals,
planning a response in light of goals, and controlling the execution of the
plan. This is the essence of the interactionist perspective of
communicative specific purpose language competence, which results an
authentic specific purpose language performance that can be measured
and evaluated on ESP examinations.
Douglas defines specific purpose language ability in ESP testing as
follows:
“Specific purpose language ability results from the interaction
between specific purpose background knowledge and language ability, by
means of strategic competence engaged by specific purpose input in the
form of test method characteristics”. (Douglas 2000:40)
57
The biggest problem for specific purpose language testers is to understand
the conditions that influence ESP test performances. Until such features are
understood and controlled, true ESP test development, authenticity in test
performance and valid interpretation of language test results are to be
elusive goals. Specific purpose test developers need to be aware of this
aspect of ESP testing.
Table 2: Components of specific purpose language ability (Douglas 2000: 35)
Specific Purpose Language Ability
LANGUAGE KNOWLEDGE
Grammatical knowledge
Knowledge of vocabulary
Knowledge of morphology and syntax
Knowledge of phonology
Textual knowledge
Knowledge of cohesion
Knowledge of rhetorical or conversational organization
Functional knowledge
Knowledge of ideational functions
Knowledge of manipulative functions
Knowledge of heuristic functions
Knowledge of imaginative functions
Sociolinguistic knowledge
Knowledge of dialects/varieties
Knowledge of idiomatic expressions
Knowledge of cultural references
STRATEGIC COMPETENCE
Assessment
Evaluating communicative situation or test task and engaging an appropriate
discourse domain.
Evaluating the correctness or appropriateness of the response.
Goal setting
Deciding how (and whether) to respond to the communicative situation.
Planning
Deciding what elements from language knowledge and background
knowledge are required to reach the established goal.
Control of execution
Retrieving and organizing the appropriate elements of language knowledge to
carry out the plan.
BACKGROUND KNOWLEDGE
Discourse domains
Frames of reference based on past experience which we use to make sense of
current input and make predictions about that which is to come.
58
5. Conclusion
The aim of this paper was to introduce different theories of ESP testing
policies and present the latest research on the model of specific purpose
language ability.
As there is a big demand for ESP learning and ESP testing
worldwide, the test developers and the language examination centres have
to realise the differences between ESP and general EFL testing, and have to
be familiar with the current results of ESP researches in theory and in
practice too.
Bibliography:
o Bachman, L. F. (1990) (a) Fundamental Considerations in Language
Testing. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
o Bachman, L. F., Palmer, A. S. (1996) Language Testing in Practice.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
o Bárdos, J. (2002) Az idegen nyelvi mérés és értékelés elmélete és
gyakorlata. Budapest: Nemzeti Tankönyvkiadó.
o Brindley, G. (1989) The role of needs analysis in adult ESL programme
design. In: Johnson, R. K. (ed.) The Second Language Curriculum.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
o Canale, M. (1983) From communicative competence to communicative
language pedagogy. In: J. C. Richards. and R. W. Schmidt (eds.)
Language and Communication. London: Longman.
o Canale, M., Swain, M. (1980) Theoretical bases of communicative
approaches to second language teaching and testing. Applied
Linguistics. 1. 1-47.
o Caroll, J. B. (1961) Fundamental considerations in testing for English
language proficiency of foreign students. In: Testing the English
Proficiency of Foreign Studies. Washington D. C.: Center for Applied
Linguistics. 30-40.
o Chomsky, N. (1965) Aspects of the Theory of Syntax. Cambridge, Ma:
MIT Press.
o Curran, C. (1982) A linguistic model for learning and living in the new
age of the person. In: Robert, B. (ed.) Innovative Approaches to
Language Teaching. Massachusetts: Newbury House Publishers.
o Davies, A. (1990) Principles of Language Testing. Oxford: Basil
Blackwell.
o Douglas, D. (2000) Assessing Languages for Specific Purposes.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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o Dudley-Evans, A. and St John, M. J. (1998) Developments in ESP: A
Multidisciplinary Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
o Hutchinson, T., Waters, A. (1987) English for Specific Purposes: A
Learning-centered Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
o Hymes, D. (1972) On communicative competence. In: Pride, J. B.,
Holmes. J. (eds.) Sociolinguistics. Harmondsworth: Penguin. 269-293.
o Lado, R. (1961) Language Testing. London: Longman.
o McNamara, T. (1996) Measuring Second Language Performance.
London and New York: Longman.
o Munby, J. (1978) A Communicative Syllabus Design. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
o Spolsky, B. (1995) Measured Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
o Tarone, E. Yule, G. (1991) Focus on the Language Learner. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
o Widdowson, H. (1979) Explorations in Applied Linguistics. Oxford:
Oxford University. Press.
o Widdowson, H. (1983) Learning purpose and language use. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
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o Weir, C. (1990) Communicative Language Testing. New York: Prantice
Hall.
TRANSLATION AND INTERCULTURALISM
Tamara Lăcătuşu
“Al. I. Cuza” University of Iaşi
Sunt trecute în revistă consideraţii referitoare la valoarea
culturală şi estetică a traducerii, precum şi aspecte legate de statutul
traducerii şi al traducătorului în viziunea unor personalităţi de frunte ale
culturii noastre (Vl. Streinu, Camil Petrescu, Cezar Petrescu, Al.
Philippide, Perpessicius, G. Călinescu, M. Sebastian, Pompiliu
Constantinescu, Dr.Protopopescu, P. Grimm, M. Eliade, T. Vianu etc),
aprecieri prezente în paginile unor reputate periodice literare din
România (Viaţa Românească, Adevărul literar şi artistic, Ideea
Europeană, Revista Fundaţiilor Regale, precum şi în câteva de mai mică
anvergură, cu referire specifică la traduceri din engleză în prima jumătate
a secolului al XXlea.
De asemenea, în consonanţă cu evoluţia conceptului de receptare –
cu accent tot mai evident pe factorul receptor – şi în strânsă legătură cu
60
dezvoltarea studiilor interculturale, se fac referiri succinte cu privire la
mutaţile care au survenit în ceea ce priveşte abordarea traduceri în
deceniile mai apropiate de noi, în deosebi după ce , începând cu anii 70,
translatologia a dobândit statut independent.
Translations have been and, - in spite of the present-day globalizing
tendencies – will undoubtedly continue to be one of the oldest, most
efficient and most widely used means of receiving a literature and a culture,
in another culture. In other words, translation is an important cultural
mediator. But, besides the cultural value, equally important is its literary,
aesthetic value since translations stir creative virtues in the receiving
literature, activating and enhancing latent criteria and triggering new ways
of thinking by the contact with the sensitivities and imagination of the
“other”, obliging and training – creators and public alike – by implying the
manipulation of a language capable of capturing and transmitting all this
potential in a work of art, of re-creation.
Consequently, the way in which a literature is received depends to a
great extent on the quality of the translations. That is why aspects regarding
the status of both translation and translator – the latter having obtained a
social and literary status only in the seventh decade of the last century –
have preoccupied men of culture in our country, especially beginning with
the XXth century, with the increase of the number of translations from
foreign literatures into Romanian, reflecting, at the same time, a greater
openness of our reading public to other literatures.
Most often prestigious Romanian literary journals such as Viaţa
Românească (VR), Revista Fundaţiilor Regale (RFR), Ideea Europeană
(Id. E), Adevărul literar şi artistic (ALA) – to mention only the most
important ones – housed opinions on this topic, advocating, on the one
hand, the role played by translations in the development of national
literatures, and on the other, drawing the attention upon the dangers of
neglecting the specific requirements implied in translating. Even as early as
1906, Garabet Ibrăileanu1, for instance, included in his perspective of
national specificity the necessity of the contact with other literatures,
contact that could be achieved through translations, among others, asking
imperiously that they should be achieved poetically, based on congeniality
between author and translator, and be elaborated by people gifted for
translations, who should also master both languages.
The literary market in Romania was literally invaded with
translations, especially in the third and fourth decades of the last century
and since, with few exceptions, they were of very poor quality, the studies
dedicated to them increased as well, both in number and in the vehemence
61
of tone. Thus, reviewing the over 200 articles present in the literary journals
in the first half of the XXth century, we could identify a great number of
issues regarding the theory of translation, some of them extremely topical.
There was unanimity as to the necessity of translations – even if
occasionally there were voices that still saw in them a danger for the
national literature – while opinions differed in as far as the possibility of
achieving them was concerned. Although theoretically certain linguists
were skeptical about the possibility of achieving an absolute equivalent
translation, practice proved the contrary since most literatures of the world
have become accessible to the public in different countries and ages by
translations first of all. On the other hand, there were others who considered
that translating meant paraphrasing with talent, opinion which was shared
and put into words later in his well-known guide for translators from
English into Romanian, by Leon Leviţchi2:
A traduce sau a parafraza bine înseamnă a reda în limba ţintă, cu cea
mai mare fidelitate posibilă conţinutul de idei, structura logică şi
emoţională a originalului din limba sursă în aşa fel încât
transpunerea să aibă asupra receptorului efectul pe care îl are
originalul şi, prin corectitudinea limbii ţintă, să nu semene a
traducere.
Concerning the translatability of a text, very popular at the time
was Croce’s idea, namely that prose can be translated but poetry not, since,
according to him, it loses in translation its very content, the whole charm of
the original creation. Contradicting him, Vladimir Streinu3 argues that the
same thing happens in the very act of creating poetry, where there is always
something that remains ‘unsaid’. So if we accept such an idea with poetry,
why shouldn’t we in the case of translation since both are acts of creativity.
Another issue that started controversies at the time was that of
literary or literal translations. Criticizing G. Murnu’s translations from
Homer, Camil Petrescu4 requires “accuracy” (exactitate) and “not killing
grammar”(nesiluirea gramaticii), stating that, by not having observed
these, the translator manifested ambitions of reforming the language
(“veleităţi de reformare a limbii”). In return, Tudor Vianu5 agrees that there
are no perfect translations but then he adds that an “adaptation formula”
should be found, like that used by Murnu when translating from Homer.
On the same line, regarding the limits of the translator’s competence,
Gabriel Ţepelea6, commenting on Ortega y Gasset’s On the Troubles and
Splendour of Translations, concludes that a translation should not be the
transposition of one word from one language into another but the rendering
of one corner of a world to another, the introduction of one civilization to
another one. In other words, a larger intellectual frame should be at work, of
62
forming an image about the “other”, of “otherness”. As to its status, the
translation is not the original work itself but the way to it, that is the mediator
between work and the reader („traducerea nu poate pretinde că repetă sau
substituie originalul ci doar că se apropie de original”). In this respect, Gasset
does not seem to favour the elegant, fluent translations from the classics but
the scientific ones, accompanied by explanations and foot notes. Based on
such considerations, Ţepelea rejects what he calls “the parrotism”
(„papagalismul”) of translations with us, the depreciatory epithet referring
both to the inflation of translations in certain epochs and to their not
observing the required exigencies, as well as to the professional
disqualification of those who carried out such “orders”.
In translating poetry, Al. Philippide7 considers that tone represents
its capital attribute. Accordingly, a good translation of poetry means finding
the necessary equivalent for rendering the tone of the original. Rejecting the
idea of a perfect equivalence (sustained exaggeratedly by V.
Odobeşteanu8), Philippide considers that a translated poem is “the good
sister of the original, never its perfect duplicate”.
Regarding translations from theatrical texts, in the first two decades
of the last century few remarks were made on their quality and they were
usually inserted in the comments on performances, but gradually the
necessity of translating from the original is more and more strongly
outlined, by highlighting the shortcomings of appealing to intermediary
languages – French, German – in translating Shakespeare’s theatre, for
example: Hamlet, and Nevestele vesele, (translated by Adolph Stern),
Othello (translated in verse by D. Nanu, 1913), King Lear, (translated by
Ludovic Dauş). The contradictory comments on such translations were
proof of the increased exigency of both specialists and public. Along the
same line, Emil Isac9 raises the problem of the imperious necessity of high
quality translations from European drama, for the achievement of which he
suggests organizing competitions and prize awards in order to select the
best versions since, he says, the existing translations “answer neither the
current exigencies of language nor the increased expectations of the
public”.
On the problem of how a dramatic text should be translated,
opinions were divided: Al. Davila10, taking as models Baudelaire’s
translations from Poe, pleads for a correct translation of verses in prose,
while Ion Gorun11 prefers such texts translated in verse (like Goethe’s
Faustus). Also, other critics, such as Sân-Georgiu12, N. Kiriţescu13 and Ion
Marin Sadoveanu14 share the opinion that the translation of plays should be
carried out by theatre people, since they are used to the stage and know how
to turn to good use the “literary beauty” of such texts.
63
Critics and outstanding men of letters of the time, such as
Perpessicius, G. Călinescu, M. Sebastian, expressed their views on matters
regarding the status of translations. Thus M. Sebastian15 considered that
“translation can be an instrument for acquiring knowledge”, while
Perpessicius16 supported the idea that by translations “literature gets
enriched by the direct contact with other literatures”, and G. Călinescu17
believed that “the expanse and quality of translations indicate the level of a
culture, marking thus the stage reached by a people”.
This was the time when translation began to enjoy “a status of
equality with that of the original literature” (Stefan Ion18), becoming not
only an exercise, but also “a consciousness for the writer, leaving behind
the motive stage...and becoming a domain of creation parallel to the
original” (Radu Boureanu19), as proved by the wonderful translations made
by Zaharia Stancu (from Esenin, or from Poe).
Revealing that translations are almost always dependent upon the
system which is destined to receive them, Pompiliu Constantinescu20
insisted on the aesthetic and educational functions of translations, as well as
upon their literary consequences, seeing translations not only as “a factor of
culture and of cultivating the masses of readers but also as a matter of
literary education”.
By invoking foreign models, and insisting on the active role of
translations, critical voices raised in support of a sustained activity for
accurate and valuable translations, militating for a literature of translations
(Lucullus21), as they may contribute to the “nationalization of the foreign
work, to its getting rooted with us” (I.C22), in other words good translations
“enrich the national literary patrimony”, opening wide horizons to our
literature, enriching its vocabulary, and improving it both in quantity and in
quality” (Leon Donici23), far from the danger of “suffocating the native
literature” (Dragoş Protopopescu24).
Focussing on the status and qualities of the translator, literary and
cultural authorities demanded that the translating activity should have
scientific rigour, artistic qualities, and formative finality, that is the
translator should: translate from the original, master the two languages, be
endowed with artistic sensitivity, render the text integrally, and, possibly,
select from a writer’s works the most significant one” (Donici25),
underlining the fact that “being a good translator is equally honourable as
being a good poet” (Streinu26), that “the translator is a creator”(Cerbu
Eman27), not a mere reproducer or imitator. Commenting further on this
problem, N. Iorga28 suggests that the translation should be made not by a
“philologist” but by a “remarkable writer”, who has gone deep into the soul
and ideology of his own language, but has also accommodated the spiritual
64
background of another language, appreciating that the choice made by a
people from the literature of another people plays an extremely important
part in appreciating the soul of the former at that moment.
Pompiliu Constantinescu29 made remarks on the importance of the
existence of empathy between writer and translator, and on “the difficulty
of finding the ideal translator, endowed with both structural affinities and
expressive means”, while S.Grosu30 recommended that translations should
not be made by just any literary adventurer but be entrusted to
acknowledged men of letters, men of genuine talent recruited from among
the writers’ elite, an idea completed by M. Ralea31, who, commenting
ironically on the lamentable level of general culture, insisted that the
translator should also be a genuine intellectual “in a country with no such
species.”
The criticism of translations raised polemics at the time, some of
the opinions being generated by Lovinescu’s theory of the impossibility of
judging objectively a work of art which circulates and is known only
through translations; but the opposite view was also sustained by the
example set by Andre Gide.
Alarmed at the poor quality of the translations circulating at the time,
and in view of supervising the quality of translations, Perpessicius32 makes
pragmatic recommendations and speaks of the necessity of setting up
publishing houses – with “committees for reading”, “quality control offices”,
and “publishing projects” – which should guarantee the appearance of good
translations, insisting that a national organism should look after all the
problems related to writing and publication of books, to be supported by a
proper cultural and financial strategy. Cezar Petrescu33, on the other hand,
insisted upon the necessity of founding a library meant to popularize world
literature, on condition that “translations should be signed by writers and not
be improvisations”. Even more pragmatical was M. Sebastian34, who raised
the issue of the status and function of the translators, as well as of their
small retribution, recommending that the quality of translations should be
paid more critical attention to, the same way as it was done with film scripts.
Also in view of protecting the author and of stimulating the
responsibility for the translated text a recommendation was made to
include in the translation contract a clause “of good and trustworthy
rendering”‚ as well as to admit the legal rights of paying damages to the
foreign writers whose work had been translated poorly.
Among the suggestions35 made for the improvement of translation
quality – inspired from the translations of the great Greeks tragedians in
French – were included comparative analyses of the Romanian versions as
65
well as the use of samples of all the methods employed if the same text was
translated in several versions.
The causes of the poor quality of translations were identified in:
- the rush in which translations were made, especially for
commercial reasons, since publishing houses wanted to satisfy promptly the
readers’ demand for popular sensational romance and adventure books (Jul.
Giurgea, the most “prolific” translator in the fourth and fifth decades, was
called by G. Călinescu36 an industrious “grammar killer” - agramat
industrios);
- absence of knowledge of literature and of literary and historic
background, accompanied by omissions from the original texts - The Vicar
of Wakefield, wrongly attributed to W. Scott, published by Alcalay was
reduced, with no reason, from 600 to 280 pages.
Such manifestations were rightly criticized. P. Nicanor (G.
Topârceanu)37 took vehement attitude against the translations published by
Cultura Naţională, made by incompetent translators, who “massacrated”
both the foreign writers and the Romanian language; Ioan Botez
“demolished” Adolph Stern’s translations from Shakespeare;
- absence of knowledge of English (English began to be taught as an
academic subject only starting with the second decade of the last century),
which accounted for the fact that most translations were made through
intermediaries (French, German)
- absence of proper working instruments – accurate bilingual
dictionaries, literary histories etc. The only exception was Petre Grimm’s
extensive study, published in 1924, Traduceri şi imitaţiuni româneşti după
literatura engleză. Besides analyzing a great number of translations and
imitations after a considerable number of British authors (Young, Ossian,
Byron, Th. Gray, Pope, Th. Moore, Milton, Shakespeare, Th. Hood,
Tennyson, Longfellow, Robert Browning, Elisabeth Browning, Wilde,
Swinburne, Yeats), the author makes pertinent considerations and
recommendations about the requirements of a good translation – the
translator should master the two languages, should translate directly from the
original, should be congenial with the author. He strongly sustained that the
translator should use comprehensive dictionaries in order to find the finest
nuances and equivalents, and thus avoid what he called “cultural calamities”,
and also enrich our language, as former generations of poets and writers had
done. (The other two important tools to help the translator were to appear
much later: Dicţionar al literaturii engleze - coordinators: Ana Cartianu and
Ioan Aurel Preda - in 1970, and Leviţchi’s Indrumar...,. in 1975.)
And Grimm put to practice these recommendations. He was a
brilliant translator. His translations from both English into Romanian (all
66
fragments from Traduceri...were translated by him) and from Romanian
into English (10 of Eminescu’s poems, in 1938) were highly acclaimed by
his contemporaries (“s-a găsit un isteţ şi afectuos traducător în persoana lui
Petre Grimm”, Robert Burns, poetul ţărănimei – book review in Id. E,
1925; traducerile lui Petre Grimm redau „duhul lui Eminescu şi expresia
limpede şi elegantă a versului englez”, appreciated Jean Naum38). Not the
same can be said about the translations made by Dr. Protopopescu, a
refined man of culture, fervent propagator of British literature in Romania.
His Romanian version of Hamlet (1938) was criticized by G. Călinescu39,
who did not consider the Romanian Anglist gifted for translations (chiar
dacă foarte adesea versiunea este „netedă şi elegantă” îi lipsesc un
„deosebit simţ pentru limbă” sau „un dar remarcabil de exprimare”), which,
again, is proof of the fact that mastering the two languages is not enough.
Yet, in spite of cases when everything was ruined in translation
(language, contents, message, as was the case of Henry Marcus’s
translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, (1922, 1935), some wonderful
translations were made at the time, especially by poets and writers, thus
having a stimulating effect upon the Romanian literature: Şt. O. Iosif’s,
Visul unei nopţi de vară, 1913, (from German), was appreciated by Petre
Grimm as „una dintre cele mai frumoase, uneori chiar mai frumoasă decât
originalul” or Topârceanu’s, (probably from French) 1921, which, although
criticized by Iorga - who considered it “useless”- was praised by Dan
Grigorescu40, especially for its lyricism, in spite of certain inexactitudes or
differences in rhyme and rhythm („este plină de lirism, trădând poetul din
traducător şi apropiindu-se prin aceasta de spiritul lui Shakespeare”).
Coşbuc’s rendering into Romanian of Byron’s Mazeppa (1877, 1924, from
German and probably Hungarian), in spite of its being longer than the
original, was highly valued for the dynamic verse, rich and clear language
(„are vers vioi, curgător, limbă bogată, limpede dar textul e ceva mai lung
decât originalul.”41).
Good reviews were also written about the beauty of the translations
made by two gifted poets and translators: AL. Philippide and Ion Pillat.
(Şerban Cioculescu42, commenting upon the latter’s beautiful translations –
from Chaucer, Milton, Marvell, Donne, Shakespeare, Shelley, - remarked
that, in Yeats’ case, the translator was “attracted by the Celtic specific of
his message”, while Dragoş Protopopescu43 was impressed by the beauty of
the poet’s translations from Eliot, qualifying them as beautiful „frumoase”).
From prose, highly appreciated for accuracy, atmosphere and beauty
of the Romanian language was Wilde’s Prinţul fericit, translated by Igena
Floru („făcută cu o rară luare aminte”, „păstrează, discret şi exotic, în
67
ostroavele limbii noastre, mireasma ascuţită anglo-saxonă” – Id. E, 1922,
„alegerea cumpănită a cuvintelor, armonia şi libertatea limbii”- ALA,
1923). Also Al. T. Stamatiad’s translations in prose of Wilde’s poems
(1936) enjoyed Vianu’s44 positive comments for their minuteness, dynamic
equivalence, dignity („reuşeşte să dea o existenţă independentă şi
românească artei complicate şi spirituale a lui Oscar Wilde. Este o operă în
primul rând de demnitate...”).
As to translations for the theatre, the only one worth considering
was Haig Acterian’s, included in his monograph on Shakespeare (1938).
Mircea Eliade45 admired this translation mainly for the admirable
rhythmical prose, and for the selection of the fragments, chosen especially
for illustrating the dramatic technique, as the translator was a well-known
man of the theatre („traduceri foarte izbutite, făcute de un om care simte
firesc ritmul frazei rostite pe scenă, realizând o admirabilă proză ritmică”).
This retrospective view on the state of the art of translation in the
first fifty years of the last century brings to the fore the conclusion that in
spite of the shortcomings and difficulties encountered – understandable to a
certain extent, yet not acceptable –, the preoccupations regarding the
quality of translations gradually increased both in number and in
vehemence of tone, and that the palette of gifted translators diversified, and,
as a result, several of the translations, published over the above mentioned
period, can be considered successful, even though on the whole, because of
deficiencies in a stricter official selection, certain authors and/or works
were to “re-live” their existence later, in higher quality versions.
Naturally, this increase in quality is closely related to the changes
that were to occur in close connection with the evolution of the very
concept of reception – focusing more and more evidently on the receivers,
on their expectations – which, beginning with the 70’s, and coupled with
the development of intercultural studies, has led to mutations regarding the
approach to translations, which has thus become the independent discipline
of translation studies. Going beyond linguistic boundaries, and considering
translation as a cultural factor, this discipline studies systematically the
penetration and dissemination of a text across boundaries, as well the
bilateral effect, on both cultural systems, of the source as well as of the
receiving language. Starting from the old pragmatic precepts of the nature
and difficulties of translating, going through the computerized techniques
after World War II in USA, new definitions were given to untranslatability,
and to the nature of linguistic equivalence. Thus distinctions were made
between linguistic un-translatability (Catford, 1965) – based on lexical and
syntactic differences between source and target language, and cultural
untranslatability – based on the absence in the receiving culture of certain
68
situational characteristics, which are relevant in the source culture). In his
turn, the American sociologist, Eugene Nida, (1964) distinguished between
two types of equivalence: formal (focused on the form and content of a
text) and dynamic (focused on the equivalent effect between receivers in
both cultures, source and target). More topically, and laying even greater
stress on the receiving culture, in the 80’s, the School of Tel-Aviv, with its
polysystems theory, connected translation directly to the history of culture,
focusing on the reception of the text in the target culture. Integrating the
different trends existing in the theory of literature, cultural and linguistic
studies, the Manipulation Group stressed the ideological implications of
translation, underlining the role of cultural politics in determining the
whats, whys, hows of a translated text, while the American and German
schools insisted on the manipulation operated by editors and compilers of
anthologies. With deconstructivists, the concept of the original, the
problems of meaning, interpretation, and relevance are deconstructed. Other
developments see translation as intercultural transfer, the space between the
two cultures being no longer regarded as a no man’s land but one with a
double status: of both indicator and catalyser for the translation/
interpretation of “otherness”, all of these, naturally, having more pragmatic
consequences, with influences on the didactics of analyzing, teaching
translation, and/or interpretation, the latter one – especially interpreter for
conferences - as statistics have recently shown - having all chances to
become an elite profession with our integration in EU.
Nevertheless – and observing the proportions, of course – we could
conclude by saying that, except for the sophistication and focalizing
definitions of these terms, the “kernels” were present in many of the
opinions expressed by those who were concerned with issues of translations
and translating even back in the first half of the last century.
Notes:
G. I., Traducerile, Viaţa Românească, Anul 1, Nr. 9, 1906, p. 451-453.
2
Leon D. Leviţchi, Îndrumar pentru traducătorii din limba engleză în
limba română, Bucureşti, Editura ştiinţifică şi enciclopedică, 1975, p.8
3
Valdimir Streinu, Poemele lui Poe în româneşte , în Pagini de critică
literară, vol. I, Bucureşti, EPL, 1968, p. 354-367
4
Camil Petrescu, Delimitări critice. Limba literară, Revista română, An I,
Nr. 2, 1924, p. 3-16
5
Tudor Vianu, Răspuns d-lui Petrescu, Revista română, An I, Nr. 3,4,
1924, pp. 16-20
1
69
6
Gabriel Ţepelea, Despre mizeria şi splendoare traducerilor, Revista
Fundaţiilor Regale, An X, Nr. 7, iulie 1943, pp.181-185
7
Al. Philippide, Arta de a traduce versuri, România literară, An. I, Nr. 30,
1939, p. 708
8
Victor Odobeşteanu, Reminiscenţe, traduceri, înrâuriri, Orizont, 19401941, p.36
9
Emil Isac, Traducerile, Rampa nouă ilustrată, An III, 1919, p.599
10
Al. Davila, Traduceri, Rampa nouă ilustrată, An VIII, Nr. 2108, 3 nov.,
1924,p.1
11
Ion Gorun, În versuri sau în proză?,Rampa nouă ilustrată, An VIII, Nr.
2121, 1924, p.1
12
Ion Sân-Giorgiu, Traducerile pentru teatru,Rampa nouă ilustrată, An
XIV, Nr. 3487,6 sept., 1929, p. 1
13
N. Kiriţescu, Traducerile, Rampa nouă ilustrată, An XIV, Nr. 3491, 11
sept.,1929, p. 1
14
Ion Marin Sadoveanu, Traducerile, Rampa nouă ilustrată,An XIV, Nr.
3404, 1929,1 iun., p. 1
15
Mihail Sebastian, La nord cu Polonia, Rampa nouă ilustrată, Nr. 5101,
13 ian., 1935, p.1
16
Perpessicius, Traducerile, Cuvântul, An IV, Nr 1171, 2 aug., 1928, p.1
17
G. Călinescu, Traduceri, Adevărul literar şi artistic, An XIV, Nr. 73, 29
sept., 1935, p.9
18
Ştefan Ion, Traducerile, Universul literar, 1941, p. 109
19
Radu Boureanu, Spiritul traducerilor, Flăcări, 1, Nr. 3, 25 dec.,1938, p.7
20
Pompiliu Constantinescu, Problema traducerilor, Săptămâna CFR, An
IV, Nr. 26, 25 nov., 1943, p.5
21
Lucullus, Traducerile cu creionul, Rampa nouă ilustrată, An IV, Nr.
834, 1920,p. 756
22
I.C., Traducerile, Patria, An II, Nr. 247, 1920,p.10
23
Leon Donici, Traducerile, Flacăra, An VII, Nr. 40, 1922, pp. 629-630
24
Dragoş Protopopescu, Problema traducerilor, Spectator, An I, Nr. 8, 25
nov., 1943, pp. 1-2
25
Leon Donici, idem.
26
Vladimir Streinu, op. cit., p. 352
27
Cerbu Eman, A traduce bine, Rampa nouă ilustrată, An VI, 1921, p. 64
28
N. Iorga, Stil şi traduceri, Ramuri, An XXI, 1927, pp. 3-4
29
P. Constantinescu, Traducerile, Vremea, An XIV, Nr. 643, 1942, p.3
30
Sorin B. Rareş, Traduttore, traditore, Mioriţa, An XXVIII, Nr. 1535, 11
iunie 1936, p. 2
31
M.Ralea, recenzie la Vedenii a lui Paul Zarifopol, Viaţa Românească,
An XVII, Nr. 2, 1925, pp.309-311
70
32
Perpessicius, Editura de stat, Revista Fundaţiilor Regale, An XII, 1945,
p. 209
33
Cezar Petrescu,Traducerile, Cuvântul literar şi artistic,An 2, Nr. 3,
1925, p. 10
34
M. Sebastian, Note despre traduceri, Revista Fundaţiilor Regale, Nr.
219, febr., 1940, pp. 432-435
35
Călin Alex, Valoarea literară a traducerilor, Rampa nouă ilustrată, An
VI, 1922, p.2
36
G. Călinescu, Istoria literaturii române de la origini până în prezent,
Bucureşti, Minerva, 1986, p. 946
37
P. Nicanor, Fond şi formă, Viaţa Românească, An XV, 1923, p. 9
38
Jean Naum, Eminescu în literatura engleză, Convorbiri literare, An
LXXII, Nr. 6-7-8-9, 1939, pp.1277-1284
39
G. Călinescu, Hamlet de Shakespeare, traducere ,Adevărul literar şi
artistic, An XVIII, seria III, Nr. 910, 1938, p. 17 (Cronica literară)
40
Dan Grigorescu, Shakespeare în cultura română modernă, Bucureşti,
Minerva, 1971, pp. 177-178
41
Leon Baconski, George Coşbuc, The Translator, Romanian Review, Nr.
2, 1965, p. 35
42
Şerban Cioculescu, Ion Pillat, traducător, România literară, An XXI,
Nr. 21, 1988, p. 7
43
Dragoş Protopopescu, Lirism englez contemporan, Revista Fundaţiilor
Regale, Nr. 12, 1936, p. 696
44
Tudor Vianu, Traduceri din Oscar Wilde, Sburătorul, Nr. 15, 1918, pp.
351-352
45
Mircea Eliade, Cu prilejul unui Shakespeare, Revista Fundaţiilor
Regale, An. V, Nr. 3, 1938, pp. 650-653
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Literary journals
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Viaţa Românească
THE CHALLENGE OF CULTURE SPECIFIC ELEMENTS
Carmen Maftei
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Studiul de faţă abordează problema elementelor de cultură specifice limbii
române atât de numeroase şi totodată atât de greu de trasnpus într-o limbă străină.
Exemplele au fost selectate din cartea Ilenei Vulpescu, Arta conversaţiei care până în
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prezent nu a fost tradusă în limba engleză. Propunem şi două modalităţi de clasificare a
acestora pe lângă variante de traducere şi câteva noţiuni teoretice.
The present paper aims at providing a broader perspective of the
Romanian culture specific elements that frequently create translation
difficulties.
Since all languages differ both in grammar and vocabulary the issue
of untranslatability often raises when confronted with the task of rendering
certain words or structures in the target language. As Susan Bassnett (1991:
32) mentions Catford’s dichotomy regarding the concept of untranslability,
distinguishing between linguistic and cultural untranslability. Linguistic
untranslability refers to the case when there no lexical or syntactical
equivalent in the target language for a source language term. Cultural
untranslability is said to be due to “the absence in the target language
culture of a relevant situational feature for the source language text”.
(Bassnett 1991: 32)
In both cases it is the translator’s task to render the meaning of a
particular word, concept or structure in the target language by providing the
most suitable equivalent.
The translator is thus placed between the two different cultures,
each having its own customs and traditions. Furthermore, the translator
explores the culture of the target language in order to identify the
equivalent of the source–language term, or if there is no equivalent, to
render the exact meaning employing other lexical means.
From this point of view, the culture specific elements of the source
language may cause translation difficulties whether they are lexical units,
collocations, idioms, phrasal verbs etc. The translator has to choose
between several translation techniques none of them flawless: word-forword, literal and free translation. (Croitoru, 1996:17) Some argue that
literal translation overlaps the word-for-word translation technique, others
regard it as a “close grammatical translation.” (Dimitriu, 2002:21) Since it
is not the purpose of this paper to work out this debate we shall resume
these words which do not have an equivalent in the target language and
which are called realia and for which the specialists have suggested two
variants to deal with.
One possible variant is to preserve the word as it is in its source
language and explain its meaning. The other variant is to try to translate the
word by providing an explanatory periphrase in the target language even if
it involves the risk of the semantic loss or gain. From this point of view,
translation difficulties are caused not only by realia but also by archaisms,
archaic words, regionalisms, etc.
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However, there are cases when a word belonging to an
internationally used language is preserved as such in the target language
even if there is a semantic equivalent for it in the target language. For
example, the Romanian language has taken the term “week-end” from
English, currently employed both by young and old people as it is shorter
and easier to use than its Romanian equivalent. This kind of terms are
called lexical borrowings and their use on a large scale is due to either
being shorter and easier to be pronounced or being made public by multimedia.
Numerous linguists have praised the expressiveness of the
Romanian language, expressiveness which is very difficult to transpose in
another language and which is focused upon the meaning of certain words,
thus emphasizing the semantic abundance of the Romanian language.
Romanian culture specific elements referring mainly to customs and
traditions require a great deal of effort to be transposed into another
language. When translating poetry, the translator has to provide English
equivalents that would render as close as possible the meaning of the word
from the source text. Furthermore, this aspect is even more challenging, as
the rhetorical equilibrium of the poem has to be preserved as well as its
musicality and power of suggestion. In case of prose, the theory of
translation suggests, as it was mentioned before, that the translator could
preserve the term from the source text, when there is no English equivalent
(this is called code switching) and provide some explanatory footnotes. The
paper will demonstrate that this method cannot be applied in all cases.
Since the Romanian language abounds in culture specific elements
we thought it would be more interesting to select these terms from Ileana
Vulpescu’s Arta conversaţiei, a well-known book, written by a famous
Romanian writer, which has not been translated into English so far. Each
term identified is presented in its context and we provide possible variants
of translation.
[1.] borş, plachie
“Păi, mă gândeam că burta o frigem pentru
ăştia mici, iar noi, adulţii şi adolescenţii –
şi cu un gest plin de deferenţă o arătă pe
Maria – noi trei, un borşic cu leuştean şi-o
plachiuţă.” (p.31)
Well, I thought we would fry the fish for the
kids, and for us, the grown-ups and teenagers, showing Maria with a respectful gesture, - for
the three of us, to cook some nice sour fish soup
with lovage and fried fish with onion and
tomatoes.
The dictionary of the Romanian language explains the term borş as
being a “zeamă cu gust acru, preparată din tărâţe fermentate; ciorba
preparată cu această zeamă”. (Breban, 1980:63)
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Leon Leviţchi (1994:126) suggests that the term should be
translated by “sour bran and water” when it refers to the substance the dish
is made of, and by “bortsch” when it refers to the dish itself.
According to the Webster dictionary the meaning of the term
borscht (or borsch) differs from the meaning of the Romanian term, thus it
is explained as “an Eastern European soup containing beets and usually
cabbage, served hot or chilled, often with sour cream.” (Webster, 1996:172)
Therefore, the suggested term does not render semantically the
meaning of the Romanian term. The variant we suggested, sour fish soup
with lovage is an explanatory periphrase, which renders the meaning of the
source term.
The other term selected in this example, plachie, cannot be rendered
by one-word equivalent in the target language. Leon Leviţchi (1994:598)
suggests “kind of fish meal (cooked with onion and oil)”. We chose an
explanatory periphrase for this term as well, fried fish with onion and
tomatoes.
As it can be noticed the two terms discussed so far are diminutives
in the source language, which cannot be rendered in the target language. In
order not to be accused of any semantic loss we did not use the adjective
little since the source-language term does not refer to quantity but it has an
affective connotation that is why we preferred to use the adjective nice.
In the next example, the first culture specific element is “bundă”,
explained as “un cojocel scurt, fără mâneci pentru femei şi bărbaţi.”
(Breban, 1980:69)
For this term Leviţchi (1994:137) suggests an explanatory
periphrase “sort of long furred coat worn by men”. In this context the term
refers to a fur coat without sleeves worn by women during winter. The
explanatory dictionary (DEX, 1998:119) also provides the term pieptar,
which is a regionalism but which refers to the meaning of the term. Our
suggested variant involves an explanatory periphrasis, which we thought it
best renders the meaning of the source-language term: sleeveless fur coat.
[2.] bundă, opinci
“Sînziana se gândea la Iulia Vlas, fata aceea
zdravănă şi veselă, care parc-atunci coborâse
din munte şi de-abea apucase să-şi lepede
bunda şi opincile ca să se-mbrace de oraş.”
(p.89)
Sînziana was thinking about Iulia Vlas, about that
vigorous merry girl, who looked as if she had just
come down the mountain, and managed to take
off her sleeveless fur coat and opinci (a kind of
moccasins made of pigskin, worn in ancient times
by Romanian peasants) to put on her Sunday
clothes.
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For the other culture specific element identified in this example,
“opinci” Leviţchi (1994:558) suggests “peasant sandals” variant that does
not entirely render the meaning of the original term. Thus, “opincile” are
made of leather, especially pigskin, as the term is explained in a Romanian
dictionary, “cu marginile încreţite şi răsfrânte în sus, strânse pe picior cu
ajutorul nojiţelor.” (Breban, 1980: 400)
An English term which is almost synonymous with the Romanian
term is “moccasin” explained as “a shoe made entirely of soft leather, as
deerskin, worn originally by the American Indians”. (Webster, 1996: 920)
We suggest to keep the original term in the target language and to provide
an explanatory periphrase: (a kind of moccasins made of pigskin, worn by
Romanian peasants). The term moccasins was preferred as the target
readership are familiar with its meaning and as it partly renders the
meaning of the original meaning.
[3.] parastas, pomelnic, colaci, colivă
“Bunicii mei dinspre tată muriseră înainte
ca eu să mă nasc. De mică-am auzit mereu
cuvintele “parastas”, “pomelnic”, “colaci”,
“colivă” şi le vedeam materializate.”
(p.153)
My father’s parents had died long before I was
born. Since I was a little girl I have heard the words
“memorial service”, “diptych” (the list of the dead
persons in a family), “colaci” (knot-shaped bread),
“colivă” (boiled wheat, with honey or sugar and
nuts distributed at funerals in memory of the
deceased) and I have actually seen them happening
for real.
According to the dictionary, “parastas” is explained as “(în cultul
creştin) slujbă religioasă făcută pentru pomenirea morţilor”. (Breban,
1980:415) Leviţchiţ’s variant is “requiem, office for the dead.” Our variant
memorial service renders the semantic content of the original term, besides,
it is frequently used in the target language and the natives are familiar with
its meaning.
The next term to be discussed is “pomelnic”, explained as “lista cu
numele persoanelor pe care le pomeneşte preotul la slujbe şi rugăciuni”.
(Breban, 1980:452)
Leviţchi (1994:608) translates it by “diptych” term which means:
“a. A similar tablet of wood or metal containing on one leaf the names of
those among the living, and on the other those among the dead, for whom
prayers are said; b. the lists of such persons.” (Webster 1996: 326)
For the following terms we have no other choice than to preserve
them in the target language and to provide explanatory periphrases. Thus,
we chose Leviţchi’s variant for “colac”, namely “kind of fancy bread, knotshaped bread”. (Leviţchi, 1994: 202)
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Leviţchi’s variant for “colivă” is: “boiled wheat (with honey and
nuts) distributed at funerals in memory of the deceased.” (Levitchi,
1994:203) Another variant that can be used is an explanatory periphrasis:
sweet wheat porridge that Romanian people make for funerals.
[4.] Mioriţa
“Când am citit prima oară Mioriţa, m-a
cuprins un sentiment de revoltă…” (p. 241)
When I first read Miorita, I was seized with a
feeling of revolt…
Mioriţa is one of the most famous myths of the Romanian culture,
which proves the existence of the Romanian people in the space between
the Carpathian Mountains and the Danube.
There are more than one thousand variants of this epical poem,
which proves its symbolic value. According to the specialists (Ionescu
2000:123) there are not frequent cases when the title is preserved as in the
source language but this can happen in the following situations:
a. when it cannot be translated into the target language, meaning
that by translating that term too much cultural background
would be lost;
b. when it is a proper name;
c. or when the target readership is familiar with the concept .
Since the term has no English equivalent and it is a well-known
concept already we prefer to preserve the original term.
[5.] mămăliga
“În momentul acela, ca la teatru, din
bucătăria de vară, care, de fapt era un
şopron în fundul curţii, au apărut coana
Leana, ducând victorioasă o tavă pe care se
lăfăia un pui rumen, şi Alexandru Bujor
care-ntr-o mână ducea un castronaş iar în
cealaltă un fund de lemn pe care aburea o
mămăligă bună să saturi din ea o gloată.”
(p. 276)
Just then, as if they were on stage, M’am Leana and
Alexandru Bujor showed up from the kitchen,
which was nothing but a shed at the back of the
yard. She was joyfully fetching a tray, with a roast
chicken laying on it, whereas Alexandru Bujor had
a little bowl in one hand and a platter in the other
with a steamy mamaliga (a Romanian dish made of
boiled maize flour usually used instead of bread)
laying on it, big enough to feed an army.
It seems that one of the first English people who mentioned this dish
specific to the Romanian cookery was William Wilkinson, British consul in
Bucharest, in his book, An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and
Moldavia, the first edition being published in 1820.
We preferred to preserve the original term in the target language and
to provide explanatory periphrase.
Webster provides another term which has almost the same
meaning, belonging to the Italian cuisine “polenta” = (esp. in Italian
cooking) “a thick mush of corn meal” (Webster, 1996:1112) but which may
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be translated into Romanian by “mămăligă de mălai sau grâu.” (Dict. acad.,
1974: 546) We don’t know whether the target readership is familiar with
this term from the Italian cuisine.
Another variant may be to explain the meaning of the original term in
the target language – “huge steamy corn mush” but the main drawback is
that by back translation the original term might not be reached.
A problem of non-equivalence may also be caused by “bucătărie de
vară”, which is a room or a space in the Romanian countryside outside the
house, where housewives cook during summer, usually having an oven
made of clay or bricks.
[6.] sarmale, piftii, caltaboşi, toba
“Aveam şi noi de Crăciun pe masă
oala cu sarmale, piftii, caltaboşi, tobă
– ca tot creştinul.” (p. 187)
We had for the Christmas dinner, like all the other
Christians, a pot of sarmale (forcemeat rolled in
cabbage or wine leaves); piftii (aspic of pig’s trotter
/ meat jelly); caltabosi (a kind of black pudding);
toba (a kind of pudding boiled in the skin from a
pig’s stomach/ mosaic salami).
These culture specific elements selected from this example are also
specific to the Romanian cookery. Even if there are certain terms, which are
similar to them in English, they do no have the same meaning.
Therefore, “sarmale” cannot be rendered otherwise than by
preserving the original term followed by an explanatory periphrasis, variant
also suggested by Leviţchi (1994:681) “forcemeat roll of cabbage or wine
leaves”; piftie – “aspic of pig’s trotters; meat jelly”. (Leviţchi, 1994:594)
The Romanian term caltaboş is explained as “un fel de cârnat făcut din
măruntaie de porc cu orez şi ingrediente” (Breban, 1980:74). In English
there is the term “pudding” or even “black pudding” which can be
translated by “caltaboş din sânge şi grăsime de porc.” (Dict. Acad.,
1974:569)
For the following term, we preferred to explain its meaning in the
target language, thus, tobă = a kind of pudding boiled in the skin from a
pig’s stomach.
Webster provides the term “haggis” = “a dish made of the heart,
liver, etc of a sheep or calf, minced with suet and oatmeal, seasoned and
boiled in the stomach of the animal”. (Webster, 1996: 636) However, this
term does not render the semantic content of the Romanian term; its
Romanian translation being usually drob.
[7.] ie
“Eram îmbrăcată cu ce-aveam eu mai bun pe-
I was wearing the best clothes I had then and
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atunci şi care şi azi e tot ce am mai bun cambrăcăminte: o fustă neagră de triple voile de
lână, (…) şi cu o ie de pânză topită, cusută cu
mărgele verzi, cusută de Maica, mama
Mamei.” (p. 363)
which are still my best clothes even today: a
black triple voile wooden skirt, (…) and an ie
(Romanian peasant women’s blouse with handmade embroidery) made of cambric, beaded with
green beads, sewed by granny, my mother’s
mum.
An important element of the Romanian national costume is called ie
and it is “o cămaşă femeiască ornamentată cu broderii sau cusături pe
mâneci, pe piept şi la guler”. (Breban, 1980:261)
The term cannot be translated into English therefore it will be
preserved as such and later explained. The English term “cambric” might
render the meaning of the fabric the particular type of blouse is made of “a
thin, plain cotton or linen fabric of fine close weave, usually white”
(Webster 1996:213), its back translation being: “pânză de in foarte subţire”.
(Dict. acad., 1974:100)
The source language terms “cusută cu mărgele verzi”, means that it
is decorated with “bead”, the term bead being translated as a noun by
“mărgea, perlă, mărgăritar” but also by a verb “a împodobi cu mărgele, a
coase mărgele la…”. (Dict. acad., 1974:55) We preferred this variant as it is
more suggestive and it renders the meaning of the original.
The Romanian term “maică” is explained as a “termen de politeţe
folosit pentru a vorbi cu (sau despre) o femeie (mai) în vârstă.” (DEX,
1998:593) Out of the possible variants we chose “mum” as it is a term
which suggests affection in spoken English.
[8.] Doină
“Brusc, sculptorul mi-a-ntors spatele şi i
s-a adresat gazdei: “Ioane, te rog fă-mi un
hatâr; cântă-mi o doină haiducească.” (p.
365)
All of a sudden, the sculptor turned around towards
the host and said: “Ioane, please do me a favour; sing
an outlawry doina (elegiac song specific to
Romanian lyrical folk poetry and music) for me, will
you?”
To render in English the meaning of the Romanian term “doină” we
can employ an explanatory periphrasis “outlawry folk song” but which
unfortunately does not render entirely the meaning of the original term.
According to the dictionary, a doina is “poezie lirică specifică folclorului
românesc, care exprimă un sentiment de dor, de jale, de revoltă, de
dragoste, etc, fiind însoţită, de obicei, de o melodie adecvată”. (DEX,
1998:314)
The English readership was first made familiar with the Romanian
term in 1834, when E. C. Grandville Murray translated and published the
volume The Doinas or the National Songs and Legends of Romania in
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London. Therefore, we prefer to preserve the original term in our
translation and to explain it.
[9.] clăcaşi, boier
“Ce-ar zice străbunii mei să vadă o fată din
neamul de clăcaşi ai lu’ Pribeagu ş-ai lu’
Dorobanţu, măritată cu un strănepot al boierului
Ienache Kreţulescu?!” (p. 459)
What would my great-grandfathers say
when a girl descending from the Pribeagu
and Dorobanţu bondmen families marries
one of the great – grandsons of boyar
Ienache Kreţulescu?
The Romanian term “clacaş” is explained as “un ţăran obligat să
facă clacă (= muncă gratuită pe care ţăranul iobag era obligat să o presteze
în folosul proprietarului de pământ.” (Breban, 1980: 100 – 101)
Its English equivalent might “bondman” and by back translation we
reach the meaning of the original term: “iobag, serb, clăcaş”. (Dict. Acad.,
1974: 77)
The Romanian term “boier” is usually rendered by the term “boyar”.
The term also appears in William Wilkinson’s book, “the population is
divided into three distinct classes: the Boyars or nobles, the tradesmen, the
peasants…”. (Wilkinson, 1820:60)
However, it cannot be rendered by “landowner”, as its meaning
differs from that of the Romanian term, “an owner or proprietor of land.”
(Webster, 1996:805).
In Romanian, a “boier” is “mare stăpân de pământ (care deţinea
uneori şi o funcţie înaltă în stat); persoană din aristocraţia feudală, nobil,
stăpân.” (DEX, 1998:105)
The term we preferred, namely “boyar”, is explained as “a member
of the old nobility of Russia, before Peter the Great made rank depend on
state service; a member of a former privileged class in Rumania.” (Webster,
1996:177)
If we try to make a classification of the Romanian culture specific
elements selected for this paper, it would have three main branches:
 food or dishes, examples in point being: borş, plachie, colivă,
mămăligă, sarmale, piftii, caltaboşi, tobă, colaci, etc.;
 shoes and clothing: ie, opinci, bundă, etc.
 customs and traditions: pomană, parastas, horă, doină, etc.
Another classification of these culture specific elements can be
made according to their variants of translation into the target language:
 terms preserved as such in the target language: Mioriţa,
 Romanian terms used with English spelling: boyar,
 terms explained in the target language: sour fish soup with
lovage, fried fish with onion and tomatoes, sleeveless fur coat,
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
equivalent terms for the original ones: diptych, memorial
service, black pudding, etc.
 terms preserved in the target language, followed by explanatory
periphrases:
mamaliga (a Romanian dish made of boiled maize flour usually
used instead of bread),
doina (elegiac song specific to Romanian lyrical folk poetry and
music)
ie (Romanian peasant women’s blouse with hand-made
embroidery)
sarmale (forcemeat rolled in cabbage or wine leaves)
According to the specialists, a successful translation is achieved
when by back translation the same variant it is be reached conveying the
same stylistic effect. (Bantaş, 1998:23)
As it was demonstrated, most culture specific elements are
preserved in the target language, first of all because the original term’s
power of suggestion. Secondly, because the readership of some other
languages become thus familiar with these particular terms and there are
chances for them to be preserved in these languages as it happened with
terms like pizza, pudding, ice tea, etc.
When translating a term into another language the linguistic context is
of utmost importance as well as the semantic and the pragmatic one.
Nevertheless the cultural and social contexts should also be taken into
account. When translating culture specific elements it is the translator’s task
to render the meaning of the original term which may refer to a certain time
and a certain place. That is why the translator is required to master
linguistic and cultural competence in both languages.
The study and analysis of these culture specific elements as well as
the attempt to translate them in a foreign language is important because
they can prove the expressiveness and richness of the Romanian language
and also through them Romanian customs and traditions can be conveyed in
other languages.
Bibliography:
o Bantaş A., Croitoru E. (1998) Didactica traducerii, Editura Teora,
Bucureşti
o Breban, V. (1980) Dicţionar al limbii române contemporane, Ed.
ştiinţifică şi enciclopedică, Bucureşti
o Bassnett-McGuire, S. (1991) Translation Studies, Clays LTD. London
81
o Croitoru, E. (1996) Interpretation and Translation, Ed. Porto-Franco,
Galaţi
o *** (1974) Dicţionar englez – român, Academia R.S.R., Institutul de
lingvistică Bucureşti
o *** (1998) Dicţionarul explicativ al limbii române, Academia Româna,
Institutul de lingvistică “Iorgu Iordan”, ed. II, Bucureşti
o Dimitriu, R. (2002) Theories and Practice of Translation, Institutul
European, Iaşi
o Ionescu, D. – C. (2000) Translation Theory and Practice, Editura
Universal Dalsi
o Leviţchi, L. (1993) Manualul traducătorului de limba engleză, Ed.
Teora
o Leviţchi, L. (1994) Dictionar englez – român, Editura Thausib, Sibiu
o Vulpescu, I. (1997) Arta conversaţiei, Editura Tempus, Ploieşti
o *** (1996) Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the
English Language, Gramercy Books, Random House Value Publishing,
New York
o Wilkinson, W. (1820) An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia
and Moldavia, (first edition)
SUGGESTED WAYS OF EXPRESSING
‘AKTIONSARTEN’ BY RESORTING TO FVPs.
CONTRASTIVE SKETCH: ENGLISH, GERMAN,
ROMANIAN
Gina Măciucă
“Ştefan cel Mare” University of Suceava
Autoarea lucrării de faţă investighează, într-o primă fază,
exemplele de locuţiuni verbale funcţionale extrase din varii surse şi le
încadrează în subcategoriile aspectuale cărora acestea le corespund din
punct de vedere semantic: ingresiv, punctual, iterativ şi egresiv. Într-o a
doua fază, analiza părăseşte perspectiva de ansamblu pentru a aduce în
prim-plan locuţiuni cu idiosincrasii de interpretare, precum a-şi ieşi din
răbdări, care glisează semantic în ambele sensuri – ingresiv şi egresiv - ,
de unde şi denumirea de „contradicţie în termeni” care li se poate aplica,
şi, pe de altă parte, termenul „aspect tranzitiv”, pe care autoarea îl
propune ca reprezentativ pentru comportamentul lor deviant.
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After painstakingly anatomizing in a previous book (s. DIP)
the function verb phrase (FVP)1 in German and tracking down English
combinations which display the morphosyntactical pattern, comply with the
lexicosemantic criteria and assume the stylistic features, characteristic of
“Funktionsverbgefüge” (FVGs), I resume in the present contribution my
relentless quest for lexicomorphological conveyors of FVGs, this time in
Romanian – a Romance language – and then, in a second stage, try to go
with a fine tooth-comb through the semantic and stylistic shifts following in
the wake of FVPs as employed by the three languages at issue (German,
English and Romanian).
Verbal aspect is definitely the bone of contention for
researchers of both Romance and Germanic languages. Thus, for instance,
when forced to come to grips with this particular problem, Florica
Dimitrescu ventures the following opinion:
În limba română, aspectul verbal, deşi este destul de important, nu
reprezintă un sistem (ca de pildă timpul şi modul) […]. Limba noastră
exprimă nuanţele aspective printr-o serie de modalităţi […] în afară de
mijloacele lexicale, întrebuinţarea unor verbe semiauxiliare, a unor adverbe,
prefixe, elipsa verbelor mişcării, folosirea timpurilor cu nuanţe aspective
(imperfectul implică noţiunea de aspect, este durativ, prezentul poate reda o
acţiune repetată, este iterativ etc). (1958: 116).
As for Romanian verb phrases and their availability for reflecting the
category under discussion, the above-quoted linguist argues in much the
same vein:
Pe lângă procedeele amintite pentru a realiza deosebirile de aspect,
limba română se serveşte pe scară largă de locuţiunile verbale. De altfel
este şi firesc ca locuţiunile să poată indica aspectul deoarece verbul însoţit
de un nume poate ‛spune’ mai mult şi mai detaliat, mai concret decât un
verb luat izolat. (ib.)
Oddly enough – as the excerpts quoted above intimate beyond the
shadow of a doubt -, Florica Dimitrescu seems to be rather oblivious to the
clear-cut distinction between the grammatical category of ‘subjective
aspect’ and the semantic one of ‘objective aspect’, also labelled
‘Aktionsart’ (cf DIP, subchapter II.4). Strongly corroborating my
assumption is also the inclusion of ‘aspect’ in the second set of
“grammatical characteristics of verb phrases” (translated by me), which
apply exclusively to those possessed of “o serie de însuşiri
PARTICULARE, de o factură mai deosebită” (1958:110; capitalized by
me). Nevertheless, the subtypes listed and exemplified by the above-cited
Romanian author on the following pages of her remarkable book on which I
base my analysis are an equally clear indication of the fact that reference is
83
actually being made to Aktionsarten and not to ‘aspect’ proper.
The “inchoative” subtype is the first in line, and with good reason
too: “De altfel majoritatea locuţiunilor care exprimă aspectul, şi în această
privinţă limba română nu constituie o excepţie, indică momentul de început
al acţiunii.” (Dimitrescu,1958:117).
The vast majority of the examples listed are perfect illustrations of
function verb phrases:
a o lua la fugă (G die Flucht ergreifen, E take (to) flight), a-şi lua
zborul (G abfliegen, auffliegen, E take one’s departure), a da în fiert (G zum
Kochen kommen, E come to a boil(ing point)), a da în copt / pârg / pârguială
(G zur Reife gelangen, E come to maturity), a da în clocot (G zum Sieden
kommen, E come to a boil), a da ploaie, a da ninsoare, a lua în discuţie, (G
zur Diskussion / Debatte stellen, E raise for discussion), a se face ziuă (G es
wird Tag, E it is beginning to get light).
However, mention should be made of the fact that, taken out of their
original contexts – which Dimitrescu kept on for appropriate
exemplification, a scoate grai and a se da pe rod tend to be used rather
infrequently in standard Romanian. Of the latter, in particular, native
speakers tend to prefer a transitive variant, a da rod (G zum Tragen
kommen, E come into bearing).
In the very same study to which we are constantly referring the
reader, the Romanian linguist deems it her duty to call our attention to the
semantics of the verbs employed in inchoative verb phrases, “care, luate
izolat, exprimă o acţiune cu caracter momentan […]” (ib.). What is even
more important, she also claims that this peculiar relationship obtaining
between verb and corresponding verb phrase holds good for other
languages too, in corroboration of which theory she cites, among other
examples, the German die Flucht ergreifen. A further thought-provoking
remark originating with the same author is the one relating to the so-called
‘doubly inchoative’ combinations which are at heart nothing more than
inchoative verb phrases amalgamated with the semi-auxiliary verb a începe
or various synonyms thereof.
A second subtype listed and exemplified by Dimitrescu includes the
verb phrases
which she labels “momentary”. As with the previous
subtype, the bulk of the examples submitted for illustration are bona fide
specimens of function verb phrases:
a lua fiinţă (G ins Leben GERUFEN WERDEN, E come into being), a
slobozi strigăt (G einen Schrei ausstossen, E utter a cry / a shout / a scream /
a shriek, raise a shout / scream), a scoate un oftat / suspin (G Seufzer
ausstossen, E breathe / draw / fetch / heave / utter a sigh), a-i trece / plesni
prin minte / gând (G in den Sinn kommen / einfallen, E cross one’s mind /
84
flash through one’s mind), a da / se pune în genunchi (G auf die Knie fallen,
auf / in die Knie sinken, E fall /go on one’s knees).
The third and final subtype which Dimitrescu differentiates is
represented by “iterative” verb phrases. From among the examples adduced
a face greşeli (G Fehler machen, E make mistakes) stands out as a genuine
function verb phrase. The Romanian scholar then appositely remarks that:
“Valoarea iterativă […] provine din folosirea numelui la plural. Categoria
numărului aplicată unui substantiv exprimând o acţiune, corespunde pe plan
verbal unei categorii de ordin aspectiv, în speţă iterativ.” (Dimitrescu, 1958:
118).
A comparative survey of the Romanian function verb phrases listed
under the three subtypes above and of their German and English
equivalents is bound to reveal the legitimate FVP-membership of most of
the latter. The few ones defying admittance into this category are a-şi lua
zborul – the German equivalent of which is a prefixed verb - , a da ploaie
and a da ninsoare, for which both Germanic languages have recourse either
to a combination of impersonal construction + semi-auxiliary verb (G es
began zu regnen, E it was beginning / began to rain), or – if duration is also
of the essence – to multi-word verbs, as in G der Regen setzte ein, E it set in
to rain.
In order to better illuminate the problem under discussion, I am
submitting to the reader’s - hopefully, undivided – attention several
additional samples of Romanian function verb phrases illustrating the
‘egressive’ subtype, semantically opposed to the ‘inchoative’ (‘ingressive’)
one - , both of which fall under the ‘transformative’ type (cf DIP,
subchapter II. 4): a lăsa vorba (G aufhören zu sprechen, E stop talking), a
ajunge la o concluzie/hotărâre (G zu einem Schluß/einer Entscheidung
kommen, E reach a conclusion/decision), a duce la bun sfârşit (G zum Ende
bringen, E bring to an end; amalgamated with the causative type of
Aktionsart), a ieşi din uz (G ausser Gebrauch kommen, E go/fall out of
use).
On closer inspection, some of these function verb phrases turn out to
be bona fide ‘contradictions in terms’. So, for instance, the structural
similarity to the last example cited above, a ieşi din uz, in conjugation with
the semantics of the verb employed , a ieşi din uz, in conjugation with the
semantics of the verb employed, a ieşi, might as well induce one to assume
that the function verb phrase a-şi ieşi din răbdări (G aus der Fassung
kommen, E get into a rage) is also an egressive one. However, its one-word
– two-word in fact, to be more accurate, if we count the reflexive in –
semantic substitute (a se enerva) seems to point in the opposite direction.
Considering the matter more carefully, though, we would be well advised
85
not to dismiss the egressive interpretation altogether, since, in order for the
Experiencer to get into a rage or into a tantrum, or fly into a passion, (s)he
has first to lose her/his temper, hair or shirt, or, even more metaphorically
put, to fly off the handle or to jump out of her/ his skin (s. also G ausser
Rand und Band /aus dem Häuschen geraten). Both the function verb
phrases and the idioms listed above adduce strong evidence in support of
my theory which views the Romanian function verb phrase a-şi ieşi din
răbdări (as well as its English and German semantic equivalents E lose
one’s patience, G aus der Fassung kommen) as expressing the transition
from one state to another, and, accordingly, the choice of one or the other of
the two Aktionsart–subtypes as an utterly arbitrary one. In view of the
above, I suggest the use of a more appropriate term for defining and
describing the idiosyncratic semantic pattern under discussion, namely‚
transitive’ Aktionsart or Aktionsart-subtype – which, to be sure, has
absolutely nothing to do with the transitive or intransitive syntactic
availability of the function verb phrase in question.
Note
1. ‘Function verb phrase’ (FVP) – the term denoting a verb combination the
overall meaning of which is a variant of its verbalized nominal core (e.g. sink
into despair ≈ despair (of)) – originates with the German linguist Bernhard
Engelen (s. “Zum System der Funktionsverbgefüge”, 1968, WW5, pp 289-303).
FVPs usually consist of a verb (function verb), which is the grammatical kernel,
a noun (function noun), representing the semantic core – these are the major, i.e.
indispensable constituents –, a preposition and/or an article – which are the
minor, optional components.
Their main contributions to the language reside in:
1) ability to express a wide range of ‘Aktionsarten’ (‘modes of action’),
such as causative, transformative, progressive – the main ones – e.g. plunge into
terror [caus., transf.], keep in fear [caus., progr.], bring to the boil [caus., transf.],
keep under control [caus., progr.], come to the realization [transf.], get into debt
[transf.], be in debt [progr.], be in use [progr.], etc;
2) ability to lower or to raise the syntactic valency of the one-word verbal
substitute, e.g. take courage (↔ encourage sb to …);
3) FVPs can be resorted to as ways of expressing what I took the liberty to
label ‘implicit’ or ‘semantic’ passive (a more vivid variant of the explicit,
grammatical one), e.g. come to a vote [= be voted.], get into circulation, come
under consideration, undergo a change, fall into oblivion, come into production,
come to harm, be in use, find expression.
4) ability to attract rhematic focus, e.g. I suggested sth. → I made a
suggestion;
5) FVPs can be had recourse to as means of shifting styles, e.g. set fire to
(colloquial) ↔ ignite (formal, elevated), give notice (colloquial) ↔ notify,
inform, apprise;
86
6) FVPs are sometimes resorted to when there is no one-word verbal
substitute in the language, e.g. catch a cold
Bibliography:
o Dimitrescu, F. (1958) Locuţiunile verbale în limba română, Bucureşti
o Duda, G., Gugui, A., Wojcicki, M. J. (1985) Dicţionar de expresii şi
locuţiuni ale limbii române, Ed. Albatros, Bucureşti
o Handwörterbuch I Englisch-Deutsch (1980) Ernst Klett Verlag, Stuttgart
o Handwörterbuch II Deutsch-Englisch (1980) Ernst Klett Verlag, Stuttgart
o Leviţchi, L., Bantaş, A., Nicolescu, A. (1974) Dicţionar englez-român,
Ed. Academiei, Bucureşti
o Leviţchi, L. (1973) Dicţionar român-englez, Ed. Ştiinţifică, Bucureşti
o Măciucă, Gina (2002) Dubla ipostază a unei construcţii lingvistice:
sintagma verbală funcţională în limbile germană şi engleză, Editura
Universităţii Suceava, Suceava (DIP)
o Savin, E., Lăzărescu, I., Ţânţu, K. (1986) Dicţionar german-român,
Bucureşti
o Savin, E., Lăzărescu, I., Ţânţu, K. (1986) Dicţionar român-german,
Bucureşti
o Schemann, H., Knight, P. (1995) Idiomatik Deutsch – Englisch, Ernst Klett
Verlag für Wissen und Bildung, Stuttgart – Dresden
FROM PSYCHOANALYSIS TO THE SYMBOLISM OF
THE LIMIT IN TRANSLATING AND INTERFERING
D. H. LAWRENCE’S POETRY
Camelia Mihăilescu
“Lucian Blaga” University of Sibiu
Translation has been regarded as one of the most complex events
produced in the history of mankind and ever since it appeared, more than
2000 years ago Livius Andronicus translated The Odyssey into Latin (240
A.D.). Ever since translation has contributed more and more to the process
of communication and communication has depended ever more heavily on
translation. The need for a systematic study of translation arises directly
from the problems encountered during the actual translation process and it
is essential for those working in the field to bring their practical experience
to theoretical discussion and, on the other hand, the theoretical rules should
be made use of in the translation of texts.
87
Along the time, translation has been perceived as a secondary
activity, a “mechanical” rather than “creative” process, as a low status
occupation accessible to anyone who has a certain command of a foreign
language. Yet, the 20th century translation studies have shown that, far from
being an easy task accessible to anyone with a minimal knowledge of
another language, translation is, as R. Quirk puts it, “one of the most
difficult tasks that a writer can take open himself.”(Quirk, 1974: 175) The
idea that translation is far more than a familiarization with two languages is
emphasized by Jiry Levy when he declares that:
A translation is not a monistic composition, but an interpenetration
and conglomerate of two structures. On the one hand there are the semantic
content and the formal contour of the original; on the other hand the entire
system of aesthetic features bound up with the language of the translation.
(in Bassnett, 1991: 5)
Getting back to the definition of the term translation, different
experts have come up with different definitions of translation. For instance,
Susan Bassnett shows that:
Translation involves the rendering of a source language (SL) text into
the target language (TL) so as to insure that the surface meaning of the two
will be approximately similar and the structures of the SL will be preserved
as closely as possible but not so closely that the TL structures will be
seriously distorted. (1991: 2)
This definition points out the following ideas: that the structures
must be preserved as far as possible in point of style, that through
translation the message must be unaltered in both languages and that, since
the languages are not identical in terms of grammatical constructions, in
most cases the grammatical structures as well as the lexical ones may differ
in the two languages.
Many definitions of translation are based on the concept of
equivalence. Such an instance is Dubois’s definition (1973): “Essentially,
the translation process is the expression in a language of what has been
expressed in another by preserving semantic and stylistic equivalence”.
The same principle of equivalence lies at the foundation of another
definition provided by Hartmann and Stork (1972): “Translation is the
replacement of a representation of a text in one language by a
representation of an equivalent text in the second language”. This
equivalence occurs in different degrees ranging from full equivalence to
partial one, depending on the levels (grammatical, lexical, semantic), but
never reaching total equivalence. This is due to the fact that languages
themselves differ from one another; every language functions according to
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its own codes and rules which regulate various constructions of
grammatical and stylistic structures.
Another definition of translation is provided by Leon Leviţchi in his
Manualul traducătorului de limba engleză. To him “translating means
paraphrasing”, that is conveying as faithfully as possible in the target
language the ideas as well as the logical and emotional structure of the
source language, so that the translation should have the same effect on the
receptor as the original. Leviţchi considers this a “plenary” translation
through which as many meanings and nuances as possible are conveyed
into the target language. (1994: 6)
Translation, therefore, involves the idea of transfer, of movement
from the source language to the target language, the necessity to find the
closest possible equivalent as well as to preserve as much as possible the
characteristics of the original text.
Another requirement to be taken into account, while translating a
text, is that of properly decoding its deep and surface meanings.
Lawrence’s poetry can be approached, on the one hand, through
Freudian symbolism (which can be related to surface meaning) and, on the
other, through what Liiceanu (2005) called “the symbolism of the limit”
(related to deep meaning). These two perspectives bring us closer to Nida’s
description of the translation process as a decoding of the message in the
SL and its re-coding in the TL. (See Bassnett, 1991: 77-78)
We have shifted from psychoanalysis to the symbolism of the limit
in approaching D.H.Lawrence’s poetry because of the fact that, in spite of
the rich Freudian connotations of some Lawrencian patterns, Lawrence
him of disagreed with Freud as concerns the unconscious.
For Lawrence all experiences are mental ones, because of the
individual’s striving for self consciousness. Lawrence proposes a quasibiological model consisting of two plexuses (the solar and the cardiac one
and eight dynamic centres of feeling as opposed tot the Freudian
constitutive elements: the id (as the biological component), the ego (as the
psychological component) and the superego (as the social component).
It was precisely this disagreement that made me contemplate
Lawrence’s poetry from a double perspective: to identify Freudian patterns
and to attempt to expand them through the symbolism of the limit. I felt
encouraged in my attempt due to the rich connotative of the syntagm of the
symbolism of the limit which has also become an efficient means of
decoding and re-coding the meaning of Lawrence’s poetry in our double
enterprise: that of interpreting and of translating two of the most significant
and less familiar poems of this British author.
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So, the concept of the limit can be approached resorting to four
Greek terms, closely related to one another. The first one is “peras”
(Liiceanu, 2005: 165) which means limit. The second is “pero” (Liiceanu,
2005: 165) and it signifies, either, the idea of moving between two limits
(for instance from one point to another) or of surpassing the limit. The
third is “poros” (Liiceanu, 2005: 165) and it means “a pathway, a passage,
a bridge.” Associated with it, the limit appears as intermediate space,
which acquires the configuration of a pathway in order to be outrun. The
fourth term is “peiro” as a noun it means experience, as a verb it signifies
“to try”, “to make an attempt”. Liiceanu stipulates that the limit associated
with human experience and coupled with “will” and “conscience” (2005:
170) dissociates itself from the “inertia of psysically” and can be
surpassed. Liiceanu also distinguishes between the “assumed” limit and the
“imposed” one. The distinction becomes more revealing with Liiceanu’s
argumentation that the assumed limit facilitates one’s opening either to an
“indefinite exterior world or to one’s own privacy.” Further grounds for
confidence as regards the assumed limit are offered by the same Liiceanu
when he argues that any attempt to surpass our biological limit is an
experience meant to make as feel accomplished. Two poems by Lawrence
will be analysed from the double perspective of Freudian symbolism and
the symbolism limit of the We are Transmitters and Fidelity.
I have chosen two Romanian variants for the title of Lawrence’s
poem We are Transmitters, namely, Noi, cei care transmitem or Noi
suntem purtătorii. Lawrence’s main concern in this poem seems to be life
instincts, which have their origin in the “id”:
As we live, we are transmitters of life
And when we fail to transmit life, life fails to flow
Through us.
There are two possible Romanian versions for the above quoted
lines.
Trăind dăm viaţă
şi când nu reuşim să o transmitem mai departe
viaţa ne părăseşte
The second version is consonant with the second title proposed by
me and goes as follows:
Trăind, suntem purtătorii vieţii
şi când nu reuşim să purtăm mai departe viaţa
ea-şi opreşte cursul în noi.
In spite of the previously mentioned Freudian connotation present in
the English word “transmitters” and in the two Romanian equivalents “cei
care transmitem” or “purtătorii”, the instinct of transmitting of creating life
90
sends us back to the myth of creation. Liiceanu (2005: 175), closely
following Nietzche’s work entitled The Birth of Tragedy, starts his debate
on the “symbolism of the limit” with a challenging assumption, namely
that the “God of Creation” ends his work as “the artist of forms.” (2005:
176)
Nietzche also claimed that the “the need of forms” (Liiceanu, 2005:
176) is the behaviour norm of God himself. The creation of forms is also
approached as a therapeutic principle deriving from a crisis, from an intense
need of God (called by Nietzche the Primordial One) to put an end to his
original suffering through an artistic act of creation. This action first
materialized in separating darkness from light. For Nietzche man is the
most exquisite form of divine creation. Being a form that generates other
forms, man appears as the “highest gratification of the primordial thirst of
form, thirst which has become man’s generic instinct.”(Liiceanu, 2005:
178)
Man’s entire history is a “bildende Kunst” (Liiceanu, 2005: 179), a
never-ending artistic preoccupation with creating forms. Therefore, in We
are Transmitters, the individuals as life transmitters can be approached as
symbolically reiterating the primordial creative act.
The syntagm “it is a flow on wands”, having as its Romanian
equivalent “este un curs ascendent”, can be interpreted as the individual
being animated by a cosmos pathos of creating life forms. “Sexless people”
from “Sexless people transmit nothing” translated into Romanian as
“oamenii asexuaţi nu transmit nimic” represent those individuals who are
incapable of becoming creative. There is also an implied irony as regards
the Freudian patterns which stipulate that sex is the only source of
inspiration and of renewal. As concerns the symbolism of the limit it is this
biological limit that should and can be surpassed through man’s creative
potential.
This idea is further illustrated when Lawrence claims that a work of
art should also transmit life. Herder, quoted by Liiceanu, claims that the
artist is a creative God and thus his artistic work transmits life. (2005: 180)
The following lines “And if, as we work, we can transmit life into
our work / life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be read/
and we ripple with life through the days” have also been variously
translated by as:
Şi, dacă, lucrând transmitem viaţă muncii noastre
viaţa, încă mai multă viaţă se revarsă în noi
pentru a compensa, pentru a fi interpretată
şi noi fremătăm de viaţă în răstimpul ce ne e dat să-l trăim
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The second version is focused on the Romanian verbal construction
“muncind” which is reiterated as a noun “munca;” the m - alliterative
pattern supports the meaning as follows:
Şi dacă muncind, putem aduce viaţa –n munca noastră
Viaţa încă mai multă viaţă, reizbucneşte –n noi spre a compensa, spre
a fi interpreta
Şi noi ne unduim alăturea cu viaţa prin zile.
Both versions can be interpreted following the same Nietzchean
pattern to transmit life by creating forms has become man’s behaviour
norm, for ever rewarding him, offering him “a certitude of
equilibrium.”(Liiceanu, 2005: 183)
The next line “Give and it shall be given unto you” rendered into
Romanian as “Dă şi ţi se va da înapoi” recalls a saying from the Bible.
According to Panayotis Nellas, the central characteristic of man’s life is a
relative or potential unity he is called to improve through a good turning
into account of his natural strengths. (1994: 33) Such natural strengths
represent man’s main virtues, among which love is the “unifying” virtue,
implying all the others. (1994: 33)
But giving life is not an easy task, as it means to assume
responsibility for it:
“but giving life is not so easy
it doesn’t mean handing it out to some mean fool or
letting the living dead eat you up.”
The Romanian version sounds less frightening than the English one:
“Dar să dai viaţa nu e uşor
nu înseamnă s-o încredinţezi unui nesăbuit josnic sau să permiţi
unuia cu mintea şi sufletul sterp să te devore
să te anihileze”
Both versions stipulate that we should attentively choose the person,
to give our love to otherwise “the living dead eat you up.”
“The living dead” could be a metaphor for those people who could
take advantage on somebody’s good will or it may stand for those people
who are attracted by material values becoming totally engrossed in them, or
for those people who can not surpass their biological limit.
Further on, Lawrence stresses the fact that giving life also means
transforming something valueless into something valuable:
It means kindling the life quality where it was not,
even if it’s only in the whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief.
The Romanian version adds spiritual connotations to these two lines
through the verbal nucleus “a reaprinde”, followed by the direct object
“suflul vieţii” in:
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A da naştere înseamnă a reaprinde suflul vieţii
a reda calitate vieţii acolo unde ea nu era,
chiar şi-n albeaţa unei batiste, de la piept, spălate.
We can also relate these two lines to the quality of love possessed by
man, which enraptures and deifies the smallest and least significant details,
such as the “whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief” into something
that is really important. This process is neither magic nor mechanic nor
accomplished through exterior factors either. It is organic, natural and
available to any creative mind that wants to surpass the “inertia of
physicality” (Liiceanu, 2005: 190) and grant spiritual significance to
material issues.
The apologist for the need of forms (Plato, Nietzche, Noica,
Liiceanu) stressed the role of the “will of limitation” (2005: 170) in the
process of creation. It is the “will” which limits, separates light from
darkness the sacred from the profane, the eternal from the ephemeral, the
spiritual from the sensual. The “will of limitation” and the “symbolism of
the limit”, in Liiceanu ‘s terminology are consonant with Lawrence ‘s
poem Fidelity, there “the will of limitation” stands for that will which
marks each gesture and feeling in time in order to establish the difference
between the ephemeral character of sensual love and the stable almost
eternal character of pure love. This distinction is clearly stated in the first
stanza of the poem
Fidelity and love are two different things like a flower and a gem
And love, like a flower, will fade, will change into something else
Or it would not be flowery
Flowers are just a motion, a swift motion,
A coloured gesture
That is their loveliness. And that is love.
But a gem is different. It lasts so much longer than we do,
So much much much longer
That it seems to last for ever.
The Romanian first variant renders the difference between “fidelity”
and “love” following very closely the original:
Fidelitatea şi dragostea sunt două lucruri diferite,
la fel de diferite ca o floare şi o nestemată.
Şi dragostea, asemenea florii se va stinge
Se va preface în altceva
Ori, n-ar mai fi floare
Florile sunt doar un gest, un gest rapid,
Un gest colorat
În asta constă farmecul lor
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Şi asta este dragostea.
Dar nestemata este diferită. Durează cu mult mai mult decât noi,
Mult, mult, mult mai mult,
Aşa încât pare că nu se va sfârşi niciodată.
The second Romanian version reveals a different association of
words, through the repetitive syntagm “înclinare” instead of “gest”, the
former implying the “î”, “i”, “a”, and “e” – assonances.
Fidelitatea şi iubirea, două lucruri diferite sunt, precum o floare şi un
giuvaer
şi iubirea, asemenea florii, se va ofili, în altceva va trece,
sau nu va fi înflorit florile, doar o înclinare sunt, o înclinare iute, o
înclinare colorată
ea e a lor farmec. Şi aceasta e iubirea
dar giuvaerul e deosebit. Trăieşte cu mult mai mult decât noi
mult mult mult mai mult
încât pare a dura o veşnicie.
This difference between “love” and “fidelity” recalls Freud’s
distinction between pure love, based on the attachment between two
persons and sensual love which has in view only sexual satisfaction. The
flowers are the symbol of sensual love. They are fading quickly just as the
sensual love is fading out once the sensual aim is accomplished. Sensual
love is like “a motion, a swift motion, a coloured gesture” and has its
loveliness which unfortunately disappears rapidly in comparison to the
gem. The “gem” is the symbol for pure love. That is why “a gem is
different it lasts so much longer than we do.”
The word “gem” also sends to Jung for whom is meaning of the
precious stone appears associated with that of the philosophical stone, the
mysterious stone of the mysterious religious existence. People record on it
their moral awakening, being at the same time the sign, the trace, the
witness of moral change.
When this change is incomplete due to man’s dual nature and moral
inconsistency, the immortality of the “gem” is threatened.
Yet we know it is flowing away
as flowers are, and we are only slower.
Şi totuşi ştim că giuvaierul intră
cade sub incidenţa timpului
la fel ca florile şi noi, doar mai încet
As every little thing belonging to this world dies, so, even the “gem”
has to vanish some day:
the wonderful slow flowing of the sapphire,
all flows, and every flow is related to every other flow.
94
Flowers and sapphires and us, diversely streaming
Minunata lina alunecare a safirului
totul curge şi fiecare şuvoi se împreună cu şuvoiu-i soţ
flori şi safire şi noi ropotind spre alte părţi.
The “flowers”, the “sapphires” and “us” are put together by the poet
because they all belong to the same world; even if they are different, they
have the same destiny: they have to die some day.
Lawrence further refers to “the old days, when sapphires were
breathed upon, and brought forth”; “when time was much slower, when the
rocks came forth”, rendered into Romanian as “timpuri îndepărtare când un
suflu tainic cobora peste safir şi-l însufleţea”, “când timpul se scurgea, mult
mai încet, când stâncile au apărut”. During those times “It took aeons to
make a sapphire, aeons for it to pass away” which in Romanian goes as
“Eoni au trebuit spre a plăsmui un safir şi eoni pentru ca acesta să dispară”.
The idea is that in ancient times, referred to as “old days”, such
precious stones like “sapphires”, which are the symbol of fidelity of pure
love, were of utmost importance and were much more appreciated. Even
the passing of time could not make them fade because they had been shaped
during “aeons.”
“Aeons” have both temporal and philosophical connotations referring
either to endless periods of time or, philosophically speaking, to an ideal,
Adamic would, when man unquestionably withstood temptation. That ideal
world can be related to the assumed moral limit meant to make us feel
accomplished.
Lawrence again draws a comparison between the sapphires,
symbolizing fidelity and pure love, and flowers, symbolizing sensual
attraction. While a sapphire needs aeons to pass away, a flower needs only
a summer.
Sensual love, just like flowers, swiftly fades away; passion which is
the basis for sensual love is like “a little torrent of life”. “All flowers they
fade because they are moving swiftly” is rendered into Romanian as:
“pălesc ele, toate florile, pentru că se mişcă cu iuţeală”. On the other hand,
fidelity, which is the basis for pure love, needs eons to take shape and
disappear.
Further on, Lawrence argues that the man and the woman are the
creators of the flower:
And man and woman like the earth, that brings
Forth flowers
In summer, and love, but underneath is rock.
The Romanian version, following closely the original, reveals that:
Şi bărbatul şi femeia sunt asemenea pământului care nasc flori vara şi
95
dragostea, dar dedesubt este stânca.
It is implied that the man and the woman create passion which does
not last unless there is something solid – the rock – beneath it.
The last stanza is extremely relevant as concerns the symbolism of
the limit:
And when, throughout all the wild orgasms of love
slowly a gem forms, in the ancient, once more molten rocks
of two human hearts, two ancient rocks
a man’s heart and a woman’s
that is the crystal of peace, the slow hard jewel of trust, the sapphire
of fidelity
The gem of mutual peace emerging from the wild chaos of love.
The Romanian version goes as follows:
Şi atunci, prin toate sălbaticele juisări ale iubirii
încet un giuvaer apare, în străvechile, odinioară – lichefiatele stânci
a două inimi omeneşti, două stânci străvechi
inima unui bărbat şi a unei femei
acesta-i cristalul păcii, giuvaierul liniştit de neclintit al încrederii,
safirul fidelităţii
giuvaierul liniştii reciproce, apărute din sălbaticul haos al iubirii.
As far as the symbolic connotations of the crystal, the jewel and the
sapphire are concerned, they have the form of a sphere and every sphere is,
in Liiceanu’s opinion, an “inebriation of the limit and its celebration”.
(2005: 194) Only associated with will and conscience, the limit can surpass
the “the inertial of physicality”, can become an assumed moral limit, which
equates with fidelity and resistance to temptation. It is this moral limit that
makes us feel spiritually and morally accomplished.
Bibliography:
o Bassnett-McGuire, S. (1991) Translation Studies, Routledge
o Bryant, C. (1983) Jung and the Christian Way. London: Darton. Longman &
Todd Ltd
o Lawrence, D. H. (1939) Stories, Essays and Poems. Edited by Ernest Rhys,
London: Temple Press
o Leviţchi, L. (1994) Manualul traducătorului de limba engleză, Bucureşti:
Teora
o Liiceanu, G. (2005) Om şi simbol. Bucureşti: Humanitas
o Nellas, P. (1994) Omul – animal îndumnezeit. Sibiu: Editura D’Eisis.
o Quirk, R. (1974) The Linguist and the English Language, London: Edward
Arnold
96
CHALLENGES IN TRANSLATING PROPER NAMES
FROM DICKENSIAN NOVELS
Nadia Nicoleta Morăraşu
University of Bacău
Lucrarea de faţă este un studiu asupra diferitelor tipuri de nume
proprii care au relevanţă în traducere şi constituie o provocare pentru
traducător: caractonime (numele care exprima caracteristicile persoanei
care poarta numele), numele descriptive substitutive (de tipul poreclelor
sau pseudonimelor), precum şi numele simbolice, metaforice sau aluzive.
Prima parte se axează pe un istoric al traducerilor literare ale
romanelor lui Dickens în română, italiană şi franceză şi pune în evidenţă
recurenţa unor reeditări ale primelor traduceri, încă neegalate ca valoare.
A doua parte a lucrării ia în discuţie semantica numelor proprii ficţionale
traduse şi stabileşte corelaţiile acestora cu întreaga operă.
Scopul final al cercetării este acela de a sublinia importanţa folosirii
unor strategii de traducere eficiente în redarea sensurilor acelor structuri
denominative care depăşesc graniţele universului dickensian.
I. The History of Literary Translations from Dickens into
Romance Languages
Charles Dickens’s relationship with the editors of his original texts
and even with their translators has always been a special one. Feared as an
over-controlling and very demanding ‘client’, he always struggled for
perfection and personally supervised the publishing process of his works.
Thus, it does not come as a surprise that Dickens himself declares to have
authorized the first Hachette series of his novels: “a complete edition,
authorized by myself, of a French translation of all my books” [1]. The
problem is that, despite his conviction that he had some “control” over the
series, the new texts and all those translations published since then raise
the ever-troubling issue of authorship. Apparently Dickens trusted his
translators and even appreciated the ‘skill’ of Paul Lorain, the French
translator of Nicholas Nickleby as “an accomplished gentleman perfectly
acquainted with both languages, and able, with rare felicity, to be perfectly
faithful to the English text while rendering it in elegant and expressive
French.” [2]
In order to judge if Dickens was right in appreciating his French
translators, we may come with some relevant examples of different liberties
taken in translating the titles of his novels. Anny Sandrin (a translator of
97
Dickens herself) registers the changes of meaning implied in translating A
Tale of Two Cities.
The Pléiade translation by Jeanne Métifeux-Béjaut (1970) is literally
entitled Un Conte de deux villes, which corresponds somehow to our
modern expectations of accuracy. In the Hachette series, published in 1861,
at a time when the Terror period was still vivid in the mind of Dickens’s
French contemporaries, Henriette Loreau invites them to read Paris et
Londres en 93. In 1950, a new unabridged translation by Robert Maghe and
Albert Waughty was published under the title Le Marquis de SaintEvremont, a title inspired by the French title of Jack Conway’s film (1935),
one more sign of the interrelatedness of the two genres [3].
The common characteristic of other French versions of Dickens’s
novels that we found information on is their being edited by Pierre Leyris
in the ‘Bibliotheque de la Pleiade’ series, as early as 1954. Each edition
comprises two novels (e.g. Dombey et fils and Temps difficiles – 1956;
David Copperfield and De grandes esperances – 1954) and the translations
are due to the collective effort of two to four translators. There are some
recurrent translator names such as Francis Ledoux, Pierre Leyris, Marcelle
Sibon and Sylvère Monod, which indicates that translations from Dickens
were a constant research project for them.
In Italy, there has also been a constant interest in editing Dickensian
novels in the original or in translation and these editions have been most
often reprints of older translations. The most recent translations we can
account for are those of A Tale of Two Cities (1999, translation by M.
Domenichelli) and Bleak House (translated by A. Negro, 1995). In 1993,
there was a reprint of David Copperfield, translated and introduced by
Cesare Pavese more than forty years earlier. Great Expectations was
apparently the novel that raised most interest, as long as there are no less
than four different Italian versions (the first published in 1975 and the last
in 1994). Dombey e figlio was brought out by Rizzoli in 1994, in the
prestigious collection entitled ‘I classici della BUR’, the same collection
that includes Le avventure di Oliver Twist (1991) and Tempi difficili
(1990). And yet, Francesco M. Casotti claims that no Italian publisher, up
to now, has succeeded in publishing the complete set of Dickens’s novels
[4].
A historical approach to Romanian translations from Dickens shows
that few of his works are currently available in a modern and satisfactory
translation, since most versions date back to more than forty years. The first
translation of a novel written by Dickens appeared in 1964 – Timpuri grele
(translated by Valeria Sadoveanu and Profira Sadoveanu), followed by the
ones of Costache Popa (Bleak House - 1971), Mihnea Gheorghiu (Martin
98
Chuzzlewitt - 1965), Profira and Teodora Sadoveanu (Oliver Twist– 1976)
over the sixties and seventies. As we can easily observe, these are mostly
individual translators whose interest in Dickens was shared only by two of
our contemporaries: Ionel Jianu who published his version of David
Copperfield in 1997 and Vera Călin who came with Marile sperante in
2002. Five of Dickens’s novels – Little Dorrit, The Pickwick Papers,
Sketches by Boz, Our Mutual Friend and The Mystery of Edwin Drood have
become familiar to Romanian readers since 1970, thanks to Niculai Popescu,
whose impressive translation work must have taken hundreds of hours to
accomplish. As we accept that each new translation is a new performance
of the text, each one brings out potential meaning and potential emotion.
Translations, in other words, like stage or screen adaptations, fertilize,
energize and sometimes even rejuvenate the old standard version which in
the source-language is, of course, immutable. Whether for better or for
worse is a question, however, which cannot be assessed by those for whose
benefit translations are intended since they, by definition, have no
knowledge of the source-language. Like spectators attending a play that
they do not know, these readers discover a text that has been pre-read and
pre-interpreted [5].
II. Translation Strategies vs. Semantics of Proper Names
In order to cope with the challenge that proper names represent for
translators of fiction, we need to explore some strategies and techniques
used for solving this problem. Therefore, we shall refer to some of
Dickens’s novels with their own personal, place names and other proper
nouns, all of which had to be rendered appropriately in the translated
versions of his books.
In discussing translation strategies, we shall depend upon the general
term “cultural transposition” (Hervey and Higgins, 2002), which is used as
a cover-term for various degrees of departure from literal translation that
one may resort to in the process of transferring the contents of a source text
into the context of a target culture. That is to say, the various kinds of
cultural transposition we are about to discuss are all alternatives to literal
translation. Any degree of cultural transposition involves the choice of
features indigenous to the target culture in preference to features rooted in
the source culture [6].
Place-names and personal names offer relevant examples of the basic
issues in cultural transposition. This is mainly because, in translating a
name, there are at least two major alternatives: the name can be taken over
unchanged from the ST to the TT, or it can be adapted to conform to the
phonic/graphic conventions of the TL. The first alternative called
99
‘exoticism’ is similar to literal translation, and involves no cultural
transposition. It may create problems of pronunciation and comprehension
in an oral TT, or problems of spelling and memorization in a written one.
The second alternative, transliteration, is less extreme: conversional
conventions are used to change the phonic/graphic shape of a ST name so
that it comes more into line with TL patterns of pronunciation and spelling.
Transliteration is the standard way of coping with names in English texts.
A further alternative in translating names is cultural transplantation: SL
names are replaced by TL names with similar cultural connotations.
However, cultural transplantation of names involves a greater deal of risk.
It follows that the translation of names implies awareness of three things:
first, existing options for translating a particular name; second, the
implications of following a particular option; and third, all the implications
of a choice between exoticism, transliteration and cultural transplantation
[7].
The recurring pattern in translations from Dickens is that of leaving
personal names of the main characters unchanged, as is appropriate. After all,
altering such names would alter all the book titles, and much besides.
However, first names are sometimes rendered by transliteration as Olivier,
Barnabé, Noé, Tobie, Estelle, Camille, Sophie, Agnès, Emilie, etc. in French.
Considering that there is a well-represented category of fictitious
charactonyms and expressive descriptive names, we shall insist upon this
category. The indication of a charactonym is not only complete or partial
resemblance with a word but the presence of the characterizing traits in the
person or place. The presence of a common stem is suggested by means of
motivators. Alexander Kalashnikov defines the term “motivator” as (the
term is borrowed from the thesis by А.А. Zhivogliadov) “a part of text,
expressing by means of synonyms, homonyms, a semantic similarity with
the meanings of a morpheme or morphemes of the proper name and
attaching to the name its characterizing function. The main purpose of the
motivator is to affirm the presence of the characteristics in the stem of the
proper name; therefore it must convey information about the bearer.” [8]
There are enough significant names with motivators in Dickens’s
novels; however there are plenty of names with just expressive colour.
These expressive names do not reflect the traits of a character, but cause
association with an expressive subject or notion. Mainly nicknames and
proper names containing in the stems expressive words have this kind of
significance. An illustrative example is that of the Marshalsea prisoners
from Little Dorrit who assume “facetious names, as the Brick, Bellows,
Old Gooseberry, Wideawake, Snooks, Mops, Cutaway, the Dogs-meat
Man.” [9] Such names take the following forms in Niculai Popescu’s
100
translation: “Ţiglă, Foale, Gogoriţă, Trezilă, Nas-Fin, Mopsul, Speriosul,
Negustorul-de-Momiţe” [10]. When these names are not self-given, they
are mockingly attributed by others: “Some of these were more or less
appropriate: as Rusty, Retiring, Ruddy, Round, Ripe, Ridiculous,
Ruminative; others, derived their point from their want of application: as
Raging, Rattling, Roaring, Raffish” [11]. It is also the translator Niculai
Popescu who had to cope with the problems such ridiculizing names raised
in translation and he successfully did it: “Unele dintre ele, mai mult sau
mai puţin, i se potriveau: Ruginitul, Retrasul, Roşcatul, Rotofeiul,
Rumenul, Ridiculul, Rozătorul. Alteori, dimpotrivă excelau prin
nepotrivire: Răcnilă, Rîcîilă, Răgilă, Răpănosul” [12].
As far as place names are concerned, some are not transcribed, but
rendered according to the traditional designation in English: Holborn Hill,
Greenwich, Chancery Lane, Lincolnshire, Windsor, Reading, etc. There is
another practice of rendering geographical names and place names in
particular, by means of transcription or transliteration. But for the many
place names, local in particular, in the Dickensian world, translation is
done freely, so as to recreate the feel of the place for the benefit of the
reader.
English
Romanian
the Docks, the Excise Office, and the Cartierul Docurilor, al Vămii sau
Custom House
Accizei
Bleeding Heart Yard
Curtea-Inimii-Însângerate
Blue Lion Inn
Leul albastru
Blue Boar Inn
Mistreţul albastru
Cârciuma ‘La cei şase hamali
The Six Jolly Fellowship Porters Tavern
veseli’
Ghost’s Walk
Drumul Stafiei
The George and Vulture Tavern and Hotel Hotelul ‘George şi vulturul’
Institutional names represent another category that combines real
with invented names, for which literal translations are provided. Thus, we
have the Circumlocution Office in Little Dorrit filled with departments and
offices, whereas the ladies are enlisted in tens of useless institutions and
organizations with comic/grotesque names. In each case, the translator is
faced with coming up with a translation that captures the intended meaning
of the original. Obviously, creativity is the best solution, and here is where
the art of translation comes into play.
101
English
Circumlocution Office
The Infant Bonds of Joy
The Superannuated Widows
Great National Smithers Testimonial
Romanian
Ministerul digresiunilor
Liga Copiilor Fericirii
Văduvele la pensie
Marea Donaţie Naţională pentru
Făurari
Added to linguistic incompatibilities are cultural, geographical,
political, historical discrepancies requiring “transposition” or “re-creation”
and, sometimes, explanation. Footnotes can indeed be very helpful: they
“release” meaning and have the further advantage of emphasizing the
dialectical nature of translation, of re-establishing for the benefit of the
reader the dialogue that inevitably took place between author and translator
during the transformational process; but, unfortunately, they are not very
popular with the average reader, who prefers to take the translated text on
trust rather than to have his pleasure spoilt by constant interruptions. As a
result, footnotes are sparingly provided, even in the best editions and, in
many cases, both the author’s meaning and the translator’s intentions are
lost on the reader [13].
Translation strategies can be regarded as ways to solve other
problems such as the ones caused by allusions. A possible approach is the
one proposed by Ritva Leppihalme, who distinguishes three basic
strategies: retention, change and omission. She suggests that translators
tend to turn to strategies of minimum change, that is, they make the
conventionally required changes (if any) and translate as literally as
possible [14]. Her list of strategies for translating proper-name allusions
includes:
(1a) Retention of the name as such;
(1b) Retention of the name with some additional guidance;
(1c) Retention of the name with detailed explanations (footnotes etc.);
(2a) Replacement of the name with another source-language name;
(2b) Replacement of the name with a target-language name;
(3a) Omission of the name, but the sense conveyed through a common
noun;
(3b) Complete omission of the name and allusion.
Discussions of allusions used for characterisation should be based on
a selection of representative and interesting examples, intended to bring
into light the scope of the allusions used and illustrate various strategies
used.
102
III. Difficulties in Translating Descriptive Metaphorical Names
Dickensian novels make no exception to the large bulk of writings
that combine real and fictitious proper names. Among the latter, characters
with descriptive substitute names, metaphorical titles and allusive place
names take a special place.
In terms of titles, Bleak House raises many difficulties of
interpretation because of the different layers of meaning upon which it
resides. In shaping contrasting identities of the place that serves as a source
for the title, Dickens could never imagine how debatable its translations
would be. The title has been metaphorically translated into French as “La
maison d’Apre Vent” (literally “rough wind”), on the basis of the meanings
of “bleak” as “providing no shelter or sustenance or exposed to the
elements and unfavourable to growth and life” and of the constant
references to the weather-conditioned disposition of the owner who turned
the house from a ruin into an elegant residence. If the title in this case
sends to the present state of the house, the Italian “Casa desolata”
(“desolata” = “desolated, devastated, ravaged, ruined, wasted, forsaken,
deprived of inhabitants, made uninhabitable”) that appears in a recent
translation of Angela Negro at Einaudi is definitely motivated by the
original condition of the house that generated the “bleak” labelling:
In the meantime, the place became dilapidated, the wind whistled
through the cracked walls, the rain fell through the broken roof, the weeds
choked the passage to the rotting door. When I brought what remained of him
home here, the brains seemed to me to have been blown out of the house too,
it was so shattered and ruined [15].
Characterized by a character as a “dreary name” and yet by another,
as “not a dreary place” at the time of narration, the interpretation is far
more accurate than in other versions. There at least two other meanings of
“bleak” to be considered in translating the title and they were both
disregarded: one refers to the metaphor of “bleak house” as an epitome of
the entrapping system, “offering no hope or encouragement as there is no
possibility of comfort or success” [16]. The one who first “gave it its
present name and lived here shut up, day and night poring over the wicked
heaps of papers in the suit and hoping against hope to disentangle it from
its mystification and bring it to a close…When I came here, it was bleak
indeed. He had left the signs of his misery upon it” [17] was definitely one
of the victims of this system. The other meaning does not depart form the
denotative level and considers the physical aspect that gives the pervasive
impression of something “dark, gloomy and sombre”. Apparently, this is
the level at which the translator Costache Popa interpreted the text and this
explains why his only official Romanian version of the novel comes with a
103
less inspired Casa umbrelor.
We have already indicated that the following types of personal
names are relevant in translation: expressive names and nicknames
(Fledgeby Fascination, Conversation Kenge), allusive or significant names
of famous figures and characters. One of the most interesting aspects
implied in personal name translation is represented by the transposition of
the name of the Barnacle clan as “Lipitoare”, on account of the fact that
Dickens himself apparently accepted and authorized the French translation
of this name as “Barnicle” (which is defined literally as “any of various
marine crustaceans of the subclass Cirripedia that in the adult stage form a
hard shell and remain attached to submerged surfaces, such as rocks and
ships' bottoms” and metaphorically as “a parasite” [18] on the Internet
URL http://www.thefreedictionary.com/barnacle). Neculai Popa proposes
the treatment of this name as a charactonym and motivates his choice by
the intention of respecting the author’s satirical intention. Thus, the title of
chapter 34, “A Shoal of Barnacles” is rendered again, by analogy with the
French translation (“Tout un banc de Bernicles”), as “Puzderie de lipitori”.
Despite the fact there is some overlapping of meaning with two French
words “bernacle”=“barnacle” (English) and “bernicle”=”shipworm”, it
becomes obvious that the connotative meaning is the one that is aimed at.
Dickens’s expressive nicknames for his characters are characterized
by their traceable origin. Thus, they may relate to a person’s character,
imagined or real, to some physical trait or to a specific incident or event.
Most often, they are offensively sarcastic, or simply ironic references to a
person’s nationality or place of origin, and even to the person’s occupation.
The example we chose to discuss is related to the metaphoric epithet
attached to a person’s name, which is part of the same category as the socalled “glorified nicknames” (e.g. Richard the Lionhearted, Charles the
Bald). The active solicitor in Bleak House, Kenge, is almost invariably
referred to by means of such a denominative device, due to his unusual
pleasure taken in talking:
He appeared to enjoy beyond everything the sound of his own voice.
I couldn’t wonder at that, for it was mellow and full and gave great
importance to every word he uttered. He listened to himself with obvious
satisfaction and sometimes gently beat time to his own music with his head
or rounded a sentence with his hand. I was very much impressed by him even then, before I knew that he formed himself on the model of a great
lord who was his client and that he was generally called Conversation
Kenge. [19]
The special form of this naming pattern, in which “Conversation” is
not an appositive structure (it looks more like a premodifying one) raises
104
difficulties in translation and the solutions found are sometimes debatable.
The Italian translators preferred an appositive epithet “Kenge il
Conversatore,” based on Kenge’s expectations/aspirations of being
acknowledged as an accomplished orator. The English equivalent of
“conversatore” is the noun “conversationalist”, that is “someone skilled in
conversation”. We do not think that eloquence is really the main attribute of
Kenge. On the contrary, we should take into account the presence in the text
of the adjective “conversational,” associated with the solicitor’s name and
its synonyms “loquacious, voluble, talkative, garrulous, chatty” [20]. The
Romanian interpretation resides exactly upon the idea that Kenge is nothing
but an emphatic talker; the name translated as “Kenge Vorbă-lungă” or
Kenge “gură bogată” [21] implies an ironic usage of these epithets and
sends us to fairy-tale names given to odd creatures. The range of Romanian
adjectives to be considered as alternatives in characterizing Kenge are
“gureş”, “clănţău”, “flecar”, “guraliv”, “limbut”, “palavragiu”,
“vorbăreţ”[22]. They cover different language styles (familiar, informal)
and their usage has stylistic implications. A skilful translator should also
decide upon the structure of the Romanian pattern which could be either
“Kenge cel limbut/guraliv” or “Kenge vorbăreţul” and even the derogatory
“clănţăul/palavragiul de Kenge”.
Despite some inherent misinterpretations, we note a high quality of
the translations on the whole and a deep knowledge of the system of proper
names. We also appreciate the translators’ skill in finding the necessary
characterizing information in the names and in conveying the writer’s
intention. In the end, each translator deals with the ways of rendering proper
names, depending on their significance and stylistic load and tries to find
the best translation strategy to achieve this goal.
Notes:
[1] Storey, G. and Tillotson, K. (1995) (eds). The Letters of Charles
Dickens, Oxford: The Clarendon Press, vol.8 :8
[2] idem [1], vol 8: 263n
[3] Sadrin, Anny (1998) ‘The Tyranny of Words: reading Dickens in
Translation’, in Dickens: The Craft of Fiction and the Challenges of Reading,
Milan: Vescovi Unicopli, 273-282
[4] Casotti, F. (1999) ‘Italian Translations of Dickens’ in The Dickensian,
number 447, Vol. 95 part 1, 19-23
[5] idem [3]
[6] Hervey, S., Higgins, I. (1992) Thinking Translation. A Course in
Translation Method: French-English, London and New York: Routledge, 28-45
[7] idem [6]
[8] Kalashnikov, A. (2006) ‘Proper Names in Translation of Fiction’,
Translation Journal, vol.10, no.1
105
[9] Dickens, Ch. (1996) Little Dorrit, Wordsworth Edition Limited, ch.4
[10] Dickens Ch. (1975) Mica Dorrit, trans. Niculai Popescu, 2 vol.,
Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
[11] Dickens, Ch. (1994) Our Mutual Friend, David Campbell, London
[12] Dickens Ch. (1973) Prietenul nostru comun, trans. Niculai Popescu, 2
vol., Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
[13] idem [3]
[14] Leppihalme, Ritva, Culture Bumps: An empirical approach to the
translation of allusions, Clevedon: Multilingual Matters 1997: 78-9, 84
[15] Dickens, Ch. (1985) Bleak House, Penguin, Harmondsworth
[16] Internet URL - http://www.thefreedictionary.com/bleak
[17] idem [15]
[18] Internet URL - http://www.thefreedictionary.com/barnacle
[19] Dickens, Ch. (1985) Bleak House, Penguin, Harmondsworth, p.19
[20] Internet URL - http://www.thefreedictionary.com/conversational
[21] Dickens Ch. (1971) Casa umbrelor, trans. Costache Popa, Bucureşti,
Editura Univers, p.33, 44
[22] Internet URL - http://www.dictionary.ro/vorbăreţ
Bibliography:
o Bantas, A. (1994) ‘Names, Nicknames, and Titles in Translation’,
Perspectives: Studies in Translatology, 1994/1, 79-87
o Bantas, A. & Manea C-tin (1990) ‘Proper Names and Nicknames:
Challenges for Translators and Lexicographers’, Revue Roumaine de
Linguistique 35/3, 183-196
o Casotti, F. (1999) ‘Italian Translations of Dickens’ in The
Dickensian, number 447 Vol. 95 part 1, 19-23
o Dickens, Ch. (1985) Bleak House, Penguin, Harmondsworth
o Dickens Ch. (1971) Casa umbrelor, trans. Costache Popa,
Bucureşti, Editura Univers
o Dickens, Ch. (1992) David Copperfield, Wordsworth Edition
Limited
o Dickens, Ch. (1992) Great Expectations, Wordsworth Edition
Limited
o Dickens, Ch. (1996) Little Dorrit, Wordsworth Edition Limited
o Dickens Ch. (1975) Mica Dorrit, trans. Niculai Popescu, 2 vol.,
Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
o Dickens, Ch. (1994) Our Mutual Friend, David Campbell, London
o Dickens, Ch. (1982) Oliver Twist, Charnwood, Leicester
o Dickens Ch. (1973) Prietenul nostru comun, trans. Niculai Popescu,
2 vol., Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
o Dickens, Ch. (1993) A Tale of Two Cities, David Campbell, London
106
o Hervey, S., Higgins, I. (1992) Thinking Translation. A Course in
Translation Method: French-English, London and New York: Routledge
o Kalashnikov A. (2006) ‘Proper Names in Translation of Fiction’,
Translation
Journal,
vol.10,
no.1,
Internet
URL:
http://accurapid.com/journal/35propernames.htm
o Leppihalme, R (1997) Culture Bumps: An empirical approach to
the translation of allusions, Clevedon: Multilingual Matters, 78-9, 84
o Monod , J. (1998) ‘Translating Dickens into French’, in Anny
Sadrin (ed.), Dickens,
o Europe and the New Worlds. Houndmills, Basingstoke: Macmillan
o Schlicke, P. (1999) (ed.), The Oxford Reader’s Companion to
Dickens, Oxford: OUP Steiner, G. (1975) After Babel, Aspects of Language
and Translation, Oxford University Press, Oxford
o Sadrin, Anny (1998) ‘The Tyranny of Words: reading Dickens in
Translation’, in Dickens: The Craft of Fiction and the Challenges of
Reading, edited by Rossana Bonadei, Clotilde de Stasio, Carlo Pagetti and
Alessandro, Milan: Vescovi Unicopli, in the series "Collana di Anglistica"
o Storey, G. and Tillotson, K. (1995) (eds). The Letters of Charles
Dickens, Oxford: The Clarendon Press
o http://www.thefreedictionary.com/
o http://www.dictionary.ro/
ANNEX 1
Dickensian novels
o Dickens, Charles (2003) Barnaby Rudge, Oxford: Oxford
University Press
o Dickens, Charles (1985) Bleak House, Harmondsworth: Penguin
o Dickens, Charles (1992) David Copperfield, Wordsworth Edition
Limited
o Dickens, Charles (1994): Dealings with the Firm of Dombey and
Son – Wholesale, Retail and for Exportation, London: Everyman’s Library
o Dickens, Charles (1992) Great Expectations, Wordsworth Edition
Limited
o Dickens, Charles (1984) Hard Times, Leicester: Charnwood
o Dickens, Charles (1996) Little Dorrit, Wordsworth Edition Limited
o Dickens, Charles (1994) Martin Chuzzlewit, London: David
Campbell
o Dickens, Charles (1982) The Mystery of Edwin Drood, Oxford:
Oxford University Press
107
o Dickens, Charles (1993) Nicholas Nickleby, London: Everyman’s
Library
o Dickens, Charles (1995) The Old Curiosity Shop, London: David
Campbell
o Dickens, Charles (1994) Our Mutual Friend, London: David
Campbell
o Dickens, Charles (1982) Oliver Twist, Leicester: Charnwood
o Dickens, Charles (1998) The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick
Club, London: David Campbell
o Dickens, Charles (1995) Sketches by Boz, London: Penguin
o Dickens, Charles (1993) A Tale of Two Cities, London: David
Campbell
Italian Translations
o Dickens Ch. (1990) Il Circolo Pickwick. Ed. P. Bellocchio. Trans. G.
Lonza. I grandi libri. Milano: Garzanti.
o Dickens Ch. (1993) La storia e le personali esperienze di David
Copperfield. Intr. and Trans. C. Pavese. I grandi libri. Torino: Einaudi, 1939.
Rprt. I tascabili.
o Dickens Ch., (1994) Dombey e figlio Intr. S. Marcus. Trans. C.
Angiolillo Zannino. I classici. Milano: Rizzoli.
o Dickens Ch. (1995) Casa desolata Intr. V. Nabokov. Trans. A. Negro.
Einaudi tascabili. Torino: Einaudi.
o Dickens Ch. (1975) Grandi speranze. Ed. and Trans. M. L. Giartosia
De Courten. Gli struzzi. Torino: Einaudi.
o Dickens Ch. (1987) Grandi speranze. Ed. G. Almansi. Trans. B. Maffi.
I classici della BUR. Milano: Rizzoli.
o Dickens Ch. (1991) Grandi speranze. Intr. A. Monti. Trans. C.
Mazzola. Oscar Classici. Milano: Mondadori.
o Dickens Ch. (1994) Grandi speranze. Trans. M. Sestito. I grandi libri.
Milano: Garzanti
o Dickens Ch. (1982) Il nostro comune amico. Intr. A. Kettle. Trans. L.
Lamberti. Gli struzzi. Torino: Einaudi.
o Dickens Ch. (1983) Il mistero di Edwin Drood. Ed.and Trans. S.
Manferlotti. Intr. G. Almansi. Archivio del romanzo. Napoli: Guida.
o Dickens Ch. (1984) Il mistero di Edwin Drood. Compl. L. Garfield.
Intr. E. Blishen. Trans. P.F. Paolini. Milano: Rusconi.
o Dickens Ch. (1981) Le avventure di Oliver Twist. Ed. A. Brilli. Trans.
U. Dettore. I classici della BUR, Milano: Rizzoli.
o Dickens Ch. (1999) Racconti di due città. Ed. and Trans. M.
Domenichelli. Milano: Frassinelli.
108
o Dickens Ch. (1990) Tempi difficili. Ed. P. Ruffilli. Trans. B. Tasso. I
classici della BUR. Milano: Rizzoli.
ANNEX 2
French translations
o Dickens Ch. (1979) David Copperfield, trans. by Pierre Leyris.
<1000 Soleils Or>, 1979
o Dickens Ch. (1979) Souvenirs intimes de David Copperfield – De
grandes espérances, trans. Madeleine Rossel, André Parreaux, Lucien
Guitard and Pierre Leyris.
o Dickens Ch. (1954) Souvenirs intimes de David Copperfield,
reviewed and completed by Francis Ledoux and Pierre Leyris,
«Bibliothèque de la Pléiade »
o Dickens Ch. (1956) Dossier de la maison Dombey et Fils - Temps
difficiles, trans. by Georges Connes and Andhrée Vaillant. Edited by Pierre
Leyris « Bibliothèque de la Pléiade»
o Dickens Ch. (1962) Le Magasin d'Antiquité - Barnabé Rudge, trans.
by Marcelle Sibon and Sylvère Monod. Edited by Pierre Leyris, «
Bibliothèque de la Pléiade »
o Dickens Ch. (1966) La Vie et les aventures de Nicolas Nickleby Livres de Noël, trans. by Jacques Douady, Marcelle Sibon and Francis
Ledoux. Edited by Pierre Leyris, « Bibliothèque de la Pléiade »
o Dickens Ch. (1970) La Petite Dorrit - Un conte de deux villes,
traduction de Jeanne Métifeu-Béjeau. Edited by Pierre Leyris, «
Bibliothèque de la Pléiade »
o Dickens Ch. (1958) Les Papiers posthumes du Pickwick-club - Les
Aventures d'Olivier Twist, transl. by Sylvère Monod et Francis Ledoux.
Edited by Pierre Leyris, « Bibliothèque de la Pléiade »
Romanian Translations
o Dickens Ch. (1971) Casa umbrelor, trans. Costache Popa, 2 vols.,
Bucureşti, Editura Univers
o Dickens Ch. (1970) Documentele postume ale Clubului Pickwick,
trans. Ion Pas and Nicolae Popescu, 3 vols., Bucureşti, Editura Cartea
Românească
o Dickens Ch. (1968) Marile speranţe, trans. Dan Grigorescu, Editura
pentru Literatură; trans. by Vera Calin, Editura Regis 2002
109
o Dickens Ch. (1965) Martin Chuzzlewit, trans. Mihnea Gheorghiu, 2
vols., Bucureşti, Editura Pentru Literatură Universală
o Dickens Ch. (1975) Mica Dorrit, trans. Niculai Popescu, 2 vol.,
Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
o Dickens Ch. (1970) Misterul lui Edwin Drood, trans., preface and
notes by Niculai Popescu, Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
o Dickens Ch. (1973) Poveste despre două oraşe, trans. Antoaneta
Ralian, Bucureşti, Editura Eminescu
o Dickens Ch. (1973) Prietenul nostru comun, trans. Niculai
Popescu, 2 vol., Bucureşti, Editura Cartea Românească
o Dickens Ch. (1970) Schiţele lui Boz, trans.Niculai Popescu,
Bucureşi, Editura Univers
o Dickens Ch. (1964) Timpuri grele, tarns. Valeria and Teodora
Sadoveanu, Bucureşti, Editura Pentru Literatură Universală
o Dickens Ch. (1969) Viaţa lui David Copperfield, trans. Ioan
Comşa, 2 vol., Bucureşti, Editura Tineretului; trans. Ionel Jianu, Editura
Tineretului 1997
o Dickens Ch. (1976) Viaţa şi aventurile lui Oliver Twist, trans.
Teodora and Profira Sadoveanu, Editura Ion Creangă
TRANSLATING LITERATURE/ CULTURES
Lidia Necula
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Reality and its cultural representation in reality are
carved up in various ways, according to the manifold patterns
of sameness and difference which various languages provide.
Alternatively, the translated texts are examined for ways in
which they could suggest a difference from themselves, for
interpretations which undetermine the apparently primary
interpretation. The present paper forwards the idea that these
texts are constructed by a human hand and a human mind –
either the author’s or the characters’ and that possible cultural
literary worlds are stimulated and not discovered.
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‘Literature had long been regarded as a message without a code for
it to become necessary to regard it for a time as a code without message.’
(Gerard Genette, Structuralism and Literary Criticism, 1988: 78)
Montaigne used to say that ‘we need to interpret interpretations more
than we need to interpret things’. The present paper wants itself, above all,
as an interpretation of things, or better said, as a deconstructive
interpretation of the contrasting and constructing translating/translated
literatures, conceived of as different and differing cultural manifestations.
Without a doubt, the idea of a constructed translating literature
might sound oxymoronic to the reader, given the fact that translating
literature presupposes a certain continuity in time while the adjective
constructed obviously points to a temporal accomplishment, and therefore,
to a lack of continuity.
All the same, it is this paradox that might allow the reader to take the
freedom of rejecting seeing things as they appear: what we are interested in
is actually the translating process that constructs or writes us according to
our own translational individuality principles.
The constructing translating/ translated literature obviously points
to the idea that literatures are contrasting just as they are involved in a
continuous and parallel process of construction as the translation process
unfolds, revealing language as a polysystem and thus pointing to an
absence of boundaries or of independent cultures for that matter.
Thus, we thought that the most appropriate way of tackling the
phenomenon of translating literature/translated literature and cultures
would be to carry out a cultural deconstruction on a series of translated
texts, due to the fact that translation itself is a cultural manifestation.
With regard to Umberto Eco’s ideas in The Limits of Interpretation
(1996), in order to compare, contrast and confront several texts/ literatures
one should similarly consider the original text to be translated or
transferred into another language/ culture as a (cultural) construct since we
perceive the real world through a bulk of images and descriptions of
feelings and dispositions, and since it is exactly these epistemic literary
worlds that exclude each other.
And yet, the knowledge people have of the world is inextricably
shaped and conditioned by the language that serves to represent it and, far
from providing a ‘window’ on reality, language brings along with it a
whole intricate network of established significations.
In brief, reality and its cultural representation in reality are carved up
in various ways, according to the manifold patterns of sameness and
difference which various languages provide. Likewise, there is no
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knowledge of a true ‘reality’, if not only a symbolised, constructed
experience.
To put it more simply, ‘knowing the experience’ described in Patricia
Potter’s novel (wherefrom the sample texts for analysis are taken) and
transferring it into another language/ culture becomes itself mediated
knowing, which is the only thing that eventually knowing can be.
Alternatively, the translated texts are examined for ways in which
they could suggest a difference from themselves, for interpretations which
undetermine the apparently primary interpretation. In other words, the
present paper forwards the idea that these texts are constructed by a human
hand and a human mind – either the author’s or the characters’ and that
possible cultural literary worlds are stimulated and not discovered.
Besides, reading these translating/ translated texts in a deconstructive
mode, is, however, not a matter of ‘decoding the message’: it is a matter of
entering into the thoughtful play of contradiction, multiple reference, and
the ceaseless questioning of conclusions and responses; the less a
translation deconstructs itself, the more we can and must deconstruct it, i.e.
show the structures of thought and assumption which ground it and the
exclusions which make its meaning possible.
The present paper is therefore meant as a cultural deconstruction,
analysis and investigation in a globalizing and globalized translational
context, of how regulated transformations act upon texts, challenging
translators to think and rethink every moment a solution is posed or a
sentence inscribed recreating thus the original literary text according to
their own subjective and manipulative cultural constructs.
***
‘Literary translation in the Western world today is a panorama of
many shadows, brightened here and there by a ray of light’. (Holmes, “The
State of Two Arts: Literary Translation and Translation Studies in the West
Today,” in Translated! Papers on Literary Translation and Translation
Studies, 1985: 152)
From its early beginnings on, the theory of translation in the West
has centered on metaphor and simile in order to elucidate that mysterious
mental process which underlies the translation of a foreign text into one’s
mother tongue. We would be seriously mistaken, however, to think that the
use of metaphors is bound to occur in translation theory in its pre-scientific
stage only.
Since its emergence as a scientific discipline in the late fifties and
early sixties, translation studies in its theoretical component has been
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notably characterized by the permanent use of successive metaphors
serving as analogues for what happens when a human being translates.
In Eugene Nida’s approach for example, metaphors abound very
conspicuously. Let’s take his concepts of dynamic equivalence, transfer,
back-transformation by which he literally means that the needs of the
target audience should have priority over the forms of language.
On the other hand, deconstructionists go so far as to suggest that
perhaps the translated text is the one to write us and not the other way round
because deconstruction challenges limits of language, writing and reading,
by pointing to how the definitions of the very terms used to discuss concepts
set boundaries for the specific theories they describe.
Such thinking about the nature of translation and the nature of
language thus becomes important to translation theorists, not because it
necessarily defines another approach, but because it deepens and broadens
the conceptual framework by which the very field itself is defined.
While not offering a specific “translation theory” of its own,
deconstruction, however, does “use” translation often both to raise
questions regarding the nature of language and “being-in-language” as well
as to suggest that in the process of translating texts, one can come as close
as is possible to that elusive notion or experience of différance, which
underlies their approach.
Jacques Derrida, for example, suggests that deconstruction and
translation are inexorably interconnected, intimating that the process of
translation, that elusive impossible presence he refers to as différance may,
to the highest degree possible, be visible: ‘In the limits to which it is
possible or at least appears possible, translation practices the difference
between signified and signifier’. (Harold Bloom, Paul de Man and Jacques
Derrida, Deconstruction and Criticism, 1981: 21)
Derrida’ image of translation as a contrast seems as if the human
mind were dealing with so self-evident an activity as translating cannot
escape from speaking about it in metaphors. Let us not be surprised,
however, since even in the most intellectual and abstract of his mental
activities, philosophy, man cannot do without the help of images, as J.
Derrida had observed time and time again. He bases his theory of
deconstruction or non-identity, on non-presence, or unrepresentability.
What does exist, according to Derrida, are different chains of
signification – including the “original” and its translations in a symbiotic
relationship – mutually supplementing each other, defining and redefining
a phantasm of sameness, which has never existed nor will exist as
something fix, graspable, known or understood. This phantasm, produced
by a desire for some essence or unity, represses the possibility that
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whatever may be there is always in motion, in flux, “at play”, escaping in
the very process of trying to define it, talk about it or make it present.
In translation, what is visible is language, referring not to things but
to language itself. Thus the chain of signification is one of infinite regress
– the translated text becomes a translation of another earlier translation and
translated words, although viewed by deconstructionists as ”material”
signifiers”, represent nothing but other words representing nothing but still
other words representing.
Metaphors do not simply illustrate or visualize concepts which would
otherwise remain vague. Metaphors themselves are a cognitive content,
playing an important and irreplaceable part as ‘models’ in scientific
research where they are not substitutions for mathematical formulas or
other constructs.
In Holmes’ view on the translation process of the translator, and
more precisely the translator of literature, organizes and resolves
confrontation of linguistic, literary and cultural norms and conventions; he
selects and makes appropriate decisions, resolves incompatibilities, and
makes choices on various planes. The translation of a text consists of a
game set by the translator.
In seeking counterparts or matchings the translator is constantly
faced by choices, every new choice delimiting the range of possibilities
open to him in finding solutions to other problems.
In his/her attempt to preserve the unity of the literary work despite
the heterogeneity of the linguistic, literary and socio-cultural structures
which he has to bring into harmony, the translator must resort to a game
strategy of illusionism.
The translation of texts (or … at least complex texts) takes place on
two planes: a serial plane, where one translates sentence by sentence, and a
structural plane, on which one abstracts a ‘mental conception’ of the
original text, then uses that mental conception as a kind of general criterion
against which to test each sentence during the formulation on the new,
translated text. (Holmes, Translated! Papers on Literary Translation and
Translation Studies, 1988: 83)
The idea of the two planes assuming the translator’s choice among
alternative solutions for micro-contextual problems is directed by selective
instructions deriving from the macro-context.
The introduction of this abstract text-rank mental ‘map’ together with
Holmes’ further step of distinguishing three sets of rules – derivation rules,
projection rules, and correspondence rules – by which specific phases of
the entire process would seem to be carried out, is undeniably a major
contribution to translation theory and description.
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First of all Holmes, by positing that the translator’s decisions on the
serial level are accompanied by choices on a higher (‘deeper’) level of
abstraction, recognizes and emphasizes translating as a mental activity.
In this mental stage in which the map of the target text-to-be about is
continually being matched with the map of the source text, at least three
disparate bits of information are involved, viz. contextual, intertextual
and situational (socio-cultural) information.
Secondly, Holmes assumes the possibility for the translator to choose
among either ‘homologues’ (i.e. features corresponding in form, but not in
function) or ‘analogues’ (i.e. features which correspond in function, but not
in form), or else ‘semasiologues’ (i.e. features corresponding in meaning
but neither in function or form) as substitutes for given source text
features.
Thirdly, he firmly stresses the interdependence among
correspondences: ‘The choice of a specific kind of correspondence in
connection with one feature of the source-text map determines the kind of
correspondences available for another or others.’ (Holmes, 1988: 86)
The literary text, however, demands a more complex hierarchy of
correspondences to which various translators respond in various manners –
a fact which ultimately accounts for the variety of translations which the
literary text allows.
For the translator of all literary translation, the alternative choices are
basically either ‘exoticizing and historicizing, with an emphasis on
retention’ or ‘naturalizing and modernizing, with an emphasis on recreation’ (1988: 48)
Since these choices are made on each of three planes, the linguistic,
the literary, and the socio-cultural, the range of theoretical possibilities is
fairly large. And the choices that translators actually make are much more
complex. In practice, translators perform pragmatic choices on the various
planes according to their own reproductive or re-creative needs ‘at this
point historicizing or exoticizing, at that point modernizing or naturalizing,
and emphasizing now this plane now that, at the cost of the other two.’ (48)
Language and Culture: The Translator – Ethnographer
The fields of translation and cultural studies can be seen as encircled
within an interdisciplinary framework with fluid boundaries.
The best approach to see how the “translation of cultures” works
would probably be to explore first the different meanings of the word
“translation”, therefore to scrutinize the translator as an interpreter of
experience. In so doing, we will try to bring forth the dilemmas of
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relativism and manipulation of information as a result of the evaluative
discrimination the translator sees himself forced to do.
The translation of culture has become since the 1950’s an almost banal
description of the distinctive chore of social anthropology. Geodfrey
Lienhardt’s paper Modes of Thought (1954) is one of the earliest examples
of the use of translation to describe a central task of this discipline. He uses
the word “translation” to refer not to the linguistic matter but to the problem
of describing others from a different culture. In this context, “to translate” is
a synonym of “to convert”, and the meaning is thus closer to “to change” or
“to exchange”.
On the other hand, the one who translates is said to express in one
form what has been written or said by another. Under this concept,
translation as expression is also linked to the explanation and interpretation
of meaning. This adds a social dimension to the understanding of other
cultures and faces us with the role of the translator as ethnographer.
Thus, the roles of the ethnographer and the translator are quite
similar: both are interpreters, the former of experiences and notes, the
latter, of a given text. Both face a large disposal of sets of possible
responses in their language and both are attached to a certain degree of
subjectivity.
Let us start with some considerations on the importance of the
written text in the Western culture. Orality and Literacy are two different
recognized ways of expression. But even today we hold some beliefs about
the nature of language and its function in society which were held by men
of letters in charge of either educating the natives or justifying the
education of the natives in the process of colonization.
It is obvious that each language presents a system of conceptual
patterns (rules for requesting, discerning, questioning, etc.) that have
evolved over a long period of time, and each language has developed its
own categories with its own style of expressing them. Therefore, the
translator-ethnographer as the experiencer of culture has his/her own style
which makes translation – taking the term in its widest sense - much more
difficult than for the native. That means that the translator works with the
concept of language not as an isolated manifestation of the human activity,
but as a polysystem, that is the language system as part of the complex
system of human manifestations we know as “culture”.
Language functions in a variety of ways other than ‘referring to
objects’. Not every utterance is an assertion. There are many things that
language-in-use does, and is intended to do, which explains why we may
respond positively to discourse that may seem inadequate from a narrow
logical point of view. The functions of a particular language, the intentions
116
of a particular discourse, are of course part of what every competent
translator – ethnographer tries to grasp before he/she can attempt an
adequate translation in his/her own language. (Clifford, J., The
Predicament of Culture. Twentieth Century Ethnography, Literature and
Art, 1986:146)
Mikhail Bakhtin used the term heteroglossia to define the idea that
languages do not exclude each other, but rather intersect with each other in
many different ways. This suggests an ambiguous, polyfacetic world, with
no boundaries and independent cultures, and the inevitable reality of a
cross-cultural representation which implies all the vicissitudes of
translation. In the case of the translator-ethnographer, it requires
participant observation, this involving arduous language learning, some
degree of direct participation and conversation and often of confrontation
of cultural expectations.
In both cases, the translator-ethnographer faces language problems,
either when wanting to write down his/her experience or when dealing
with a given text. He/she has a series of possible meaningful sentences,
including in this concept the idea of context and textual relationship, in
his/her own culture. And before he/she takes the final decision, there is an
intermediary step, an imaginary unreal third stage in his/her mind which
could mediate between the native culture and his/her own.
On the one hand, this could be called methodological invariance – a
hypothetical construction over some aspects of the source text (ST) that
functions as an intermediate stage in the comparison between this one and
the translated text (TT).
On the other hand, this step could be explained as the central point in
which both cultures (the new one and the translator-ethnographer’s one)
meet when writing, although it is difficult to specify certainly at which
level or which points of contact are established. The next step will be the
process by which the collected information is placed under the parameters
(e.g. behaviour, concepts, description, contexts, etc.) of the new culture. In
this process, the translator-interpreter has to choose and this evaluative
discrimination is always a matter of selection. This selection is not
necessarily good or bad but, in most cases, although not necessarily, it
implies relativism. This problem connects with the idea of how to
understand cultural translation, how persons in cultural translations
understand some things and not others.
At the same time we must recognize the existence of different levels
of speech, production and reception. That means that the translator’s
translation is not merely a matter of matching sentences in abstract.
Nothing has meaning in isolation and any cultural event is produced in
117
context and the context may be determined by some external facts. The
translator must also be conscious of the inside and outside of events and a
dialectic of experience and interpretation plus process of transfer.
Apart from having problems related to linguistic materials, the
translator-ethnographer also faces some problems concerning the socioeconomical, and in some cases, political conditions, connected with the
production of a new text.
At the same time, the translator is subject to different, even
contradictory forces, which are a reflection of his/her position in society in
many possible senses (age, time, aesthetics, kind of relationship, etc.) and
may be influenced by all the different motivations behind an act of
communication to concentrate on one particular aspect of a message,
asking for a very general translation, an adaptation or a summary. In short,
the translated text may reflect the particular identity and motivation of the
translator.
Every translation (of an original text into a different language) is
subjected to a translational individuality principle and as such is basically
an unrepeated event. The translator may have a greater or lesser degree of
competence, but his/her work will also reflect an inevitable element of
subjectivity or style which can be traced through certain lexical usages and
syntactic forms, development of mannerisms or a certain approach to
translating, i.e. different reactions to the same text or to the contact with
reality.
Shame washed through her. Deep and profound. She had sensed
from the beginning that there was something inherently decent about this
Englishman, this Carey, yet she had not let herself believe it. She had
wanted to hold on to her hate.
A tear made a muddy trail through the dirt on her face just as he
turned to her, and she thought to brush it away. But before she could move
her arm, he was kneeling next to her, his finger trailing the path the tear
had taken, his mouth working jaggedly, and his own eyes suspiciously wet.
(ST, Potter, 1990: 172)
Un sentiment de vinovăţie îşi făcu loc în sufletul ei. Adânc şi
dureros. Simţise încă de la început că acest englez, acest Carey era
cumsecade dar refuzase să se încreadă în intuiţia ei. Se încăpăţânase să se
agaţe de ura ei. Se gândi să şteargă lacrima care se prelingea pe obrazul ei
murdar tocmai cand el îşi întoarse privirea spre ea. Dar înainte ca Elsbeth
să-şi mişte braţul, el îngenunche în faţa ei şi-i atinse cu degetul urma lăsată
de lacrimă, buzele strânse şi ochii ciudat umezi trădându-i emoţia
puternică. (TT, our translation)
The above written excerpts prove that in this case the original asks
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for a general translation, an adaptation that fits the Romanian cultural
context. It is very important that the translator uses the linguistic means
that he comes across in his own native language, even if this means
subjecting the original to a subjective translational principle.
Accordingly, besides being an interpreter of experience, the
translator proves a manipulator of information, i.e. the collocations specific
to the source language text are transferred into correspondent - yet not
always similar – collocations specific to the target language text. So, while
in English one might discover that it is natural for the noun shame to
collocate with the verb to wash, the translator chooses the noun vinovăţie,
which normally collocates with the verb a face loc, a would be surrogate
for the connotation of to wash. Thus, the whole meaning of the original
text is changed, re-projected, manipulated, according to the cultural
specific background into which the ST has to be rendered.
Translation, current styles of cultural description are historically
limited, but they undergo important metamorphoses as a consequence of
the crisis of authority.
In reality, translation – like any other behavioral activity - is subject
to constraints of various types and degrees, including objective, relatively
and absolute rules, on the one hand, and fully subjective idiosyncrasies on
the other.
However, in between these two extremes there lies a substantial
middle ground occupied by intersubjective factors, commonly designated
norms, which constitute the main set of constraints on it […] the existence
of norms of a certain behavioral dimension obviously presupposes a
certain rate of conformity to them. However, this by no means implies that
any single act of performance in this dimension will in fact reveal the
same rate of conformity, or any conformity at all to the norm in question.
(Toury, The Translator as a Nonconformist-to-be, or How to Train
Translators so as to Violate Translational Norms, 1980: 180)
In the case of the translator, it requires intellectual participation. That
is, first he/she is a reader experimenting some feelings and reactions in a
different culture according to some previous ideas and goals. In order to
transfer the text from one language to another, he/she must know not only
the languages but also the cultures, and will certainly evaluate some
cultural differences.
In other words, society and its manifestations are not simply texts that
communicate themselves to the reader. They need interpreters. These are
people who speak with different voices, and through different patterns – not
only by men, women, class, age, power, etc.- and can be affected by
different conditions. These voices are in a context that can be translated to a
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different society. At this stage, Malinowski’s (“The Problem of Meaning in
Primitive Languages” in The Meaning of Meaning. A Study of the Influence
of Language upon Thought and of the Science of Symbolism, 1958:306)
expression context of situation is made relevant.
For him, context of situation indicates on the one hand that the
conception of context has to be broadened, and on the other hand, that the
situation in which words are uttered can never be passed over as irrelevant
to the linguistic expression, i.e. the idea of context must be substantially
widened beyond the bonds of mere linguistics and be carried over into the
analysis of the general conditions under which a language is spoken.
Thus, the study of any language, spoken by a people living under
conditions different from our own and possessing a different culture, must
be carried out in conjunction with the study of their culture and of their
environment. As a result, the differences among the languages are one of
the major problems that the translator – ethnographer faces.
Languages are different, and translations of culture or of a cultural
manifestation (e.g. a novel) will be also different. The ‘perfect’ translation
does not exist. There exist only more or less accurate - contextual –
translations depending on some facts. Some of them are: type of text (novel,
poetry, scientific text, cartoons, subtitling, etc.), resources of the translator’s
language, translator’s competence, readership intended, purpose of the
translation, etc.
How should these authorial presences be made manifest? Should the
translator’s style be made manifest in the translated text? These questions
send us back to the current attitude of cultural relativism.
Another relevant element is the readership, an element not always
taken into account. But the ‘product’ of the translation – translation of
culture or translation of a text into another language – needs a consumer, a
reader who is ready to read about another way of life and to manipulate the
text according to established rules.
On the other hand, the translator has a style, he/she has learned some
conventions and uses of the language that imply a choice. At the same time
the translation arises from the need to relate one’s interest to that of
another and to encode it appropriately.
From this point of view, translation involves not only the ability to
speak in a particular polysystem, but the capacity to reshape one’s thoughts
and actions in accordance with accepted forms.
Different historical moments, different modes of writing, different
fashions in thought, in short, different discourses, these are the elements
reflected in the use of language. But at this point we should remember that
language is a cultural manifestation that can be fixed in a text, in other
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words, language is just a way of expressing culture.
The translation of cultures requires one to try to understand other
forms of life as the translation of a text requires one to try to understand
the original polysystem of the text to be translated.
In the epigraph to Language, Counter-memory, Practice (1977),
Michel Foucault cites Jorge Luis Borges as saying, ‘The fact is that every
writer creates his own precursors. His work modifies our conception of the
past, as it will modify the future’. (1977: 5)
The notion that the translator creates the original is one which is
introduced by deconstructionists and serves to undermine the notion of
authorship and with it the authority on which to base a comparison of
subsequent translated versions of a text.
In order to sustain the above statement we will support our arguments
with an excerpt from Patricia Potter’s novel The Abduction (1990). Thus, the
many underlexicalization instances we came up against while translating the
texts made us re-project the original by offering its recreated versions
according to our own individuality translational principles due to the fact that
the texts had to be transferred not only into the author’s reality but also into
another historical/cultural reality, completely different than ours.
She wanted to disappear into nothingness as she watched – much like
an insect drawn to fire before being consumed in it – the man who had
become the centre of her world. She saw a muscle move in his hard
sculpted cheek, and knew he was exercising masterful control of some
violent emotion. (ST, 172)
Stând acolo şi privindu-l pe cel care devenise centrul lumii ei şi care
o atrăgea aşa cum focul ademeneşte o insectă şi apoi o mistuie, îşi dori să
dispară cu totul. Văzu cum tresare un muşchi pe faţa lui bine conturată şi-şi
dădu seama cât de bine îşi controla orice reacţie violentă. (TT, our
translation)
The above sample texts are an obvious example of re-projected
meanings rendering a recreated original. The lack of the same grammatical
structures, or the difference in the cultural background, the impossibility to
render the English connotation into Romanian, all make the translation
process even more difficult. Thus, while rewriting the original in a new
cultural context, the translator spoils the rich loaded images that sound so
beautiful in English but that would sound so awkward if we were to give it a
word-for-word translation.
Images such ‘nothingness’, or ‘insect drawn to fire before being
consumed in it’ or ‘hard sculpted cheek’ are but few of the cultural
underlexicalization situations that force the translator transfer the image at
the expense of semantic losses or gains. Apart from that, one can easily
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notice the fact that while the image of the insect consumed in fire or that of
the hard sculpted cheek are so powerfully visual and flow so naturally in
English, in Romanian they merely render a description that only
communicates the image at a surface level, the translation being conceived
of as an action in which the movement along the surface of language is made
visible. In such a case, the translation is of a communicative type.
The translated literary text doesn’t fix the same meaning, it allows
further room for play extending boundaries and opening up new avenues
for further difference.
Deconstructionists argue that original texts are constantly being
rewritten in the present and each reading/translation reconstructs the source
text. In his essay “What is an Author?” in Language, Counter-memory,
Practice, Foucault addresses these problems, noting that traditional notions
of original authorship, of original acts of creation, of the unity of an
original text, of translation equivalence and similitude, and systems of
valorization are at the foundation of our understanding of literature and
translation. He suggests that by granting primordial status to writing, we
reinscribe in transcendental terms an affirmation of the text’s sacred origin.
Traditional translation theory holds dear such notions of both the
author and the primordial status of an original text. Any translation of an
original into a second language involves a violation of the original, thus the
impossibility of ever creating “pure” equivalents.
Foucault attempts to break down the traditional notion of the author,
and instead suggests we think in terms of “author-function” (1977: 130-1).
Instead of a fixed originary identity, Foucault recommends focusing on the
relationships of texts with other texts and viewing the specific discourse of
a particular text within its historical situation. According to him, the
author’s work is not the result of spontaneous inspiration, but is tied to the
institutional system of the time and place over which the individual author
has little control or awareness. Thus the “act of creation” is in reality a
series of complex processes which the designation “author” serves to
simplify. Foucault prefers not to think of the author as an actual individual,
but a series of subjective positions, determined not by any single harmony
effects, but by gaps, discontinuities, and breakages.
The discourse of the text will show how these discontinuities
destructure the notion of a unified, ahistorical, transcendental, original
text.
In his essay “Culture and Truth: The Erosion of Classic Norms”,
Renato Rosaldo (in Encountering Cultures. Reading and Writing in a
Changing World, 1992:477) points out that cultures are learned, not
genetically encoded. That means that they need to be encoded the same
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way a text in another language needs it too.
Our century may be seen as preoccupied by meaning and identity
through what we call culture and language. Culture is not an object to be
described, nor is it a unified corpus of symbols and meanings that can be
definitely interpreted. Culture is contested, temporal and emergent. The
same applies to translation. The existence of different translations of the
same text based on different theories of translations, and different times
give evidence to this fact. So, production and reception of both types of
texts constantly change despite the fact that, as written texts they are fixed.
But words are more than simple labels for specific objects.
Summarizing, the translator has first to understand the author and his
time and then translate the text into a different language. He has to make
some research just as he has to observe a certain amount of conditions –
socio-economical, political, time of production, readership, etc and from a
theoretical point of view he has to be not only bicultural but also bilingual.
But the difficulty of putting this axiom into practice leads us to
accept the relativism of the activity of translating transmitted through an
apparent crisis of authority that only makes clear the relativism of this
activity, without meaning the impossibility of being certain, but only the
impossibility of a unique solution, considering the diverseness of cultures
and the uniqueness of human being.
The translator’s biculturalism does not only depend on his/her
knowledge and use of both languages, but also on the culture he/she has
grown up in and the degree of adaptation as far as other external
conditions.
Translators are interpreters of experience and they can never
apprehend another people’s or another period’s imagination completely as
though it were their own. In short, relativism and manipulation of
information are present in the task of the translator. He/she shares a series
of characteristics as practitioners of an activity that will never end: the
activity of translating.
From Re-Projecting Meanings to Re-Creating Literary Texts
It is generally accepted that literary translation differs from other
kinds of translation because it is three-fold or three-dimensional. The
literary work has to be translated or transferred from one natural language
into another, from one time (that of the creation of the original) into
another (that of the creation of the translation), from one space (cultural
milieu) into another. (Hochel, B., Time and Space in Translation, 1983)
Modern translators, as well as translation studies, pay great attention
to the phenomena of poetics, to literary as well as non-literary allusions, to
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intertextual linkings and metatextual segments of the text, to cultural and
material specifications and the natural language is as a rule, ignored. It has
to be ignored simply because in the literary work, there is no natural
language but literary language.
In literary texts the grammatical, lexical and stylistic ways of the
natural (primary) language enter into specific situations or special relations
in which they acquire special and re-created meanings.
It can be said that the primary task of literary translations is not to
replace this or that linguistic means of the source language by adequate
means in the target one, but to find and re-project the means that answers
to the usage of the means of the source language in the original, bearing in
mind its surroundings, i.e. the artistic text.
The language of any work, its grammar, lexis and syntax, stand in a
special relationship with conventions of a given national literature and these
conventions themselves relate to the national language as a whole.
Therefore, the choice of the kind of linguistic means used in a literary work
carries with it some advanced information – pre-information that cannot be
grasped if the source text is considered merely a text in primary language.
The term literary language sounds rather unusual and strange yet it is
not, of course, identical with the language of literature understood as the
secondary model in semiotics. Literary language can be defined as the
choice and frequency of means of national (primary) language used in
literature.
The way the literary language looks like, or the criteria of this choice
in any national literature are derived from local tradition and present day
conventions. Thus, the above definition implies also the stratification of
means of the literary language from the standpoint of the continuum of
national language, i.e. the relations of the literary language to standard
form and non-standard forms of language.
It is well known that the prudishness of literary language in Europe
increases from the West to the East. Contacts with postwar English and
American fiction and drama could make Romanian readers feel that
English and American characters (sometimes the narrator in fiction also)
speak too expressively, vulgarly, even obscenely, in spite of the fact that
they speak normally.
Let us take as an example a fragment from Patricia Potter’ s novel
The Abduction to make our point.
Her tongue played with his lips until they opened and then it darted
inside his mouth. He had only a second to appreciate what an apt pupil she
was until flames made ashes of his conscience.
The kiss deepened, need sharpening until they were both shaking
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with the intensity of the passion that streaked between them like lightning
on a warm summer night.
Their bodies met and strained against the clothes as the kiss became
an inferno of madness, of emotional as well as physical want. Alex felt he
was on top of a precipice, ready to dive off into deceptively soft clouds.
(ST, 195)
Elsbeth îl sărută jucându-se cu buzele lui. Într-o clipă simţi cum trezise
femeia din ea.
Sărutul deveni mai pătimaş, şi dorinţa mai acută, până ce trupurile lor
fură străbătute de fiorul pasiunii.
Trupurile se întâlniră şi se contopiră în vârtejul pasiunii.(TT, our
translation)
As one can see, from the standpoint of English literary language on the
one hand and that of Romanian on the other, the differences between the
orginal text and its Romanian versions are so radical that TT would hardly
resemble ST in the case of a back-translation.
To give a faithful translation of the English ST in Romanian from
both a semantic and stylistic point of view is impossible because of
Romanian literary language conventions. If we were to submit the text to a
semantic translation, then the outcome would be a translation of a porno
novel. Nevertheless, since this is hardly the case, as translators we have to
submit to our cultural conventions and therefore offer a deconstructed,
différante translation that projects new meanings and manages to render at
least the overall picture of the intended message.
It is hardly customary to hear somebody use such images as that of
the tongue which darts inside someone’s mouth, and it sounds even more
strange to describe a young woman just learning the games of love as
being an apt pupil. However, while there is nothing unnatural or strange
about the English description, the Romanian translation, were it not
recreated and submitted to the translator’s personal style, might sound cut
out from a pornographic novel.
Of course, it is clear that differences between two different languages
(from the point of view of the translation we have in mind conflicts
between the source language and the target language) apply also to less
striking phenomena and to all language levels.
Let us mention the usage of non-standard units, the distribution of
syntactical patterns, the length of sentences, the repetition of expressions,
choice from synonymous groups, etc. the extent of the perception of
concrete phenomena depends also on the literary genre we are concerned
with.
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If the translator has to provide detailed information about the
original, the translator also has to translate the position of the language
used in the concrete work, to translate its relations to the literary language
in the source culture and to the continuum of the national language of the
original.
Some strata or grammatical forms or syntactical patterns of the
source language may have no equivalents in the target one, but many
difficulties are very often caused by the very average language means.
Because, traditionally, translation is considered a transparent medium
or activity that delivers the essentially inert foreign text, there can be a
facile scepticism towards the translated text at hand, as well as an
unwarranted naiveté regarding the communication occurring even within a
single language system. Romanian readers of English texts can feel falsely
secure about the stability of texts in their own respective language.
Ultimately, because no text - whether Romanian or English - exists
in an idealized, hypostatic space simply waiting to be translated and
embodied into a given language, the act of translation is rather an inherent
part of the literary text itself, regardless of the particular language it
happens to be written and imagined in.
Thus, rather than seeing translation within a framework that sees
language as a vehicle, in the sense of the delivering of bare content, it may
be more instructive to consider translation as integral property of language
that all texts share. Pedagogically, this allows for a critical analysis of a
given text with the potential to initiate multiple readings, thereby doing
justice to the complexity of the literary text, as well as, the reading and
interpretive act.
The solution chosen depends on the conception of translation, as
described in Hochel (1983). Thus, the translation of the primary meaning
of the work involves following the modernizing principle and the
naturalizing principle; the translation of the later meaning of the work in
the milieu of its origin involves using the historicizing principle and the
naturalizing principle; the translation of the different-spatial meaning of
the work involves using the modernizing principle and the exoticizing
principle; the translation of the later different-spatial meaning of the work
means the absolutization of the retentive principles (historicizing and
exoticizing).
In conclusion, literary language is a very important phenomenon, and
to observe it during the translation process could help us, if not to acquire
more detailed information about the original literary work, then to recreate
a new, différant and original literary text – the translation-masterpiece.
All throughout our paper we have tried to view translation as a
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process constantly in operation in single languages facilitating contact not
with some sort of original meaning, but with the plurality of languages and
meanings.
In a similar fashion, the regulated transformations performed on the chosen
sample texts can be viewed as a lively operator of différance, as a necessary process
that distorts original meaning while simultaneously revealing a network of texts
both enabling and prohibiting interlingual communication.
The literary language turns out to be a very important phenomenon,
and to observe it during the translation process could help us, if not to
acquire more detailed information about the original literary work, then to
recreate a new, différant and original literary text.
In almost all the translated texts the ideal to touch in translating
consists in expressing the whole universe of ideas of the source language
text (SL). In a wider sense, this re-creation of the SLT in the TLT by
different means, reminds of R. Jakobson’s likeness in difference.
As translators we have to submit to our cultural conventions and therefore
offer a deconstructed, différante translation that projects new meanings and
manages to render at least the overall picture of the intended message.
Translators consequently turn out as interpreters of experience and
they can never apprehend another people’s or another period’s imagination
completely as though it were their own.
However, due to the fact that among the most important coordinates of
literary translation, intentionality determines the translator’s choices, the
author’s intention being as important as the recipient that defines the
communicative situation and the function of the text, we consider that
choosing Derrida’s translation theory according to which one thinks less in
terms of copying or reproducing, and more in terms of how languages relate
to each other, would better serve our purpose of tracing back and analyzing
the phenomenon of translating/ translated literature.
Finally, by applying the deconstructive method on our texts, we were
able to separate source text from target text or language from meaning
proving how the discourse of the text showed how these discontinuities
destructured the notion of a unified, ahistorical, transcendental, original
text. The process of translation has thus offered a mode of
differing/deferring that subverted modes of traditional thinking.
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Translation, New Comparison. 8 (Autumn).
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New York: the Seabury Press.
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o Clifford, J. (1986). The Predicament of Culture. Twentieth Century
Ethnography, Literature and Art. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
o Culler, J. (1979). Structuralism and Science; From Lévi-Strauss to
Derrida. London: Oxford University Press
o Dodds, J.M. (1994). Aspects of Literary Text Analysis and Translation
Criticism. Udine: Campanotto Editore Udine.
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Bompiani.
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Literary Translation. London & Sydney: Croom Helm
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Language upon Thought and of the Science of Symbolism. C. K. Ogden
and I. A. Richards (Eds.). New York: Harcout, Brace & Co.
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Routledge & Kegan Paul.
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Encountering Cultures. Reading and Writing in a Changing World.
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Richard Holeton (Ed.), New Jersey: Prentice Hall.
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Didier.
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Train Translators so as to Violate Translational Norms. Poulsen, S. A. and
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o Ullmann, S. (1973). Meaning and Style. Oxford: Blackwell.
ABUSIVE CREATIVITY IN HUMOROUS LITERARY
TRANSLATION
Diana-Elena Popa
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
The present study is based on the assumption that the translation of
verbally-expressed humour is not fundamentally different from any other
form of translation. However, it may be cautiously be posited as follows:
just like other kinds of humour-related manifestations, some humorous
literary texts travel badly. Judging by the way those texts encompass
situational, cultural and linguistic features, we submit that they are deeply
embedded in the source language reality. Unfortunately some translators
believe that certain strategies, such as an excessive use of creativity may
compensate for the lack of a smooth transcoding. Generally speaking, we
regard creativity as a key element in the process of linguistic humour
translation. Nonetheless, misused inventiveness in translating literary texts
may result in a distorted re-thinking of the original that holds up to
ridicule. Moreover, such instances of abusive creativity often annul the
functions of the translated version (e.g. the ability to amuse or cause
laughter). Finally, we wish to stress that if the target language text cannot
stand as a valid representative of the original, be it as a faithful expression
of the source text or as a creative, independent piece of writing that has its
own identity, then there is no such a thing as a feasible successful
translation.
Is really the translation of verbal humour fundamentally different from any
other form of translation, or from literary translation for that matter? After all, a
successful translation involves recreating in the target language text those features
of the source language text that are relevant for the text to function for a certain
purpose (Kussmaul 1995:90). And with a humorous text, the purpose is, for all
practical purposes, always the same, namely, to produce amusement or even to
elicit laughter. In other words, just like Ann Leibold (1989: 109) notes, translating
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the language of humour requires the accurate decoding of a humorous speech
in its original context, the transfer of that speech in a different and often
disparate linguistic and cultural environment, and its reformulation in a
new utterance which successfully recaptures the intention of the original
humorous message and evokes in the target audience an equivalent
pleasurable and playful response.
As is to be expected, equivalence is, under the circumstances, to be
understood in Nida’s terms, as a dynamic concept based on the principle of
equivalent effect. Further on, Nida (1964: 159) emphasizes the fact that the
relationship between receptor and message should be substantially the
same as that which existed between the original receptor and the message.
As far as the translation of humorous literary texts are concerned, it
should be noted that equivalence, both in a more restricted Jakobsonian
sense and its dynamic sense can be achieved through two major
approaches to the matter. Thus, first there is the traditional model that
expects the translator “to participate vicariously in the author’s thoughts
and feelings” and to produce a translated text “which is read as the
transparent expression of authorial psychology or meaning” (Venuti 1995:
274). Second, there is the innovating creative look on translation.
Consequently, the latter releases translation from its subordination to the
foreign text and makes possible the development of a hermeneutic that
reads” it “as a text in its own right, as a weave of connotations, allusions,
and discourse specific to the target language culture (Venuti 1992: 8).
In Lewis’ view there are two kinds of translations: one in which
there is an “abusive fidelity” to the source text and another one in which
there is a “risk to be assumed” and which “values experimentation, tampers
with usage, seeks to match the polyvalencies or plurivocities or expressive
stresses of the original by producing its own” (1985: 41). The latter could
be simply called creative translation and by that we would like to put
special emphasis on creativity as the ability of the translator to actively and
openly use his/her imagination and inventiveness in the process of
transposing a source text into a target text. Generally speaking, creativity is
indeed a key concept when translating verbal humour, yet such an
approach foregrounds numerous problems when it comes to humour in
literary texts.
At this point in our discussion, we would like to argue that just as
we may speak about the “abusive fidelity” of a translation, we may equally
consider “abusive creativity”. We cannot but agree to the fact that any act
of translation is bound to be a transformation, “a regulated transformation
of one language by another, of one text by another” (Derrida 1987: 20), or
as Lewis sees it “an interpretative transformation”.
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Nevertheless, when the target text deviates from the source text in
such a way that we may speak about the death of the author1, the
translation results in a mere crippled re-thinking of the original that loses
entirely its identity by losing its genuine artistic touch. Needless to say that
in such a case the translated humorous literary text is deprived of all its
functional dimensions. Usually the first function that is completely
annihilated is that of producing a pleasurable effect and with it goes away
the functional interaction between the sender of the message, namely the
author and the receiver, i.e. the reader. The third function that disappears is
that of intra-textual coherence. And last but not least, a fourth function that
gets destroyed is that of perpetuating a work of fiction of a given author
within a given target context (i.e. a particular time, location and language).
The example we have chosen to illustrate our claim is one of Saki’s
short stories, called The Treasure Ship. Saki’s work has recently been
translated into Romanian2. Still, we strongly believe that a satisfactory
Romanian equivalency is problematic. And here we would like to point out
to the linguistic barrier as Saki, through his extraordinary play of mind is
constantly challenging the language’s potential for making meaning.
Moreover, it should also be noted that apart from the linguistic factor there
is another one, equally important and even more difficult to transfer in the
process of translation, namely, the cultural dimension.
Unfortunately some translators believe that an excessive use of
creativity may compensate for the lack of a smooth transcoding. Here is
what happened to Saki’s original text in the process of an incredibly
‘creative translation’. First we would like to bring forth some of the more
important cases in which the text was ‘abused’. We will start with:
1.
Inappropriate corresponding words:

northern bay
septentrionalul golf (septentrional bay)

the fortune of weather
capriciile meteorologiei (the fortune
of the meteorology)

the home-life of the Mediterrannean sardines
viaţa intimă
a sardelelor mediteraneane (intimate life…)

rich at her own computation
realmente bogată (~
really rich)

the necessary safeguards in the way of supervision
mecenat ştiinţific

water-tight
metal (metallic)
We consider the above words as being inappropriate because either
they are taken from a completely different register as in the case of
septentrionalul, meterorologiei, intimă, realmente, or they intentionally
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change the meaning of the English words like in the case of water-tight
that becomes metallic. “Mecenat ştiinşific” (scientific Maecenatism) is
even more inappropriate given the fact that it is the translator’s choice to
use it although it was not provided by the original text. The introduction of
a different culture-bound term in a text that already abounds in cultural
references which have no correspondence in the target language and
culture confuses the reader and overloads the translated text.
2.
Inappropriate addition of words
Saki uses the name Lulu several times to refer to the Duchess of
Dulverton. For no obvious reason or rather for no reason at all, the
translator of the Romanian version finds it necessary to introduce a
supplementary Mrs. (Doamna) Lulu. The translator’s choice appears even
more unnecessary and possibly counterproductive when we realize that this
extra word works only half of the text since in the other half of the target
version the name Lulu is used alone.
3.
Meaningless syntagms
A good example would be that of “aventurier de casă” (home
adventurer), which does not mean anything in Romanian even if it is
placed in the meaningful context of profiteering people who enjoy living
on their relations’ expense.
4. Misused inventiveness
Perhaps the most dangerous part of the translating process is to
misinterpret the concept of creativity. Consequently, the usual result of
misused inventiveness is a too- far-fetched version of the original that
holds up to ridicule. For instance, the original English text goes like this:
“(…) the Dulverton property included a few acres of shingle, rock and
heather, too barren to support even an agrarian outrage”, whereas the
Romanian translation reads as follows: “câteva pogoane de paragină,
stâncarie şi măraciniş, prea sterpe ca să se simtă primejduite de vreo
tentativă de viol agrar.” So, in the target text the translator chooses to
personify the few acres of shingle, rock and heather, which seem ‘to feel’
in danger. But this is not all as the ‘poor’ few acres of land are indeed in
danger of being raped by someone or something, it is not perfectly clear
from the translated text.
Apart from the above examples where the more or less linguistically
manifested creativity on the part of the translator renders the target text into
a different kind of a ‘humorous’ literary piece of writing, there is another
important aspect that drew our attention: the cultural-bound framework of
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the original text. At this level we may distinguish between two different
kinds of cultural-specific references: on the one hand there are those that
belong to the universal background knowledge and on the other hand there
are those that belong to the British world. The former appear under the form
of ironic historic references, whereas he latter come mostly under the form
of ethnic humorous hints.
Such an ironic historic reference is Medina Sidonia which hints at the
times when the Invincibile Armada, the fleet launched by Philip II of Spain
wanted to invade England in order to overthrow the Protestant Elizabeth I
and establish himself on the English throne. Moreover, Saki chooses to call
one of his characters Vasco, a name that reminds us of Vasco Da Gamma,
a different kind of adventurer who sets out to discover the unknown.
Following under the same category, yet quite intriguing as a name choice
is that of using Sub-Rosa as the very name of the treasure ship. It is
unusual for a name even from a linguistic point of view since we would
generally see it used as an adverb or as an adjective but not really as a
proper name. Being of a Latin origin, Sub-Rosa comes from the practice of
hanging a rose over the meeting as a symbol of confidentiality. While reexamining the English text we realize that no other choice could have
better suited the context since the name of the sunken motor-boat turns into
the name of a villa in Florence. Therefore, it is an excellent selection both
from a semantic (it preserves its idiomatic content) and a phonetic
perspective (it renders the sonority of the Italian language).
The second category of cultural-bound references is represented by
three separate hints. The first two belong to ethnic humour as Saki lays on
the Monegasques and the Irish people and their habits. The last hint
involves Raeburn, whose name occurs towards the end of the story. He is
no other than Sir Henry Raeburn, a Scottish painter who was highlyregarded by the upper class. And here again Saki makes the perfect choice
in words as the villa in Florence seems to be connected to Raeburn’s name
– the painter himself spent some time in Florence to study the masters of
Italian painting.
An exquisitely woven plot rendered by a brilliant lexical selection
which led us to a perhaps not unjustified pessimism on the very possibility
of finding a reasonable Romanian equivalency. In other words, how can a
translator transfer Saki’s text into a completely different linguistic and
socio-cultural reality? As Mary Snell-Hornby rightly points out “only
rarely (…) does the literary translation attain the stability of an original
work” (1995: 114). Yet, in our case we cannot stop wondering: is it really
possible to achieve a viable translation of the original given its semantic
and cultural complexity? We are of the opinion that this question will not
133
find an answer if we do not take into consideration the purpose of such a
translation. Ultimately it is the function of the target language text that
determines the strategy and even the feasibility of a translation.
Going back to our literary text, we could easily notice that the
openly declared function of the translated version is to perpetuate Saki’s
original style, impregnated with a sarcastic subtle humour within the
Romanian target context3. Nonetheless, what if the Romanian version
cannot preserve most of the key elements of the original? What if the
cultural references are embedded in the source context and cannot ‘travel’
to the target reality? Is it still worth talking about a successful translation?
Could we talk about translation at all?
Let us take an actual example from Saki’s Romanian version.
Because Raeburn is a sophisticated cultural hint that Romanian audience
would probably miss, the translator decided to replace the name with a
common noun, namely, seascape (peisaje marine). Reasonable as it may
be, by using such a substitute for the key word Raeburn we can hardly
expect to have the same impact on the target audience as the original had in
the source language. Hence, once the very purpose of the translated version
disappears, could we still talk about a feasible translation? Just as Mary
Snell-Hornby argues, “a literary translation is bound to have shortcomings
and faultfinders somewhere” (op. cit. 114) but if the translated version
cannot stand not as a full-scale but, at least, as a valid representative of the
original, is it still worth talking about it?
We would like to maintain our pessimistic position and not
overgeneralize by saying that certain humorous literary texts are not
translatable but rather that most of Saki’s texts travel badly. And to
conclude, we could say that translating a text at all costs is just like a bad
joke: no one gets to enjoy it but for the one who tells it.
Notes
1
In the present study the death of the author is only partly used in the
Barthian sense meaning that a reader, in our case a translator is “(…) that
someone who holds together in a single field all the traces by which the
written text is constituted” (1977: 161). Moreover, the translator, just like
Barthe’s reader is free to do whatever she/he pleases with the author’s text
to be translated. Yet, the difference is that the translator is not able to
produce a version that can remain faithful to itself. And what is worse is
that such a translator does not openly exercise his/her authorial thrust but
rather hides her/his intervention under the guise of a paradoxically abusive
fidelity.
2
The translated version we have used for the present study is published in
134
2005.
3
These are words taken from the editor’s notes on the back cover of the
2005 Romanian version of Saki’s short stories.
Bibliography:
Sources for examples:
o Saki. 1976. The Penguin Complete Saki. Harmondsworth: Penguin
Books.
o Saki. 2005. Lighioane si supralighioane (Beasts and Superbeasts)
Bucureşti: Leda-Corint.
General references:
o Derrida, J. (1987) Positions. Trans. Alan Bass. London: The
Athlone Press.
o Barthes, R. (1977) Image. Music. Text. Trans. Stepen Heath. New
York: Hill and Wag.
o Jakonson, R. (1959/ 2000) “On Linguistic Aspects of Translation”
In L. Venuti (ed.). pp. 113-118.
o Kussmaul,
P.
(1995)
Training
the
Translator.
Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
o Leibold, A. (1989) “The Translation of Humour: Who Says It Can’t Be
Done?” Meta XXXIV. 1., pp.109-111.
o Lewis, P. (1985) “The Measure of Translation Effects”. In J.F.
Graham (ed.). pp.31-62.
o Nida, E. (1964) Toward a Science of Translating. Leiden: Brill.
o Snell-Hornby, M. (1988/1995) Translation Studies. An Integrated
Approach. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
o Venuti, L. (ed.) (1992) Rethinking Translation - Discourse,
Subjectivity, Ideology. London/New York: Routledge.
o ____ (1995) The Translator’s Invisibility – A History of
Translation. London and New York: Routledge.
135
THE WHO AND WHY IN ETHNIC HUMOUR.
A BRIEF THEORETICAL INTROSPECTION
Diana-Elena Popa
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
The literature on humour focuses, among other things, on the
elements of discourse. The paper aims at making a brief theoretical
introspection of two such basic elements as the who and the reason why in
the particular case of ethnic humour.
Despite the popularity of the phrase ethnic humour in fairly recent
social literature, it was not used widely in humour studies until the 1970s.
Until then, the terms commonly used were race-conscious humour or race
humour (Burma 1946), racial humour or racial jokes (Middleton 1959),
intergroup humour (Barron 1950) and interethnic humour (Zenner 1970).
But although the phrase ethnic humour may be of recent origin, humour
disparaging other groups is probably as old as the contact between cultures.
The tendency to ridicule and mock groups other than one’s own has always
been widespread in human societies (Birnbaum 1971 and Dundes 1975).
In the current literature on humour, ethnic humour is approached
from different disciplinary backgrounds, using an equally large number of
methodologies to formulate diverse goals. Psychologists, for instance, are
mainly concerned with the development of theoretical models which
predict the factors that make individuals to engage in ethnic humour or the
variables that determine their differential responses to it. Controlled
experimental studies are then used in order to test and validate such
models. In contrast, sociologists, folklorists, and anthropologists are
particularly interested in content analyses and with typologies of themes
extracted from ethnic humour as expressed in ethnic jokes.
A brief chronological overlook on ethnic humour shows that ethnic
riddles and jokes have been in oral circulation for a long time, though the
group ridiculed may change, depending on contextual factors (Barrick
1970, Dundes 1971). The origins of ethnic humour are explained, in turn,
by folklorists, anthropologists and sociologists, etc. but their points of view
do not seem to be fundamentally different. The central idea is that human
societies acquire knowledge of other societies that accumulates through
repeated contacts between them. This knowledge becomes a part of the
cultural heritage of all societies and it is passed from generation to
generation. Moreover, intercultural contacts and interactions have led
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societies to formulate opinions, beliefs, and attitudes about people who are
culturally different. Such images developed and became the bases of ethnic
humour (see Apte 1985: 108).
While discussing the issue of ethnic humour, one cannot omit
taking into consideration the three closely related concepts of ethnic
group, ethnic identity and ethnicity. There is also the notion of stereotype
that needs to be developed, since it is the actual trigger in ethnic humour.
Because perspective differ and so do the disciplinary inputs of the
researchers involved, there is no single definition of ethnic group, ethnic
identity or ethnicity that is acceptable to all. Perhaps a disturbing
component is the term group itself. Human groups vary in size,
composition and nature. In some cases, the term group may overlap with
that of society or nation. On the other hand, complex societies consist of
several groups. Therefore, no matter how concepts of ethnic groups and
ethnicity are defined at an analytical level, they cannot possibly cover all
empirical categories. In fact, whether ethnic groups really exist or whether
they are only analytical categories for explaining group dynamics are
issues that have been and still are much debated by scholars.
Here is one of the definitions given to ethnic group that is supposed
to be objective in nature: “An ethnic group is a distinct category of the
population in a large society whose culture is usually different from its
own. The members of such a group are, or feel themselves, or are thought
to be, bound together by common ties of race and nationality or culture”
(International Encyclopedia of Social Sciences cf. Apte 1985: 112,). A
definition of ethnicity that is somewhere in between objective and
subjective theories, in the way it is formulated, is the following: “(…)
referring to the existence of groups, real or imagined, characterized by
some or all of the attributes:” ascribed status, shared cultural traits and
values, some degree of internal cohesion and interaction, and selfawareness (Apte 1985: 111-112).
Apart from Apte’s approach to ethnicity, in a survey of definitions
used in sociological and anthropological studies that also deal with
ethnicity, Isajiw (1974) notes that the most frequently mentioned attributes
of ethnic groups are: common national or geographic origin or common
ancestors; a common culture or customs, religion, race or physical
characteristics; and language, in that particular order. On the other hand,
there are some attributes that are less frequently mentioned such as
consciousness of kind, common values or ethos, separate institutions, and
minority and majority status.
Geertz (1963: 109-114) has his own view concerning the basic
attributes that link members of ethnic group: race, language, blood ties,
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custom, region and religion, which, according to him are primordial ties.
Looking at the above attributes it becomes obvious that common
ancestry and geographical location generally but not always lead, though
the socialization process, to the acquisition of a common culture that, for
the most part, includes language, religion, customs and behavioural
patterns, social institutions, and ideologies and values, thus, constituting
the socio-cultural dimension of ethnic groups. Individuals share with others
of their ethnic group a conscious identity that is based on traits they
perceive to be characteristic of the group. Even if this may be a subjective
reality, it still counts as the ethnic identity of that group. This dimension is
relevant to the ethnic humour analysis because individuals and groups have
to believe in the existence of ethnic groups characterized by such attributes
as language, religion, race, culture and nationality before ethnic humour
can occur.
The ethnic identity notion is closely connected to the concept of
stereotype. Stereotypes were introduced by the journalist Walter Lippmann
(1922). He defined them as mental pictures formulated by people to
describe the world beyond their reach. He argued that stereotypes, at least
partially, are culturally determined. He makes it very clear that their
contents are factually incorrect; that they are the products of a faulty
reasoning process, and that they tend to persist even in the face of
knowledge and education. From here the controversial issue whether or not
stereotypes exist without prejudice (Brigham 1971: 28, Secord, Bevan and
Katz 1956, Vinacke 1949). Most scholars though seem to link the two.
However, while stereotypes may, and occasionally do contain a kernel of
truth (Brown 1965: 172), a very quoted study (La Pierre 1936) showed that
they have little or nothing to do with objective reality. Therefore, Dundes
(1971: 188) has emphasized the association stereotypes-social reality rather
than the stereotype-objective reality one.
As far as ethnic humour is concerned, stereotypes are crucial. As
they are widely accepted by members of individual cultures, they
constitute a shared set of assumptions necessary for ethnic humour. In
other words, in order for ethnic humour to have the desired effect, it needs
readymade and popular conceptualizations of the target group. Stereotypes
fulfill this requirement perfectly.
In what follows, we are going to focus on the close connection,
already acknowledged, between ethnic humour and culture. Needless to
say that ethnic humour is an integral part of expressive culture. As Apte
(1985: 121) remarks, ethnic humour reflects a group’s perception and
evaluation of other groups’ personality traits, customs, behaviour patterns,
and social institutions by the standards of in-group culture, with its positive
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or negative attitudes toward others. It results that ethnic humour directly or
indirectly exhibits the stereotyper’s mental images and deeply-rooted
beliefs, attitudes, and strong emotions toward people made the butt of such
humour.
The most common form of ethnic humour is that of jokes followed
by riddles and rhymes. Yet jokes are, by far, the most popular. There have
been several attempts (see Jansen 1959) to identify the esoteric-exoteric
factor in the jokelore. The esoteric factor “applies to what one group thinks
of itself and what it supposes others think of it” (Jansen 1959: 206), while
the exoteric factor is “what one group thinks of another and what it thinks
that other group thinks it thinks” (ibid: 207). Furthermore, esoteric beliefs
of a group may be unconscious, or a group may “know the exoteric
concepts held about it” and either may reject them or may “recognize them
tolerantly”. Jansen’s exoteric factor seems similar to a group’s stereotype
as held by other groups, while his esoteric factor appears to be similar to a
group’s self-stereotype and its awareness of the stereotype regarding it that
is held by others. But it is also possible, as Jansen himself suggests that
exoteric and esoteric factors may overlap.
Although most research in the field seeks to identify the stereotypic
traits that are assigned to various ethnic groups, some traits have been
found to evoke universal negative reactions, and these tend to be assigned
to any group that is to be ridiculed and mocked. Such traits as stupidity,
dirtiness, brute force, and excessive sexuality are generally viewed
negatively (cf. Apte 1985: 127) and can be linked to any target group.
According to Apte (1985: 127) “the imputation of universally disapproved
traits to any group to be ridiculed amuses the people who narrate and enjoy
such humour and expresses their feeling of superiority.” Talking about the
more specific case of jokes about stupidity, Davies (1990: 12-13) notes that
the members of a joke-telling and joke sharing group enjoy a “sudden burst
of glory” as the stupidity of the others is unveiled and their own superiority
is briefly confirmed. Yet he stresses out the fact that “we should not
mistake the glee of the winners in this successful piece of playful
aggression for real hostility” (ibid).
Davies’s statement takes us back to the techniques used extensively
in ethnic humour, namely, exaggeration and distortion. Once again, it
becomes pretty obvious that the portrayal of individuals, groups, actions,
personality traits and physical features rarely, if ever, faithful to objective
reality. Besides, prejudice and negative attitudes seem to universally play
an important part in ethnic humour (see Dundes 1975, Birnbaum 1971,
Apte 1985). Consequently, much of the ethnic humour is based on
prevalent associations of traits with different ethnic groups irrespective of
139
whether or not such associations actually occur. It goes as far as frequently
labeling and portraying a member of a particular group as typical of the
entire group. This process implies both exaggeration and distortion but also
overgeneralization. Intra-cultural variation and individuality are ignored in
this practice. Stereotypes, in general, do tend to be overgeneralized
conceptualizations of ethnic groups. And when ethnic humour is
predominantly based on a stereotype that is developed without much
contact and interaction, it is likely to be quite inaccurate, bearing little, if
any, resemblance to objective reality. Similarly, an identical portrayal of a
particular group in the humour of many cultures does not necessarily prove
that the stereotype is faithful to objective reality, the humour and the
stereotype resulting, in such cases, from diffusion. Even in the case when
members of ethnic groups tell jokes which are based on negative
stereotypes of themselves, the group’s acceptance of its negative stereotype
and of the humour based on it does not prove that the portrayal is faithful
to reality. There are several possible explanations, among which one
indicates the lack of positive self-image and an inferiority complex on the
pact of that group and the other is that people who tell jokes derogatory of
the ethnic group to which they belong are likely to disassociate themselves
from the underlying stereotype. The latter possible explanation implies that
those people believe in intra-cultural diversity but also in the existence of
several sub-ethnic groups to which he/she does not adhere.
To sum up, through ethnic humour, knowledge is accepted,
maintained, and transmitted regardless of its ultimate validity or invalidity.
As Dundes puts it, ethnic humour and the stereotypes upon which it is
based represent “traditional images of reality rather than the reality itself”
(Dundes 1975: 24). Given their nature, portrayals of groups in ethnic
humour should merely be regarded as “concept-systems with positive as
well as negative functions, having the same general kinds of properties as
other concepts, and serving to organize experience as do other concepts”
(Vinacke 1957: 229).
The last part of the present paper puts special emphasis on the
“functions” of ethnic humour reviewing some of the instances in which
ethnic humour is used, propagated and enjoyed.
Meant to rationalize and justify a discriminatory treatment on the
part of a dominant group, which, thus, reinforces the existent stereotypes,
or to relieve the suppressed aggression and “to preserve the ego identity of
minority group members” (Simmons 1963), ethnic humour covers a wide
range of functions that matches its complex nature. Therefore, ethnic
humour is said to express inter-group conflict when it emphasizes
disparagement of ethnic groups “to strengthen the morale of those who use
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it and to undermine the morale of those at whom it is aimed” (Stephenson
1950-51: 569). Ethnic humour is also considered to reinforce a group’s
social position by relegating another’s to an inferior level. Campbell and
Levine (1961: 85) believe that “stereotyped imagery is an unconscious
rationalization for the hostility” toward out groups, such hostility being a
manifestation of ethnocentrism. According to Apte (1985: 142) “prejudice
reinforces ethnocentrism, just as negation of the culture values of other
people nurtures self-esteem and feelings of superiority.”
In the literature on ethnic humour there are two opposing
approaches to the phenomenon. On the other hand, it is claimed that it
serves to satisfy the forever human need to vent aggression (Dundes 1975,
Greenberg 1972, Klymasz 1970). Such a view is deeply-rooted in the
Freudian psycho-functional theory of jokes. Yet, this view is strongly
criticized, being considered unsatisfactory because it fails to take into
account the diverse nature of ethnic humour (Oring 1975). On the other
hand, there is the opinion that it serves merely to amuse. Middleton is one
of the supporters of the latter view and he argues that “even if a person
does not accept the validity of a stereotype, he may be willing to suspend
his disbelief temporarily in order to enjoy the humour of the joke”
(Middleton 1959: 80).
Whether it is used to amuse or it is used for hostile reasons, humour
is still the most suitable medium because it “may conceal malice and allow
expression of aggression without the consequence of other overt
behaviour” (Stephenson 1950-51: 569).
To conclude, we do share Oring’s position concerning ethnic
humour in the sense that we cannot but agree that its nature is diverse. Yet
we also favour the idea that ethnic humour comes from people’s constant
need to reinforce their superior status within small ethnic subgroups as
well as in more complex ethnic groups. Moreover, we believe that
stereotypes are means of rationalizing and justifying ethnocentrism.
Bibliography:
o Apte, M. L. (1985) Humour and Laughter. An Anthropological
Approach. Ithaca – London: Cornell University Press.
o Barrick, M.E. (1970) “Racial riddles and the Polack joke”. Keystone
Folklore Quarterly 15. 3-15.
o Barron, M. L. (1950) “A content analysis of intergroup humour”.
American Sociological Review. 15. 88-94.
o Birnbaum, M.D. (1971) “On the language of prejudice”. Western
Folklore. 30. 247-268.
141
o Brigham, J.C. (1971) “Ethnic stereotypes”. Psychological Bulletin 76.
15-38.
o Brown, R. (1965) Social Psychology. New York: Free Press.
o Burma, J.H. (1946) “Humour as a technique in race conflict”. American
Sociological Review. 11. 710-715.
o Campbell, D.T. and Le Vine, R.A. (1961) “A proposal for cooperative
cross-cultural research on ethnocentrism”. Journal of Conflict Resolution.
5. 82-108.
o Davies, C. (1990) Ethnic Humor around the World. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
o Dundes, A. (1971) “A study of ethnic slurs: the Jew and the Polack in the
United States”. Journal of American Folklore. 84. 186-203.
o Geertz, C. (1963) Agricultural Involution. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
o Isajiw, W.W. (1974) “Definitions of ethnicity”. Ethnicity 1. 111-124.
o Jansen, W. H. (1959) “The esoteric-exoteric factor in folklore”. Fabula 2.
205-211.
o Klymasz, R. B. (1970) “The ethnic joke in Canada today”. Keystone
Folklore Quarterly 15. 167-173.
o La Pierre, R.T. (1936) “Type-rationalization of group anti-play”. Social
Forces 15. 232-237.
o Lippmann, W. (1922) Public Opinion. New York: Harcourt, Brace.
o Middleton, R. (1959) “Negro and white reactions to racial humour”.
Sociometry 22. 175-183.
o Oring, E. (1975) “Everything is a shade of elephant: an alternative to a
psychoanalysis of Humour.” New York Folklore. 1. 149-159.
o Secord, P.F., W. Bevan, Jr., and B. Katz. (1956) “The Negro stereotype
and perceptual accentuation”. Journal of Abnormal and Social
Psychology. 53. 78-83.
o Simmons, D. C. (1963) “Protest Humour: folkloristic reaction to
prejudice”. American Journal of Psychiatry. 120. 567-570.
o Stephenson, R. M. (1950-1951) “Conflict and control function of
humour”. American Journal of Sociology. 56. 569-574.
o Vinacke, W.E. (1949) “Stereotyping among national-racial groups in
Hawaii: A study in ethnocentrism”. Journal of Social Psychology 30.
265-291.
o Zenner, W.P. (1970) “Joking and ethnic stereotyping”. Anthropological
Quarterly 43. 93-113.
142
TRANSLATING TOPONYMS IN ENGLISH IDIOMS
Floriana Popescu
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
The translation of idiomatic structures may reveal unexpected traps
possibly due to their colourful cultural touch. In addition to this, the
particularity of meaning assigned to some geographical names which may
sometimes be part of the whole lexical pattern overload the translator’s task.
To simplify things one should consider three major strategies applicable in
the translation of toponymous idioms: the literal translation, the
transposition of English structures into meaningfully similar Romanian ones
and the translation with explicitation. The explicitation of toponymous idioms
involves the already existing lexicon-grammatical instruments Romanian
possesses, which is not enough; the recourse to this strategy involves some
additional information which should semantically explicitate the concept
suggested by the idiom in focus.
Idiomatic constructions have been a challenge both to teachers or
learners and to translators or interpreters of English as a foreign language.
This approach will accept any idiom to be “an expression whose meaning is
not predictable from the usual meaning of the constituent elements”, i.e.
with its Late Latin sense of “individual peculiarity of a language.” (WEUD
1994: 951)
The literature of English idiomaticity considers word groupings from
the perspective of their origin, nature, structure and criteria of classification.
For teaching and learning purposes idioms were structurally divided into
clause idioms and phrase idioms (Seidl and McMordie 1983: x). While
clause idioms consist of a verb and possibly of its constellation, a phrase
idiom may be so simple as to consist only of a noun and its determiner. This
explains why the structure of idioms is so diverse and the term idiom has
become an umbrella term for any word chain whose meaning cannot be
inferred from the core meaning of the words in the chain. Nevertheless,
irrespective of their belonging to one set or another, the idioms considered in
what follows have a peculiarity of their own: they have a particular class of
proper nouns in their structure. Proper nouns in idioms did not constitute a
particularity to be considered by the authors of the foregoing classification.
Even if the structural presence of proper nouns may be of little interest to
lexicographers or even teachers, it may create difficulties to translators. The
paper intends to continue describing the difficulties regarding the translation
of idioms including proper nouns. Since a previous study focused on idioms
143
including proper names, also known as eponyms the current approach will
further on idioms based on geographical names. (Popescu, 2004) Therefore,
this sequel to the previously mentioned study will focus on geographical
names or toponyms from now on. The presence of toponyms within the
structure of idiomatic patterns will provide them a special feature, enabling
us to label them as toponymous idioms. This idea was constructed on
analogy to McArthur’s (1996:350), definition of eponyms which are
assigned: three designations (a) “a personal name from which a word has
been derived” (the source-eponym, in our approach), (b) “the person whose
name is so used” and (c) “the word so derived”. Therefore, toponyms, in
turn, may denote (a) “a geographical name from which a word has been
derived,” (b) “the place whose name is so used” and (c) “the word so
derived”, which, in the current approach becomes part of an idiom.
The toponymous idioms represent an overlapping of toponyms and of
idioms. This translation-oriented approach will consider toponymous
idioms in English and their possible Romanian versions as rendered by
specialized bilingual dictionaries or, when they were not included in such
dictionaries, as matched through the author’s interpretation of their
semantics so as to serve the purposes of our study. Unlike eponyms which
have been included in at least five specialized dictionaries, toponyms still
play Cinderella’s part from the lexicological perspective. No specialized
toponymous dictionary, or at least glossary of toponyms has been produced
so far, and this has rendered our lexical investigation more difficult. The
present research is based upon a large corpus standing for part of the
toponyms and toponymous-structured data base, which is the outcome of
the scanning of some well-known monolingual and bilingual general or
specialized dictionaries (listed in the corpus and reference lists).
Translatability is the key word for this classification which also considers
the origin and the structure of eponymous idioms as useful instruments in
the process of idiom decoding.
The translation-oriented structural classification of these special kinds
of idioms reveals both instances of equivalence (which considers literal
translations and transpositions) and instances of translations with losses.
1. The literal translation
1.1. This method applies when idioms suggest identity or similitude
in meaning and structure. Due to the grammatical patterns of the two
languages in focus, in many instances the method of literal translation may
involve a change in the order of the idiom words, but this change will not
affect the meaning of the source language (SL) eponymous phrase idioms.
Simple patterns illustrative for the noun phrase idioms show cases of literal
144
translations as the tower of Babel ( a huge tower built by Noah’s sons in
Babylon) which involves the meaning of confusion and which has a similar
form in Romanian, turnul Babel, where the possessive construction does
not apply. The origin of this proper name in the Genesis (XI: 1-9) accounts
for the similar meaning in the two languages and associates it to ‘noisy
place or conditions’. English, nevertheless, has two more idioms including
the toponyms, a perfect Babel or a Babel of sounds and both suggest ‘an
uproar in different languages.’(Gulland and Howell 1994: 211)
The idiom castles in Spain, with its Romanian version, castele in
Spania (Berg 1969: 75) is used in both languages to denote ‘possessions
that have no real existence’ or refer to something which ‘is visionary and
unsubstantial’. (DPF 1995: 41) The origin of the two idioms is French and
it was initially the title of a very successful comedy which was on stage for
fifty years, beginning with February 1789. (Berg 1969: 75-76)
The name of the Rubicon river is part of the idiom to cross/pass the
Rubicon or a trece Rubiconul, to suggest the same meaning: to do
something irrevocable, to take a decisive step or to venture on a great and
dangerous understanding or deed.
Rome, the eternal city, ‘which has always possessed a special
importance as capital of the ancient world, then as capital of Christendom’
(Gulland and Howell 1994:210) is part of the toponymous idiom all roads
lead to Rome, literally translated into Romanian as toate drumurile duc la
Roma.
1.2. The literal translation applies to set patterns including the
toponym Jericho, the name of a town situated in West Jordan as well as the
name of an ancient Palestinian city near site of modern Jericho, to fall like
the walls of Jericho, used to mean any sudden unexpected collapse
(Gulland and Howell 1994: 212) This idiomatic structure may be literally
translated into Romanian as a se nărui ca zidurile Ierihonului, but the
dictionaries in our corpus do not include such an entry. The walls of Jericho
didn’t fall down in a day is another form of the same idiom which is used to
mean that ‘if you want to defeat your enemy you’ll have to fight very hard’
(Gulland and Howell 1994: 212) The saying is literally translatable into
Romanian as zidurile Ierihonului nu s-au dărâmat într-o zi, but it would stir
no reaction to the Romanian reader without an explicitation intended to
point to its real meaning. Therefore, in spite of the possibility of being
translated literally, this idiom should better be included in the section of
transposition.
2. Transposition.
145
2.1. The toponyms under this division come from the world of the
Ancient Greek involving derivatives or names of cities or countries, in their
majority. The Romanian versions of the idioms in focus involve a switch
which is due to the Romanian syntax rules. A Trojan horse or un cal troian
will refer to any disguised means of introducing something harmful or
disadvantageous. The name of Sparta, the ancient city in Peloponnese, the
capital of Laconia, is associated with two idioms, Spartan simplicity or
simplitate or rather austeritate spartană and Spartan endurance or
rezistenţă spartană. The ‘Spartans were the most disciplined and austere
people in ancient Greece’ (Gulland and Howell 1994:218) and therefore the
two idioms have the same meanings in the two languages as describing a
certain walk of life: Spartan simplicity referring to an absolute simplicity in
a person’s way of life, this meaning ‘the simplest diet and the avoidance of
luxury or comfort in any form’. (Gulland and Howell 1994: 218) The set
pattern Spartan endurance concentrates another characteristic of the
Spartans, their great fortitude and discipline.
Having connections with ancient times, the idiom to have Philistine
tastes reveals an interesting transformation: while, in ancient times, it
referred to a person interested in matters of culture, in present-day English
it is used in relation to someone without any cultural interest. In Romanian
the same toponym is never used as an adjective but as a noun which
describes a self-contented, coward and limited person (DEX 1998: 379)
Bohemia, mistakenly believed in the Anglo-Saxon world to be the
country where the gypsies come from, is included in three idiomatic
constructions, suggesting possible connections with the culture of the Roma
community. The best illustration is a flavour of Bohemia, ‘a tone of
unconventionality, of neglect of social rules’. (DPF 1995: 28) Romanian
possesses the lexical instruments to render the idiom literally as un aer de
Boemia, but such a solution would convey a different meaning and
implicitly, a translation loss for, in the Romanian culture, Bohemia is
known as ‘1) the territory where the feudal Czech state came into being or
2) the name of the Czech republic when part of the Austro-Hungarian
Empire, between 1526 and 1918’. (DE 1993: 234) The syntagm Bohemian
tastes/dress is closely connected to the Anglo-Saxon meaning of the
country name and it suggests ‘bright, colourful, unconventional tastes or
dress.’ (Gulland and Howell 1994: 218) This syntagm has not become a
dictionary entry in any Romanian lexical record; nevertheless, the
derogatory set pattern gusturi/haine ţigăneşti is rather frequent in every day
speech. A Bohemian life is rendered in the Romanian vocabulary with viaţă
boemă, viaţă de boem, involving as in English, an irregular, unconventional
way of life, often applied to writers and artists (Gulland and Howell 1994:
146
218)
The Mexican wave (Gulland and Howell 1994: 219) could simply be
translated into Romanian by val mexican, but the Romanian dictionaries
have not included it in the lexicon, even if the language of the media has
accepted and used it for some time.
The comparative idiom like Chinese water torture and its imitative
equivalent the drip-drip-drip Chinese torture are transposed into Romanian
through the meaningfully similar restricted pattern picătura chinezească,
where the toponymous element has been preserved. Many other examples
of toponymous idioms could be easily translated into Romanian on account
of the simplicity of their structures, but all of them should require some
parenthetical or additional information since the meaning of the
toponymous combination is hardly known to the Romanian readership; and
this could be the case with Jerusalem syndrome, or the Gallic humour.
2.2. This division discusses some of the situations where the
toponymous idioms, mostly proverbs, sayings or famous citations, are
translated by the meaning-for-meaning solution. Thus, Rome was not built
in a day involving that nothing of value has ever been achieved without
great effort (Gulland and Howell 1994: 210) has its Romanian counterpart
in the saying încetul cu încetul se face oţetul, while to fiddle while Rome
burns has a perfect equivalent in ţara arde şi baba se piaptănă both of them
meaning to occupy oneself with trifles during a crisis. To meet one’s
Waterloo, a phrase coined by Wendell Phillips, is turned into Romanian in
the form of a-şi afla sfârşitul. A tentative solution for the equivalent of this
idiom could be a-şi afla bacăul (where bacăul resembles the name of a
Romanian town); nevertheless, this false toponym has hardly a connection
with the Romanian set phrase for, probably due to the false analogy, the last
word has been assimilated to the name of the town. In fact, bacău comes
from bakó, a term of Hungarian origin, meaning executioner or hangman
(Dumistrăcel 2001: 39-40). Moreover, to meet one’s Waterloo refers to
circumstances making the defeat, while a-şi afla bacăul refers to persons
providing for the defeat. Therefore, it is advisable to use the first version,
since it is meaningfully similar, even if it exemplifies a case of translation
loss, the lack of the toponym Waterloo diminishing the imaginary
dimensions of the defeat.
Two different toponymous idioms, to take/carry coals to Newcastle
and to send owls to Athens that have the same meaning to take something to
a place where there is already a great deal of it (Freedman and Freedman
1996: 61) are suggestively translated into Romanian by a saying a vinde
castraveţi grădinarului.
147
Originating in the following nursery rhyme Ride a cock-horse / To
Banbury Cross, / To see an old woman / Ride on a white horse. / With rings
on her fingers / And bells on her toes, / She shall have music / Wherever
she goes. (DPF 1995: 18), the idiom to take a child to Banbury Cross (to
swing it up and down on one’s foot) would find its correspondent in the
syntagm a da huţa (pe picioare).
A particular case within this analysis regarding the possibilities of
translating toponymous idioms was noticed with two idioms, to come from
Missouri and a road-to-Damascus(-style) conversion. The former is
rendered in Romanian by means of an eponymous idiom, a fi Toma
Necredinciosul (Nicolescu et al 1982: 73). The latter, a road-to-Damascus(style) conversion, which suggests a dramatic change of mind on some
burning issues, could have as a tentative equivalent o întoarcere ca la
Verdun/Ploieşti, conveying the same meaning, but, as in other cases
referred in the foregoing, it is part of the every day speech, and due to its
having an oral character it has not been included in any monolingual
idiomatic dictionary yet.
The final example of this division comes from the American variant
of English, all’s right along the Potomac and illustrates a case of
transposition where the form is ignored and where the meaning plays the
major role, its Romanian version being totul este calm/în ordine/ în regulă
or nu există motive de alarmă, îngrijorare.
3. Translatable through explicitation
3.1. The nominal toponymous idioms active in the English language
span a wide variety of geographical names (towns, counties, streets, and
even London spots) and they basically consist of two elements, the
toponym and a common noun, as a Norfolk dumpling. The inhabitants of
Norfolk, the county in Eastern England bordering on the North Sea and
with the capital at Norwich, are reputed for being ‘dull and stupid’ ‘for
reasons which are not apparent’ (Gulland and Howell 1994: 210)
The London spots include the names of Chelsea and of Sloane
Square, ‘popular with the young and wealthy yuppies during the
1980s.’(Freedman 1996: 238) Therefore, a Sloane ranger is an attribute
assigned to members ‘of the rich and fashionable set who seek to flaunt
their wealth and status. The term Sloane arose from people (and the satirical
magazine Private Eye) mocking a certain stereotypical young rich person
flaunting expensive cars and horse riding equipment. Harpers and Queen
invented the term Sloane Ranger in 1975.’(Freedman 1996: 238) Its
Romanian version would require an explanation for the solution fiţos does
not succeed in conveying the same content as the source language idiom,
148
and it exemplifies another case of translation loss.
Chelsea, the former borough and the present-day district of West
London, has its name tied to the nouns bun and pensioner. Thus, a Chelsea
bun is a special kind of rolled currant bun sprinkled with sugar while a
Chelsea pensioner is a person living in the Chelsea Royal Hospital for old
and disabled soldiers.
A Glasgow magistrate is a salt herring, not a special kind of
magistrate, the way a Philadelphia lawyer is not a lawyer, educated in or
working for justice in Philadelphia but a very clever person. The Vicar of
Bray, ‘a 16th century vicar who changed his views in accordance with the
views of each new government’ (Gulland and Howell 1994: 273) is an
idiom intended to describe anyone who changes his views for profit. Since
the Romanian culture has no character name established in an idiom, the
only possible version will have to resort to explicitation, thus giving details
about the renown of the vicar.
A toponym used as a qualifier is a rare practice, and it will be
illustrated by Grub Street, from the name of a street in London, which was
once the home of many inferior writers, and which euphemistically refers to
writings of very poor quality.
The average reasonable person, the layman or the man in the street is
sometimes referred to as ‘the man on the Clapham omnibus’ which is a
coinage belonging to Lord Bowen who used it in a court case in 1903. To
translate it word-for-word into Romanian would mean no expressiveness to
the target language reader, thus a glossing or a parenthetical explanation
would partially compensate for the translation loss involved by the
omission of the toponym.
The verb-including idioms, or the clause idioms, exemplify the verbs
to be, to send, to go, to talk, to dance, to come and to wish. The verb to be
suggests localization in two streets (in Queen Street whose idiomatic
meaning is ‘to be in unfortunate circumstances’ (DPF1995: 181) or to
be/end up in Carey Street that is, to go bankrupt. Etymologically, there has
to be an explanation for this idiom since the Courts in Bankruptcy are
situated in Carey Street off the Strand (Gulland and Howell 1994: 209). The
verb to be is also used in the toponymous idiom to be for/off to
Bedfordshire, i.e. to be anxious to retire to bed (DPF1995: 21).
Bedfordshire is a county in the South Eastern central England area and an
inscribed stone in the castle wall of Blarney, near Cork in Ireland is
supposed to give the person kissing it powers of persuasion; consequently,
the name of Blarney is part of two toponymous idioms, to kiss the Blarney
Stone means to have the ability or intention to flatter, persuade or deceive
people with one’s talk, and to be full of Blarney/to talk Blarney to make
149
wild promises, to flatter and deceive. (Gulland and Howell 1994: 210)
Very few toponymous idioms are used euphemistically, as it is the
case with to dance the Tyburn jig ( a sfârşi în ştreang) or with to talk
Billingsgate (to talk like fish mongers at Billingsgate, which was formerly
‘the principal fish market in London, and notorious for its bad language’,
(Gulland and Howell 1994: 209). Full of flavour as the Romanian variant
is, nevertheless, it belongs to the colloquial speech: a înjura ca un birjar;
this solution could represent the proper equivalent for the latter example. It
is, indeed, a case of translation loss for the toponym disappears in the
Romanian equivalent, but stylistically they are meaningfully identical. A
translation loss is obvious in the case of the idiom to wish somebody at
Jericho/at York where either Jericho or York would have no content for the
Romanian reader, while the version put forward by the biligual dictionary is
not only the best equivalent but it also involves a traditional colouring, a
trimite pe cineva unde a dus mutu iapa /şi surdul roata/(Nicolescu et al
1982: 526). Euphemistically also are used the idioms to come Yorkshire
over a man and to send (somebody) to Coventry. The former idiom, having
the sense of to cheat/swindle a person, was the result of an extension of
meaning for ’Yorkshire jockeys were known for their tricky dealings in the
sale of horses’ (DPF1995 : 252). Its peculiar feature is the use of the
toponym plays as a circumstantial adverb of manner, which is a rare thing
to notice, since in their great majority, toponyms play the part of
circumstantial adverbs of place. Thus, an incident during the English Civil
War when groups of Royalists captured in Birmingham were sent for safekeeping to the Parliamentary stronghold of Coventry is the root of the latter
saying mentioned in the foregoing, and its meaning of excluding from
companionship ’signifies in disgrace or disfavour with one’s associates. It
is ’used by schoolboys, who inflict the punishment frequently on their
fellows.’(DPF 1995: 198)
3.2. In addition to the toponyms which belong to the British culture
and there were also recorded toponymous idioms whose origin pertains to
the non-British culture. To make a Roman holiday, that is to say to organize
a gruesome spectacle for the public (Gulland and Howell 1994: 218) will
have to be rendered in the target language by an explicitation, a organiza
un spectacol înspăimântător/ terifiant/plin de cruzime for the intended
reference of the idiom sends the imagination of the arenas of ancient
Rome). An Olympian detachment translated by detaşare olimpiană would
hardly outline a vague idea of the English meaning, unless the Romanian
version were completed by some additional information, pointing to an
impersonal, unemotional view of human conflict (Gulland and Howell
150
1994: 211).
The colourful India has bequeathed two idioms of the type in focus to
the English lexicon, the black hole of Calcutta and the Delhi belly, which
sounds like a rhymed compound. The former is used to denominate a very
hot, crowded and uncomfortable building or place. The idiom has its roots
in an incident which took place in India in 1756, when a large number of
English prisoners were crowded into a small room overnight where many of
them died. The latter refers to food poisoning which sometimes tourists
suffered from when visiting Delhi or other places in India (Gulland and
Howell 1994: 212)
4. Conclusions
When translators have to evaluate the possibility of rendering English
toponymous idioms into Romanian they must not accept the easy way out,
that is the word for word translation, for in very many instances a
considerable number of other factors which concern the linguistic as well as
the extralinguistic context should be borne in mind. In addition to that, it is
worth mentioning that many of the idioms included and considered under
this approach have not been included in specialized dictionaries, so
translators will have to visit monolingual specialized dictionaries to find the
proper solution fitting their translation context.
Bibliography:
o *** (1994), Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the
English Language. New York: Gramercy Books, p. 951 (=WEUD)
o * * * (1995), Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. New Lanark:
Brockhampton Press (=DPF)
o * * * (1993), Dicţíonar enciclopedic, Vol.I, A-C, Bucureşti: Editura
enciclopedică (=DE)
o * * * (1998), Dicţíonarul explicativ al limbii române, Ed. a II-a,
Bucureşti: Editura Univers Enciclopedic
o Berg, I. (1969), Dicţíonar de cuvinte, expresii, citate celebre. Bucureşti:
Editura ştiinţifică
o Dumistrăcel, S. (2001) Pînă în pînzele albe. Dicţionar de expresii
româneşti, Iaşi: Ed. Institutul European
o Dumistrăcel, S. (1997) Expresii româneşti. Biografii – Motivatii, Iaşi:
Ed. Institutul European
o McArthur, T. (1996), The Oxford Companion to the English Language.
Oxford: Oxford University Press
151
o Popescu, F. (2004) “Translating English Eponymous Idioms” Analele
Universităţii “Dunărea de Jos” Galaţi, fasc. XIII, Limbă şi literatură,
pp. 107- 110.
Corpus
o * * * (1990), Chambers Concise Dictionary. W& R Chambers
Limited (=CCD)
o Freedman, T., Freedman, D. (1996) The Wordsworth Dictionary of
Cliché, Wordsworth Editions Ltd
o Manser, H.M. (1983) The Dictionary of Contemporary Idioms, London,
Pan Books Ltd.
o Nicolescu, A., et al. (1967) Dicţionar frazeologic englez-român,
Bucureşti, Ed. Ştiinţifică
o Nicolescu, A., et al. (1982) Dicţionar frazeologic englez-român,
Bucureşti, Ed. Ştiinţifică
o Gulland, D.M., Hinds-Howell, D. (1994) The Penguin Dictionary of
English Idioms, London: Penguin Group
o Kirkpatrick, E.M., Schwarz C.M.(eds.) (1996) The Wordsworth
Dictionary of Idioms, Newcastle: Wordsworth Editions Ltd.
TEACHING TRANSLATION TO ESP STUDENTS
Teodora Popescu
“1 Decembrie 1918” University of Alba Iulia
The aim of this paper is to address the issues of teaching
translation to ESP students, in particular to business students. Business
English courses taught to Romanian students need to include a translation
component, which will familiarize students with terms, style, and wording
of authentic business texts (in both SL and TL). Through a series of inclass Romanian  English translation exercises, students learn to
understand, decode and reproduce actual business texts from one language
into the other. Clearly aimed at perspective business users, this teaching
method is designed to unveil the phrasing and content of real-life material
used in the broadest range of business situations. This practice will clearly
empower the future business actors to perform daily business tasks in
English and/or Romanian, as assigned by employers and dictated by the
market. We will try to exemplify this teaching method with some authentic
translation tasks.
152
Introduction
Translation as a classroom technique has long been discarded by
ELT practitioners, who have rather favoured tasks based on authentic texts,
considered as the only linguistically reliable. Grammar translation
techniques already proved rather ineffectual and artificial, and for the sake
of a more communicative-functional approach, most non-native teachers of
English nowadays avoid using translation in class. Nevertheless, there is a
natural tendency in learners to translate: “…rather than ‘thinking in
English’, when you cannot express yourself in the L2, you naturally fall
back into L1, and search for a translation from a starting point in L1.
Translation is thus an instinctive part of the way the mind approaches
learning a second language.” (Lewis, 2002:60)
We should therefore not ignore the potential that translation
activities may bring into an English class. These tasks may be designed in
such in such a way that students could perceive the relationships that exist
between L1 and L2, at the same time avoiding the counter-productive
word-for word translation. Especially in the case of ESP students, in
particular business students, translation may be a challenging and
rewarding undertaking, considering that their future career will, most
likely, involve translation activities.
As Wilga Rivers has noted, “much of the discussion of the place of
translation in language teaching has been at cross-purposes since the kind
of translation and its function in the language learning process have not
been specified” (Rivers and Temperley, 1978:325). It is not the purpose of
an ESP course for business students to delve into the theoretical aspects of
translation theory. We should rather focus on the most appropriate
translation techniques that students need to acquire in order to develop this
professional skill. Furthermore, we should make a distinction between the
role of translation in language learning and teaching translation as a skill in
its own right. Our endeavours as educators have to encompass both
dimensions.
Translation entails the analysis of the potential of both L1 and L2,
in terms of lexical, morpho-syntactic, stylistic and textual equivalence. We
have chosen to start with the lexical equivalence since, as Lewis (2002:3)
pointed out, “language consists not of traditional grammar and vocabulary
but often of multi-word prefabricated chunks”. In other words, language
consists of grammaticalised lexis, not lexicalized grammar. Therefore, we
have to raise our students’ awareness as to the importance of finding the
best lexical units, without ignoring the generative element of grammar.
We will analyse in the following some problems that an insurance
153
text may raise in terms of translation equivalence at different levels, and
how these could possibly be dealt with.
The following Romanian text “Condiţii privind asigurarea de
accidente persoane şi asigurarea medicală pentru călătorii în străinatate”
brings forth the issue of the specific language used in an insurance
contract, imposed by the Romanian legal language norms:
– the elliptical “accidente persoane” (the word-for-word translation
would sound illogical and grammatically incorrect: “…accidents people”)
– “Condiţii privind …” should not be translated by “conditions
concerning…”, which, although a grammatically correct utterance, is not
common in the English legal language.
We need to reach a deeper understanding of the meaning implied by
this title, and of the specific content covered by the concepts in question.
The first thing that students are encouraged to do is try to separate the text
into lexically meaningful units, translate them and then check the
collocability as well as the semantic/grammatical/textual appropriateness
of their utterance.
A good dictionary, or an on-line concordancer would reveal the
occurrence of “personal accident” – a very good example of how
sometimes interference is helpful.
Another issue that we need to tackle is that, semantically speaking,
the text above refers in fact not to some conditions, but to the terms of a
contract.
Our solution would be “Personal Accident and Travel Medical
Insurance Plan”, which, in our opinion would render, most closely, the
lexical, morphological and semantic load of the L1 text. We have chosen to
leave out the word abroad or international (in the context of international
travel), since some insider knowledge of the insurance field would clarify
that travel usually refers to international travel.
One of the chapters in the above-mentioned contract reads:
Începutul şi încetarea răspunderii
8. Răspunderea Asiguratorului începe la data menţionată în poliţă ca
fiind data începerii perioadei de valabilitate a asigurării, dar nu înainte de
trecerea frontierei ţării de origine, pentru efectuarea călătoriei în străinatate
şi încetează la data expirării perioadei de valabilitate înscrisă pe poliţa de
asigurare sau din momentul în care Asiguratul trece graniţa în ţara de
origine.
We have previously stated that grammar translation is
counterproductive and that we encourage the truncation of L1 into lexical
chunks, which are then translated into L2. The final step would be the
154
refinement of the translated utterance from a paradigmatic, stylistic and
syntagmatic point of view.
The head noun is “răspundere”. This is the first problem that arises.
In Dicţionar român englez. Romanian-English Dictionary (Leviţchi,
1998:810) we can only find responsibility1, as well as some of the most
common phrases in which it occurs. Bantaş and Năstăsescu’s Dicţionar
Economic englez-român român-englez (2003:637) provides another
alternative – liability2, which is slightly better, but still not good enough.
At this point we have to acknowledge the existence of a “meaning world”
of business and economics. We know that the main function of an insurer
is to “cover risks” – an insurance-specific collocate, less frequent in other
genres. The noun equivalent would consequently be “coverage3”. The
meaning of “răspundere” is not that the Insurer is or may be held
responsible for the damage that occurs, but that they undertake to pay
benefits in case of an accident.
“Începutul” [= beginning, outset, commencement, start (in Leviţchi,
1988:544 and Bantaş and Năstăsescu, 2003:637)] is probably best
translated by beginning. “Încetarea” [= ceasing, cessation (in Leviţchi,
1988:544)] may be again problematic. Neither of the two translations
found in the dictionary seems appropriate. In the business lexis, a contract
is usually terminated or annulled (cf. Business Collocations: EnglishRomanian Dictionary, Popescu-Furnea and Toma, 2003:69). An insurance
policy expires. Similarly, the risk coverage will expire.
“Data începerii perioadei de valabilitate a asigurării” is a lexical
unit in its own right and this is how we should try and translate it.
“Asigurarea” (= insurance) in this context refers, obviously to the
insurance policy, which, by definition, is a contract. We know that in
English, a contract comes into effect on a certain date. Within the same
thematic and semantic area, a date may therefore be effective.
Transformational grammar is indeed very helpful in translation practice.
“Menţionată în poliţă” and “înscrisă pe poliţa de asigurare”
(synonymous phrases) refer to the legality of the dates in question. The
English legal language norms impose the use of a stock phrase: “under this
policy”.
The other lexical units are, hopefully, not so difficult to translate: “a
trece frontiera/graniţa” = “cross the border”; “ţara de origine” = “home
country” (“country of origin” is rather used in connection with export
goods)
Let us now turn our attention to the two possible translations of the
above text.
155
A. Grammar/word-for-word translation
In the first case, that of word-for-word rendering, we will break the
sentence into morpho-syntactic categories:
Răspunderea Asiguratorului începe la data menţionată în poliţa ca
fiind data începerii perioadei de valabilitate a asigurării, dar nu înainte de
trecerea frontierei ţării de origine, pentru efectuarea călătoriei în
străinatate1.
şi înceteaza la data expirării perioadei de valabilitate înscrisă pe
poliţa de asigurare sau din momentul2.
în care Asiguratul trece graniţa în ţara de origine3.
I.
Răspunderea
începe
Asiguratorului
la data
dar nu înainte de trecerea
menţionată
frontierei
pentru
efectuarea
în poliţa
ca fiind
data
ţării
de origine
străinătate …
începerii
perioadei
de valabilitate
a asigurării
II.
… şi încetează
la data
sau din momentul …
expirării
perioadei
de valabilitate
înscrisă
pe poliţa
de asigurare
156
călătoriei
în
III.
… Asiguratul
… în care
trece
graniţa
în ţara
de origine
If we ignore the considerations that we have made in terms of lexical
and semantic equivalence, a grammar-translated L2 text would read as
follows:
The Insurer’s liability begins on the date designated in the policy as
the date of commencement of the insurance validity period, but not before
the Insured crosses the border of the country of origin, in order to take the
trip abroad and ends on the expiry date of the validity period written on the
policy or at the moment the Insured crosses the border to his country of
origin.
The text sounds grammatically correct, but the meaning is rather
obscured and may be rather cumbersome for a native speaker.
B. “Lexical approach” translation
1. Lexical equivalence
The strategy that we have proposed, in line with the Lexical
Approach, would first focus on the lexical equivalence between L1 and L2.
L1 lexical chunks
Răspunderea Asiguratorului
data începerii perioadei de valabilitate
a asigurării
data menţionată în poliţă
[data] înscrisă pe poliţa de asigurare
a trece frontiera/graniţa
ţara de origine
pentru efectuarea călătoriei în
străinătate
data expirării perioadei de valabilitate
L2 lexical chunks
Coverage4
effective date of coverage
under this policy
cross the border
home country
in order to travel abroad
the expiry date of coverage
2. Grammatical/paradigmatic equivalence
The next step is to analyse the issues raised by grammatical equivalence:
L1
începe5
nu înainte de trecerea7 frontierei
L2 equivalence
shall6 start
not before the Insured crosses the
border8
157
3. Textual/syntagmatic equivalence
L1
trece graniţa9 în ţara de origine
L2 equivalence
returns to the country of origin
The L2 text we therefore suggest is the following:
BEGINNING AND EXPIRATION OF COVERAGE
8. Coverage shall begin on the effective date of coverage under this
policy, but not before the Insured crosses the border of the home country in
order to travel abroad and shall end on the expiry date of coverage under
this policy or at the moment the Insured returns to his home country10.
We do not claim, nevertheless, that this is the only possible
translation of the text under discussion. We have only tried to exemplify the
way in which one can use the Lexical Approach when translating a
specialist business text.
Conclusion
In conclusion, we would like to sum up the stages and strategies of the
translation paradigm that we have propounded in this study:
1. Analyse the L1 text in terms of meaningful lexical units.
2. Translate these lexical chunks and check their collocability and
semantic appropriateness.
3. Analyse the paradigmatic equivalence of the two texts. Make any
changes that are imposed by the L2 morphological and syntactic
norms.
4. Review the different textual/discourse elements that are conducive
to an even better/subtler L2 rendering.
5. Go over the L2 text again and scrutinize it globally. Have it
checked, if possible, by a native speaker/English teacher/business
specialist.
Notes
1
a duty to deal with or take care of sb/sth, so that you may be blamed if sth goes
wrong (Oxford Advanced Genie CD ROM)
2
the state of being legally responsible for sth (Oxford Advanced Genie CD ROM)
3
the range or scale of protection given to the insured under an insurance policy
(Adam, 1989:150)
4
See footnote 3. “Coverage” refers to the Insurer’s duty to offer protection and
pay benefits in case of an accident.
5
Present simple
6
Modal auxiliary, formal language
158
7
Subject-elliptic
In English the subject should always be mentioned and since there is no
cataphoric reference in our context, we need to use an S + V construction. We
prefer this construction (finite / time clause) to the non-finite, -s genitive
premodification + verb-ing + of-genitive postmodification: “the Insurer’s
crossing of the border”.
9
The textual reference of the phrase “a trece granita” (= “cross the border”) is
actually two-sided: 1. cross the border out of/leave the home country and 2. cross
the border into/return to the home country.
10
One should note the difference in the number of words used in the two translated
texts (which, although not essential, may contribute to better readability): in the
first case there are 69 words as compared to 58 in the second. The L1 text counts
61 words.
8
Bibliography:
o Adam, J.H. (1989) Dictionary of Business English. Harlow: Longman
o Bantaş, A. and Nastasescu, V. (2003) Dicţionar economic englez-român
român-englez. Bucureşti: Niculescu
o Bassnett, S. (1991) Translation Studies. London: Routledge
o Greenbaum, S. and Quirk, R. (2004) A Student’s Grammar of the
English Language. Harlow: Longman
o Leviţchi, L. (1998) Dictionar român-englez. Romanian-English
Dictionary. Bucureşti: Gramar
o Lewis, M. (2002) Implementing the Lexical Approach. Thomson Heinle
o ------. (2003) Oxford Genie CD-ROM. Oxford University Press
o Popescu-Furnea, T. and Toma, M. (2003) Business Collocations.
English-Romanian Dictionary. Cluj-Napoca: Casa Cărţii de Ştiinţă
o Rivers, W. M., and M. S. Temperley. (1978) A Practical Guide to the
Teaching of English as a Second or Foreign Language. New York:
Oxford University Press
159
TRANSLATING RELIGIOUS POETRY
(EQUILIBRIUM WITHIN CONFLICT – SOME STATEMENTS ON
INDIVIDUALITY AND SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS)
Ioana Sasu-Bolba
“Babeş-Bolyai” University of Cluj-Napoca
La globalisation, phenomène typique du vingt-unième siècle, doit
inclure aussi l’intensification de la communication humaine. Bien qu’
apparemment la traduction de la poésie religieuse n’a rien à voir avec ce
phénomène, chaque poème bien traduit représente un possible pont entre
deux nations, ce qui favorise une meilleure compréhension réciproque.
Comme ce type de connaissance ne peut pas être niée, la globalisation
suppose, en principal, l’habileté d’avoir affaire avec de gens qui
appartiennent aux nations et aux croyances differentes.
Dans la relation auteur-traducteur, les deux parties jouent
alternativement un rôle important, chacun. Les deux parties offrent une
„feuille” de vie aux lecteurs de poésie et augmentent l’héritage culturel
national avec de nouvelles sources d’inspiration, du vocabulaire et des
figures de style.
The requirements of the 21st century, the so-much-mentioned
globalization, should include (and may be it already does) besides so many
other fields of human activity, those which can intensify human
communication (a necessity of the moment) and, therefore, all means able
to quicken it.
Although, at first sight it might seem far-fetched, the translation of
religious poetry is also part of this process, as each well-translated poem
represents in itself a possible bridge between at least two nations,
favouring a better understanding of human nature. And this kind of
knowledge cannot be denied as globalization supposes fore and foremost
the ability to deal with various people belonging to different nations and
beliefs.
In the relationship author-translator, a seemingly unequal one, both
factors play an important part, each of them having alternatively the main
role. They are both expected now to achieve similar goals to those they
have always been, but perhaps more refined ones: to offer a “slice” of life
to poetry-readers (and not only) and increase the national cultural
inheritance with new sources of inspiration, vocabulary and various
figures of speech.
From this viewpoint, religious literature deserves a special place
both in national literature and translation if only we were to mention that
160
religiosity is one of man’s essential archetypes that lies at the bottom of his
very self and is able to go deeper into his subconsciousness and look for
truths there.
Religiosity, faith in God, is connected to the double aspect of life:
the seen and the unseen, as well as the awareness that we believe mostly
what we may see or touch, although we have often experienced the power
of something else, beyond comprehension, but guiding our lives.
Doubtlessly, it is the same religiosity (our strong belief that God
exists), that has brought about a conflictual state in almost each man’s
mind: if I believe more in what I see or touch, if I enjoy life and its
material goods; if I live in a society and have to obey its rules, then how
can I believe in God, who is invisible, how can I love Him more than
anything else on earth, give up material possessions and follow his Son?
We consider that the right answer is given by a man like Fulke
Greville, a Calvin and political man of the 17th.century, who once said: “I
know the world and believe in God,”1 meaning that we should find a path
in-between, to reconcile conflicts.
There hardly exists any period of time lacking religious literature,
but it seems that almost nothing has been changed in it. Poets use about the
same biblical themes or comments on various aspects in the Holy
Scripture. They describe the birth, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus
Christ; sing the purity and complain the sufferings of Jesus’s mother, The
Virgin Mary; try to find answers to define man’s relation to God.
This latter statement reminds us of T.S Eliot’s demands regarding
literary criticism. He says that literary criticism should improve its
approach to literature by including an ethical and theological viewpoint, so
that it may also comment upon the theological value of a certain religious
poem.2 According to T. S. Eliot, the religious poet does not deal in his
whole poem with a religious spirit. What he actually does is to treat in this
way only a limited part of it. Therefore, Christian poetry belongs almost
exclusively to minor poetry3.
However unchangeable religious poetry might seem as far as its
theme is concerned, not the same thing can be said about the poet’s
specific way of producing verse, the means of expression he uses in order
to make his “story” unique.
We chose from among so many religious poems one that deals with
the above-mentioned conflict between man and man on the one hand, man
and God on the other; one in which the poet, George Herbert, approaches
the field in a most particular way: The Collar, having in view its
translation into Romanian as well.
161
The Collar
1. I struck the board, and cried, “No more,
2. I will abroad.
3. What? Shall I ever sigh and pine?
4. My life and lines are free; free as the road,
5. Loose as the wind, as large as store.
6. Shall I be still in suit?
7. 7.Have I no harvest but a thorn
8. To let me blood, and not restore
9. What I have lost with cordial fruit?
10. Sure there was wine
11. Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
12. Before my tears did drown it.
13. Is the year only lost to me?
14. Have I no bays to crown it?
15. No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
16. All wasted?
17. Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
18. And thou hast hands.
19. Recover all thy sigh-blown age
20. On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
15. Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,
21. Thy rope of sands,
16. Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
22. Good cable, to enforce and draw,
23. And be thy law,
24. While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
25. Away; take heed:
26. I will abroad.
27. Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears.
28. He that forbears
29. To suit and serve his need,
30. Desrves his load.”
31. But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
32. At every word,
33. Methoughts I heard one calling, “Child”:
34. And I replied, “My Lord.”
162
Gulerul
A m dat în masă:“E’n zadar,
Nimic mai mult.
Cum? Mereu să murmur, să suspin?
Viaţa, drumul, mi-s libere să zboare
Ca vântul; pline’n hambar.
Mereu d’acord, e’un chin!
Nu recoltez nimic doar spinul,
Să sângerez şi să nu am,
Ce am pierdut cu prietenosul fruct?
Da, vin aveam,
Înainte ca of-ul meu să-l usuce; grâu,
Înainte de lacrimi-pârâu.
Deci anul l-am pierdut de tot?
Cunună de lauri să-i dau nu pot?
Nu tu flori, vesele ghirlande? Totu-i stricat?
Totu-i împrăştiat?
Nu-i chiar aşa: mai este fruct,
Mai poţi lucra.
Refă-ţi anii bătuţi de suspine,
Cu două plăcerii: renunţă la cearta ce vrea
Să ştie de-i bine ori rău. Lasă-ţi cuşca,
Funia de nisip,
Ce gânduri mici făcea; şi să purcezi,
Să faci o funie care să lege,
(Să-ţi fie lege),
Când ai clipi, dar nu vrei ca să vezi.
Acum să fii atent:
Nimic mai mult.
Retrage capul morţii ca teama să n’ascult.
Cel care nu’L slujeşte
Şi la nevoie nu îi ia suspinul,
Îşi merită destinul.”
În timp ce vehement eu blestemam mereu,
În toat’aceste zile,
Mi s-a părut că cineva a spus: “Copile”.
Şi am răspuns doar: “Domnul meu.”
163
The Collar is considered the most virulent of the poems included
by George Herbert (1593-1633) in his volume “The Temple”. The poet
openly fights against the constraints imposed by the “new law”, Jesus’s
law, namely that of refusing the joke not accepted by the Holy Fathers
either. This is the joke Jesus Christ offered them: “Take my joke upon you,
and learn of me; for I am meek and lonely in heart and: ye shall find rest
unto your souls. For my joke is easy, and my burden is light (Mathew 11,
29-30).
The title implies a double metaphor: the divine Law is a joke, but
becomes a collar with George Herbert. In English the word “collar” has
two meanings: 1. Part of a man’s dress; 2. A dog collar. Whatever its
meaning may be, it still is uncomfortable, and hinders. Behind it stands
Jesus himself, wrongly understood; he warned the people of the dangers
and cruelty imposed by the old Law.
As far as the metrical structure is concerned, the poem is written in
decasyllabic lines, alternating with lines of 8 and 4 syllables. The poem is
rhymed. The rhyme scheme is: abcba. The use of three rhymes only is
specific for the 17th century poetry, and much used by George Herbert.
Both the metrical structure and the form of the stanza were entirely
preserved in the translation, George Herbert being an expert in geometrical
stanza structures.
As far as the meaning is concerned, as well as the peculiarities a
good translation has to take into consideration, we mention the existence of
some key-words which we preserved unchanged as they are taken from
biblical quotations. Among them thorn (7), line 12, bays to crown it (14),
no garlands gay (15), rope of sands (22). In the translation, we used the
same quotations, but took the Romanian equivalents for the English ones.
This is a sample of how we have done it:
e.g. for thorn: “Yet shall know them by their fruits (the false
prophets). Do men gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles?”
(Mathew 7, 17)
The Romanian version says: “Din roadele lor îi veţi cunoaşte. Oare
se culeg din spini struguri şi din scai smochine?”
Before my tears did drown it: “And now go to; I will tell you what I
will do to my vinegard: I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall be
eathen up; and break down the wall thereof, and it will be trodden down:
and I will lay it waste: it shall not be pruned, nor digged; but there shall
come up briers and thorns: I will also command the clouds that they rain no
rain upon it” (Isaiah 5, 5-6).
The Romanian version: “Vă voi spune însă acum, ce voi face viei
164
mele: îi voi smulge gardul, ca să fie păscută de vire; îi voi surpa zidul, ca să
fie călcată în picioare; o voi pustii; nu va mai fi curăţată, nici săpată, spini şi
mărăcini vor creşte în ea! Voi porunci şi norilor să nu mai ploaie peste ea.”
In the translation we used a metaphor, lacrimi-pârâu, for rain. We
did it this way because of the rhyme, without altering the original meaning.
bays to crown it: Ps.64, and so on.
We kept rope of sands as it makes reference to the Greek proverb
about the possible reconcilitation of contradiction, that is to say the
impossible: “to make rope of sands or nets”.
It was rather difficult to translate the second line (important for the
meaning of the whole poem, and consequently also repeated twice): I will
abroad. The Bible says about this idea:“…nu mai este nici o osândă pentru
cei ce sunt în Hristos Isus, care nu umblă după trup, ci după spirit. Pentru că
legea spiritului vieţii m-a izbăvit de legea păcatului şi morţii.” (Romani 8,
1-2). So we translated it with: nimic mai mult.
The end is very impressive. The idea is taken from Romans 8, 15:
Pentru că oricâţi sunt purtaţi de Spiritul lui Dumnezeu sunt fiii lui
Dumnezeu.” (Romani 8,15). Hereof the Romanian word: copile.
Notes
1
Apud: Helen Gardner, “The Metaphysical Poets,” in Seventeenth-Century
English Poetry. Modern Essays in Criticism, Edited by William R.Keast, Oxford
University Press, U.S.A., 1971, p.43.
2
Apud: T.S.Eliot, “Religion and Literature” (1935), in Selected Essays of…, New
Edition, Harcourt, Brace and World, Inc., New York, 1964, p.343.
3
Idem, p. 346.
Bibliography:
o Eliot, T. S. (1964) Selected Essays of…, New Edition, Harcourt, Brace
and World, Inc., New York
o Keast, W. R. (ed.) (1971) Seventeenth-Century English Poetry. Modern
Essays in Criticism, Oxford University Press, U.S.A.
165
TRANSLATING STYLE: LANGUAGE AND CULTURE
Daniela Şorcaru
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Defining translation and the translator is much more intricate than
one would assume initially. Many dictionaries supply synonyms for the
verb to translate without any specification of the material being translated.
The translators’ task is therefore to continually search and research,
to deconstruct and to reconstruct the text, as their world is one of
dichotomies pertaining to the traditional areas of activity of translators
(technical, literary, religious translator, etc.), to modes of translating
(written, oral) and to the translator’s priorities or focus (literal vs free,
form vs content, formal vs dynamic equivalence, semantic vs
communicative translating, translator’s visibility vs invisibility,
domesticating vs foreignizing translation).
In a large sense, the translator is identified with any communicator
or mediator (whether listeners or readers, monolinguals or bilinguals) as
they receive signals containing messages encoded.
As the goal of translation is to ensure that the source and the target
texts communicate the same message while taking into account the various
constraints placed on the translator, a successful translation can be judged
by two criteria: faithfulness, also called fidelity, which is the extent to
which the translation accurately renders the meaning of the source text,
without adding to it or subtracting from it, and without intensifying or
weakening any park of the meaning, and transparency, which is the extent
to which the translation appears to a native speaker of the target language
to have originally been written in that language, and conforms to the
language's grammatical, syntactic and idiomatic conventions.
The interest in translation studies parallels the need of the written
text to travel across countries, cultures and linguistic communities in order
to make its message known to the world.
Defining translation and the translator is much more intricate than
one would assume initially. Many dictionaries supply synonyms for the
verb to translate (to render, to describe, to transliterate, to put or turn into,
to construe, to rephrase, to reword, to transmit, to re-express, to
transmute, to interpret, to convert, to transform, to transpose, to express,
to transfer), without any specification of the material being translated.
The translators’ task is therefore to continually search and research,
to deconstruct and to reconstruct the text, as their world is one of
dichotomies pertaining to the traditional areas of activity of translators
166
(technical, literary, religious translator, etc.), to modes of translating
(written, oral) and to the translator’s priorities or focus (literal vs. free,
form vs. content, formal vs. dynamic equivalence, semantic vs.
communicative translating, translator’s visibility vs. invisibility,
domesticating vs. foreignizing translation).
In a large sense, the translator is identified with any communicator
or mediator (whether listeners or readers, monolinguals or bilinguals) as
they receive signals containing messages encoded.
Two or several translators may be translating from the same source
text and into the same or different target language and yet the results may
be very different. Reasons for this variation include:
 The purpose of the translation;
 The translator as a person;
 The target language audience for whom the translation is intended.
The results are translations that fall someplace on a continuum from
literal translations to idiomatic translations. Literal translations follow very
closely the grammatical and lexical forms of the source text language,
whereas idiomatic translations are concerned with communicating the
meaning of the source text using the natural grammatical and lexical items of
the receptor language.
The translation process, whether it is for translation or interpreting, can be
described simply as:
 Decoding the meaning of the source text, and
 Re-encoding this meaning in the target language.
To decode the meaning of a text the translator must first identify its
component ‘translation units’, that is to say the segments of the text to be
treated as a cognitive unit. A translation unit may be a word, a phrase or
even one or more sentences.
A complex cognitive operation lies behind this seemingly simple
procedure. To decode the complete meaning of the source text, the translator
must consciously and methodically interpret and analyze all its features. This
process requires thorough knowledge of the grammar, semantics, syntax,
idioms and the like of the source language, as well as the culture of its
speakers. The translator needs the same in-depth knowledge to re-encode the
meaning in the target language. In addition, knowledge of the subject matter
being discussed is essential.
As the goal of translation is to ensure that the source and the target
texts communicate the same message while taking into account the various
constraints placed on the translator, a successful translation can be judged by
two criteria: faithfulness, also called fidelity, which is the extent to which
the translation accurately renders the meaning of the source text, without
167
adding to it or subtracting from it, and without intensifying or weakening any
park of the meaning, and transparency, which is the extent to which the
translation appears to a native speaker of the target language to have
originally been written in that language, and conforms to the language's
grammatical, syntactic and idiomatic conventions.
Nevertheless, no matter how difficult the translator’s task may be,
had it not been for such people who took these risks, the beauty of
literature would have probably never travelled around the world.
All these theoretical guidelines considered, we thought of
comparing and contrasting several translations of William Shakespeare’s
Sonnet XVIII so as to investigate how translation studies theory
functions at the level of the literary text. With a view to performing such
an analysis, six translations into Romanian, belonging to different stages
in the development of the translation process in Romania, and a
translation of the sonnet into French (see Appendix).
From a formal perspective, the sonnet is a fixed form lyrical poem
consisting of fourteen lines written in iambic pentameter, linked by
various rhyme patterns. Although it originated in Italy, the sonnet
underwent some formal altering as it was molded by the literary genius
of Shakespeare.
Considering the prosodic elements, although the Romanian sonnet
takes after the Italian structure as a rule, as TT2 and TT4 prove, some
translations, including the French one, remain faithful to the features of
the original Shakespearean sonnet (TT1, TT3, TT5, TT6, and TT7).
The fourteen lines of the sonnet are divided into three quatrains
(statement, development and climax of the action), and a rhyming
couplet acting as the conclusion. The quatrains have an alternate rhyme
pattern, while the rhythm used is the iambic pentameter.
Therefore, when considering the translation of such a sonnet, a
twofold problem arises: if the form is the main aspect to be preserved,
then we must agree that the versions of Tomozei (TT1), Pintilie (TT3),
Bosca (TT5), Clonţea (TT6) and Garnier (TT7) may be considered as
being the most appropriate.
On the other hand, however, a translator must always pay attention
to the target language and its specific characteristics; hence, bearing this
aspect in mind, we should consider Chirică’s (TT2) and Frunzetti’s (TT4)
versions as more adequate to the task.
The most difficult problem that the first two lines of the sonnet
raise is to translate the archaic forms thou, thee and art. The pronominal
archaic forms are impossible to render, therefore the focus falls
exclusively on the verb, as we need an equally archaic but poetic verb at
168
the same time. That is why the choice of a asemui is the best in both
Frunzetti’s (TT4) and Clonţea’s (TT6) versions. A asemăna, used in
Chirică’s (TT2) and Bosca’s (TT5) translations is close as content to the
original but lacks the archaic dimension. On the contrary, Tomozei’s
(TT1) a semui is too archaic, whereas Pintilie’s (TT3) a compara and
Garnier’s (TT7) te comparer are neither archaic, nor poetic enough to
match the ST.
Furthermore, although almost all translators agree on blând(ă)
when translating temperate, except for Bosca (TT5) who favours senin to
match his choice of the noun chip, actually a synecdoche when
compared to the original thou, it is Clonţea’s (TT6) translations that
should be considered as the most appropriate in terms of transferring as
many connotations of the word as possible: cumpătată. The French
translation (TT7) displays a shift in meaning, as aimable is used to
translate the ST word, a situation that should have been avoided by
choosing a more adequate synonym.
The issue changes when tackling lovely: all the translators
considered in this analysis made a different choice. According to
rendering the meaning of the ST, plin de farmec (Tomozei, TT1) seems
to match this principle better, as all the other solutions, namely dulce
(Chirică, TT2), plăcută (Pintilie, TT3), caldă (Frunzetti, TT4), gingaş
(Bosca, TT5), and douce (Garnier, TT7), result in a semantic gain, adding
a much more [+AFFECTION] perspective to the original meaning.
Lines three and four again raise the problem of rendering the
archaic dimension of hath. In Romanian, this can be achieved both at the
level of verbs and at that of nouns. Hence, the meaning and the archaic
value of the original are best rendered in Frunzetti’s version (TT4),
where both the metaphor and the general poetic dimension of the
original may also be regarded as being best preserved. Nonetheless, if
the rest of the Romanian translators only render this aspect partially, the
archaic dimension is completely lost in the French translation (TT7).
Because of its peculiar interwoven meanings and poetic
connotations, the lines of the second quatrain prove quite challenging to
translate. That may be the reason why some translators completely
missed or altered some of the meanings in the original text.
This is the case of Tomozei (TT1), in whose translation dimmed
turns into precede-ntunecat and declines into descinde, both of which
are inappropriate to the context.
A more effective effort is to be noted with Garnier (TT7) who
chose to solve the problem by using the double verb solution, i.e. se
169
ternit et s’efface; moreover, the choice of l’or de son teint seems more
appropriate when compared with the ST.
All the other versions rely on a smaller or higher degree of
interpreting the original text and of trying to adapt the target text to
target language readers. However, such non-poetic instances as smalţu-i
auriu (Bosca, TT5) should have been avoided.
From a different point of view, in terms of achieving both rhythm
and rhyme and adding the transfer of meaning and image from one
language into another (also preserving the metaphors involved in
creating the meaning), Chirică’s version (TT2) of these lines may be
regarded as more accurate.
The third quatrain may be looked upon as the most archaic part of
Sonnet XVIII, as it is laden with archaic forms or contractions of words,
an aspect which makes it all the more difficult and challenging to
translate.
Therefore, we may again identify several instances of semantic
gain / loss and of meaning shift. In Tomozei’s translation (TT1), for
example, there is a clear loss of fair in Nor lose possesion of that fair thou
ow’st which turns into Şi n-ai să pierzi ce astăzi stăpâneşti; this semantic
loss should have been avoided as the noun has particular importance in the
poem, as it can be identified in a range of epithets laying the basis for the
portraying of the author’s friend: lovely – temperate – fair. Tomozei also
reverses agent and affected roles in translating Nor shall death brag thou
wander’st in his shade as În umbra morţii n-ai să plimbi caleşte.
On the contrary, the French version of the poem (TT7) preserves the
meaning in employing beautés immortelles, with no reversal of the
semantic roles, e.g. Ni la Mort se vanter de ton fantôme errant. All the
other translations also translate fair by frumuseţe / farmec, and they
preserve death as an agent, as well.
Remark should, however, be made concerning Pintilie’s (TT3) use of
vara-ţi veştejită, which results in lowering the register by not translating the
poetic dimension of the ST properly. Nevertheless, the metaphors are all
preserved in the translation and this obviously improves the quality of the
target texts considered.
As for the concluding couplet, all translators chose to interpret the ST
and, as a result, they favoured rhythm and rhyme over meaning transfer.
They do not operate a complete change in meaning, but rather alter it so as
to match the TL structures that obey rhythm and rhyme.
A possible comment may be that some translators should have taken
into consideration an enhanced poetic dimension, rather than making some
choices as Cât lumea ochi şi guri va mai avea (Pintilie, TT3), Cât ochi vor
170
fi şi guri vor răsufla (Frunzetti, TT4), or Cât oamenii privesc şi cât respiră
(Tomozei, TT1).
Therefore, as the analysis shows, a better translation would probably
be a combination of all these target texts – yet, the problem of rhythm and
rhyme will impose, in such a case.
One should, nonetheless, be aware that it is much easier to compare
and contrast the hard and dedicated work of others than to produce an
individual contribution, a personal translation of the ST.
Bibliography:
o Bantaş, A., and Croitoru, E. (1998) Didactica traducerii, Galaţi:
Editura Porto Franco.
o Basnett, S. (1991) Translation Studies, London and New York:
Routledge.
o Bell, R. (1991) Translation and Translating. Theory and Practice,
London and New York: Longman.
o Catford, J. C. (1965) A Linguistic Theory of Translation, London:
Oxford University Press.
o Croitoru, E. (1996) Interpretation and Translation, Galaţi: Editura
Porto Franco.
o Hatim, B. and Mason, I. (1992) Discourse and the Translator, London
and New York: Longman.
o Leviţchi, L. (1993) Manualul traducătorului de limba engleză,
Bucureşti: Editura Teora.
o Newmark, P. (1981) Approaches to Translation, Oxford: Pergamon.
o Newmark, P. (1991) About Translation, Great Britain: Multilingual
Matters Ltd.
o Nida, E. (1964) Toward a Science of Translation, Leiden: E.J. Brill.
o Nida, E. (1996) The Sociolinguistics of Interlingual Communication,
Bruxelles: Éditions du Hazard.
o Nida, E. (2000) “Principles of Correspondence” in Venuti, L., and
Baker, M. (eds.). (2000). The Translation Studies Reader, London and
New York: Routledge.
o Nida, E. (2001) Contexts in Translating, Amsterdam/ Philadelphia:
John Benjamin’s Publishing Company.
o Snell-Hornby, M. (1988) Translation Studies. An Integrated Approach,
Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamin’s Publishing Company.
171
Appendix
William Shakespeare’s Sonnet XVIII
ST1: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the lovely buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all to short a date.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By change or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possesion of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade
When in eternal lines thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
TT1: Cu-o zi a verii pot să te semui?
Tu eşti mai plin de farmec şi mai blând!
Un vânt doboară creanga şi blestemu-i
Ca frunza verii moare prea curând.
Ades e ochiul cerului fierbinte
Şi aur îl precede-ntunecat
Precum frumosul din frumos descinde
Sub cerul simplei firi netulburat.
Dar vara ta eternă nu păleşte
Şi n-ai să pierzi ce astăzi stăpâneşti
În umbra morţii n-ai să plimbi caleşte
Când într-un vers etern ţi-e dat să creşti.
Cât oamenii privesc şi cât respiră
Trăieşti şi tu în cântu-nchis în liră.
TT2: Să te aseamăn cu o zi de vară?
Tu eşti mai dulce şi surâzi mai blând!
În Mai e vânt şi mugurii-i doboară
Şi timpul verii trece prea curând.
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Cerescul ochi e uneori fierbinte,
Şi-ades umbrită-i geana lui de foc,
Căci de frumos frumosul se dezminte
Şi-ntâmplător şi-n al schimbării joc.
Dar vara ta nu va păli vreodată
Căci frumuseţea-i veşnic anotimp;
Nici moartea s-o umbrească n-o să poată
Când vers etern o-nalţă peste timp.
Cât va fi suflet, văz şi versul meu,
Prin tot ce-am scris tu vei trăi mereu.
TT3: C-o zi de vară cum să te compar?
Ţi-e firea mai plăcută şi mai blândă.
Căci vântu-i smulge mugurii-n Florar
Şi-i scurt sorocu-i: iarna stă la pândă.
Ne arde ochiul soarelui ades,
Dar uneori păleşte-a sa lumină
Urmând al soartei mers neînţeles
Şi floarea frumuseţii fruntea-nclină.
Dar vara-ţi veştejită nu va sta
Cu toată-a frumuseţilor mulţime,
Nici moartea n-o să-ţi fure umbra ta,
Căci vei trăi-n nemuritoare rime.
Cât lumea ochi şi guri va mai avea
Aceste versuri viaţă au să-ţi dea.
TT4: Cu-o zi de vară-ţi pot asemui
Făptura? Ţi-e mai caldă şi mai blândă!
Cad flori în mai când prinde-a vremui
Şi verilor li-s toamnele osânda.
Jar viu ne pare soarele-uneori
Şi-ades păleşte ochiul lui, cerescul.
Splendorile decad dintre splendori
Şi sorţii răi norocul vitregescu-l.
Dar veşnica ta vară dăinui-va
Şi frumuseţea nu-ţi va fi furată,
Nici moartea-asupra-ţi n-o să-şi urce stiva:
Vei creşte-n vers cu secolii deodată.
Cât ochi vor fi şi guri vor răsufla,
173
El va trăi şi viaţă va să-ţi dea.
TT5: Să te aseamăn cu o zi de vară?
Tu ai un chip mai gingaş, mai senin;
Vânt aspru-n Mai flori tinere doboară,
Şi-arenda verii ţine prea puţin.
Cerescul ochi e uneori dogoare,
Şi-ascuns e smalţu-i auriu adese,
Şi-n tot ce-i farmec, farmecul dispare,
Când firea-n mers ori soarta i-l desţese.
Dar vara ta eternă nu apune,
Nici farmecul ce azi te-mpodobeşte,
Nici val asupra-ţi Moartea nu va pune,
Când tu, prin timp, în vers etern vei creşte.
Cât inimi bat, şi-n ochi mai e scânteie,
Mi-e cântul viu, şi viaţă o să-ţi deie.
TT6: C-o zi de vară să te-asemui dar?
Mai dulce-ai firea, mai cumpătată:
De vânt în mai se scutur muguri iar,
Şi viaţa verii-i mult scurtată:
Prea-ncins e ochiul cerului vreodat’,
Şi-obrazul şi-l ascunde după nor;
Şi ce-i frumos azi, mâine-a scăpătat
Urmând al vremii mers neiertător;
Dar vara ta trăi-va veac de veac,
Iar frumuseţea ta nu va pieri,
Chiar morţii hâde ai să-i vii de hac,
Prin vers etern ce-n timp va dăinui;
Cât duhul vieţii-n om va adăsta,
Prin versu-mi ţie viaţă îţi voi da.
TT7: Comment te comparer aux beaux jours de l’Été?
Ta grâce est plus aimable et ton humeur plus douce:
Son vent rude abolit les burgeons veloutés
Et son bail est bien court: déjà l’Hiver le pousse.
Parfois l’oeil du soleil nous brûle en son ardeur,
Souvent, l’or de son teint se ternit et s’efface,
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Suivant le cours changeant d’un hasard destructeur
Toute fleur de beauté perd sa fleur et sa grâce.
Mais toi, point ne verras se flétrir ton printemps,
Ni se faner jamais tes beautés immortelles,
Ni la Mort se vanter de ton fantôme errant:
Tu grandis à toujours en rimes éternelles.
Tant que vivra le monde, et l’amour et l’envie, Vivront ces vers, et ces vers-là donnent la vie!
TT1 – Translated by Gheorghe Tomozei
TT2 – Translated by Neculai Chirică
TT3 – Translated by Nicolae Pintilie
TT4 – Translated by Ion Frunzetti
TT5 – Translated by Teodor Bosca
TT6 – Translated by Procopie Clonţea
TT7 – Translated by Charles-Marie Garnier
SUBTITLING A BILINGUAL FILM IN A THIRD
LANGUAGE:
SOME PARADOXES OF TRANSLATION
Emma Tămâianu-Morita
“Babeş-Bolyai” University of Cluj-Napoca
Problema subtitrării unui film bilingv într-o a treia limbă: cîteva
paradoxuri ale traducerii. Lucrarea examinează modalitatea în care filmul
japonez Chi to hone (Blood and Bones, 2004, regia Yōichi Sai) a fost
prezentat publicului japonez pe de o parte, şi publicului român pe de altă
parte, cu focalizare asupra strategiilor de traducere adoptate în fiecare caz.
Constituţia verbală a filmului este bilingvă (japoneză – coreeană), în
consonanţă cu tema principală, şi anume confruntarea socio-istorică şi
culturală dintre cele două etnii în Japonia primei jumătăţi a secolului XX.
Traducătorul care lucrează pentru un alt public decît cel japonez şi cel
coreean trebuie să răspundă la cîteva întrebări cruciale, de natură să
influenţeze semnificativ receptarea operei cinematografice de către
publicul său: (a) însăşi existenţa bilingvismului se impune oare semnalată
spectatorului prin intermediul subtitrării şi, dacă da, cum anume se poate
realiza aceasta?; (b) o versiune tradusă poate ea să reflecte cu autenticitate
nu doar expresia bilingvă în calitate de procedeu material, ci şi, mai
important, funcţia de sens îndeplinită de configuraţiile bilingve în original?
175
Analiza noastră este condusă în cadrul conceptual al lingvisticii
textului de orientare integralistă întemeiată de Eugenio Coşeriu, avînd
drept reper în particular viziunea coşeriană asupra proceselor construcţiei
sensului în textele transsemiotice.
1. Introduction.
Donald Richie, the leading foreign critic of Japanese film, as well as
the first translator of many classical Japanese movies for the benefit of
English-speaking audiences, observes in an essay dedicated to the issue of
subtitling Japanese films:
All translation is a compromise but I doubt that any translation is so
thoroughly compromised as that of film dialogue subtitles. The translator is
given only so much space and within it is supposed to render spoken
dialogue as written dialogue in the amount of time it takes to say it. This is
impossible. (Richie 1991/1995: 89)
What then if the spoken dialogue is constructed not in the substance
of one language, but in the substance of two languages, while the written
dialogue is confined to the substance of a – single – third language?
The starting point for the present discussion is the way in which the
Japanese film Chi to hone (lit. Blood and Bones, 2004, directed by Yōichi
Sai) was brought before Japanese and Romanian audiences, and our focus
lies on the choice of translation strategies in each of the two cases.
1.1. The movie Chi to hone, based on Sogil Yan’s highly successful
and equally controversial autobiographical novel published in 2001,
unfolds the destiny of Kim Shunpei, a Korean immigrant who arrives in
Osaka in 1923 having as sole possession his own version of the “Japanese
dream”. The lead role was assigned to Beat (Kitano) Takeshi, the much
acclaimed actor and himself an iconoclastic director rewarded with
numerous prizes at Japanese and European film festivals. Kim’s personal
history, set on the background of his community’s history, is related
through the eyes of his son, both a participant to the events, and the
narrative voice in the film, as in the novel.
The film revolves around two main themes: ethnic discrimination
(i.e. discrimination of Korean ethnics by the Japanese majority) and
discrimination of the weak, of women in particular, within the Korean
family and community. The director, himself a Korean ethnic, chose to
tackle both themes in a realistic manner, confronting the viewer with the
crude image of a wide range of manifestations of abuse and extreme
violence.
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A marginal note in this respect. The film’s title was accurately
translated into English as Blood and Bones. In Romanian, however, the
title inadvertently became Carne şi oase. The adequacy of this equivalence
can be questioned first of all because the Romanian phrase evokes the
idiomatic expression în carne şi oase (as in a vedea pe cineva în carne şi
oase, a veni în carne şi oase etc.), which is of no relevance to the film.
Secondly, the phrase obscures the «blood» imagery and symbolism. This is
a crucial sense-constitutive unit that holds together a vast and otherwise
contradictory field of significance, stretching out from the pole of blood
relations and animal vitality to the pole of cruelty, physical violence, death
and cold-blooded murder.
1.2. The film displays in an explicit manner or evokes1 many
elements of the historical, social and political background of Kim’s story,
such as:
▪ the Japanese occupation of South-East Asian countries, which came
to an end only with Japan’s defeat in World War II;
▪ the ideological split of the two Koreas, with all the tragic
consequences of this political act on individuals, families and
communities, which found themselves divided overnight by borders
within, more destructive than mere geographical frontiers;
▪ the mass murder of intellectuals in North Korea, along with other
acts of power characteristic for totalitarian régimes (propaganda through
utopian images and catch-phrases about the “paradise on earth” of the new
“flawless” society, suppression of all communication with the outer world,
confiscation of individual property, the economic polarization of society
etc.);
▪ the complex relationship between the Japanese mafia and its
Korean counterpart.
Although the plot unfolds mainly between the 2nd and 6th decades of
the 20th century, this thematic configuration represents, without a doubt, a
poignant comment on the present status of the Japanese-Korean issue.
1.3. I saw Chi to hone first when it was released in Japan, in the
autumn of 2004, and later in Romania, at TIFF (Transsylvania
International Film Festival). I was thus able to assume two markedly
different points of view. This personal experience fostered the reflections
put forward in the present paper. I will address the issue of the movie’s
impact on the general audience in the two countries, with special focus on
177
the role played by translation in the reception process. I therefore intend to:
(a) examine the translation strategies applied in the presentation of
the film to the two audiences,
(b) discuss the lines of interpretation suggested to the spectator by
virtue of those strategies, and
(c) illustrate several paradoxical questions and empirical limitations
of the translation process that became apparent in the given case.
Before proceeding to these three aspects, some peculiarities of the
category of texts Chi to hone belongs to must be highlighted.
First of all, we are dealing with a contemporary cinematographic
work that has, from the start, a twofold textual signifié (or, in Eugenio
Coseriu’s terms, a twofold Textkonstitution, “textual constitution”), made
up of two articulated components, image and sound. All the present
considerations will be restricted to the verbal sub-component of the latter.
In its turn, the verbal constitution of this movie is twofold in its
idiomatic nature, comprising sequences in Japanese and sequences in
Korean, in accordance with the main theme mentioned above – namely the
cultural and historical clash between the two corresponding ethnic groups,
especially during the first half of the twentieth century.
When any such cinematographic work is presented to the public, the
verbal signifié may be accompanied – or not – by its inter-idiomatic echo /
reflection, i.e. by a translation in the form of subtitles2.
2. Chi to hone and the Romanian spectator.
2.1. At TIFF, as already shown, the Romanian version of the title did
not assist the viewer in forming a preliminary intuition of the film’s
thematic evocations. Thus, prior to the viewing the only minimal clue as to
the general drift of the film was the brief description included in the
presentation leaflet, which read as follows:
Faimosul actor şi regizor Takeshi Kitano este Kim Shunpei, un
imigrant coreean din Japonia a cărui viaţă alcătuieşte un tablou al cruzimii,
al abuzului şi al violenţei. Shunpei e, cu siguranţă, un supravieţuitor, dar
care e teribilul preţ al metodelor sale?
(The famous actor and director Takeshi Kitano is Kim Shunpei, a
Korean immigrant in Japan whose life paints a picture of cruelty, abuse
and violence. Shunpei is surely a survivor, but what is the terrible price of
his methods?)
According to the conventions of this (para)textual species, the
descriptive note is purely factual and contains no reference to the artistic
178
configuration or the textural units relevant for the process of senseconstruction. It only indicates what the movie refers to (Kim Shunpei’s
destiny), and not how the movie makes sense, “saying something about”3
Kim Shunpei’s destiny. Thus, nothing prepared the Romanian viewer for a
cinematographic text with bilingual verbal expression.
The viewing itself was also placed under the sign of a complete
absence of clues to suggest the bilingual constitution. The movie was
presented, like many others, with full subtitles in Romanian (and, in fact, in
English as well). We were offered, I might say, the thorough subtitles of an
industrious translator, matching closely and faithfully each utterance of
each character.
2.2. It is now time to outline the types of situations in which Chi to
hone manifests its bilingual constitution:
(1) alternating scenes in which one of the two languages is spoken,
with a clear dominance in length of Japanese, but a length of the Koreanspoken scenes significant enough to justify the term of ‘alternation’,
instead of mere ‘insertion’ of Korean scenes in a Japanese texture;
(2) presence of both languages in the same scene, more specifically
in alternating lines within the same dialogue;
(3) bilingual speeches (presence of both languages within the same
sentence), a symptomatic phenomenon with speakers of a language placed
in the medium of another language.
It is important to emphasize that what I refer to are situations where
Korean ethnics act in these three verbal hypostases4. It can be stated that
the selection of the idiom signals either:
(a) the psychological state of the character, or
(b) his/her intentions and motivations from the angle of selfdefinition with respect to the immediate community (the Korean minority),
the national community (“the Japanese people”) and the community
beyond national borders (“the Great Japanese Empire”). As in real life,
selection of the idiom amounts to a personal and political statement.
I doubt that the Romanian viewer was at any point aware that two
distinct languages were in fact spoken. – At least not the ‘average’ viewer,
the one who has no previous acquaintance with these two languages and is
not a linguist trained to distinguish even languages unknown to him by
perceiving functional differences in the phonetic expression of a verbal
stream. The reason is not to be found solely in the “exoticism” of both
languages in the perception of the native speaker of Romanian. An even
more important role may have been played by the … industrious subtitles:
179
though necessary from every practical angle, their side effect was a
systematic obliteration of the above-mentioned idiomatic difference.
A solution to avoid such failure would not have been completely
beyond reach. We are all familiar with the technique of dissociation
through graphic substance, e.g. marking by italics vs. regular font: metatext
vs. primary speech, quoted speech vs. the character’s own speech “in real
time”, inner speech (“thoughts”) vs. externalized speech etc. It is no less
true, however, that using such a device in this case would have required an
initial explicitation of the convention (e.g. ‘italics are used for sequences
spoken in Korean’), and such explicitation cannot be easily reconciled with
the artistic nature of the work.
2.3. There was, nevertheless, one moment when the translator
attempted to do justice to the bilingual constitution. I refer to a scene where
young Koreans apt to join the army are given a boost speech that ends with a
cry of “Banzai!” (in Japanese, approx. “Hurrah!”), repeated in chorus by the
future soldiers of the Empire. One young man sets himself apart from the
rest, shouting “Mansei!” – the Korean equivalent of the word – only to be
reprimanded and even physically aggressed by the group. Later in the film
the scene will resurface in a cynical reversal: the dissenter returns from the
war and, now changed, wants to conform, shouting “Banzai!”. But the tide
has turned in his community, and he is met once more with verbal and
physical aggression. The same individuals who had previously declared
submission to the imperial system through denial of their ethnic identity now
yell, in chorus, “Mansei!”, under the protection of a newly asserted
nationalism.
The words banzai and mansei were kept in the original form in the
subtitles, both italicized, no doubt for the purpose of signalling their crucial
role in the act of self-definition and assertion of the individual and collective
identity. Once again, however, I am compelled to express my doubt as to the
effectiveness of this device. For someone who does not know the respective
languages, or at least the respective words, these might have appeared
simply as two units given “in the original”, not necessarily as units
belonging to two different languages. Naturally, in the case of a Japanese
audience such a risk does not exist, as the idiomatic difference is
automatically grasped, and in fact the Korean word mansei belongs to a
cross-cultural lexical repertoire well known to the Japanese speaker. For
Japanese audiences, the contrast between the exclamations “Banzai!” and
“Mansei!” spontaneously activates evocative relations of the whole social
and historical background of the period.
180
2.4. Let me sum up the points of general relevance that result from
this illustration. The first general question is one familiar to many
translators: in what way – by what kind of strategies and devices – can
the very existence of two different languages in the constitution of a
text be indicated in the translation (/film subtitles in particular). Two
techniques are, in principle, at the translator’s disposal.
One is to translate into the target language (Romanian in our case)
only the dominant stream (here, the Japanese sequences), leaving the
insertions of the other idiom as they are in the original. It seems rather
obvious that such a solution can only work if the receiver actively engages
in the game of that convention. For instance, confronted with a translation
of the novel Chi to hone undertaken in this manner, the reader would
design his interpretation in the register of as if: he/she would read the
Romanian text as if it were the Japanese text, and the understanding of the
Korean segments left in the original would be made possible by paratextual
structures, such as explanatory notes. The unnaturalness of the device
would probably be accepted as an inevitable side effect. However, the
material constraints that govern film subtitling preclude the use of a
strategy of this sort.
A different approach entails replacing the original bilingualism with
a bilingualism related to the target language, provided the latter
bilingualism can be perceived by the target receiver as analogous in its
cultural and historical evocation. More striking and far more risky than the
first option, this solution is also dependent on paratextual explicitation.
Moreover, even setting aside the empirical impossibility of finding truly
“analogous” inter-idiomatic relationships, from a psychological
perspective the intrusion of the substitute bilingualism is infinitely more
difficult to accept as mere ‘artistic convention’ and is bound to arouse
suspicion. In our example, replacement of the Japanese – Korean
bilingualism with, say, a Romanian – Hungarian bilingualism would have
been ludicrous at best.
2.5. Chi to hone generates one further question of general relevance,
perhaps even more important than the first. I will formulate it starting from
a second illustration.
The film contains recurrent scenes of prayer performed by Kim
Shunpei’s wife. The prayer, an intensely personal discourse act, by
definition without (human) interlocutor and without spectators, is carried
out in Korean. The content of these prayers was also faithfully transcribed
in detail in the Romanian subtitles. As is to be expected, they refer to the
abused woman’s wish to be freed from her seemingly endless plight.
181
It is only justified to ask ourselves at this point: in the process of
sense-articulation is the prayer important by virtue of its actual content, or
merely as a unitary sign in the film’s texture, as an act of prayer? As
mentioned above, the content (or type of content) is entirely predictable by
plot and thematic context, and the discourse act can be unequivocally
identified as an act of prayer on the basis of visual elements in the scenes
(the image of the altar, specific posture and gestures, tone of voice etc.).
Beyond such circumstantial suggestions, however, a clearer answer
is offered by the way in which the film was presented to the Japanese
public.
3. Chi to hone and the Japanese spectator.
In Japan, the movie was released in the autumn of 2004, completely
without translation (i.e., in the given situation, without Japanese subtitles
for the relatively extensive part spoken in Korean).
3.1. In principle, in Japan two categories of spectators were expected
to view the work: Japanese ethnics on the one hand, and the Korean
minority on the other hand. The latter does not exceed a total population of
approx. 540.000, which means that in any case the first category of
potential viewers was utterly predominant.
It can therefore be stated that the absence of subtitling was, in and by
itself, a sense-constitutive unit in the cinematographic work, as an
“expressive gap” in Coserian terminology (Ausdruckslücke)5, a clearly
intentional device on the director’s part. In the framework of text analysis6
we apprehend, or, rather, reconstruct contingent intentionality as “intent”
or purport of the text itself, precisely by interpreting the constitutional
strategies that the work uses to make sense.
In the case of Chi to hone, I believe that the absence of translation in
Japan essentially had the function of creating an explicit, striking
disjunction between the two types of public. Japanese ethnics were placed
in their real-life role, artistically enhanced: we can presume that not being
able to understand the Other’s language engenders a complex range of
individualized responses, from the mere apprehension and acceptance of
inescapable otherness to the opposite extreme of frustration, exasperation,
open rejection. The Japanese spectator who does not know Korean finds
him/herself unexpectedly placed in the position of an outsider, paradoxical
to any Majority – surely the very epitome of insecurity for a Japanese,
given the emphasis on conformity and ‘belonging’ that is so typical of
Japanese society.
182
3.2. Also, the absence of translation produces in fact an additional,
equally significant division, this time among spectators of Korean descent.
It is attested that, whereas the first and second generations of Koreans born
on Japanese soil preserved the knowledge and use of the Korean language,
among younger people, already of the fourth generation, a growing number
can no longer speak Korean. The reasons are varied, but political interests
lie at the core: the difficulty of obtaining Japanese citizenship, even for
persons born in Japan and who have lived their whole lives in Japan, with
consequences such as denial of the right to vote, ineligibility for public
office etc. A more acute and direct cause, in my opinion, can be found in
the fact that, although schools in the minority language have existed in
Japan for quite some time now, until a legal reform in 2003 highschool
studies in Korean were not automatically recognized and therefore did not
grant access to state universities. This, in turn, in the highly hierarchyconscious Japanese society, also entailed a drastic limitation of
employment opportunities. I believe that what the film achieved with
respect to its Korean-ethnic audience was no less than this: present-day
Korean youths, coaxed into “conformity” by softer means than the ones
applied in the days of the “Great Japanese Empire” are made painfully
aware of the loss of cultural identity through the loss of their language.
Such effects on the viewer are only possible by means of a bilingual
text, or, more precisely, by means of a text defined through irreducible
bilingualism, through the confrontation and unsolved tension of the two
verbal streams. Judging from this point of view, it seems to me that in the
West, Romania included, the cinematographic text was overdetermined, by
artificially imposed full subtitles.
It seems rather obvious that, for instance, in our second illustration
(the prayer scenes) the mere absence of translation would have been an
adequate strategy to suggest the overall function of the Korean segments.
3.3. Incidentally, let me point out that very similar effects on the
(Japanese) spectator can also be generated through a strategy opposite to
the significant absence of translation, namely through the redundant
presence of translation.
A poignant example can be found in the movie Hotaru (The Firefly,
2001), a human drama touching, among other things, upon the issue of
Korean ethnics who fought in World War II as soldiers of the Japanese
imperial army. In what is perhaps the climactic scene of the film, Shūji
Yamaoka, a former kamikaze pilot and accidental survivor of the war,
visits Pusan, the hometown of Kaneyama (or Kim Song-Jae), his lieutenant
of Korean descent, killed in action. Yamaoka is on a self-imposed mission
183
to make amends: pay his respects to his friend’s family, tell them the story
of his unfailing courage, reassure them that Kim/Kaneyama ultimately
acknowledged his ethnic identity. At first met with resentment and open
accusations, Yamaoka gradually succeeds in conveying his message, in the
course of a lengthy dialogue constructed with painstaking care. The
discussion between the Japanese Yamaoka and his wife on the one side,
and the Korean family on the other, takes place with the help of an
interpreter. Rather than speeding up the rhythm, Hollywood style, through
subtitles or conventional switch to Japanese after the initial exchanges, the
Japanese director (Yasuo Furuhata) follows the dialogue to its full extent in
real time, with speeches on each side ‘repeated’ by the interpreter in their
translated form. The spectator, either Japanese or Korean, is thus urged to
assume the point of view of the respective participant in the dialogue, and
gain awareness of his own identity and position in the complex ethnic
interplay.
4. Concluding remarks.
A bilingual text is, by this very nature, bi-cultural. Not so in reverse:
A text can be bi-cultural in its evocations without displaying expression
units in two different languages.
Some works, Chi to hone among them, do not merely designate
(refer to, ‘say something about’) the issue of bilingualism and crosscultural interaction, with its implications in individual, social, or political
areas, but also make full use of bilingualism as a technique in the process
of sense construction. In other words, bilingualism becomes the expressive
means by which the work is semantically articulated and therefore the key
which opens the reader’s / spectator’s access to a maximal interpretation of
the work. In such situations what must be assessed from the very beginning
is whether or not translation (be it in the form of subtitling) is opportune.
When one confronts a bi/multilingual text, the first question that
comes to mind tends to be: “In what way shall we translate a
bi/multilingual constitution?”. The point that I aimed to advocate using the
case of Chi to hone is that in fact, in a rational order, this is not the
question to start with.
The question to start with should always be: “Do we translate or not
within a multilingual text?” or, more specified, “What do we translate and
what do we leave untranslated in a multilingual text?”
The translator of Chi to hone working for an audience that is neither
Japanese nor Korean is thus faced with two crucial decisions that have a
direct bearing on the way his audience will respond to the film: (a) should
the very existence of bilingualism be signalled to the viewer by means of
184
the subtitles, and if so, in what way can this be achieved?; (b) can a
translated version accurately reflect not only the bilingual expression as a
material device in itself, but also, more importantly, the semantic function
performed in the original by the bilingual configurations?
This understanding derives from the premise that bi/multilingualism
is not relevant in itself as a material device in the constitution of an artistic
work. What really matters is always its function in the work as a whole.
And if we believe that translation aims at re-constituting the dynamics of
sense-construction in the original work7, then the sense-constitutive
strategies are the true object of the translator’s endeavours and cannot be
left out of the picture.
On the level of principles, this statement may be qualified as a trivial
truth. On an empirical level, however, things are quite different. In the case
of the film analysed here, this statement translates into a most troubling
series of questions on how to signal to a real, localised Romanian viewer
the existence of a central axis of sense-construction, namely the identity
dissociation(s) that characters and spectators undergo in unison, as
described in section 3: by what concrete means and devices can this viewer
(and not an ‘ideal’ viewer) be oriented towards interpreting the text in its
objective articulation?
In (general) text linguistics, the researcher takes upon himself the
role of a maximal interpreter, looking for everything that is given
objectively in the text, in a privileged endeavor to unravel how the text
makes sense in itself and by itself. The translator, however, always works
for his public, and the analysis that precedes translation is an analysis of
the ways in which the semantic impact of the original can be re-generated
for a particular receiver, individualized through his circumstances – space,
time, native tongue, cultural background. Issues pertaining to the strategies
of translation can never really be addressed “in principle”: for, in Coseriu’s
terms, there is no maximal objective standard of translation, just as there
can be conceived no maximal invariant standard for the activity of
speaking as such.
Un ideal de traducción único y universalmente válido es una
contradictio in adiecto, pues una invariación óptima genérica y abstracta es
tan poco admisible para el traducir como un «óptimum» genérico para el
hablar. El traducir es análogo ante todo al hablar; por ello, para el traducir,
como para el hablar, sólo tienen vigencia normas diferenciadas y
motivadas en sentido finalista. Por la misma razón, la «mejor traducción»
absoluta de un texto cualquiera simplemente no existe: sólo puede existir la
mejor traducción de tal texto para tales y cuales destinatarios, para tales y
cuales fines y en tal y cual situación histórica. (Coseriu 1976: 239)
185
What was brought to the reader’s attention in the present paper only
serves to reinforce the truth of Donald Richie’s final statement on the issue
of film dialogue translation:
I suppose the way one ought to think of this enterprise is not with
chagrin that so much gets lost, but with surprise that so much gets through.
(Richie 1991/1995: 92)
Notes:
1
The concepts of ‘evocation’ and ‘text constitution’ are used here in the
acceptations established in the framework of Eugenio Coseriu’s integral text
linguistics (see esp. Coseriu 1955-56: 310-320 and 1981: 68-109). A detailed
discussion and full bibliographical references can be found in Tămâianu 2001: 4049, 124-133 and Tămâianu-Morita 2002: 126-130.
2
Subtitling is, in my opinion, the only medium of translation that deserves to be
taken into account, at least in the case of artistic works. The possible interaction or
interference of subtitles with the image seems to be a much lesser evil than the
invasive procedure of dubbing, which is an act akin to forgery, as it replaces the
genuine verbal expression of the text with a counterfeit.
3
This formulation echoes Eugenio Coseriu’s definition of “sense” (Sinn, sentido)
as the specific semantic content of the text as an autonomous level of linguistic
knowledge (see Coseriu 1955-56: 286-287, 1981, chapters 1 and 2, 1988: 158185).
4
In other words, I do not include in the object of this discussion the cases where
Japanese ethnics speak – predictably – Japanese. Also, there are no instances of
Japanese ethnics speaking Korean.
5
Cf. “Die Ausdruckslücke als Ausdrucksverfahren”: “Das Schweigen als nichteinzelsprachliche Erscheinung hat zwar keine bestimmte Bedeutung, es kann aber
in beträchtlichem Ausmass zum Sinn der Texte beitragen […]. Das im
wahrgenommenen Text (“Text1”) erkannte Nich-Sagen macht somit den
Adressaten zum Mitarbeiter an der Konstitution eines ‘vollständigen’ Textes
(“Text2”), der dann den eigentlichen Gegenstand der Interpretation ausmacht.
Besser gesagt: die erste Phase, der erste Akt der Interpretation ist in diesem Fall,
eindeutiger als in anderen Fällen und sozusagen explizit, zugleich
Textkonstitution.” (Coseriu 1987: 373)
6
The term ‘textual analysis’ designates, in integral linguistics, one of the three
distinct epistemic levels in the study of textualiy (general text linguistics, text
linguistics, textual analysis) (see the presentation in Tămâianu 2001: 31-34).
7
See Coşeriu 1976, 1988: 70-75. The matter is discussed extensively in Tămâianu
2001: 143-154.
186
Bibliography:
o Coşeriu, E. (1955-56) ‘Determinación y entorno. Dos problemas de una
lingüistica del hablar’, in Coşeriu (1962), 282-323
o Coşeriu, E. (1962) Teoria del lenguaje y lingüistica general. Cinco
estudios, Madrid: Gredos
o Coşeriu, E. (1976) Lo erróneo y lo acertado en la teoría de la
traducción, in Coseriu (1977), 214-239
o Coşeriu, E. (1977) El hombre y su lenguaje. Estudios de teoría y
metodología lingüística, Madrid: Gredos
o Coşeriu, E. (1981) Textlinguistik. Eine Einführung, Tübingen: Narr
o Coşeriu, E. (1987) ‘Die Ausdruckslücke als Ausdrucksverfahren (Textlinguistische Übung zu einem Gedicht von Kavafis)’, in Stuttgarter
Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 189, "Sinnlichkeit in Bild und Klang".
Festschrift für Paul Hoffman zum 70. Geburstag, 373-383
o Coşeriu, E. (1988). Sprachkompetenz. Grundzüge der Theorie des
Sprechens, Tübingen: Francke
o Richie, D. (1991/1995). ‘Subtitling Japanese Films’, in Richie (1995),
88-92
o Richie, D. (1995) Partial Views. Essays on Contemporary Japan,
Tokyo: The Japan Times
o Tămâianu, E. (2001) Fundamentele tipologiei textuale. O abordare în
lumina lingvisticii integrale, Cluj-Napoca: Clusium.
o Tămâianu-Morita, E. (2002) Integralismul în lingvistica japoneză.
Dimensiuni - impact - perspective, Cluj-Napoca: Clusium.
Films
o Chi to Hone (Blood and Bones), 2004. Directed by Yōichi Sai.
Written by Wui Sin Chang and Yōichi Sai, based on the novel by Sogil
Yan. With Beat Takeshi, Suzuki Kyōka, Arai Hirofumi, Odagiri Joe,
Tabata Tomoko
o Hotaru (The Firefly), 2001. Directed by Yasuo Furuhata. Written by
Yasuo Furuhata and Hiroshi Takeyama. With Takakura Ken, Tanaka
Yūko, Ozawa Yukiyoshi, Harada Ryūji
187
LATEST VIEWS ON TRANSLATION
Anca Trişcă
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Ultimele păreri despre traduceri reprezintă un studiu asupra
traducerii ce a cunocut o dezvoltare deosebită, dar nu are încă un statut
foarte clar definit. Există încă foarte multe controverse deoarece procesul
de traducere este complex şi implică vaste cunoştinţe de sociolingvistică şi
psiholoingvistică, alături de cele de lingvistică , studii asupra culturii
limbii-ţintă şi a celei sursă.
Departe de a epuiza subiectul, această abordare prezintă succint
ultimele date şi opinii ale unor cercetători din domeniul studiilor de
traduceri. Cu toate că procedeele de traducere au cunoscut o îmbunătăţire
substanţială, nu s-a ajuns încă la un produs perfect al traducerii.
The etymology of the very word translation (Latin “the carrying from
one place to another”) provides the simplest definition of the term:
translation is an effort to carry a text from one language into another. As
elementary as this may sound, the possibility of translation itself is
universally in doubt, with none more pithily expressed than in the ancient
Italian pun traduttore tradittore (“translator, traitor”).
Despite such misgivings, translators have tried to bridge the
linguistic gaps between cultures in a variety of fields, resulting today in
such specialized work as commercial translations, scientific translations,
and literary translations.
Since all but literary translations are usually ephemeral, sustained
study in the art of translation has been limited to literature. The
consequences of mistranslation of political, legal, or commercial discourse
can prove catastrophic, however, and the literary debate about the nature of
accuracy in translation is of wide relevance. At the heart of the debate
about the nature of accuracy in translation is the recognition that a
translator is a carrier of culture, not just of language, from one place to
another.
The Romans were the first in the West to comment on translation.
Cicero, in reference to his own translation of Demosthenes, insisted that
the translator must remake the original to conform to the conventions of
Latin usage. Saint Jerome (the 4th-century Latin translator of the Bible)
went further, describing the text as a prisoner to be dealt with by the
translator as if by a conqueror. This notion was expanded by Renaissance
theorists to examine the effect of translation on the stylistic possibilities of
188
a host-language. The crowning achievement of Renaissance translation
demonstrates such an effect the influence of the King James Bible (1611)
on succeeding English literature is widely recognized.
In the 19th century, however, a far more radical theory on translation
was offered. The German theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher proposed in
the 1813 treatise that, rather than convey the foreign work to the reader by
remaking it to observe the reader’s conventions of usage, the translator
might actually convey the foreign text to the reader. Rudolph Pannuntz, a
later theorist, went so far as to argue that the task of the German translator
was not to turn Hindi into German but to turn German into Hindi. This
shift of perspective ushered in the great modern age of translation, which is
distinguished by such masterworks as Sir Richard Burton’s translation of
The Thousand and One Nights (or Arabian Nights), 1885-1888, C.K. Scott
Montcrieff’s translation of Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past
(Proust, 1983) and Arthur’s Wally’s translation of Murasaki Shikibu’s Tale
of Genji (Ohikibu, 1993).
The issue of untranslatability became a central preoccupation of 20th
century theoristsm such as Ezra Pound. Although actually first suggested
by Dante in his Convivio (Dante, 1997), the notion of poetry as what is lost
in translation was a truism in the 20th century. Despite such concerns many
of the finest modern poets have produced such poet-translators such as
Elisabeth Bishop, Richard E. Howard, W.I. Merwin, and Bishop Wilbur.
Similar achievements in the translation of fiction have led to wide acclaim
for such distinguished translators as Helen Lane, Ralph Manheim, and
Gregory Rabassa. Finally, it should be noted that the 20the century
witnessed the invention of a new form of translation, the dubbing of
foreign films.
The future of translation will be undoubtedly be linked to the
development of computer translation programmes. When computers do
finally evolve beyond simple electronic bilingual dictionaries and begin to
use contextual clues in the tent to choose correctly among the possible
definitions of a word, as well as to interpret accurately the ambiguities of
syntactical structures of sentences, machine translation may very well
transform the practice of this ancient art.
The study of translation had been dominated, and to a degree still is,
by the debate about its status as an art or as a science. This supposed
dichotomy between art and science is taken to distinguish “pure”
linguistics from applied linguistics. But the main emphasis is still on
literary translation since, we are told by Malone in his The Craft of
Translation (Malone, 1988: 2) that “the quintessence of translation as art as
is anything, even more patent in literary texts” (Malone, 1988: 2).
189
According to James Holmes “Literary translation in the Western
World today is a panorama of many shadows, lit here and there by a ray of
light” (Holmes, 1985: 152). The literary translations tend to be associated
with the Translation Studies as a branch of Comparative Literature.
In translating literary texts, both translation theory and practice, on
the one hand, and translation criticism, on the other, have to be consider a
series of criteria for the analysis of the original and foreign texts, covering
both extralinguistic and linguistic factors that are very important in
interpreting and translating the text, Among the most important coordinates
of literary translation, intentionality determines the translator’s choice, the
author’s intention being as important as the recipient that defines the
communicative situation and the function of the text.
In spite of Holmes’ work, the majority of academic writings dealing
with translations between the First World War years and early 1960’s were
based on a linguistic approach. As a result, a pertinent principle emerged:
rigour and objectivity in the study of translation. The main issue was the
concept of equivalence, especially at the level of words and phrases.
Between 1972 and 1984 the German writings developed the
“pragmatische Winde”, i.e. changing the focus of interest from the
language system of the language use, from the individual linguistic sign to
the text and furthermore to the “extralinguistic insights from neighbouring
fields such as philosophy, sociology and psychology.”
We should also consider Hans Vermeer’s “skopos” theory, i.e. the
dominant approach is no longer the source text, but the function of the
translation as an integral part of the target culture as a functioning part of
the world around. We share Vermeer’s opinion because a very important
aspect in translating, interpreting a translation with the original text is that
the specific “flavour” of a text, “the genius” of a language, the ‘richness”
of a culture are ideologically charged labels which may prevent the
translation Operator from analyzing the specific source text characteristics,
and led to the conclusion of “untranslatability”.
A thorny problem of translation is the translation aids. Holmes
claimed that “our bilingual dictionaries and grammars are still a disgrace
and a despair (Holmes, 1985: 21). It seems that the general lexicographers
are still unaware of the basic needs of translators and, on the other hand,
contrastive grammars are mainly wishful thinking.
Words may have connotative meanings derived from the first
dictionaries meaning(s). These connotative meanings are special meanings
given by a certain context or by a particular setting. The translation of
connotations should be locked upon not as a word-for-word but as a textoriented correspondence. Connotations are thought to be the “genius” of a
190
language. For example, the noun style in a structure such as to live is style
is translated by a trăi pe picior mare:
“Although they lived in style, they always felt an anxiety in the
house. There was never enough money” → „Deşi trăiau pe picior mare, o
nelinişte bântuie necontenit casa. Niciodată nu erau bani îndeajuns” (from
D.H. Lawrence, The Rocking-Horse Winner, translated by Dan Faur.
The verb to spin cannot be translated by the primary meaning, i.e. “a
roti” because the phrase expression to spin yarns has completely different
connotations and matches the Romanian syntagm a spune poveşti fără
sfârşit.
We should also mention that the concept of text as a sequence of
sentences is unsatisfactory for the translator. According to Holmes the
translation process consists in “abstracting from the source text its structure
as a textual entity, analyzing the interrelationships of the various parts in
this structure, and defining the way in which this entity functions in its
structure of the translated text-to-be, the relations of the parts to the whole,
and the functions to have in its new socio-cultural situation” (1988: 102).
This was the dominant perspective upon the 1980’s translation study.
The debate of translation as art or science divided the translating
scholars into two groups: the Americans and the Western Europe group.
The Americans needed to provide rules or norms, whereas the West
Europe group tended to reject such a regulatory point of view. The actual
tendency is to link these two groups with a process of decision making and
with creative strategies.
The panorama of translation studies has evolved from the emerging
of the discipline. Nowadays the barrier between literary translation and
other types of translations has disappeared since the translation studies
cover a spectrum including all kinds of translations and extend to the field
of interpreting.
Gideon Toury’s interdisciplinary point out to the tendency to look for
a multi-dimensional linking between various fields such as: special
language studies, lexicography, machine translation, semantics, contrastive
grammar psycholinguistics, literary translations.
According to James Holmes, “Literary translations in the Western
world are a panorama of many shadows, lightened here and there by a ray
of light. To paint this panorama in all its vast complex display would
challenge the skills of a chiaroscuro master. To try one’s hand at sketching
it in a few brief paragraphs is a vain endeavour that only a fool would
undertake” (Holmes, 1985: 152). Mary Snell-Hornby makes this attempt
and tries to give a panorama of translation studies between 1940-1985,
being guided by Holmes’ ideas. In the light of these ideas she even makes
191
a prognosis of the future, which will loose its finer shading and will be at
least partially offset. Let us now turn to Holmes who stipulates his subject,
i.e. Translation Studies, as a subdivision of another discipline which limits
its domain to literary translations. Actually, the Translation Studies tend to
be associated to literary translations as a branch of Comparative Literature.
In spite of Holmes’ work, the majority of academic writings dealing
with translations between the first post-war years and early 1970’s were
based on a linguistic approach. As a result, a pertinent principle emerged:
rigour and objectivity in the study of translation. The main issue was the
concept of equivalence, especially at the level or words and phrases.
Between 1972 and 1985 the German writing developed and the
“pragmatische Wende” shifts the focus of interest from the language
system to the language use, from the individual linguistic sign to the text
and furthermore to the “extralinguistic” insights from neighbouring fields
such as philosophy, sociology and psychology.
Hans Vermeer postulates the “skopos” theory where the dominant
approach is no longer the source, but the function of the translation as an
integral part of the target culture as a functioning part of the world around.
Besides the general theory, Holmes lists a number of partial translation
theories such as: medium-restricted theory (e.g. machine translations).
Some of them are fashionable: the “text-type restricted” theories used by
Eugene Nida and his colleagues in the Bible translations; the “problemrestricted” theories are dated now (the “equivalence” type exemplifies it);
the translation of metaphor is of recent interest for translators.
In order to illustrate the Translation Studies field we may use figure
1.
From figure 1 the most significant area is the Descriptive Translation
Studies for its product-oriented studies (description and comparison of
existing translations) carried out by the Lower Countries (the
“Manipulation School”) and in Gottingen (based on psycholinguistic
approach), whereas function-oriented is studied in Honing and Kylmaul in
Germersheim.
However, a theoretical problem of translation is the translation aids.
Holmes claimed that “…our bilingual dictionaries and grammars are still a
disgrace and a despair” (1985: 52). The general lexicographers are still
unaware of the basic needs of translators and on the other hand contrastive
grammars are mainly wishful thinking. In this sense, the translators in
Straelen are pioneers with their glossaries.
Last but not least, translation critique has proved particularly popular
for the present diploma paper. A start has been made by Katharina Reiss’
work (1971, 1976).
192
The discipline of Translation Studies anticipated several important
areas of future research: the inadequacy of the purely linguistic approach
and the importance of concrete field work. With regard to these areas of
research, Snell-Hornby examined the concept of text in translation, the
concept of norm and the lack of international communication.
Firstly, the concept of text as a sequence of sentences (“string” of
linguistic items) is unsatisfactory for the translator. Holmes anticipated the
holistic approach to the translation process which consists in “…
abstracting from the source text its structure as a textual entity, analysing
the interrelationships of the various parts in this structure, and defining the
way in which this entity functions (or functioned in the past) in its structure
of the translated text-to-be, the relation of the parts to the whole, and
function it is to have in its new socio-cultural situation” (1988: 102). This
was the dominant perspective upon the 1980’s translation study.
TRANSLATION STUDIES
Pure
Applied
Descriptive
Theoretical
Product Process Function
Translator TranslatorTranslator
oriented oriented oriented
Training
Aids
Criticism
General
Partial
Medium Area
Rank
Text
Restricted Restricted
Type
Time
Restricted
Problem
Restricted
Restricted
Figure 1. TRANSLATION STUDIES (Holmes, 1988: 102)
Furthermore, the concept of norm divides the translator scholars into
two groups: the Americans and Western Europe group which needs to
provide rules or norms and, others, tend to reject such a normative point of
view. Nevertheless, the actual tendency is to link these two groups with a
process of decision-making and with creating strategies.
193
Finally, the international communication in academic studies has
generally improved, but not in the field of translation studies due to the
political barriers which part the Eastern and Western Europe.
Let us now turn to the panorama of translation studies’ evolution
from the emerging discipline outlined by Holmes in 1972. Firstly, the
barriers between the literary translations and others have disappeared
because the translation studies must embrace a spectrum including all the
kinds of translations and should extend to the field of interpreting, as does
the German term Translationwissenschaft. The tendency to look for points
of contact is best described by Gideon Toury’s interdiscipline, a multidimensional complex linking varied fields such as: special language
studies, lexicography, machine translation, semantics, contrastive grammar,
socio and psycholinguistics; literary translation and neighbouring fields of
interest from literary history to psychology.
Altogether, “the state of the art of translation studies is better than
ever before. It is not good. There is so much still to be done.” (Holmes
1985: 152). Therefore it needs communication and cooperation among the
scholars in the discipline, with scholars outside the discipline and across the
borders of nation and language. Communication and cooperation continue
to increase, consequently the ideal basic conditions for the translator and
translation studies are assured and the interdiscipline is not entirely utopian.
The Translation Studies have made a first step towards the ‘perfect”
translation because it focus upon the problem at how meaning travels.
The borders of interdisciplinarity have been opened and translations
are viewed as both literary and non-literary works. There is no clear
distinction between right and wrong, formal and dynamics, literal and free,
art and science. They combine towards a good translation, or, at least, a
better translation than ever before.
New questions were posted regarding the subject of investigation, the
nature of the translation process, how meditation occurs, and how the
process affects both the original (redefined as source text) and received
(redefined as target text) works. Even the distinction between original
writer and translator was called into question.
The Russian formalists attempted to isolate and define what they
called “literariness”. They have focused upon the literary facts separating
them from psychology, sociology and cultural history. They attempted to
determine what makes literary texts different from other texts and what
determines literary status by privileging specific surface-structural features
and analyzing them. They analyzed how the thematic concepts were
expressed by determining position to a concept dependent upon the culture
and language in which they are embedded. The Translation Studies reveal
194
the diachronic effect of translated texts on two traditions: that of the source
culture and that of the target culture (they attempted to measure the text’s
relation to its tradition). For example, proper nouns have always tended to
have a specific meaning: Tănase in the Romanian language defines a silly
and stupid person, but it has not an adequate correspondence; the gypsies
are called Faraons or Stanciu or Gaşper, etc. The special resonance gets lost
in the process of translation. We have studied the Romanian nick-names in
chapter 2, i.e. Cultural Equivalence and Non-Equivalence.
With regard to the Translation Studies we can also add that Holmes
breaks Translation Studies down into three areas of focus: (1) the
descriptive branch: to describe phenomena of translations as they manifest
themselves in the world; (2) the theory branch: to establish principles by
which these phenomena can be explained; and (3) the applied branch: to
“use” information gained from (1) and (2) in the practice of translation and
training of translators (Holmes, 1972/5: 9-10 apud Gentzler, 1993: 93).
Our last observation concerns the relationship between translation and
original along the imaginary path, for texts documenting the path. The
shifts are systematically analyzed and they incorporate a synchronic and
structural textual analysis as well as diachronic literary inter-textual and
socio-cultural analysis, in order to determine the meaning and function of
any specific translated text.
This latest views on translation have been presented in order to
illustrate the translation process viewed as a dynamic system that changes
with the time and with the new discoveries in the field of technology.
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Enciclopedică
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Bucureşti: Editura Teora
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Great Britain
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Didactică şi Pedagogică
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196
NEW POETS, OLD POLITICS
Daniela Ţuchel
“Dunărea de Jos” University of Galaţi
Politicul în şi prin poezie va fi explorat în acest articol ca eliberare
interioară în prezenţa unor constrîngeri de exterior. Rezultatul poate fi
constatat ca supunere intelectuală generatoare, în mod ideal, de forme ale
emancipării. Textelor analizate li se aplică testul exerciţiului de traducere,
astfel încît anume ambiguităţi în formulare devin întrebări de ordin
cultural pentru traducător. Selecţiile de poeme s-au făcut, aleatoriu şi
idiosincretic, din cele semnate Robert Şerban, Liliana Ursu şi SînzianaMaria Stoie. Incercînd în mod dramatic să însoţească contingentul cu
absolutul, noua poezie românească creează un brand al ei (şi al nostru
tuturor), de „precaritate de noi înşine” – formulă lansată de Horia-Roman
Patapievici într-o discuţie televizată (emisiunea „Inapoi la argument”).
Este şi însemnul precarului un mod revelator de a te manifesta politic în
cultura contemporană românească.
Romanian readers should be happy with the burgeoning number of
poets in our culture and country. Or shouldn’t they? The problem is, for
poetry fans, to be self-reliant in assessing value and never duped in their
capacity of consumers of culture. Asking myself who or what can direct
our choices when we mean to read, to interpret, to translate – although we
alter what we can, strengthening or weakening values while working on the
message – I have found a clue: a couple of recent issues of România
literară (16, 17/ April 2006) have already operated a professional selection
of poetical material. The rest is a matter of taste. Here are my challenges: a
Romanian text, a version in English (mine) and a commentary, comparing
and contrasting. Our translation tasks will imperatively be linked to an
analysis of levels of culture like the skins of an onion, a metaphor teeming
with suggestions for whatever lies precariously or solidly at varying levels
of approach.
Through the additive presence of symbol, myth, archetype and fable,
cosmic potentialities are accommodated, poetically speaking, in a text. And
if it is true that a literary text is systematically made up of archetypes/
archaic types, then this very text – through them – is a reconstruction of the
past.
We mean to analyse the archetypes which provide a condensation of
past and present meanings in two poems by Robert Şerban, published in
România literară (2006, 16: 8). Şerban comes out with a few pieces to be
197
included in the volume of poetry entitled Cinema la mine-acasă/ Cinema
at Home, forthcoming at “Cartea românească” Publishing House. The texts
below, in our version in English, will refer thematically to: woman, man,
child, dog, loneliness, oneness (Femei) and wise man/ father figure, the
self, one versus many versus One, speaker as gossipmonger and as
storyteller (Dumnezeu nu vorbeşte cu nimeni). These archetypes can all be
found in any reference book of cultural archetypes (e.g., Evseev, 1994).
Femei
o femeie singură/ alta cu un copil/ o alta cu un câine/ alta singură/ alta
cu un bărbat/ alta singură/ alta singură/ alta singură/ alta singură/ alta
singură
Women
a lonely woman / another with a child/ one other with a dog/ another
alone/ another with a man/ another all alone/ another all alone/ another all
alone/ another all alone/ another all alone
The personae of the first poem cross the stage like a medieval
pageant. The historical pretentious display is missing. It could have
concealed a lack of real importance or meaning by means of an outer
glamour, but it does not. The indefinite determiner attracts the attention as
the most constant companion – in grammar, not in the world of the poem –
under the circumstances in which the personae are shown to remain
companionless. And indefinite determination is definitely ambiguous: a can
be glossed as any, the feature of ‘anonymity’ ensuing; or a is glossed as
one, the feature of quantification entailing ‘measurement’, implicitly ‘value
assessment’; eventually, a glossed as ‘a new individual’ is substituted by
another repeatedly, with addition seen as the crowning achievement of
populating space. The elliptical nominal group composing the
monomaniac latter half foregounds the nexus of the poem: atomistic
existence is no cure to loneliness, on the contrary, it helps towards its
perpetuation. The ambiguity of oneness is that, even though multiplied, it
cannot become many. The condition of solitude is everlasting. M. Short
(1989: 172), briefing his readers on the aims and results of the science he
calls “comparative textology”, proposes a very handy sample to us, the
imagist poem In a Station of the Metro by Ezra Pound, while discussing
also “the relations between verblessness, the unmediated presentation of
objects and the literary movement of imagism” (ibidem): The apparition of
these faces in the crowd;/ Petals on a wet, black bough. Pound’s and
Şerban’s poems are related constructionally in juxtaposing nominal strings
and doing away with verbs; ideatically too, in part, in finding forms of
existence for the ‘crowd’. With the American poet, the compositional score
holds, with the Romanian poet coagulation fails. This is something
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conducive to one molecular Romanian pattern in today’s culture, but only
after we have surveyed the atoms of archetypical atoms put in by the poet
himself.
The world of the first poem begins and ends, traumatically, with a
woman’s loneliness. The schema will add up the cultural load of each of the
two terms: ‘loneliness’ spells an encounter with one’s inner reality and
‘woman’ spells the archetypal mother, the ever present ‘anima’ principle
associated with emotions and the urge to offer protection. So companion
relationships are shown here in this specific order: child-dog-human male,
which may cause wonder about its priorities. The poem’s fixation on
‘woman’ builds up an opposition with the ‘animus’ principle proposing a
dominant father-figure and a content of reason and willpower. Unbalanced,
feminine existence will seek a fulfilled identity with what ‘child’ stands for
– pre-sinning purity and the power of a new, healthy beginning – and what
‘dog’ stands for – unconditional love and steadfast companionship.
Lonely women, such as Antigone (the inflexible heroine thinking it
was better to obey the gods than men), Phaedra (a victim of Aphrodite’s),
Medea (in love with Jason looking for the golden fleece), Helen (the cause
of the Trojan War), all let sacrifice get into their lives in order to preserve
the unity – yet, practically, entailing the breakup – of a family. The tensions
created between connections and disconnections lead to the reign of a
feeling of tragic solitude in womanhood.
The reduplicated line (6 – 10) in English version (another all alone)
can be noted for its more emphatic wording when compared to the original.
The defence of the translator is that, politically and historically, the British
have developed a one-woman cult unparalleled in our culture. The
Elizabeth royal cult entails the glorification of a woman’s power of mixing
the divine with earthly resilience. The same emblem was looming in one of
the preceding lines as well (3), with the suggestive potential of ‘woman with
dog’: this takes us directly to Artemis, the protectress of women in labour
and newborn children, the goddess armed with a bow and arrows indeed,
but one cannot omit her dogs, swifter than the wind and capable of
knocking down even lions, according to Callimachus (Comte, 1991: 52).
Ultimately, the prevailing idea of this poem is dissociation, not
association, and a speculative connection with Romanian phraseology may
be made with a umbla creanga (Dumistrăcel, 1997: 61). Twigs and
branches get blown and swept away by the wind and occupy the marginal
position in the picture, beyond a community’s control. Marginality and
marginalization, added to an implicitly commiserated self-reliance can
enter the typology of today’s Romanian condition, sometimes consciously
analysed, at other times seething submerged in the subconscious layers.
199
If the first poem foregrounds physical connections, the second poem
by Robert Şerban foregrounds the metaphysical connections man
experiences on earth. Existence becomes a story, and this is basically a
cultural pattern weaving together fact and fiction – or fiction and fact –
function of what we value over what. The message of Şerban’s poem is
utterly topical: our contemporaries undoubtedly value (while dreading!)
fiction over fact, according to recent developments in social and political
life. In the old days, people used to say a vinde gogoşi (Dumistrăcel, 1997:
98), the tall tale being compared to a pastry similar to doughnuts: the
pasty mass swells in hot oil and acquires deceitful size. Ancient wisdom
was imperious on the matter of ‘telling’. We herewith compile three
excerpts from the New English Bible, Ecclesiasticus: (1) To delight in
wickedness is to court condemnation, but evil loses its hold on the man
who hates gossip; (2) Tell no tales about friend or foe; unless silence
makes you an accomplice never betray a man’s secret; (3) Have you heard
a rumour? Let it die with you. (Eccus., 19: 5, 8, 12)
Dumnezeu nu vorbeşte cu nimeni
de ceva vreme/ aud despre mine aceleaşi poveşti/ mai toate urâte mai
toate triste/ şi mă bucur/ asta înseamnă că tot ce am făcut în ultimul timp/
e/ poate/ bun şi frumos/ adică plictisitor/ şi cine-ar pierde vremea cu lucruri
de-astea // nu-mi fac sânge rău/ fiindcă aud că Dumnezeu nu vorbeşte cu
nimeni/ despre nici unul dintre noi
God speaks to no one
for some time now/ I’ve heard the same stories about me/ most of’em
bad most of’em sad/ and I’m happy/ it means that all I’ve done lately/ is/
perhaps/ a nice thing/ which is boring/ and who’d waste time on that// I’m
not scathed/ for I hear God speaks to no one/ about any of us
These fundamental ideas are recoverable in Robert Şerban’s second
poem: line 11 echoes Eccus. 1 above, line 12 echoes Eccus. 2, and lines 1
and 2 echo Eccus. 3. Moreover, the poem digs deeper into story-telling
psychology. One major question is raised about distortions: what becomes
subsequent to reporting, urât and trist, has been known by the author of
deeds to be bun and frumos. There are two aspects in the politics of telling.
One is that any telling seeks to stake a claim to a certain form of reality
against other claims and, through the modality contained in line 7 (poate),
the one talked about tries to come to terms with the ‘political’ stake of
others. Storytelling can be the politics of an epoch to rework unsolved
problems. The second aspect consists in a factor of power: all tellings are
political in the sense that they reflect a hidden structure of power and
privilege. It is interesting to see that the poet’s reactive state of emotion
when faced with this powerful structure is the (ironical and self-ironical)
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invocation of boredom. There are two parties in the conflict and an
ambiguous arrangement: who is bored and who is boring? The distinction
is not worth making, for everything comes to waste and a biblical vanitas
vanitatum without any shred of animosity, since the Divinity knows the
truth without speaking it.
We undertake our present exploration being based on the truisms that
myth and archetype are preoccupied with the typical in human behaviour,
whereas a preoccupation with the individual is a projection onto the
situation of the cultural expectations of the modern community. With (very)
young poets, it does not seem hard to negotiate the past within a technocultural space of marketable products. Teenager Sînziana- Maria Stoie
remembers (RL 17/ 2006 : 30), inspiring us with the sensation that she has
already acquired a coherent philosophy of life:
Imi amintesc (fragment)
Un timp ai fost tăcut precum existenţa unui iepure cu urechi de
diamant;/ ţi-ai privit destinul, de pe tronul zeilor plecaţi sâmbătă seara la
film,/ cu pupilele efervescente inundate de culorile televizoarelor durdulii/
atomii din moleculele solare ţi se gudurau la picioare purtând măşti/ de
acetonă, asfaltul îşi etala degetele fusiforme;/ ca un camion cu cozi de arme
împletite în loc de volan; te-ai ciocnit/ de gurile de canalizare duhnind a
formol, de ţevile de gaz subterane,/ ai inventariat stelele teleghidate pe
câteva coli de hârtie/ creponată scrise cu mercurul din bateriile ruginite […]
I remember
For a while you’ve been silent like the life of a hare with diamond
ears;/ you watched your destiny, from the throne of the gods gone out to
the Saturday night movies,/ with effervescent eye-pupils flooded by
colours from plump television sets/ the atoms of solar molecules fawned at
your feet wearing masks/ of acetone, the asphalt displayed its fusiform
fingers;/ like a lorry with tails of plaited guns instead of a wheel; you
knocked against the sewage openings with a stink of formol, of
subterranean gas pipes,/ you drew up the inventory of teleguided stars on a
few paper sheets/ corrugated and written in the mercury of the rusty
batteries […]
The fragment above is a good illustration of transubstantiation: from
eternal incorruptible art to secular everyday life. A more synthetic image
aestheticizing life we have read in William Carlos Williams (1923): a red
wheel/ barrow// glazed with rain/ water (NAMP: 319).
Teenagers will be groundbreakers, particularly with the notions that
they find inspirational. The poetic fragment written by Stoie contains the
paradigm of a scientific and technical society ending in the basic
behavioural model of recycling. The sensation is that every development,
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whatever the differences among them, has a hard core from where to make
a new beginning: the hard core of a diamond, the hard core of silence, the
hard core of a molecule, of the stars, of batteries, of what not. The
concepts Stoie’s poem is packed with can be called pan-cultural.
Fascination with physical synaesthetic details is in the foreground, and, at
the same time, supplies the easy task for the translator who only follows –
step by step – the verbalisation of a world wrapped in corrugated paper,
the ridges and the grooves on the outside, the preserved worthy fragility
inside. The world of ambiguous present-past intermingling is eventually a
jumble of diverse chemical and technological (no longer biological)
processes over which humans are still trying to have some authority.
The discoursal steps of Stoie’s fragment are three sequential
formulae for life itself: existence is listening; existence is traffic; existence
is chemistry. And all experiences become remembrances. Nowadays,
young age gets wise both to fact and to vision.
A perhaps bizarre aspect with Stoie is that, although the expression
of remembrance is focused chiefly on the idea of acknowledgement of the
dead, this is not present in her poem. Memory for a peacetime society is
shown to contain unexpected sights and smells. The poet apparently
realises that there is danger in living in a society without memory, because
in such an extreme case the continuity and finality of things can slip off.
One may begin a commentary on Liliana Ursu’s poem below (RL 17/
2006 : 8) and its translated version, thinking of what the Introduction
(page 1) to NAMP (1988) states: “Many modern poems exhibit what Paul
Valéry calls a drama of mintal images; a drama which is made out of the
different and conflicting gradations of reality or irreality which mental
images seem to possess. Modern poets need not confine themselves to a
single stance. At times they may veer towards a Platonic world of essences,
beside which material things offer only ghostly semblances; at other times
they may recognize the stubborn powers which lurk in what Richard
Wilbur calls ‘things of this world’ and their ability to reshape them by
imaginative will”.
Cîte puţin despre îmblînzitori
Imblînzitorul de lupi s-a întîlnit/ cu îmblînzitorul de albine/ şi cu
acordorul de piane la o cafea Capuccino. // Cît despre îmblînzitorul de
urşi/ el stătea retras, în casa de la marginea pădurii/ şi citea despre mierle,
nori şi nacele. / Adeseori asculta „Simfonia celor 12 insule”/ şi-şi spunea
că o să se lase de meserie./ Parfumul fragilor era însă irezistibil/ în acea
seară. Iar umbra ursului se suprapunea perfect/ peste umbra lui./ Cine pe
cine îmblînzea oare? // M-a cercetat un vis. Se făcea că sunt albină./ Se
202
făcea că sunt lup./ Se făcea că sunt urs./ Se făcea că sunt om. // M-am
trezit. Se făcea ziuă./ Lumina îmblînzea întunericul.
A few things on tamers
The wolf tamer met/ the bee tamer/ and the piano tuner over a
Capuccino coffee cup. // As for the bear tamer/ he lived withdrawn, in the
house at the forest end/ and read about blackbirds, clouds and nacelles./
He would often listen to “Symphony of the 12 islands”/ telling himself he
was going to forsake his craft./ Nonetheless the fragrance of wild
strawberry was irresistible/ that night. And the shadow of the bear was
perfectly superposed/ on his own./ Who was now taming who? // A dream
came to me. I seemed to be a bee./ I seemed to be a wolf./ I seemed to be a
bear./ I seemed to be a person. // I woke up. It was daybreak./ Light tamed
darkness.
The politics discernible in Ursu’s poem is rooted in the admission
that one (any) community and the zoo send forth mutual challenges that
determine the ‘superposition’ (hinted at in the poem) which ambiguates and
disambiguates ontological situations.
The nexus of the poem is the interrogative line “Who was now taming
who?”, immediately reminiscent of Thom Gunn’s Tamer and Hawk. Gunn
poetically declares: “I […] want the feel […] of catcher and of caught” and
concludes his poem anadiplotically: “I fear to lose/ I lose to keep, and
choose/ Tamer as prey.”
If Gunn’s and Ursu’s poems are metaphysical explorations of the
relation between human consciousness and Nature, then their interpreter
needs to look into the zoological symbolism: ‘bee’ is possibly spelled out as
wisdom in communal life and the spirit of justice (there is always a sting!);
‘wolf’ couples devilish ferocity with godlike benefaction, in different
proportions with different peoples; ‘bear’ will symbolise strength and
power to renew natural cycles. Actually, each nominal part of Ursu’s poem
falls under suspicion of ambivalence and a potential to convey much more
than the surface reading. This effect also comes from the nonconventional
adjacency of the nominals. Still, this is the trick of any tamer; even the poet
may be cast in the precarious drama of ‘dreaming’ and ‘seeming’ as the
master-tamer or an archetypal trickster.
In a Jungian perspective, we note the central occurrence of the
shadow, precisely because the shadow is interpreted to be the part of us we
reject. And then, for the latter half of the poem, what happens is part of a
dream which is, like any dream, a combination of energy and shape. In the
poem, the plurality of shapes gets reduced to a singular ‘I’ and the ultimate
message is the one about the Self as archetype of unity winning the battles
fought. The I/ self has tamed the wilderness within and without.
203
In connection with Ursu’s text, the translation task is not, or at least it
does not seem, complex: crossculturally, the conceptualisations discussed
above mean the same. One difficulty can relate to memes, in Chesterman’s
(1997) view, the propagation of a cultural idea. Ursu quotes the symphony
of the twelve islands which can be constituted into a meme, in case a reader
recognised it as part of a frame, or of a schema. If no recognition is
possible, its close translation is the only solution, unless the modern Greek
Dhodhekanisos group of islands in the Aegean Sea is the intended decoding
– not satisfactory enough, however, for further speculative analysis. There
is also a shadow of dissatisfaction felt about the explicitation strategy
applied to the Capuccino reference in the first stanza. The English version
sounds clumsy herewith.
In reconsidering the functionalist-approach transfer we have opted for
in translating the poems above, we must point out that there has been
adjustment (bun şi frumos vs. a nice thing), reduction (ar pierde vremea cu
lucruri de-astea vs. would waste time on that), explicitation (ai inventariat
stelele vs. you drew up the inventory of stars), changes pertaining to word
order (despre mine aceleaşi poveşti vs. the same stories about me), gloss
rather than literal construction (nu-mi fac sînge rău vs. I’m not scathed).
The translator is compelled to a correct reading, after all, of somebody
else’s score.
In order to conclusively emphasize an idea of precariousness that is
found to mix well with our national ‘brand’, it is worth remarking on
faithfulness, while translating, to every detail that builds up the small-size
samples of ethopoiesis which the selected poems are. Ethopoiesis (in
Romanian, ‘etopee’ in Bidu-Vrânceanu, 2005: 165, 205) contributes a
description of morals, vice and virtue (La Bruyère’s Caractères). Thus,
Romanians eager to shape a favourable image for themselves, also anxious
not to taint this image, need to become very sharp in stabilizing both the
reflected image (chipul nostru) and the reflecting surface (oglinda noastră),
through ‘political’ action. In an odd congruence with conclusions drawn by
political analysts, the poems analysed in this article put forth self-love
blending with self-doubt and frenzy blending with withdrawn detachment
as ambivalent markers of a Romanian profile which is ambitious, despite
apppearances, to be that of a good team-player.
Considering patterns in retrospect, an analyst lands on
archetypicality; as for contemporary creators, they set up the prospects of
‘relativisms’ (see Cornilescu, 2003). If we are right in generalizing about
any tendency whatever, we see that our century constrains towards union at
the level of (capitalized) History; yet secessionist, perfunctory,
individualistic tendencies are working at the level of (small-initial) history.
204
About those, we may discover poetry of great freshness in one place,
characteristically postmodern unsentimental work in another, formal
elegance on many poetical occasions. With all that, no one can presume to
judge in today’s world of relative commitments and admitted
incommensurability.
Bibliography:
o *** România literară nr. 16, 21 aprilie 2006, pag. 8
o *** România literară nr. 17, 28 aprilie 2006, pag. 8
o *** România literară nr. 17, 28 aprilie 2006, pag. 30.
o *** The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry /NAMP/ (1973/1988).
Eds. R. Ellmann & R. O’Clair. New York and London: W.W. Norton &
Company.
o Bidu-Vrânceanu, A., C. Călăraşu, L. Ionescu-Ruxăndoiu, M. Mancaş,
G. Pană Dindelegan (2000/2005). Dicţionar de ştiinţe ale limbii.
Bucureşti: Nemira.
o Chesterman. A. (1997). Memes in Translation. J. Benjamins P.C.
o Comte, F. (1988/1991). The Wordsworth Dictionary of Mythology.
Wordsworth Reference.
o Cornilescu, A. (2003). “Can Culture Be Naturalised? Notes on Culture
and Other Relativisms”. R. Mihăilă and I. Grigorescu Pană (eds.)
America in/from Romania. 55-70.
o Dumistrăcel, S. (1997). Expresii româneşti. Biografii – motivaţii. Iaşi:
Institutul European.
o Evseev, I. (1994). Dicţionar de simboluri şi arhetipuri culturale.
Timişoara: Amarcord.
o Short, M. (ed.) (1988/1989). Reading, Analysing & Teaching
Literature. London and New York: Longman.
205
APPROPRIATING THROUGH TRANSLATION:
SHAKESPEARE TRANSLATIONS IN COMMUNIST
ROMANIA
George Volceanov
“Spiru Haret” University of Bucharest
Lucrarea încearcă să dea răspunsul la o serie de întrebări
incomode: în ce măsură a confiscat
regimul comunist opera
shakespeariană odată cu traducerea acesteia în limba română, în anii
1955 – 1960. În ce măsură şi-a pus amprenta asupra esteticului presiunea
politică a acelor ani tulburi?Cum au reacţionat traducătorii aşa-numitei
„generaţii de aur” la comanda politică a epocii? Evitând capcana
generalizărilor, încercăm să argumentăm că produsul estetic finit al
fiecărui traducător în parte reflectă talentul individual şi fibra morală a
celor care au dat României prima integrală Shakespeare. Ne încheiem
lucrarea cu unele concluzii pe care le propunem ca puncte de plecare
pentru o cercetare aprofundată a traducerilor shakespeariene în limba
română, prin comparaţie cu cele din alte spaţii culturale.
PROLOGUE
The idea of this paper originated while I was translating Edward III
into Romanian. One of the source texts I was relying on was Eric Sams’
1996 edition of the play1. Sams is a great hunter of concordances within
the Shakespeare canon: his method of drawing textual parallels between
long established canonical texts and new contenders to canonical status
prompted me to have a look at the way in which my Romanian
predecessors had translated various recurring Shakespearean words,
phrases, and images. The first Romanian ‘complete’ Shakespeare was
issued between 1955 and 1960 in eleven volumes by E.S.P.L.A. The
ominous acronym stands for the State Publishing House for Literature and
the Arts, the central institution that controlled the entire book production in
the early phase of Communist Romania. This edition was the result of the
joint efforts of sixteen translators, who were later referred to by
Communist propaganda as the ‘golden generation’ of Romanian
Shakespeare translators. While scrutinizing these post-war translations, I
grew aware of the fact that all that glitters is not gold. The point at issue in
my paper is that the 1955-60 Shakespeare edition mirrors the political
pressures of the age, as well as the opportunistic behaviour and/or
unacknowledged anxieties, and, ultimately, the moral fibre of those who
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constructed the Bard’s work in Communist Romania.
In 1964, the year of Shakespeare’s fourth centennial anniversary, a
bulky anthology of critical texts appeared under the title Shakespeare and
His Work. The author of the preface, the renowned Romanian literary critic
and theorist Tudor Vianu, himself a Shakespeare translator, proudly stated:
‘… it was only after the Second World War that our ties with
Shakespeare’s work multiplied due to its rendering in Romanian, in
versions that are truthful to the original and, poetically, much more
valuable than the older translations, as well as due to the rise of original
critical contributions’. It was a statement that brought to the foreground the
cultural merits of the new regime2.
BURYING THE PAST, BUILDING THE NEW ERA
The year is 1954. Sixteen Romanian intellectuals take the initiative in
a first ‘complete Shakespeare’ in Romanian. Romania had had 150 years of
translations, mostly from indirect sources, via French and German. Very
few translators had tried their hand at metrical translations based on
original English texts. The leading authority in the field had been Professor
Dragoş Protopopescu (1892-1946), the founder of the English Department
of the University of Bucharest. With a Ph.D. degree at the Sorbonne,
Protopopescu had done his best to propagate the English culture in a
Francophile country. By the 1940s he had established himself as the best
Romanian translator of Shakespeare. He had translated Hamlet, HenryV,
The Winter’s Tale, King Lear, The Taming of the Shrew, Othello,
Coriolanus, The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Two Gentlemen of Verona,
The Tempest, and Twelfth Night.
In the 1930s, Protopopescu, like so many dissatisfied, marginalized
intellectuals, joined the ranks of the Iron Guard, the Romanian Fascist
party. Although a mere sympathizer rather than an active militant, he paid
dearly for his political allegiance. His fate was sealed in 1936, when
Corneliu-Zelea Codreanu, ‘the Captain’ of the Iron Guard praised his
merits in a propaganda booklet titled Pentru legionari (For the
Legionnaires). After the Soviet invaders had installed the first ‘freely
elected democratic government’ in 1945, Protopopescu knew that the
Securitate henchmen would come after him. After three failed suicide
attempts, he finally killed himself: on April 11, 1946, he stretched his neck
out over an elevator pit and let the elevator squash his head flat. He was the
first notable victim of the newly established Communist regime3.
One of the major tasks of the 1954 initiative group was to fill the gap
left behind by the banning of Protopopescu’s works. The man was dead
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and the very memory of his texts had to be erased, too. His Shakespeare
translations are still preserved by the National Library and the Academy
Library in Bucharest but nobody has ever since bothered to reassess or
reissue them. After 1970, his name started being mentioned, in passing, in
doctoral theses dedicated to Shakespeare’s Romanian career4. In recent
years, his heritage has been retrieved in reference works such as The
Essential Dictionary of Romanian Writers5 but his long forgotten
translations still await a necessary revaluation by the younger generations.
‘GOOD ENOUGH TO TOSS; FOOD FOR POWDER’
The socio-professional structure of the 1954 initiative group was
incredibly heterogeneous. Tudor Vianu (1897-1962) had been raised at the
school of German philosophy and French literary criticism. Vlaicu Bârna,
who was to translate The Merry Wives of Windsor, was a poetaster who had
eulogized the Fascist doctrine of the 1930s and was now eulogizing the
triumph of Communism. Ion Vinea (1895-1964), a left wing journalist, was
also a reputed avant-garde poet. Curiously, between 1938 and 1964 the
authorities quietly banned his original writings: in an age of Socialist
realism, there was no need for experimental forms and genres. So, Vinea had
to earn his living through massive translations. Even more curiously, a
Hamlet translation of his was published in the early 1950s as ‘translated by
Petre Dumitriu’. Due to this trick, Vinea could earn some money at a time
when he could not publish even translations. Soon after this incident,
Dumitriu settled down in France. Post-communist literary dictionaries and
histories haven’t yet thrown light on the mystery of Vinea’s banning. Like
Vinea, Virgil Teodorescu was yet another talented poet who held no degree
in English studies. Nor did Barbu Solacolu (an economist), Ion ArgintescuAmza (a journalist and an art critic), Ion Frunzetti (another art critic, but a
versatile translator of sonnets), Taşcu Gheorghiu (a philosopher), Florian
Nicolau (yet another philosopher), and Dan Lăzărescu (a lawyer). The most
fascinating personality among these translators may have been Dan Botta,
the talented poet who held graduation degrees in no less than three fields
(Greek and Latin, law and physical education). Only five of the sixteen
translators involved in the project were graduates in English studies, four of
which had also been Dragoş Protopopescu’s students: Leon Leviţchi, Dan
Duţescu, Mihnea Gheorghiu, Petre Solomon, and the younger Dan
Grigorescu.
The leading figure of this group was Leon Leviţchi (1918-1991), the
great professor, lexicographer, translator, and Shakespeare scholar whose
unparalleled contribution to the development of English studies in
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Romania will be hard to surpass. Leon Leviţchi proposed back in 1954 that
100 lines of English poetry (Elizabethan drama included) should be
rendered in Romanian in no more than 107 lines: English has a basically
monosyllabic vocabulary, while Romanian, like all the Romanic
languages, consists mostly of polysyllabic words, hence the difficulty of
preserving the original metrical patterns.) Leon Leviţchi and his lifetime
friend Dan Duţescu did produce the most rigorous Romanian versions of
Shakespeare’s plays.
Conversely, some of the 1954 team members had only scarce
knowledge of English. Some of them even resorted to ghost translators,
who furnished them with raw, first-hand translations. Objectionable as it
may be, the method turned out to be efficient in the case of Ion Vinea’s
HenryV, Hamlet, and Othello, and Virgil Teodorescu’s Romeo and Juliet
and As You Like It, which are still regarded as standards of artistry. Both of
these professional poets illustrate those rare cases in which individual
talent and versatility can compensate for the lack of linguistic competence.
Needless to say, not all the translators in the original cast made it to the next
historic edition of Shakespeare’s Works, the one edited by Leon Leviţchi and issued
by Univers Publishers in nine volumes, between 1982 and 1995. Argintescu-Amza
was remorselessly removed from the Univers edition, and Leon Leviţchi undertook
the translation of Measure for Measure and Cymbeline. As early as 1977, the author
of A Dictionary of Contemporary Romanian Literature had dubbed ArgintescuAmza ‘a translator concerned in the least about source language, literary genre or
fidelity to the authors’ intentions’6. Leon Leviţchi also produced a new version of
Antony and Cleopatra: Tudor Vianu’s discarded translation had been 1,000 lines
longer than the original – a text hard to stage as such. Barbu Solacolu’s translation
of the HenryVI trilogy was heavily revised, and Leon Leviţchi retranslated about
800 lines. Florian Nicolau’s prolix rendering of Richard III was replaced by Dan
Duţescu’s specially commissioned new version.
The telltale socio-professional structure of the 1954 initiative group, ‘good
enough to toss, food for powder’, as Jack Falstaff would have said, betrays the haste
with which the authorities embraced the idea of having a complete Shakespeare
published in Romanian. The completion of the project could teach the people a few
lessons: first, the great classics of world literature got what they really deserved
from the Communist rulers, i.e. they were being published and disseminated among
the masses like they had been never before; secondly, Shakespeare was an
exemplary friend of the multitude, ‘one of them’, and he, in turn, could teach the
people a few lessons about unjust political systems, tyranny, social inequality, and
so on. Under such circumstances, the Bard’s appropriation by the Communists
seemed to be inevitable…
209
CENSORSHIP AND SELF-CENSORSHIP
Sonia Leviţchi, Leon Leviţchi’s widow, has recently told me, in
answer to a questionnaire, that the Shakespeare translations of the 1950s
were not censored by the authorities, and ‘Shakespeare was too great to be
censored’7. And yet, in an age when dozens of thousands of Romanian
intellectuals were rotting in jail, excavating needless canals, or harvesting
the rush crops yielded by the Danube Delta, thinking freely was a luxury.
Not all of the enthusiasts embarking on the ambitious project of having a
‘complete’ Romanian Shakespeare could boast a ‘sound’ social origin. Nor
were all of them party members. Tudor Vianu, the great scholar, could be
persuaded to become a party member only eighteen months before his death.
Despite a ‘clean’ record, Ion Vinea was being banned for having been an
‘avant-garde’ writer. Leon Leviţchi was the son of an Orthodox priest, the
sixteenth priest in the family genealogy. Leviţchi was persuaded to join the
Communist Party in 1968: it was a condition for his being appointed Dean of
the Faculty of Germanic Languages in Bucharest. In 1979, when his younger
daughter married a Swiss citizen and settled down in Switzerland, Leviţchi
was publicly rebuked by his party organization. A year later, he went into
early retirement and dedicated himself to several projects including the
revised critical edition of the Bard’s work, the first scholarly edition with full
critical apparatus. Dan Duţescu, had no ‘sound’ background either. He had
been the private secretary of the Communist leader Lucreţiu Pătrăşcanu, who
had been executed after a framed-up trial at the order of the authoritarian
party leader Gheorghiu-Dej in 1953. As a penalty for his past connections,
Duţescu was kept unemployed for nearly a decade. He completed his studies
as late as 1962, and he had to spend two years working in a factory before he
was at long last admitted in the staff of the English Department.
I have dwelt upon such biographical details because if we are to
apply ‘the man in the work’ formula to these translators we may stumble
upon instances of self-censorship where actual censorship did not exist as
such, but life was full of ominous portents…
COMRADE BOWDLER AND MR. AUTOLYCUS
As if to compensate for the lack of the critical apparatus of the 195560 edition of Shakespeare’s Works, Mihnea Gheorghiu, the recipient of
several scholarships in London and Stratford-upon-Avon, produced the
first Shakespeare biography written by a Romanian8. It was published in
1958 and massive reprints followed in 1964 and 1968. Mihnea
Gheorghiu’s ‘Shakespeare’ had nothing in common with A.L. Rowse’s
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conservative and nearly reactionary Bard. He had nothing in common with
the versatile entrepreneur envisaged by Michael Bristol, either.
Gheorghiu’s Shakespeare was a diligent, patriotic, thrifty protoCommunist with a deep concern for the past misfortunes and the future
welfare of his people and of mankind, in general. The author’s lower (or, to
use a Communist cliché ‘sound’) origin was emphasized to the detriment
of his impressive ancestry on his mother’s line. This Shakespeare
implicitly endorsed the view that any low born rustic without much
learning but endowed with an industrious and enthusiastic spirit could earn
fame and acquire a good job. This ‘popular’ version of the Bard was
fabricated in the heyday of the so-called popular schools of literature,
which were cloning dozens of mini-bards eager to write the true chronicle
of ‘Merry Romania’ under the flag of the then fashionable ‘Socialist
realism’. Having become the patron of the newly bred literary upstarts,
Shakespeare was perforce presented as a man of irreproachable morality.
He poached deer, as Rowe’s anecdote claims, only in order to provide for
his hungry children, thus re-enacting the exploits of the legendary Robin
Hood.
In 1988, Peter Levi was desperately writing: ‘God forbid that some
lunatic should suggest Anne Hathaway was the Dark Lady9!’ But back in
1958, Mihnea Gheorghiu had already proclaimed that in the Sonnets there
was no Dark Lady other than Anne Hathaway, the tender, loving mother
and wife. Gheorghiu even took the pains to explain that the less than
flattering physical description of Sonnet 130 perfectly fitted the condition
of a woman who, having given birth to three children, was no longer in her
prime.
In a biographical essay included in the 1964 anniversary volume
dedicated to Shakespeare and his work, Gheorghiu strongly insisted on
Will’s working class background. He contended that the ‘lost years’ were
spent by Shakespeare as an apprentice in Dick Field’s printing workshop.
(The 1958 biography claimed that Dick Field married Vautrolier’s
daughter, but the 1964 edition made the necessary correction and the
‘daughter’ was turned into Vautrolier’s widow.) Shakespeare’s
apprenticeship and menial duties provided the Romanian writers with a
perfect example. They had to know ‘the aspirations of the people’, to
descend from their studies to the farms and factories where the working
people were building the new world. It seems that even Gheorghiu must
have realized how stupid his identification of the Dark Lady had been, so
that this time he came up with another contender. He proposed Jane
Davenant as Will’s mysterious mistress. But even as an adulterous husband
involved in an extramarital affair, Shakespeare appeared as a ‘tormented
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soul, devoured by a grave passion’ opposed to the woman’s ‘frail and
whimsical love’. In order to whitewash Shakespeare’s irreproachable
morality, Gheorghiu had to paint the woman black10. (According to recent
Anglo-American biographers, Jane Davenant was, unlike Gheorghiu,
indeed, a person of irreproachable morality.)
A man of many accomplishments (one of them being an excellent
translation of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass), Mihnea Gheorghiu cannot be
suspected of stupidity. On the contrary… His appropriations and
distortions bear witness to the strategies of a man who, from the age of
twenty-five on, held only leading positions such as those of chief-editor,
vice-president, chairman, president, etc. of various periodicals and cultural
or political bodies. In 1965, he became a member of the Central Committee
of the Romanian Communist Party.
It is, therefore, no wonder that such an active apparatchik was also
extremely careful about how he should translate Shakespeare. He chose to
render anew three of the plays formerly translated by Dragoş
Protopopescu: The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Twelfth Night, and King
Lear. According to Eric Partridge, ‘Shakespeare may have had a dirty
mind, yet certainly had not a filthy mind’11. What about his Romanian
translators’ mind? During the early phase of my research I took a random
sample of 306 Shakespearean words and phrases that describe sexual acts,
the pudendum muliebre, the penis and so on, and compared the
Shakespearean text with its Romanian translations. Objectionable and
obsolete as it may be, the statistical method (applied to 29 plays and two
poems) convinced me that our translators were truthful to the original or, at
least, honest in their endeavour. I counted 179 instances of meaning for
meaning translation, 93 instances of lost sexual connotations, and 34
instances in which the translators may be said to have surpassed the
ingenuity of the original12. Mihnea Gheorghiu ranks as the first and
foremost among Shakespeare’s Romanian bowdlerizers. His translations
purged ‘bawdy’ terms just like his biography purged Shakespeare’s
‘capitalist’ and ‘feudal’ features. Here are some examples of how a good
translator chose to turn a blind eye to sexual matters:
LAUNCE: …of her purse she shall not, for that I’ll keep shut: now,
of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. (The Two Gentlemen of
Verona, III. 1. 357-9)
The thing, Shakespeare’s famous synonym for the pudendum13,
vanishes from Romanian, and Launce’s final statement reads ‘the rest
doesn’t matter’. The same lack of truthfulness to the original is apparent in
the translation of Sir Toby’s pun on Sir Andrew Aguecheek’s hair: ‘I hope to
see a housewife take thee between her legs and spin it off’ (Twelfth Night, I.
212
3. 109-10). In Romanian, thee is metamorphosed into it. The entire pun on
hair, interpreted by Partridge as ‘male pubic hair’, and spin off (meaning
‘cause to have an emission’, i.e. ejaculation14) is deliberately missed by the
cautious, self-censored translator.
Malvolio’s reading of Maria’s forged letter, with his famous
comment on ‘my lady’s hand: these be her C’s, her U’s and her T’s’, in
which the capital letters overtly point to Olivia’s vagina, was translated
literally, signifying nothing to the Romanian readers15. Fortunately, Andrei
Şerban, the renowned art director who has been living and working in the
West for more than three decades, has prepared a much better stage version
of Twelfth Night. It retrieves all the wordplays of the original and it has
been used by the younger art directors in recent performances.
Mihnea Gheorghiu similarly turned a blind eye to many sexual
allusions encoded in King Lear, as in the Fool’s song, ‘She that’s a maid
now and laughs at my departure / Shall not be a maid long, unless things be
cut shorter’ (I. 5. 55-6) turning the pun on thing (meaning ‘penis’16) into a
lullaby about a cuckoo. Edgar’s ‘Pillicock on Pillicock hill’ in one of his
scenes of feigned madness is de-sexualized, too, although Romanian has the
lexical means to render this sexual quibble. Lear’s ‘I will die bravely, like a
bridegroom’ (IV. 6. 202), with its pun on male orgasm17, was translated by
Gheorghiu as follows: ‘I will die bravely, I will advance like a bridegroom’;
thus, the author’s point was missed once again18.
Dan Lăzărescu, whom ‘Rumour painted full with tongues’ presents as
a former informer of the Securitate, emerged as the head of the Romanian
freemasonry after the collapse of Communism. Like Gheorghiu, Lăzărescu
was a champion of blunders. Unlike Gheorghiu, Lăzărescu made blunders
that do not bear the mark of deliberate bowdlerization, but rather that of
shallow talent and competence. Petruchio’s ‘Alas, good Kate, I will not
burden thee’ (II. 1. 103), hinting at copulation and pregnancy19, was
rendered in Romanian, quite inexplicably, as ‘Kate, you could do with a
donkey’. ‘Women are to bear’ (201) and ‘Buzz’ (206) (described by
Partridge as a ‘rude noise’20) were omitted in Romanian and Hortensio’s
sexual quibble on ‘the order of my fingering’ (III. 1. 65) was rendered in
abstract terms, as ‘my principles’, which shows how far the translator really
was from the spirit of the original. Curtis’ ‘Away, you three-inch fool!’ (IV.
1. 27) was rendered in Romanian simply as ‘Beat it, fool!’. I must make it
clear once again, that Romanian has plenty of lexical resources to make a
translator cope with any specific problem.
Some people considered Dan Lăzărescu a man of moral fibre. He
resigned from his leading position in the freemasonry when he could not
take in the very idea of compromise. He asserted himself as a senior
213
member of the National Liberal Party. Then he resigned from his high
position in the party, to let the younger generation take over. And he
started a very profitable lucrative venture: a paperback collection of
Shakespearean works published by an obscure publishing house in
Târgovişte. This initiative was (still is) more than outrageous insofar as
Lăzărescu printed, before his death, botched nineteenth and early
twentieth century translations (all of them from indirect sources)
apparently ‘revised’ with a view to this brand new old edition. The quality
of these revisions is highly questionable, if we consider Lăzărescu’s
antecedents as a Shakespeare translator. Moreover, the critical apparatus
of these one-play books consists of meagre prefaces based on reference
works from the first six decades of the past century. First appropriated by
the Communist ideologues, Shakespeare later became merchandise in the
hands of a liberal entrepreneur, who chose to betray scientific rigour and
aesthetic value in favour of profit. Like a twenty-first century Autolycus
from The Winter’s Tale, Dan Lăzărescu may have laughed up his sleeve
and said to himself, ‘Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn
brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery…’ And
when one sells ‘expired’ products, the salesman’s moral fibre may be
questioned notwithstanding the tricky wrapping or the low prices of the
respective products.
THE HENRY IV PLAYS: A CASE STUDY
For a present-day Romanian translator of English literature, to be
compared by a reviewer with Dan Duţescu or Leon Leviţchi is a greater
honour than any translation award. Duţescu and Leviţchi did set up the
norms of literary translation into Romanian. Duţescu is, probably, one of
the very few translators who have managed to have Chaucer’s complete
works published in a language other than English. His Romanian version
of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales has enjoyed tremendous success in the past
four decades. But even the translations of these two giants bear the stamp
of the age when they were carried through; unacknowledged anxieties lurk
between the lines of their Shakespeare translations produced in the days of
Big Brother.
In 1Henry IV, Falstaff notoriously boasts about one of his tricks: ‘I have
misused the king’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty
soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders,
yeomen’s sons…’ (IV.2.13-7). In Dan Duţescu’s Romanian version, king is
rendered as vodă, a shorter form of the Slav word voievod, signifying a medieval
prince or ruler. In Romanian, it instantly brings back the memory of the Vallachian
214
and Moldavian rulers who opposed the expansion of the Ottoman Empire in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. So, Bolingbroke is indirectly depicted as a heroic,
patriotic, father figure. Shakespeare’s good householders are translated as
bogătani. The Romanian word is an augmentative noun for ‘the rich’, the upper
classes hated by the multitude. Yeoman, which, in this context, signifies ‘a man
holding a small landed estate, a freeholder below the rank of a gentleman’, ‘a
commoner or countryman of respectable standing, esp. a person who cultivates his
own land21,’ is rendered in Romanian as chiabur. The Explicative Dictionary of the
Romanian Language issued in the Communist age defined chiabur as ‘a rich
peasant who belonged to the village bourgeoisie and earned his living by leasing
land, by employing farming labourers, by usury, etc’22. It had an extremely negative
connotation during the Communist propaganda campaign aimed at liquidating the
peasants’ private property and setting up the Soviet-inspired, state-controlled
‘collective farms’. It took the party years and years to ‘persuade’ the peasants to
give up their land, and all those who fiercely opposed the process were denounced
as chiaburs, imprisoned, deported or executed as ‘enemies of the people’. In Dan
Duţescu’s translation of 1Henry IV Henry IV emerges as a popular figure, the fat
knight’s dupes stand for the ‘bourgeoisie’ which must be mercilessly abolished,
while Falstaff stands for the folklore type of a righteous hero in the vein of, say, Tyl
Ulenspiegel.
Was this deviation from the original a persecuted man’s (vide ante)
desperate attempt to prove his allegiance to the Communist dogma by paying lip
service to the Newspeak of those days, or was it the brutal intervention of an
unscrupulous censor? The question invites endless speculations as the translator is
dead and the last survivors of those times contend that Shakespeare was ‘above all
censorship’.
At a time when God’s name was banned from the print and many priests
were turned into collaborators of the Securitate, Dan Duţescu was rather truthful to
the original as regards the rendering of religious terms. He freely used ‘Dumnezeu’
and ‘Domnul’, the Romanian equivalents of ‘God’ and ‘the Lord’. In English these
two words occur in 1Henry IV fifty times in greetings, wishes, vows and oaths. In
Romanian, the two words occur 33 times in word for word translation, 6 times in
paraphrases like Cel-de-Sus (‘the Almighty’) or cerul (‘heaven’); they are omitted
11 times but the ratio is still good for the 1950s. Mrs. Quickly’s comic resumption
of her favourite exclamation, ‘Jesu’, has been preserved throughout the Romanian
text. Even ’Sblood has been literally rendered in Romanian four times and
paraphrased just twice.
There is a telling difference in the ratio between the literal translation and
the omission of religious terms in Leon Leviţchi’s version of 2Henry IV. The
Orthodox priest’s son seems to have attempted to somewhat attenuate the presence
of religious words in his translation. May he have tried to escape any accusation of
215
being one bent on making proselytes? In his text, ‘God’ and ‘the Lord’ are
translated literally 26 times, paraphrased 21 times (with ‘the Almighty’ occurring
13 times and ‘heaven’ 8 times) and omitted 23 times. He also avoids the translation
of ‘by the mass’ and ‘by heaven’, using instead secular phrases like ‘by my
honour’. While Duţescu has translated Prince Henry’s ‘Thou owest God a death’
(1 Henry IV, V.1) literally, as ‘Îi eşti dator lui Dumnezeu cu o moarte’, Leon
Leviţchi avoids using the name of God in his rendering of Feeble’s ‘We owe God a
death’ (2 Henry IV, III. 2), and translates it as ‘moartea n-o poţi ocoli’, i.e. ‘one
cannot shun death’.
Here is yet another telling lapse, this time with a political tinge. Says the
Archbishop of York, who wishes he could turn back time: ‘O earth yield us that king
again’ (I. 3). A literal translation of this sentence would have instantly reminded the
Romanian audience of the deposed King Mihai I, who had been forced to abdicate
his throne on December 30, 1947. York’s invocation might have stirred the feelings
of not few nostalgic sympathizers of monarchy. The Romanian version reads ‘O
earth yield us that one and take away this one’. The use of indefinite and
demonstrative pronouns saved again the translator from the potential threat of
being charged with monarchic propaganda.
A few conclusions:
1. The confines of this paper obviously prompt me to think of a ‘great
reckoning in a small room,’ hence it might be just the point of departure for
an ampler study, which in turn might be construed as the Romanian
counterpart of Shurbanov and Sokolova’s Bulgarian Painting Shakespeare
Red23.
2. Such a research project might be part of an even wider scheme
focusing on the contrastive analyses of East-European ‘Shakespeares’,
aimed at assessing whether, by what means, and to what extent they were
appropriated, abused and mistreated in formerly Communist countries.
3. Moreover, it would be interesting for scholars from various
countries to compare their notes as regards the bowdlerization of
Shakespeare’s plays not only in formerly Communist countries but also in
those countries in which the church (especially the Roman-Catholic Church)
has always had a word to say about mores and morals displayed in such
public places as the theatres.
Notes:
1
Eric Sams, ed., Shakespeare’s Edward III, New Haven and London, Yale
University Press, 1996.
2
Tudor Vianu, ed., Prefaţă la Shakespeare şi opera lui: culegere de texte critice
(Preface to Shakespeare and His Work: A Collection of Critical Texts), Bucureşti,
Editura pentru Literatură Universală, 1964, p. 12.
216
3
For details about Dragoş Protopopescu’s untimely death I am indebted to
Professor Ştefan Stoenescu (b. 1936), a distinguished specialist in English and
American literature, who taught at the University of Bucharest between 1964 and
1987. In 1987 he settled down in the United States, where he kept teaching for a
while at the Cornell University. Now in retirement, Professor Stoenescu is still
contributing introductions and afterwords to books published by leading
Romanian publishing houses.
4
See, for instance, Aurel Curtui, Hamlet în România, Bucureşti, Minerva, 1977,
pp. 30-1.
5
Mircea Zaciu et al., Dicţionarul esenţial al scriitorilor români (The Essential
Dictionary of Romanian Writers), Bucureşti, Albatros, 2000, p. 697-8.
6
Marian Popa, Dicţionar de literatură română contemporană, Ediţia a doua,
Bucureşti, Albatros, 1977, p. 36.
7
Sonia Leviţchi, personal communication, Oct. 28, 2003.
8
Mihnea Gheorghiu, Scene din viaţa lui Shakespeare, Bucureşti, ESPLA, 1958.
9
Peter Levi, The Life and Times of William Shakespeare, London, Papermac,
1989, p. 40.
10
Mihnea Gheorghiu, ‘Replici şi scene din lumea lui Shakespeare’, in
Shakespeare şi opera lui, ed. cit., pp. 595-608.
11
Eric Partridge, Shakespeare’s Bawdy (1947), London and New York, Routledge,
1990, pp. 8-9.
12
I am well aware of the fact that ‘gauging’ or ‘measuring’ artistic skills is a risky,
arguable thing, but I rest my case upon my conscience and my expertise as an
experienced literary translator and author of several slang dictionaries.
13
Eric Partridge, op. cit., p. 200.
14
Idem, p. 187.
15
There is a consensus among interpreters about the meaning of these capital letters:
see Eric Partridge, op. cit, pp. 151-2; William C. Carroll, ‘The Virgin Not: Language
and Sexuality in Shakespeare’, in Shakespeare Survey 46, Cambridge, C.U.P., 1994,
p. 110; Valentine Cunningham, In the Reading Gaol, Oxford UK and Cambridge
US, Blackwell, 1994, p. 286.
16
Cf. Eric Partridge, op. cit., p. 199.
17
Idem, p. 93.
18
For more details about the bowdlerization of Shakespeare’s plays in Romanian,
see George Volceanov, ‘Bowdlerizing Shakespeare: Here, There, and
Everywhere’, in British and American Studies, Vol. XI, Editura Universităţii de
Vest, Timişoara, 2005, pp. 117-30.
19
Idem, p. 73.
20
Idem, p. 105.
21
The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, Volume 2, Oxford, Clarendon
Press, 1993, p. 3747.
22
Dicţionarul explicativ al limbii române, Bucureşti, Editura Academiei R.S.R.,
1984, p. 145.
217
23
Alexander Shurbanov, Boika Sokolova, Painting Shakespeare Red. An EastEuropean Appropriation, Newark, University of Delaware Press, London:
Associated University Presses, 2001.
Bibliography:
o Carroll, W.C. (1994) ‘The Virgin Not: Language and Sexuality in
Shakespeare’, in Shakespeare Survey 46, Cambridge: C.U.P.
o Cunningham, V. (1994) In the Reading Gaol, Oxford UK and
Cambridge US: Blackwell
o Curtui, A. (1977) Hamlet în România, Bucureşti: Minerva
o (1984) Dicţionarul explicativ al limbii române, Bucureşti: Editura
Academiei R.S.R.
o Gheorghiu, M. (1958) Scene din viaţa lui Shakespeare, Bucureşti:
ESPLA
o Gheorghiu, M. (1964) ‘Replici şi scene din lumea lui Shakespeare’, in
T. Vianu (ed.) Shakespeare şi opera lui, Bucureşti: Editura pentru
Literatură Universală, 595-608
o Levi, P. (1989) The Life and Times of William Shakespeare, London:
Papermac
o (1993) The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, Volume 2, Oxford:
Clarendon Press
o Partridge, E. (1990) Shakespeare’s Bawdy (third edition) London and
New York: Routledge
o Popa, M. (1977) Dicţionar de literatură română contemporană (second
edition), Bucureşti: Albatros
o Sams, E. (ed.). (1996) Shakespeare’s Edward III, New Haven and
London: Yale University Press
o Shurbanov, A.; Sokolova, B. (2001) Painting Shakespeare Red. An
East-European Appropriation, Newark and London: University of
Delaware Press and Associated University Presses
o Vianu, T. (ed.). (1964) ‘Prefaţă’, in Shakespeare şi opera lui: culegere
de texte critice (‘Preface’ to Shakespeare and His Work: A Collection of
Critical Texts), Bucureşti: Editura pentru Literatură Universală, 11-12
o Volceanov, G. (2005) ‘Bowdlerizing Shakespeare: Here, There, and
Everywhere’, in British and American Studies, XI, 117-30
o Zaciu, M. et al. (2000) Dicţionarul esenţial al scriitorilor români (The
Essential Dictionary of Romanian Writers), Bucureşti: Albatros
218
FRENCH CULTURAL AND TRANSLATION
STUDIES
REGARD CROISÉS SUR LES SENS DE LA NOTION DE
BELGITUDE SUR LE WEB
Carmen Andrei
Université « Dunărea de Jos » de Galaţi
Încă din anii 80, oamenii de cultură belgieni intră într-o dispută
deschisă împotrivă academismului oficial. Cearta porneşte de la probleme
literare, legate de hegemonia modelului cultural francez, centru
incontestabil şi matrice pentru perriferia francofonă şi ajunge să antreneze
probleme extraliterare, sociale, psihologice, politice şi chiar economice,
toate în raport direct sau indirect cu identitatea culturală, naţională şi
regională a belgienilor. Aşa se naşte noţiunea de belgitate, din momentul
conştientizării publice a sentimentului de inadecvare identitară, care
trebuie asumată ca marcă specifică. De atunci, luările de atitudine publice
au continuat cu argumente rezonabile, vehemente, aberante. Cercetarea pe
web care a constat în survolarea a sute de site-uri pune în evidenţă faptul
că definiţiile date azi belgităţii sunt lacunare, superficiale, chiar
contradictorii. Cele patru mari semnificaţii uzuale derivate din sensul de
bază sunt : zeflemeau şi auto-zeflemeau, patriotism calm sau vehement,
imaginar excesiv şi indolenţă tolerantă. Concluzia e că noţiunea de
belgitate a devenit sinonimă cu (specific) belgian.
 Objectifs et méthodes
Le but de notre article est à la fois la présentation et l’analyse de la
riche pléthore sémantique de la notion de belgitude telle quelle apparaît
sur le Web. Le survol sur l’un des fureteurs les plus utilisés, ayant comme
terme de recherche avancée toutes les pages qui contiennent le simple mot
belgitude, et en choisissant comme langue de recherche seulement le
français, s’est avéré dans un premier temps déconcertant : google.com
affiche 81.500 pages. Un coup d’œil rapide sur plusieurs pages nous
conduit à trois constats préliminaires :
219
1) Des centaines de pages servent uniquement de portail fourre-tout,
non pas pour ce qui est spécifiquement belge, mais pour des annuaires ou
des glossaires de ressources variées, classés alphabétiquement en :
actualités, animaux, arts-culture, assurances-finances, emplois, entreprises,
etc., qui n’ont, dans leur majorité, aucun rapport au sens premier de la
notion de belgitude. Pour gagner du temps, la navigation sur des sites
comme :
www.repertoire.net,
http://belgitude.refannuaire.com,www.socialsquare.com,
www.viavous.com, http://diogene.ibelgique.com doit se faire
rapidement. Notre commentaire la-dessus ne peut que reprendre
l’étiquette suggestive d’un tel annuaire : Inclassables.Belgitudes ;
2) Il convient de mentionner un grand nombre de forums qui
proposent comme sujet de discussion la belgitude (www.evene.fr) ;
3) La notion de belgitude apparaît dans le cadre des programmes
universitaires qui proposent divers cours sur la civilisation, la culture et les
lettres francophones de Belgique comme concept à discuter avant
d’entamer le cours proprement dit. La simple mention ne suffit pas pour
développer un commentaire ou une analyse.
 Définition de la notion de belgitude
Dans les années ‘80, la question du malaise identitaire est
incontournable. Elle suit la reconnaissance constitutionnelle des trois
régions (Flandre, Wallonie, Bruxelles). Dans un dossier intitulé Une autre
Belgique, inlassablement cité depuis, publié dans l’hebdomadaire de
l’actualité culturelle (du 4 au 11 novembre 1976, no. 2557), Les Nouvelles
Littéraires, Pierre Mertens considéré comme « le père du concept de la
belgitude » sur www.belgium.net) et Claude Javeau lancent la notion de
belgitude1. Dans «Y a-t-il une belgitude ?», le sociologue de l’Université
Libre de Bruxelles, Claude Javeau, part du constat que la pénurie d’études
sociologiques sur les Belges est le signe d’un manque d’intérêt qui en dit
long :
Disons, pour simplifier les choses, que les clivages d’origines
linguistiques n’affectent guère en Belgique, la gauche radicale, le
mouvement de libération des femmes, le cinéma belge, les luttes contre la
répression policière, psychiatrique ou autre. Chacun parle sa langue, sans
complexe (ni de supériorité, ni d’infériorité) et il existe de plus en plus de
gens qui, s’ils éprouvent des difficultés à se parler, en arrivent cependant à
se comprendre de mieux en mieux.2
Malgré la spécificité politique et administrative de la Belgique, il y a
une autonomie communale qui n’existe pas en France. Donc tout partait
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d’une querelle littéraire, et comme il n’y avait pas de langue belge, on a
senti le besoin de parler d’une identité belge.
A son tour, la notion d’identité, définie comme rapport qui s’établit
entre un individu et sa communauté de vie et de décision devient un levier
qui favorise la prise de conscience de son environnement culturel, social,
économique. Elle entraîne automatiquement celle de non-identité, qui a
comme conséquence directe le repli sur soi, la réflexion individuelle, donc,
paradoxalement, la construction d’un monde imaginaire. Elle va de pair avec
le contour imprécis d’un no man’s land, d’un pays de l’imaginaire, d’une
aire personnelle où toute consciente critique se réfugie pour mieux y subir
les aléas de son existence. Un nouveau territoire pour des apatrides…
belges ? Identité et non-identité culturelles mènent à un autre constat : la
notion de belgitude relève, certes, des sens paradoxaux, voire
contradictoires, résumés par Jacques Sojcher par l’oxymore « sédentarité
diasporique ». Sur www.blam.be, nous retrouvons le même identitaire chez
le scénariste belge assez connu, Jerry Frissen qui s’est expatrié aux EtatsUnis. Récemment, dans un entretien sur www.critiquelibres.com, l’écrivain
Daniel Charneux avoue se servir de la belgitude dans le seul but de créer une
ambiance, une toile de fond pour ses fictions et rien de plus.
Le mot belgitude est calqué selon la négritude, notion qui est
apparue au lendemain de la guerre, lorsque les auteurs africains LéopoldSédar Senghor et Aimé César osaient affirmer leur état « noir ». La
belgitude est, dans son sens primaire mentionné ci-dessus, le sentiment
d’appartenance aux points de vue sociologique, esthétique, culturel à une
Belgique ayant ses propres caractéristiques. Dans ce sens, la belgitude
devient une marque qui permet à ceux qui parlent la même langue, à savoir
le français, de se reconnaître entre eux, de se retrouver en fonction de leurs
affinités. Elle s’est manifestée au début comme une prise de conscience
publique des écrivains qui, en dénonçant le charabia baroque belge,
refusaient de déclarer leur appartenance à la culture belge officielle, pâle
imitation du modèle français. Le mouvement de la belgitude s’est avéré
complexe : né justement du besoin de sortir de sous la tutelle de la culture
française écrasante pour l’écrivain belge, il a renié tout complexe
d’infériorité afin d’affirmer, au contraire, sa fierté d’être soi-même. C’est,
dans d’autres termes, une sorte de Cendrillon bien vêtue qui épouse
finalement son prince charmant.
Dans son article « De la difficulté d’être Belge », Pierre Mertens
insiste sur l’idée des mini-génocides culturels qu’ont subis les Belges :
[…] quand donc rendra-t-on vraiment au surréalisme belge
l’hommage qu’il mérite ? Cet honneur et cette indignité seraient bien dus à
un pays tantôt épargné, tantôt négligé ? Et de là bien des choses découlent
221
au plan des mentalités et d’un état d’esprit qui fait si souvent de
l’intellectuel d’ici, en particulier un non-belge, un anti-belge ou un aBelge. Sois-Belge et tais-toi ! No man’s land ou cul du monde ? Absurdie
ou Cacanie ?3
Même si Mertens arrive à la conclusion qu’il s’agit d’un certain
sentiment en creux, d’un manque, c’est justement ce manque qui est à
assumer afin de rendre plus créer la différence. On parle pour la première
fois de bâtardise, de métissage, du statut ingrat de « fils de personne »,
d’exil, de cosmopolitisme. Le « défi belge » consisterait à se frayer « une
troisième voie », à l’opposé des deux grands pôles, Paris et Amsterdam, « à
égale distance d’une vergogne imbécile et d’un orgueil déplacé » (loc. cit.).
Par l’expression métaphorique « retrancher dans une tour d’ivoire aux
portes battantes », Mertens propose à ses compatriotes, gens de lettes ou
non, d’au moins tenter d’être Belges, à tout prix, même s’ils sont
marginaux ou minoritaires.
Dans « Pourquoi pas la belgitude ? », Claude Javeau défend le
concept par la présentation de ce qu’il ne veut pas être, à savoir
l’épouvantail pour les régionalistes pépères : « Ni projet politique, ni
programme partisan, ni nostalgie belgicaine, la belgitude ne veut rien
expressément d’autre que ce désir de résistance à l’égard de l’ordre social
belge ». Le créateur en Belgique est le « nègre » des puissances d’argent et
des bureaucrates de tous acabits, soutient Javeau.
Il convint de préciser que cette crise identitaire naît dans la région
bruxelloise, chez des auteurs bruxellois et non pas chez des auteurs
flamands, fiers de leur appartenance culturelle, de leur identité, de leur
économie et de leur langue. Les ennemis de fond sont les académiciens
belges dont le but est de s’approprier la culture française, de l’imiter dans
la lettre et dans l’esprit, ce qui, pour les contestataires équivaut à la
dépersonnalisation culturelle. En littérature, la belgitude représente la
volonté d’insertion dans la quotidienneté belge qui n’est plus gommée,
comme l’ont préféré les écrivains néo-classiques des années 1950), ni
folklorisée par les régionalistes et les provincialistes. Bruxelles est une
ville sur pilotis, dépourvue d’homogénéité, bourgade flamande à l’origine,
mais rapidement francisée dès le Moyen Âge, une ville qui n’a pas de
passé linguistique proprement dit. Elle n’est plus la Villette de 1850, telle
qu’elle apparaît dans la caricature féroce de la pension Héger, dans le
roman de Charlotte Brontë. Capitale de l’Europe à l’heure actuelle, elle ne
vit plus entre deux langues, le français et le flamand, elle ne doit plus
trancher net la question linguistique puisqu’ici affleurent toutes les langues
européennes.
222
Dans le même dossier, Jacques de Decker affirme que la Flandre
s’est forgée une identité propre faute de rayonnement international, tandis
que la Wallonie reste attachée à la France4, donc seuls les francophones de
Belgique ressentent le malaise identitaire. A l’affirmation d’une identité
flamande distincte ont contribué des raisons économiques : au XXe siècle
la Flandre agricole de jadis, est devenue prospère, plus peuplée, ayant un
marché d’art abondant. Le rapport de force s’est donc inversé, elle n’est
plus pauvre, opprimée, marginalisée par la grosse bourgeoisie francophone
comme au XIXe siècle. Dans un autre article, Jacques Bourlez soutient
l’idée paradoxale qu’il n’y pas de roman belge, mais des romanciers belges
comme les Wallons Conrad Detrez et Jean-Pierre Otte, qui choisissent de
se forger un univers poétique fantastique, quotidien, sensuels5.
Dans « Le double exil des poètes » du même numéro, Liliane
Wouters analyse la condition particulière des poètes belges. La situation
d’exil est double dans le cas du Belge puisqu’il est exilé à Paris et exilé de
l’intérieur, bref « marginal partout ». Comme tout poète en exil, le poète
belge se voit obliger de se réfugier ailleurs. La solution de ce double exil
est suggérée par la solution québécoise : c’est devenir Belge « jusqu’au
plus petit orteil », ensuite c’est faire un bout de chemin l’un vers l’autre6.
La Libre Belgique du 20 novembre 1978 accueille dans ses pages
« Six personnages en quête de la Belgitude » : deux littéraires – Jacques de
Decker et Marc Quaghebeur, deux animateurs et directeurs de théâtre –
Patrick Roegiers et Frédéric Baal et deux plasticiens appartenant au groupe
Cap, d’art expérimental– Jacques Lennep et Michel Mineur7. Tous les six
partagent les mêmes idées. Ils estiment que c’est une chance d’être Belges,
même « bâtards » et que « La Belgique, c’est [leurs] racines ». Même s’il
s’agit des redites, Cette nouvelle prise de position s’inscrit dans le
mouvement d’éclosion et de revalorisation du fait belge, en littérature et en
art.
En 1980, la parution du numéro spécial de la revue de l’Université
Libre de Bruxelles sur le fait belge, intitulé La Belgique malgré tout,
constitue un moment-clé dans la question identitaire. La thèse de départ est
que, chez les jeunes écrivains de la génération ’80, il existe une sorte de
conflit irrésolu, viscéral même, entre amour / haine, besoin / refus,
répulsion / adhésion à l’égard de la Belgique8. La tonalité des articles est
variable : on y retrouve des accents pulsionnels, voire exacerbés qui ne
peuvent pas être étouffés par des arguments raisonnables. Sous la direction
de l’écrivain-philosophe Jacques de Sojcher sont rassemblés beaucoup
d’écrits où les soixante-dix participants concluent, contre les régionalistes,
les racoleurs politiques, les doctrinaires de l’irréel que la Belgique existe,
malgré tout :
223
Beaucoup d’écrivains ressentent aujourd’hui, à l’heure où le
nationalisme régionaliste se lève, que la Belgique dans sa négativité même,
dans son creux offrait aussi une autre chose : une possibilité d’espace,
d’entre-deux, une situation mouvante, de carrefour, de traversée et
d’errance, une sédentarité baroque, diasporique, une chance de bâtardise
(Jacques Sojcher, loc. cit.).
Dans La Belgique malgré tout, la prise de position de Pierre Mertens
reste tout aussi véhémente : « […] Pays où l’on parle plusieurs langues,
mais où l’on n’a rien à dire dans aucune […] Au sud un coq aptère à la voix
de fausset, au nord un lion malade de peste brune ; laissons-les donc aux
prises. Cette affaire ne nous regarde point. La Belgique est un mauvais rêve
qui, au réveil vous empoisse encore. » Claude Javeau, continue à
développer l’idée d’un pays vide, en creux, un non-état, qui se trouve
ailleurs, nulle part et partout, « un trou sur la plage du monde »9. L’écrivain
Luc de Heusch voit l’avenir de l’artiste dans les grandes métropoles où les
langues se métissent, comme à Bruxelles par exemple. Les pamphlets de R.
Swennen (Belgique Requiem) et les saynètes de l’ardennais Guy Denis
servent de contrepoint à la belgitude.
Lors de sa parution, ce livre provoque des polémiques violentes : dans
l’article de Marcel Bauwens publié dans un numéro du 25 novembre 1980
du journal Le Soir, on trouve sous l’étiquette généreuse « Enquêtes.
Reportages. Chronique » une prise de position patriote : « Ils [les écrivains
contestataires] sont des enfants qui auraient honte du niveau intellectuel de
leur parente, la Belgique ». Les droits à la réplique ne tardent pas : un
forum de l’opinion provoqué par les Dissidents de l’intérieur de Marc
Rombaut. A l’occasion de l’Europalia 80, la cent cinquantième
anniversaire de la Belgique, l’article « Nos lettres en 1980 : être ou ne pas
être "écrivain belge" » rouvre les polémiques.
En 1988, la Faculté de Droit des Facultés Universitaires Saint-Louis a
organisé une rencontre-débat sur le thème « Belgitude et crise de l’Etat
belge » dans le sillage de la question actuelle de l’identité belge. Les
conclusions sont les suivantes : 1) la notion de belgitude, telle qu’elle a été
proposée entre 1976 et 1980 par Mertens, Javeau et Sojcher se réfère à
l’identité culturelle bruxelloise. C’est Bruxelles et non la Flandre ou la
Wallonie qui se caractérise par les idées de négativité et de creuset et c’est
elle un espace d’entre-deux, métissé, bâtard et un carrefour cosmopolite ; 2)
il y a indubitablement une société civile et une culture belge, nées des deux
sociétés, flamande et wallonne ; 3) du point de vue culturel, Bruxelles reste
un territoire flamand10.
Le survol de multiples définitions et prises de positions au sujet de la
belgitude nous amènent à la conclusion qu’il s’agit en fait d’une non-
224
définition, puisque la belgitude se définit justement par ce qui ne l’est pas.
Les définitions virtuelles de la belgitude sont lacunaires, superficielles,
comme le montre le site richement ramifié autour et sur la Belgique
(www.webelge.be). A part le renvoi au concept de négritude, on résume
l’essence de la notion par le caractère mondain non pas sans un certain
laconisme : « le terme de belgitude fait fureur chez les intellos
francophones coutumiers à l’écartèlement entre les réalités culturelles
françaises et belges ». Sur le modèle de belgitude, il naît sur plusieurs sites
des termes patriotards comme : ardennitude (à consulter à ce sujet l’article
de Philippe Destatte sur www.wallonie-en-ligne), bruxellitude, wallonitude
et flandritude (pour les trois derniers, à consulter www.ecolo.be) et même
frititude, terme retrouvable sur les sites qui font de la promotion pour les
frites belges et qui apparaît sans aucune connotation péjorative.
Les articles des encyclopédies virtuelles, comme celui de l’encyclopédie libre
Wikipédia, sont tous très sommaires, évasifs, et les informations qu’ils nous
fournissent ne servent pas à notre recherche. Au contraire, un bel exemple de ce qui
est la belgitude pour mieux comprendre ce qui ne l’est pas, est le test de belgitude
sur http://belgitude.membot.com. La présentation du test se veut aguichante, elle
contient in nuce une définition sommaire correcte de la belgitude :
La Belgique, aaah, ce plat pays magnifique, avec ses particularités et ses
chaleureux habitants, les Belges ! Mais, peut-être ne le savez-vous pas, être Belge,
ce n'est pas seulement posséder une carte d’identité du Royaume. Etre Belge, c’est
partager des habitudes, un savoir, un patrimoine, une culture, qui dépassent
largement nos frontières. Sans le savoir, chaque humain est potentiellement Belge !
Pour déterminer votre taux de belgitude, et découvrir quel type de Belge vous êtes,
une seule solution : répondre à ces quelques questions ! PS : Ceci est une initiative
citoyenne dans le cadre des 175 ans de la Belgique.
Le test contient 50 questions. Le premier critère qui regroupe 27 questions
n’est pas précisé. Il s’agit de questions hétéroclites, disons d’un passe-partout
stéréotypé sur : un festival de musique, la bière, un glacier, un fleuve, un monument
d’architecture bruxelloise (le Manneken Pis), la « drache » belge (un vrai piège pour
ceux qui la prennent pour une fête nationale), les liens de parentés royales, quelques
belgicismes, quelques personnalités du sport, les objets-totems (sic !) de la ville de
Namur, la course de 24 heures en vélo, la qualité de l’éclairage des autoroutes, etc.
Le deuxième critère (7 questions) concerne la gastronomie belge (des notions
élémentaires sur les spéculoos, les frites ou la bière) et les habitudes alimentaires, le
troisième, assez frêle, s’appelle Langage et interroge sur une pratique linguistique
discutable, à savoir une insulte et un équivalent français d’un syntagme en
néerlandais (« e kwé châle »). Ensuite, d’autres questions portent, de nouveau, sur la
royauté (1), le sport (3), la géographie (2), la politique (2), d’autres sur le
folklore et les loisirs (4) pour finir par une catégorie floue « divers » qui
225
contient une question sur les courses quotidiennes dans une surface bon
marché, méprisée par les « bourgeois » belges et une dernière sur un
anthroponyme supposé notoire. En consultant des dizaines de sites qui
renvoient à ce test, nous constatons qu’il passe pour un fort vecteur de
belgitude, étant donné le nombre de visiteurs qui se sont soumis à ce
questionnaire (plus de 500) et le taux élevé de leur belgitude. L’évaluation
finale a toujours été positive, on n’enregistre qu’un seul cas de
« belgitude » négative.
 Sens et significations de la belgitude sur le Web
Les sens de la notion varient à tel point que, sur certains sites, la belgitude
désigne explicitement le contraire de ce que le savoir collectif a admis comme sens
commun. Nous avons établi quatre significations dérivées du sens de base, celui de
sentiment « en creux », réparties en quatre catégories auxquelles nous avons rajouté
une corbeille (ce sera la cinquième catégorie), une sorte de « poubelle » dans
laquelle nous avons rejeté tout ce qui ne répondait pas à nos critères d’analyse, ou,
en bref, tout ce qui mérite l’étiquette « tout et n’importe quoi qui contienne le mot
belgitude ». Les quatre significations que nous avons établies sont : dérision et autodérision ; patriotisme paisible ou véhément ; imaginaire débridé ; indolence
souriante.
1. Dérision et auto-dérision. Exemples :
 Le site www.hahaha.com présente Un musée de la Belgitude, un
musée itinérant né de l’initiative de Wallonie-Bruxelles. Le descriptif du
portail mérite d’être cité à juste titre comme modèle d’auto-dérision
poussée à l’extrême, frisant l’ironie mordante:
La Belgique, pays de petite taille, a pu dissimuler longtemps dans le concert
des nations les mystères qu’elle abrite. La loi du silence s’est imposée telle une
chape de plomb, laissant ses habitants dans l’ignorance de leurs origines réelles. Il
fallait qu’un jour, des hommes courageux ou inconscients révèlent à la face du
monde la véritable essence de la Belgique. A l’approche d’un nouveau millénaire et
devant les risques cumulés de la pollution, de la crise économique et du cataclysme
nucléaire, nous n’avions plus grand chose à perdre, à dévoiler ce secret d’État. Nous
avons donc rassemblé sous haute surveillance, dans un musée itinérant, des preuves
irréfutables collectées au cours de nos folles expéditions jusqu’aux confins des
territoires ardennais. Vous pourrez ainsi découvrir l’histoire de notre bon vieux pays
comme on ne vous l’a jamais racontée. Depuis la dérive des plaques tectoniques
jusqu’à l’homme de Spa, des laboratoires clandestins de chicons, aux mains du
terrible Cartel de Mechelen, jusqu’aux élevages de frites sauvages, rien ne sera laissé
au hasard durant cette visite bouleversifiante ! Parce qu’il fallait enfin que la vérité
éclate, les guides du Magic Land Théâtre ont décidé de parler !
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Les comédiens de ce Théâtre de rue ont leur site :
www.magicland.theatre.com. L’internaute curieux y retrouvera de vraies
« révélations » sur l’identité belge, des vestiges et des témoignages
d’extrême importance comme « le biotope reconstituant le cycle de
reproduction de la frite sauvage » ou « le spécimen unique de crâne de
flamand rose de six millions d’années ayant gardé une dent » et, c’est à lui
de deviner contre qui.
 Sur www.francparler.com et www.cedimho.net, les Snuls pratiquent
une attitude critique aiguë sur la petitesse de la Belgique et de la belgitude
ayant comme arme principale la dérision programmatique.
2.
Patriotisme paisible ou véhément. Exemples :
 Jacques Brel fait l’objet des dizaines de sites où nous trouvons : des
interviews imaginaires avec le « Grand Jacques » sur « le plat pays ». Il
affirme mieux vivre / sentir son pays en le quittant et renvoie aux textes de
ses chansons, exemplaires pour sa belgitude, tels que Les Flamandes,
Marieke, Bruxelles, Il neige sur Liège, Les Flamingants ou L’Ostendaise.
La conclusion de l’interview est qu’il n’a jamais renié sa belgitude ;
l’image de Jacques Brel est l’exemple le plus édifiant de belgitude dans sa
variante de patriotisme paisible, de sorte que sur www.interdits.net,
Giovanni Petrucci, le biographe de Brel va jusqu’à inventer les mots brelge
et brelgité (calqué sur belge et belgité) pour définir la situation identitaire
du chanteur, flamand et francophone à la fois. Brel avoue s’ennuyer parfois
d’être belge, puisqu’il avait de grandes colères en Belgique : « Je suis belge
sans l’être encore tout à fait », déclaration qui va à l’encontre de l’image
fétichiste artificiellement construite que le public non averti s’est faite du
chanteur belge.
 Dans le cadre de la 27e édition du festival de cinéma « La Belgitude
interrogée » de Douarnenez, l’ethnologue et cinéaste Luc de Heusch
condamne l’Etat belge dans le documentaire « Quand j’étais belge ». A
consulter : www.cinergie.be ou encore
www.fasti.org sur « Les
Belgiques ». A l’opposé, www.artfact.ulg.ac.be présente l’exposition « La
Belgique visionnaire ». Le nom de Victor Horta, grand architecte belge,
promoteur de l’Art Nouveau fonctionne comme argument dans la défense
de l’authentique esprit belge. Un site comme www.francoffonies.be invite à
participer au festival Simenon, corollaire de belgitude dans l’univers du
polar.
 La somme du patriotisme s’est enfin matérialisée. L’exposition Made in
Belgium, placée sous le slogan « Réveillez chez le visiteur la fierté d’être
belge » rassemble 4.000 objets pour célébrer éminemment la belgitude :
(http://courrierinternational.com).
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 L’article en ligne de Roger Mounege : «Au-delà du décor des mots…
Propos sur une identité culturelle wallonne» s’avance peu à peu vers le
patriotisme extrême. www.opcommunication.com, site nationaliste wallon se
met sous le patronage de septante et de nonante considérés comme marques
d’une démocratie pluraliste légaliste pour clamer l’intégration de la Wallonie
en France. Un autre article qui fait preuve d’un patriotisme difficilement
admissible appartient à José Fontaine, « Socialisme et question nationale »,
sur www.toudi.org. A l’opposé, nous retrouvons sur www.annales.org, site
de la Gazette de la société et des techniques, un autre article, « Comprendre
la Belgique pour deviner l’Europe » qui trouve sur un ton juste des
arguments pertinent pour défendre les valeurs nationales belges. La belgitude
est manifestement liée à la colonisation du Congo sur www.territoiresmemoire.be.
 D’autres articles revendiquent la belgitude sans en avoir l’air. Un
titre trompeur ayant un parfum de whisky, comme Johnny Walker-GlobbeTrotter sur www.liraloeil.be invite à une lecture qui s’avère intéressante sur
les acceptions de la belgitude par le prisme du nationalisme.
 Sur http://perso.wanadoo.fr, les mouvements des chômeurs sont
volontiers associés à la belgitude au nom d’une démocratie exacerbée ;
 Sur http://users.skynet.be nous retrouvons des poèmes dédiés à la
belgitude, d’inspiration mièvre, selon les réactions des internautes,
cherchant à tout prix l’originalité ; citons La Belgitude, le poème de
Jocelyne V.
La Belgitude, est l’inquiétude du sourire du présent
Mes racines enfouies ébahissent mon coeur
Je suis en léthargie de mon présent bonheur
Mes ancêtres oubliés ressurgissent en moi
On ne peut renier nos aiëuls d’autrefois
J’aime la mer du Nord, inlassable berceau
J’aime ma terre natale, plaine de Wallonie
Ils sont encrés en moi ; Ultime héritage
D’un père Flamand qui a fait la croisade
D’aimer un jour une belle Wallonne
Ils ont fait des enfants chantant la Brabançonne
Pourquoi se déchirer dans les mêmes racines ?
Un Pays si peuplé de choses si divines
Arrêtons ce dilemme du Nord et puis du Sud
N’est-ce pas nôtre emblème ? Toute cette fine culture
La terre qui nous porte est un bien si précieux
Arrêtons ces colportes qui veulent en faire deux
Une seule et même Belgique sera toujours plus forte
Et nul analgésique trahira cette force.
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 Sur www.inreallife.be nous trouvons un refus catégorique de tout
sentiment d’appartenance à une communauté spirituelle belge. « Je ne
supporte pas ce mot de belgitude » affirme avec véhémence et à maintes
reprises Georges Thinès dans un article en ligne caché sous un titre anodin
« De 1989 à 2003. Culture, société, vie quotidienne » ; le même mal de la
belgitude hautement clamé apparaît sur www.opalis.be, lié aux problèmes
actuels concernant les tensions entre les trois Régions et les Communautés
de Belgique ;
 Le site des Belges du Grand Duché de Luxembourg, www.urb.lu
prêche, au nom de l’Union Royale Belge, la cohésion de la communauté,
signe incontestable de leur belgitude.
3. Imaginaire débridé. Exemples :
 Via www.vivat.be, nous arrivons sur le site concernant les frites belges
dont le libellé annonce la bravoure exceptionnelle du peuple belge, ce qui
autorise les créateurs à organiser, au nom de la frititude, des «rendez-vous des
piqués de la toile belgo-belge!»
L’affirmation de la belgitude à travers l’imaginaire débridé touche à
la fois les trois autres significations dans un admirable pêle-mêle qui
effraiera la rhétorique ancienne :
Le site utile notre trio national noir-jaune-rouge sans pour autant
tomber dans le nationalo-tristounet. Pas plus que dans la bête. provoc.
Frites.be est un site humoristique (NDLR : en tout cas, pour nous, Belges)
avec ses "Belgo Infos", ses "Friteurs d'or" qui évoquent les Frites et "leur"
Belgique, ses échanges "entre Friteurs". Ou encore sa "Belgalerie",
répertoire de sites garantis 100% belgo-belges, ses blagues "pour Frire" (sur
les Belges, les Français, les Bruxellois, les Flamands, les Wallons,...), ses
dessins et montages ("Cartoons"). A côté du "jukebox", le site s'est doté
d’une rubrique cinéma, "Toile Frite", où tous les Friteurs recensent toutes
les scènes de Frites au cinéma. Et même si Frites.be se défend d’être un site
sur les Frites, celles-ci ont droit à leur rubrique où elles sont à l’honneur,
tout comme les fritkots.
Pour continuer dans le même registre ludique, nous vous conseillons
à suivre le site www.marmiton.org pour avoir la recette des vraies frites
belges imprégnées de la plus authentique belgitude huileuse.
 Gaston Lagaffe, héros des BD belges est un cas de belgitude
incongrue ; un autre « hérisson de la belgitude » serait Yvon Sondag ; Bod
Fisk (80), le double négatif d’Hercule Poirot, créé par Yves Chaland illustre
la BD policière et fait ressortir une belgitude sous-jacente, source d’humour
bien venu, parfois grinçant (http://bernadac.club.fr). Le même genre
d’humour surréaliste est proposé par le Théâtre bruxellois Varia pour la
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mise en scène de la pièce de Th. Gunzig, La Mort d’un parfait bilingue ; en
échange, sur http://superwallon.skyblog.com on découvre une référence
floue un super-héros, défenseur de la belgitude francophone au sud de la
frontière.
4.
Indolence souriante. Exemples :
 Sur http://belgologie.be nous découvrons l’existence virtuelle d’une
Faculté Universitaire de Belgologie qui illustre de manière exemplaire cette
catégorie. Une première observation renseigne sur la qualité du site : un
taux de popularité assez bas. Les articles en ligne qui s’y trouvent suscitent
des débats véhéments entre le groupe qui prend la belgitude pour un
sentiment de fierté nationale et les ainsi dits indolents qui se moquent
d’eux. Le manifeste des trois « universitaires » témoigne d’un discours non
pertinent qui recherche à tout prix l’originalité et la spécificité belge à l’état
pur où se mêlent tous les types d’arguments comme le montre l’extrait cidessous dont nous ne nous sommes pas permis de corriger les fautes
d’orthographe et de grammaire :
Il y a dix ans, en décembre 1995 (prononcez nonante-cinq),
l’association de faits « Sauf Tintin » réalisait une exposition ayant pour
thème principal « La belgitude », l’exposition avait réuni de nombreux
artistes qui avaient sus exhiber l’espace d’un moment, un échantillon de ce
qu’était la culture belge. Il y avait là une installation, digne des photos de
François Hers dans « Récit » ou encore « intérieurs », d’un intérieur,
qualifié par le public de « borain » : une télévision affublée d’un joli
napperon en dentelle, surmonté d’une photo d’enfant déguisé en gille alors
que sur l’écran passait en boucle une vidéo des « Dégueule beef ». Plus
loin, une oeuvre de Laurent Lenclud nommée « Le belgonaute »,...
Cette exposition devait prouver que le belge existait et que la
culture belge n’est pas un mythe !
Depuis, la belgitude est resté pour moi un fer de lance, malgré le
discourt séparatiste et ra tachiste, je me sens toujours plus proche des
flamands que des français, même si entre nous, les flamands et les wallons,
c’est un peu les Le Quesnoy et les Groseille (voir « La vie est un long
fleuve tranquille » d’Etienne Chatiliez) où le flamand est un Le Quesnoy
catholique et bourgeois donnant de l’argent aux Groseille famille peu
instruite et démunie représentant très bien la wallonnie (C’est une images,
bien entendu !). Même si la politique veut que le pays se déchire, les
destinations préférées des wallons restent le nord de la Flandre et pour les
flamands le sud de la Wallonnie. Que ce soit au nord comme au sud, il
existe de nombreux points communs dans la culture belge : Le surréalisme,
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l’auto-dérision, voyez Urbanus (humoriste flamand) et Pic-pic André ou
encore les Snuls, la bière et Ostende.
C’est parce qu’il est toujours savoureux de se replonger dans nos
racines et qu’avoir un support culturel familier, avec des codes
naturellement acquis qu’il est bon de se replonger dans ce qui fait notre
identité. C’est d’ailleurs à ce titre que la Faculté de Belgologie organisera
des séminaires (sous forme très ludique) sur la culture belge,
savoureusement illustrés par le son, l’image ou encore le goût. Et pourquoi
pas devenir à votre tour « licencié » en belgologie afin de perpétuer l’aspect
culturel de notre pays qui rappelons-le « est un plaisir et doit le rester ».
Un article récent, du 16 février 2006, où l’on s’interrogeait sur
l’existence même de la Belgique en tant qu’Etat unitaire, provoque la
réaction immédiate des universitaires belgologues, accusés d’avoir dénigré
l’esprit belge (nous reproduisons le texte tel quel sans rien corriger) :
Rappelez-vous, la Belgique est un plaisir et doit le rester et si il n’y a
plus de culture de l’auto-critique, il n’y a plus de culture belge. Il en va de
même pour le suréalisme. Ce que nous faisons, même si cela ne paraît pas,
c’est rendre hommage à ce qui fait la Belgique, mais aussi dénigrer ceux
qui s’en moquent, comme la collectionneuse de Ferrari qui doit sa fortune à
la communauté qui a investit en elle et qui se tire à Monaco dés qu’elle doit
rendre des comte, le fameux virus de la grippe avarièrre le virus H5 Henin.
Nous somme aussi opposé à ce que la culture belge soit réduite à Jacque
Brel et Tintin, or la culture belge va bien au delà Bucquoy, Noël Godin, Les
Snuls, Le grand Jojo, JL Fonk, ....
Si vous voulez protester, allez-y, rédigez et nous publierons. Nous
sommes les enfants des Snuls, Geluck, Magic Land Théâtre, ... ces gens qui
ont ris de la Belgique, lui ont en fait rendus le plus grand hommage, car
c’est là la plus grande part de la culture belge. La belgitude est bien une
maladie, dont le malade ne semble pas souffrir, mais au contraire se sent
bien et le seul traitement palliatif, reste la dérision. Nous en rions, mais
n’allez pas croire que nous ne l’aimons pas. Qu’est-ce qu’il y a de pire ?
S’auto-critiquer sur notre manière d’être ou prétendre représenter le
peuple wallon et signer des contrats en anglais, disant « J’y comprends rien,
mais je vous fais confiance » ? C’est plutôt là le foutage de gueule, non ?
Savez-vous que les articles écrits sur les gilles de Binche, les sont par des
Binchois ?
Moi-même j’y suis né, ainsi que mes parents et même grands parents
et j’y ai vécu de nombreuses années. Je suis, bien que vous sembliez
penser le contraire, très attaché à notre culture, laquelle m’est bien intégrée
et je pense que tous ceux qui ont le titre de professeur le sont aussi, si nous
en rions, c’est que nous la vivons pleinement. Ne dit-on pas « Qui aime
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bien, châtie bien » ?
Allez, savourons la Belgique tant qu’elle existe encore et après peutêtre il sera temps de pleurer.
 Sur www.talus.be nous observons un mariage inédit entre
l’indolence et l’amusement. Le Petit Glossaire de la sous-France par
Pierre René Mélon propose une thérapie par le rire et l’autodérision,
thérapie qui tourne, malencontreusement, dans un pamphlet vitriolant
sur trois défauts majeurs des Belges: l’obsession de l’unité (que l’auteur
appelle unitaroglossie), le culte du petit comme principe d’identité combiné
avec les rites de la médiocrité (ou micromanie) et l’aplatissement de la
raison devant le roi totémique (ou sirolâtrie).
5. Corbeille : « Tout et n’importe quoi qui contienne le mot
belgitude pour dire tout court belge. » Exemples :
 Même le Gaz de France, sponsor européen actif de nombreux
événements sportifs, pénètre sur le marché belge et ouvre une succursale
qui a, sans doute, sa « touche de belgitude » sans en préciser , pour autant,
en quoi elle consiste exactement ; à avoir : www.gazdefrance.be ;
 Sur une dizaine de sites nous trouvons une information « vitale » sur
le chanteur Johnny Hallyday qui est menacé d’être « privé de sa
belgitude », pour faire référence à sa nationalité ;
 www.restomania.be présente un restaurant de Waterloo, appelé Ma
Belgitude, qui propose de la cuisine belge, traditionnelle et du terroir ; pour
les touristes affamés, nous avons trouvé sur www.brusselslife.be le caférestaurant Manneken, « représentant par excellence de la belgitude à
Bruxelles », situé en plein centre-ville qui leur offre dans un cadre
folklorique de la gastronomie belge (bière, waterzooï ou les fameuses
moules-frites) ; www.mirti.com invite au tourisme pour saisir la belgitude
où pire, belgitude devient synonyme de promenade dans Bruxelles avec un
parcours pédestre bien dressé sur www.busbavard.be;
 www.fredjobars.be fait une promotion pour la Belgica, un bar gay
qui « affiche sa belgitude » et invite les amateurs non conformistes de ce
genre de party à en tirer profit. Les photos des personnalités royales
accrochés aux mur du bar y jouent un rôle indéterminé ; à consulter encore
www.bielbel.com, un site très documenté popularise les bières belges. Pour
tout ce qui est de la popularisation des valeurs belges de n’importe quel
domaine, nous vous conseillons la visite du site www.belguim.org.
 www.bloggingthenews.info fait de la publicité cinématographique
pour un vrai « bijou de belgitude », une série du bien-être belge, très dans le
vent, Le Septième Ciel ; www.theatre-enfants.com offre à son tour un
« parangon de belgitude » sans aller plus loin pour autant ;
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 Un site qui revendique une culture électronique, étiquetée de
Belgitude Electro et autorisée à organiser des événements de grande
ampleur, des festivals, des clubs exquis, nous conduit à
www.francopholies.be pour mieux connaître la musique belge ;
 www.lagrandeoda.over-blog.com propose des albums photos
illustratifs de la belgitude, autrement dit, des photos des paysages belges.
Belgitude devient synonyme de pittoresque sur le forum www.fugitif.net
dont le but principal est de « ravir les yeux de notre BELGITUDE ». Dans
ce dernier exemple, le rôle des majuscules est d’accrocher l’attention des
fans sur de petits chefs-d’œuvre photographiques ;
 www.tvclassic.be, www.marenchanson.be et www.ramadam.com
affichent des artistes comme Arno, Sharko, Girls in Hawaï, Julos
Beaucarne, Annie Cordy, etc., pris pour les plus belges des Belges, les
meilleurs ambassadeurs de la belgitude à l’étranger ;
 www.ebay.com propose n’importe quel objet de vente de
provenance belge en jouant sur la notoriété de la notion de belgitude qui
pourrait
impressionner
les
potentiels
acheteurs
en
ligne ;
http://pages.joueb.com se veut un magazine d’humeur et de belgitude, tout
en jouant sur un rapport abscons entre les deux ;
 Sur www.anarkismo.net, on arrive à défendre au nom de la
belgitude la compagnie Arcelor, menacée d’être engloutie par le holding
indien Mittal, l’un des leaders mondiaux de la sidérurgie. Bien que
profitable pour l’économie wallonne, cette tentative est intolérable pour les
esprits anarchistes qui prennent position.
 Nous signalons un côté inédit de la belgitude ; elle peut également
se placer sous l’angle de l’érotisme hétérosexuel ; www.antipode.be avec le
Théâtre de Poche de Bruxelles proposent quatre auteurs, quatre metteurs en
scène et quatre comédiens dans Les contes érotico-urbains ;
 Sur un forum quelconque, la belgitude arrive même à désigner le
nom d’un utilisateur qui livre sa réponse « intelligente » à un message
d’origine du type « Comment reconnaître mâle et femelle ». Nous nous
contentons de ne plus faire de commentaire supplémentaire.
 Pour faire le point
Les interrogations identitaires qui sous-tendent la question du
multilinguisme et du multiculturalisme se sont aggravées lors de différentes
étapes de la fédéralisation de la Belgique, état fragilisé à cause de la
querelle éternelle entre Flamands et Wallons. Cette préoccupation
n’apparaît pas seulement dans la littérature et la chanson, mais aussi dans le
cinéma et le théâtre, dans les médias (télévision, journaux, publications de
spécialité). La génération actuelle d’écrivains en parle moins ou n’en parle
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plus. Ce n’est nullement le signe d’un manque d’intérêt, de la dissolution
des crises identitaires, mais simplement une autre manière d’assumer
l’Histoire, la métamorphosant dans des histoires, dans des expériences
individuelles. Aujourd’hui, on assiste à un mouvement inverse de la
belgitude, à une reconquête identitaire idéologique : le malaise d’être belge
est devenu une grande fierté qui se fait entendre dans tous les domaines de
la culture et de la civilisation. L’art, le sport et la cuisine portent leur
spécificité que les Belges proclament à haute voix. Les Belges ne raffolent
pas seulement de moules-frites, de bière et de chocolat, mais ils sont très
fiers d’avoir les surréalistes René Magritte et Paul Delvaux, les écrivains
Maurice Maeterlinck et Georges Simenon, le chanteur Jacques Brel, des
personnalités qui jouissent d’une gloire mondiale, des dessinateurs
excellents, voire géniaux, le plus grand nombre de B.D.-istes du monde11.
Une interculture est née dans une aire d’intersection courageuse et pacifiste
qui s’appelle littérature et où l’on n’entend plus le fameux « accent belge ».
Les dernières trente années, la notion de belgitude s’est raffinée, a
acquis des nuances, des connotations qui méritent d’être analysées de plus
près. Le terme a connu des glissements de sens sensibles, ce qui a entraîné
des phénomènes importants relevant tant de la sémantique que de
l’imaginaire collectif. Nous finissons notre itinéraire virtuel par une
dernière invitation sur www.ledevoir.com afin de contempler la toile
controversée du peintre belge James Ensor, L’Entrée du Christ à Bruxelles,
quintessence d’une belgitude provocatrice.
Notes :
1
C. Javeau reprend sa prise de position publiée auparavant sous le titre Les 24
heures du Belge, Bruxelles, Editions de l’Université de Bruxelles, 1970.
2
C. Javeau, « Y a-t-il une belgitude ? », in Les Nouvelles Littéraires, no. cité, p.
15.
3
P. Mertens, « De la difficulté d’être Belge », in Les Nouvelles Littéraires, no.
2557/1976, p. 14. L’expression « Sois Belge et tais-toi ! » est calquée selon la
phrase célèbre de Baudelaire « Sois belle et tais-toi ! ».
4
J. de Decker, « Du côté de la Flandre », in Les Nouvelles Littéraires, no. cité, p.
15.
5
J. Bourlez, « Le roman belge, connais pas ! », in Les Nouvelles littéraires, no.
cité, p. 16.
6
L. Wouters, « Le double exil des poètes », in Les Nouvelles Littéraires, no. cité,
p 18.
7
Les deux plasticiens sont les fondateurs du groupe artistique « Art Made in
Belguim ». Ce sigle est choisi par dérision.
8
Voir J. Sojcher (sous la dir. de), La Belgique malgré tout, Ed. de l’Université de
Bruxelles, 1980, 560 p. La couverture du volume est construite selon les règles de
la sémiotique argumentative : un dessin d’Hergé présente le capitaine Haddock qui
234
laisse tomber sa pipe de surprise en voyant tant de vrais artistes (69 plus
exactement) proclamer leur conviction contre les arrivistes du communautaires.
Dans la boule il y a un grand « Quoi ? » admiratif.
9
C. Javeau, « Le chocolat des Trois-Rivières », in La Belgique malgré tout, p.
211.
10
Depuis les manifestes des Nouvelles littéraires nombreux sont les sociologues,
les historiens et les écrivains qui ont fait couler de l’encre sur le chagrin ou la
fierté des Belges. Citons quelques titres significatifs récents à ce sujet : La
Belgique toujours grande et belle sous la direction d’Antoine Pickels et Jacques
Sojcher (Bruxelles, Editions Complexe, 1998) : Belgitude et crise de l’Etat belge
(Bruxelles, FUSL, 2002) ; La Mal du pays. Autobiographie de la Belgique de
Patrick Roegiers (Paris, Seuil, 2003).
11
Voir à ce titre l’exposition Made in Belgium, ouverte entre septembre 2005 et
mars 2006 à Bruxelles, exposition qui a connu un très grand succès auprès d’un
public international. A titre anecdotique, l’exposition en question finit par une
image éloquente, expression de l’auto-dérision qui caractérise les Belges : un trône
fait en moules sur lequel règne la reine-frite.
Bibliographie:
o Berg, C. et Halen, P. (sous la dir. de) (2000) Littératures belges de
langue française. Histoire et perspectives (1830-2000), Bruxelles : Le
Cri, coll. « Histoire ».
o Bourlez, J. (1976) ‘Le roman belge, connais pas !’, Les Nouvelles
littéraires, no. 2557, 16.
o Decker, J. de (1976) ‘Du côté de la Flandre’, Les Nouvelles Littéraires,
no 2557, 15.
o La Libre Belgique, 20 novembre 1978.
o Le Soir, 20 novembre 1980.
o Javeau, C. (1976) ‘Y a-t-il une belgitude ?’, Les Nouvelles Littéraires,
no 2557, 15.
o Quaghebeur, M. (1998) Balises pour l’histoire des lettres belges,
Bruxelles : Labor, coll. « Espace Nord ».
o Denis, B. et Klinkenberg, J.-M. (2005) La littérature belge. Précis
d’histoire sociale, Bruxelles : Labor, coll. « Espace Nord. Références »,
no. 221.
o Mertens, P. (1976) ‘De la difficulté d’être Belge’, Les Nouvelles
Littéraires, no. 2557, 14.
o Otten, M. (1984) ‘Identité nationale, identités régionales dans la
littérature française de Belgique’, in : Ecriture française et
identifications culturelles en Belgique, (colloque de Louvain-la-Neuve,
avril 1982), Bruxelles : CIACO, 49-83.
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o Sojcher, J. (sous la dir. de) (1980) La Belgique malgré tout, Ed. de
l’Université de Bruxelles.
o Wouters, L. (1976) ‘Le double exil des poètes’, Les Nouvelles
Littéraires, no. 2557, 18.
SUR LES TRADUCTIONS EN FRANÇAIS DU « BEST SELLER »
DE TOUS LES TEMPS : LA BIBLE
Sofia Dima
Université « Dunărea de Jos » de Galaţi
Istoria Bibliei nu este numai istoria redactării sale, ci, într-o foarte
mare măsură, şi cea a interpretării, a traducerii şi a transmiterii sale de-a
lungul secolelor, pe toate meridianele lumii. Articolul de faţă propune o
trecere în revistă a traducerilor franceze ale Bibliei punând în evidenţă
faptul că traducătorii au adoptat fie o traducere dinamică, fidelă atât
sensului cât şi publicului aflat în continuă evoluţie (care privilegiază
mesajul cu riscul de a se îndepărta de textul de origine, de a nu gusta
subtilităţile sale stilistice), fie o traducere literală, fidelă textului în cauză
căruia îi pun în valoare frumuseţea, muzicalitatea, jocul de cuvinte, chiar
cu preţul de a ambiguiza sau de a opacifia mesajul. Între aceste două
orientări fundamentale, favorizarea semnificatului sau a semnificantului,
traducătorii Bibliei au fost, pe rând, dar nu deliberat, deviatori ai
mesajului, în ciuda eforturilor lor considerabile. Aceasta pentru că,
subestimând sau supraestimând semnificantul, au pervertit, într-un fel sau
altul, semnificatul. Or, semnificantul face parte din semnificat, între cele
două elemente existând un raport de interdependenţă de netăgăduit.
La Bible est un ensemble de livres que la religion juive et le
christianisme considèrent comme inspirés par Dieu, d’où ses autres noms :
La Parole, L’écriture sainte, Les Saintes Écritures, etc. Il est, pour ces
raisons, interdit de changer un mot, une lettre ou une ponctuation. La Bible
est divisée en deux grandes parties, l’Ancien Testament ou Alliance de
Dieu, rédigé en langue hébraïque et en araméen, et le Nouveau Testament,
ou Nouvelle Alliance, réalisée avec le Christ, rédigé en grec. Les premiers
textes reconnus sont datés du XIe siècle avant notre ère. La Bible débute
par le Pentateuque, c’est-à-dire les cinq livres de la Torah et se termine par
l’Apocalypse de Jean, au terme du Nouveau Testament.
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De l’hébreu, la Bible fut d’abord traduite en grec, du IIIe au IIe
siècle avant notre ère par soixante-dix docteurs de la Loi ; c’est pourquoi on
lui donna le nom de Version des Septante, puis Septante. Saint Jérôme en fit
ensuite (390-405) une traduction latine complète que l’on appela la Vulgate
en raison de sa grande diffusion. Cette version proposait un retour au texte
source, à l’ « hébraïcam veritatem ». Depuis, le corpus biblique ne cesse de
produire de nouveaux avatars. Après le latin, le guèze, l’araménien, le
gothique, le copte, le syriaque…
À la Renaissance, la promotion des langues vulgaires, l’invention de
l’imprimerie, le renouveau religieux se conjuguent pour produire de grands
textes historiques. Les protestants réformés proposent les premières
traductions en français à partir des langues sources, notamment celle
d’Olivetan (1535). Une Bible était toujours censée créer une vulgate de
textes sacrés. Il en est ainsi pour les grandes traductions fondatrices comme
celle de Luther, en allemand, qui paraît en 1534, et celle en langue anglaise
dite King James, éditée en 1611.
Par sa genèse et son destin, la Bible a marqué, non seulement de son
empreinte, mais aussi en quelque sorte de son être, la nature même d’une
importante partie de la civilisation et de la culture antique et
contemporaine. Par la suite, elle a restitué ce qu’elle avait pris, au cours
d’une très longue carrière où l’on n’a cessé de l’écrire et de la dire, et, pour
ce faire, d’abord, de la traduire.
Paradoxalement, quel que soit l’arsenal linguistique dont dispose le
savant qui la scrute dans ses langues dites originales – l’hébreu, l’araméen
et le grec – on peut affirmer aisément que la Bible comme Bible n’a
vraiment d’autre histoire que celle de ses versions : née comme traduction
dans l’Alexandrie hellénistique du IIe siècle avant J.-Chr., elle est
également grecque par le nom qu’elle y reçut, hè Biblos, « le Livre ».
Dans l’Antiquité et jusqu’à nos jours, elle n’a pu s’imposer que
parce qu’elle fut toujours traduction. Il n’y a même de Bible véritable
qu’avec l’habit d’une vulgate, c’est-à-dire quand la totalité des membres
d’une communauté peut la reconnaître et la lire en sa langue propre. Après
sa phase de fécondation et de gestation, qui fut hébraïque, la Bible naquit
grecque pour mûrir et s’épanouir ensuite dans une multitude de langues qui
sont autant de langues bibliques, en quelque sorte originales.
Ce paradoxe en commande ou en reflète bien d’autres. La Bible se
présente comme un livre unique, que son nom désigne d’emblée comme
tel ; mais elle est aussi une vraie bibliothèque, évoquant et signifiant les
longues étapes d’une évolution culturelle et religieuse dont on ne cessa dans
le passé et on ne cesse aujourd’hui de décrire l’ordonnance et de démonter
la logique.
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La Bible a été longtemps le seul recueil littéraire connu de la culture
ancienne du Proche-Orient et elle en reste un des témoins majeurs, même si
les découvertes du XIXe siècle ont permis de la replacer dans un contexte
plus large. Nous employons le mot recueil parce que la Bible est une
collection d’œuvres, de genres divers, appelées généralement « livres »,
malgré leur étendue souvent faible, écrits au long de plus de neuf siècles, en
deux ou trois langues, le plus souvent à partir de traditions orales bien
établies, chaque œuvre étant à son tour relue et corrigée en fonction de
nouveaux écrits, de nouveaux événements. Ce recueil a pris son nom actuel
dans le contexte de la civilisation hellénistique. Il était toujours désigné en
grec par un neutre pluriel τa βιωλιa, les livres par excellence ; le mot fut
simplement transcrit en latin biblia, puis passa dans diverses langues
occidentales : bible en anglais, Bibel en allemand, biblia en espagnol et en
roumain, bibbia en italien. Une dénomination correspondante avait cours
dans les communautés de langues hébraïques ou apparentées, sepharim, les
livres, ainsi qu’une autre désignation : kithbe haqqodesh. Cette dernière a
aussi son équivalent en grec qui signifie les écritures saintes, les écrits
sacrés, l’écriture, les écritures, d’où, l’expression française « la (les)
sainte(s) Écriture(s) ». Le recueil étant lu publiquement, il est aussi appelé
dans les écrits rabbiniques hammiqra, la lecture. Mais le nom traditionnel
du corpus hébraïque est tanak, mot formé des initiales de ses trois parties,
torah, loi, nebhi’im, prophète, ketubhim, écrits, division fort ancienne
puisqu’elle se trouve déjà dans le prologue de l’Ecclésiastique (ou
Siracide), environ 130 avant J.-Chr. Lorsque, au cours du IIIe siècle, les
chrétiens prirent conscience que s’était constitué, dans le prolongement de
la Bible hébraïque, un nouvel ensemble d’œuvres proprement chrétiennes,
on l’appela η καιυη διαθηκ, la nouvelle alliance, berith, en hébreu, par
opposition à ηαλαiα διαθηκη, l’ancienne alliance, correspondant au corpus
synagogal.
En raison du double sens du mot grec : testament et alliance, les
deux expressions furent mal traduites en latin puis dans les langues
occidentales par Novum et Vetus Testamentum, Nouveau et Ancien
Testament. Ces deux dernières désignations, ainsi que la dénomination plus
large de « Bible », sont les plus usuelles aujourd’hui, bien que l’expression
tanak soit encore employée dans les cercles orthodoxes israélites.
Se trouvant à la confluence des civilisations antiques, égyptienne et
sémitique - surtout pour sa première partie - et des civilisations orientale et
hellénique - pour la seconde, son influence s’est exercée sur tous les plans :
dans la façon de parler et d’écrire, dans la façon de penser, de juger, de
créer et de rêver des hommes, dans leurs rapports et dans leurs lois qui,
pour la plupart ont une origine biblique. Beaucoup de langues ont abouti à
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être écrites pour la première fois pour que son enseignement puisse être
disséminé, intégralement ou du moins en partie.
Ce n’est là qu’un seul exemple de la mission civilisatrice que la
Bible a accompli dans le monde et qui est l’effet direct du message central
de la Sainte Écriture. Polyphonique par excellence, tant en synchronie
qu’en diachronie, l’enseignement de la Bible a été disséminé par voie écrite,
orale, mais surtout par la voie des traductions, transpositions, adaptations et
mises en équivalences. En fait, la Bible n’a pu pénétrer et s’imposer dans
d’autres espaces géographiques et culturels que par l’intermédiaire des
traductions. C'est parce que, dans ces espaces, le véritable enseignement et
la véritable dissémination de la Bible ne commencent qu’avec l’apparition
d’une « Vulgate » qui a justement le but de faire connaître la Parole de Dieu
à tous les membres de la communauté pour lesquels la traduction a été faite.
En tant que produit scriptural, la Bible a une histoire qui est non
seulement l’histoire de sa rédaction, de sa composition, mai aussi l’histoire
de son interprétation, de sa traduction et de son utilisation. Comme on le
sait, l’hébreu ne note que les consonnes et non pas les voyelles, ce qui a
comme conséquence le fait que chaque mot puisse être prononcé de
plusieurs façons ce qui autorise plusieurs significations. C’est cette
polysémie de l’hébreux qui rend illusoire toute tentative de traduction
exacte. La tradition talmudique, à partir du IIe siècle tout en dévoilant ces
trésors sémantiques, ne fait que multiplier les points d’interrogation. À
partir du XIIIe siècle, les grands textes de la kabbale (particulièrement le
Zohar) commenceront à livrer des clés plus secrètes, des clés syntaxiques,
analytiques, syllabiques, calligraphiques, qui permettent de découvrir
toujours des sens inédits, de nouvelles associations. Comptons aussi le fait
qu’entre le texte écrit et la traduction il se glisse toujours la liberté, mais
aussi les limites du traducteur.
Traduite - en partie - en 4000 langues et intégralement en 400, la
Bible est, de loin, le livre le plus vendu dans le monde : 250.000
volumes/an en France et 450.000 volumes/an dans l’espace francophone. Si
actuellement, au niveau mondial il y a environ 700 chantiers de traduction,
en exercice de la Bible1, nous ne nous demandons plus pourquoi le nombre
des traductions en français est tout aussi impressionnant.
Pour ce qui est des cinquante dernières années, le tableau des
traductions françaises de la Bible, est le suivant :
1.
La Bible de Jérusalem (1956, 1998) – traduction catholique réalisée
par une trentaine de traducteurs et une centaine d’exégètes de l’École
biblique de Jérusalem ;
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2.
La Bible de la Pléiade (1956, 1959, 1971) – traduction non
confessionnelle faite par des biblistes de qualité sous la direction d’Édouard
Dhorme ;
3.
La Bible du rabbinat (1966), la plus couramment étudiée par les
Juifs religieux de langue française. Elle reprend avec des retouches la
traduction de la Bible hébraïque (Ancien Testament) publiée en 1899 sous la
direction du grand rabbin Zadoc Rahn ;
4.
La Bible d’Osty (1973) – traduction réalisée par le chanoine Émile
Osty.
5.
La TOB (Traduction Œcuménique de la Bible) (1975) – traduction
réalisée par une centaine de spécialistes catholiques, protestants et
orthodoxes.
6.
La Bible en français courant (1982, 1997) – première mise en
équivalence suivant un principe fonctionnel. La variante de 1997 est révisée
dans le sens d’une élévation du niveau de la langue.
7.
La Bible d’André Chouraqui (1985) – traduction littérale très
poussée avec la retranscription des subtilités et des jeux de mots présents
dans la langue d’origine dans l’intention de donner au lecteur un aperçu du
génie de la langue hébraïque ;
8.
La Bible des peuples (1998) – traduction de deux prêtres, Bernard et
Louis Hureau, qui, ayant travaillé dans les communautés de base
d’Amérique Latine, font une révision amendée de la Bible des
communautés chrétiennes (retirée du commerce après une polémique sur le
caractère antisémite de quelques notes) ;
9.
La Bible Parole de vie (2000) – traduction interconfessionnelle en
« français fondamental », avec un vocabulaire usuel de 3500 mots qui
s’adresse aux jeunes ou à ceux qui souhaitent redécouvrir le message
biblique à travers les mots de tous les jours ;
10.
La Bible de Bayard (2001) – traduction qui, afin de pouvoir toucher
la culture contemporaine, évite le vocabulaire hérité de la tradition
ecclésiale ; chaque livre de la Bible est traduit par un écrivain et un
exégète ;
11.
La Nouvelle Bible Segond (2002) – la traduction la plus prisée dans
le groupe des protestants : c’est la révision de la première traduction de
Louis Segond (1880), version renommée pour la précision du vocabulaire et
sa fidélité à l’original. La version de 2002 accroît la cohérence pour
favoriser une lecture diachronique des textes.
12.
La Bible expliquée (2004) n’est pas à proprement parler une
traduction puisqu’elle utilise la Bible en français courant, mais ce qu’elle
apporte de nouveau c’est que chaque page est accompagnée de courtes
notes explicatives destinées à des non-spécialistes. C’est un travail
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monumental réalisé par une équipe interconfessionnelle composée de 80
biblistes.
Devant ce le tableau d’un tel travail repris inlassablement tous les cinq ans,
on a de bonnes raisons de se demander si ce n’est l’acte même de traduction
qui est en question. De tous ces ouvrages, on observe que les traducteurs
ont préféré
- soit une traduction dynamique, fidèle au sens et au public en continuelle
évolution qui privilégie le message au point de s’écarter du texte d’origine,
d’ignorer la couleur, le rythme et par conséquent le lyrisme du texte de
départ ;
- soit une traduction littérale, fidèle à ce même texte au niveau duquel
elle met en valeur la beauté, la musicalité, les jeux de mots, au prix
d’ambiguïser ou d’opacifier le message.
Partagés entre ces deux orientations fondamentales (favoriser soit le
signifié, soit le signifiant) les traducteurs de la Bible ont été forcément des
déviateurs du message, en dépit de leurs efforts considérables car, en
sousestimant ou en surestimant le signifiant, ils ont perverti, d’une façon ou
d’une autre le signifié. Or, le signifiant fait partie du signifié, entre les deux
existant un rapport d’interdépendance indéniable.
Les traductions répétées de la Bible témoignent aussi du fait que ces actes
de transposition d’une langue en d’autres langues ou d’un registre de langue
en un autre sont doublés d’un travail critique de plus en plus poussé qui,
dans le langage des spécialistes s’appelle critique inférieure, et qui, chaque
fois, se donne la peine, soit de restaurer la forme d’origine du document, en
corrigeant les éventuelles erreurs de traduction ou de transcription des
prédécesseurs, soit de l’adapter à l’intelligence d’un certain public
contemporain à la traduction en question.
Avant l’invention de l’imprimerie, il était très difficile aux traducteurs et
aux scribes de ne pas faire d’erreur. Dans le cas de la conservation du
manuscrit autographe les erreurs des copistes peuvent être corrigées par
confrontation avec l’original, mais si ce dernier a disparu et que les copies
qui en restent diffèrent les unes des autres sur certains détails, la
formulation primitive ne peut être reconstruite que par une étude attentive
et par la comparaison scrupuleuse des copies, opérations qui, en termes du
métier s’appellent « concordances » et qui exigent des qualités vraiment
spéciales.
Comme aucun document original (protographe) de quelconque partie de la
Bible ne s’est conservé jusqu’à nous, il s’ensuit que les traductions et la
critique des manuscrits existants restent les opérations les plus importantes
dans l’étude biblique.
Dans ce travail dans lequel l’acribie philologique est l’une des qualités les
241
plus importantes, on se pose des questions sur l’habitude des copistes et
leurs erreurs typiques, c’est-à-dire les plus fréquentes. Ces erreurs ont été
encadrées dans une typologie bien définie par les chercheurs :
1.
la haplographie – l’omission de la répétition d’une lettre ou
d’un mot ;
2.
la dictographie – la répétition d’un élément qui n’apparaît
qu’une seule fois ;
3.
le faux rappel d’un passage similaire ou d’un autre
manuscrit ;
4.
l’homeotéléuton – l’omission d’un passage situé entre deux
mots identiques ;
5.
l’omission de toute une ligne ;
6.
la confusion de certaines lettres qui ont une graphie
similaire ;
7.
l’introduction, dans le texte, des annotations marginales ;
8.
l’harmonisation – l’altération d’un mot par un autre, plus
familier.
Pour revenir aux variantes françaises citées, prenons l’exemple de la
Bible de Jérusalem, dans sa variante de 1956 dans laquelle les traducteurs
écrivaient que Jésus fit venir à lui les petits enfants et qui les « baisa », mot
qui a disparu dans les variantes suivantes appartenant au même collectif de
traduction (1973, 1998).
À l’opposé se trouve André Chouraqui, érudit de Jérusalem se
situant au confluent de trois cultures juive, chrétienne et musulmane qui,
dans le souci de refléter aussi bien que possible la structure du texte hébreu
d’origine, postule que le sens actuel d’un mot est déterminé par sa racine
étymologique et forge des mots nouveaux à partir d’une seule racine. Un
des exemples les plus frappants de sa traduction se trouve dans l’Evangile
selon saint Matthieu, chap. 5 (Les béatitudes) où, pour le verset 7 nous
lisons :
Heureux les matriciels car ils seront matriciés
Là où les Évangiles grecs et les versions françaises ont traduit le mot
hébreu rahim par miséricordieux, Chouraqui, respectant le principe
étymologique qu’il s’était proposé trouve que la racine du terme est rhm, ce
qui signifiait le « sein de la femme », d’où il décide de traduire rahim par
matrice avec les dérivés respectifs. Dans ce cas, il est évident que le
traducteur ne sert pas le message, mais qu’il obéit à une sorte de littéralisme
poussé à l’extrême.
L’exemple suivant, de nature différente, nous est offert par la Bible
Bayard qui s’est proposé de renoncer aux formulations presque à
l’identique, apprises et transmises d’une tradition à l’autre dans le but d’en
242
faire ressusciter la lecture, trop lassée par l’emploi de telles formulations. À
l’opposé des autres versions et surtout à l’opposé d’André Chouraqui, les
traducteurs de la Bible Bayard refusent l’attachement à des formes figées
car ils considèrent la langue comme un phénomène en perpétuel
mouvement. Pour ce faire, ils remplacent le mot péché par faute, Église par
Assemblée, Évangile par Annonce, gloire de Dieu par splendeur, pour n’en
citer que quelques exemples.
Considérant les nouveaux termes plus évocateurs que leurs
« prédécesseurs », les traducteurs de la maison d’édition Bayard
s’adressent plutôt à un public intellectuel, mais non pratiquant qui en est
séduit, alors que le lecteur traditionnel, le catholique fervent, ne s’y
retrouve plus. Si Chouraqui pèche par son inactualité sémantique, la Bible
Bayard évite trop le vocabulaire hérité de la tradition ecclésiastique.
Retenons encore l’opinion avancée par Henri Meschonnic, un autre
traducteur de marque de certains fragments de la Sainte Écriture, qui
prouve avec des exemples concrets à quel point la Septante, traduction en
grec de l’Ancien Testament (IIIe siècle av. J.-Ch.), a contribué à la
christianisation de la Bible hébraïque. Le traducteur cite l’exemple du mot
alma signifiant « jeune fille » qui dans Isaïe 7, 6 est traduit par le mot
vierge (betoula) ce qui a ouvert la voie à l’un des dogmes de la religion
chrétienne : l’immaculée conception. La où le mot Torah est traduit par
« loi » Henri Meschonnic prouve que le vrai sens en est « enseignement »
et par cela il met en question tout le formalisme juridique du judaïsme par
rapport au christianisme, voilà pourquoi il se propose de ré réhébraïser la
Bible, de la déchristianiser, la déshelléniser et la délatiniser. Ce qu’il se
propose donc est de traduire un texte écrit dans la langue de la sainteté,
mais sans le faire en religieux.
Toutes les traductions françaises citées ainsi que beaucoup d’autres
parues tant dans l’espace francophone que dans l’espace non francophone
prouvent la difficulté et l’immense responsabilité que l’acte de traduction
d’un tel ouvrage impliquent. Situés entre le fétichisme littéral et la fidélité
au sens et au public, ces traductions se trouvent souvent sous le signe d’a
priori idéologiques, religieux ou bien linguistiques. Le débat reste et restera
toujours ouvert tant qu’on reste fidèle à l’un ou l’autre de ces a priori. Cela
parce qu’il n’y a pas de traduction parfaite, pas d’interprétation définitive,
pas de clé universelle, pas de sens ultime. Si la Bible est revendiquée par
tous, c’est qu’elle n’appartient à personne car aucune langue ne se
superpose exactement à une autre. La Bible a et continuera d’avoir autant
de versions que de traducteurs.
243
Note:
1
La statistique est donnée par l’article « Traduire la Bible, une enquête éternelle »,
Le Monde 2, n°51, Supplément au Monde n°18672 du samedi 5 février, 2005, pp.
17-25.
Bibliographie:
o *** ENCYCLOPÆDIA UNIVERSALIS, Dictionnaire de la théologie
chrétienne, Albin Michel, Paris 1998.
o *** Dicţionar enciclopedic al Bibliei, trad. lb. rom. de Dan Sluşanschi,
Humanitas, Bucureşti, 1992.
o *** Dicţionar biblic, Editura “Carta creştină”, Oradea, 1995.
o Tincq, H. « Traduire la Bible, une enquête éternelle », Le Monde 2,
n°51, Supplément au Monde n°18672 du samedi 5 février, 2005, pp. 1725.
o *** « Le nouvel Observateur », Nr 1921, 30 août, 2001.
LES TRADUCTIONS ALLOGRAPHES ET AUCTORIALES –
ŒUVRES DE PROPAGANDE CULTURELLE
Mirela Drăgoi
Université « Dunărea de Jos » de Galaţi
Traducerea unui text literar este un demers care presupune
interpretarea unui întreg univers artistic şi nu doar o transpunere a
textului într-o altă limbă. Receptarea mesajului pe care acesta îl transmite
include o cunoaştere aprofundată a viziunii de ansamblu şi a universului
specific autorului în limba-sursă. Dacă traducerea ştiinţifică are ca atribut
esenţial obiectivitatea, traducerea literară apelează în mod obligatoriu la
subiectivitatea şi creativitatea traducătorului.
Depuis toujours, la critique littéraire accorde une large place à la
présentation des facteurs qui facilitent les relations culturelles
internationales, à ce qu’ils nomment « des courriers », « des
intermédiaires » du comparatisme. Ces facteurs-colporteurs des relations
directes entre les littératures regroupent toute une somme d’agents
individuels et collectifs, [1] dont les plus importants sont : la connaissance
des langues étrangères, la circulation des livres, des revues, des journaux,
l’activité des cénacles et des salons littéraires, les traductions et les
adaptations, les influences et les sources, l’image des peuples dans de
différentes littératures étrangères etc.
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Les relations entre les différentes cultures ou littératures peuvent
s’établir par le biais des facteurs individuels (les écrivains français du
XVIIIe siècle - l’abbé Le Blanc, l’abbé Prévost ou La Place - sont devenus
les ambassadeurs de la littérature anglaise en France ; Bonneville et
Liebault, les messagers de la littérature anglaise en Allemagne ; la
littérature française a eu Voltaire comme illustre représentant en
Angleterre, et Mme de Staël en Allemagne. Il y a même des situations où la
liaison étroite entre deux cultures nationales s’opère à l’aide des
personnalités qui n’appartiennent ni au pays émetteur, ni au peuple
récepteur : c’est le cas de l’Hollandais Erasme, important facteur de
consolidation de l’Humanisme occidental). Les voyageurs qui parcourent et
répandent dans toute l’Europe de nouvelles idées engendrent, à leur tour,
toute une littérature permettant à des personnalités comme Walter Scott,
Goethe ou Lev Tolstoï de connaître des aspects propres à l’étranger.
Les facteurs collectifs regroupent certains pays (la Suisse par
exemple, dont les citoyens parlent plusieurs langues, la Hollande par sa
position géographique), certaines villes qui ont joué un rôle extrêmement
actif (Paris, Lyon, Rouen, Frankfurt sur Main, Venise etc.), des académies
et des universités (les grands centres universitaires italiens – la Bologne,
dès le Moyen Age, français – Paris, allemands – Berlin) qui ont entretenu
une atmosphère d’harmonie internationale et qui ont véhiculé les valeurs
littéraires de plusieurs pays (n’oublions surtout pas le grand rôle joué par
les académies italiennes de la Renaissance dans la transmission de
l’héritage antique aux générations futures). D’autre part, les bibliothèques
publiques et particulaires se sont depuis toujours intéressées aux littératures
étrangères ; à leur tour, les typographies, les librairies, les éditions et les
centres de colportage des littératures étrangères ont eu un rôle essentiel
dans la diffusion des idées (le centre typographique et éditorial de Venise,
d’une importance essentielle dans l’épanouissement de l’Humanisme
occidental et de l’Est de l’Europe). Les périodiques représentent d’autres
facteurs collectifs essentiels dans la circulation internationale des valeurs ;
le Journal étranger en France, la Gazette littéraire de l’Europe, au XVIIIe
siècle, les Archives littéraires de l’Europe, la Revue britannique, la Revue
de deux mondes, la Revue de Paris, Mercure de France, l’Année littéraire,
Deutscher Merkur, Conciliatore, - voilà des titres de gazettes et de
périodiques contenant des nouvelles sur les littératures étrangères. La
diffusion de ces idées débute en Roumanie au XVIIIe siècle : Le journal
encyclopédique, Le journal littéraire, Mercure de France, des périodiques
italiens - Notizie del mondo et Il redattore italiano, ou allemands - Die
fliegende Post ou Offene Zeitung – propagent les idées de la révolution
française et les opinions progressistes de l’Europe du temps. A côté des
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dictionnaires, les encyclopédies, les grammaires et les œuvres
pédagogiques contiennent beaucoup d’informations sur les écrivains
étrangers ; les traductions, les anthologies, les numéros spéciaux des revues
étrangères, les manuels de littérature universelle représentent autant
d’œuvres de propagande d’une grande importance dans le développement
d’une littérature nationale. Les livres étrangers intensifient eux aussi les
relations entre les littératures ; les préfaces ou les introductions contenant
des expositions critiques et des commentaires de l’œuvre proprement dite
représentent, d’une part, un facteur décisif dans la circulation des valeurs
littéraires et de l’autre, une source très riche pour les recherches
comparatistes.
Il faudrait également mentionner l’importance des cours princières ou
régnantes de tous les degrés, qui représentaient, depuis l’Antiquité et
surtout au Moyen Age, le refuge des poètes, des savants et des philosophes
(la cour de Frédérique le IIe ou celle de Catherine de Russie). D’autre part,
les cénacles et les salons littéraires ont facilité depuis toujours la
circulation des valeurs littéraires étrangers (à voir l’importance de l’école
lyonnaise du XVIe siècle, qui représentait la tradition de Marot à la
Pléiades et qui groupe des poètes (Maurice Scève) et des poétesses (Louise
Labé) annonçant l’influence allemande et italienne. Les cénacles
développent le goût pour les littératures étrangères (la Pléiade groupée
autour de Ronsard qui a privilégié l’héritage antique et les relations avec la
littérature italienne, considérée à l’époque comme la troisième littérature
classique. Un autre cénacle qui mériterait une mention particulière est le
Sturm und drang du XVIIIe siècle, situé à la base du romantisme européen
et formé autour de Goethe, Herder et Maximilian Klinger. Chez nous, les
exemples typiques de cénacles sont Junimea, Literatorul, Sburătorul, et
tout particulièrement celui de Macedosnki, qui a joué un rôle essentiel dans
la circulation des idées modernistes françaises. Il y a également des
cénacles groupés autour des revues qui jouent un rôle vivant dans la
diffusion des valeurs étrangères : le cénacle formé autour de la revue
Athenaeum de Friedrich et August Wilhelm Schlegel, publiée à Berlin en
1798 et qui faisait référence à des noms comme Novalis, Schleiermacher,
Schelling etc. Elle développe une vive admiration pour les écrivains de la
Renaissance, pour Dante, Pétrarque, Boccace. C’est toujours autour des
cénacles que s’est organisé le mouvement romantique français ; le cénacle
de Charles Nodier, par exemple, qui groupait Hugo, Vigny, Sainte-Beuve,
Dumas, Musset. Les revues qui fonctionnent en tant que sources de
cristallisation sont : La muse française (1823) et Le Globe (1824). La
préface de Cromwell est orientée vers la redécouverte d’Ariosto, Cervantès
et Rabelais, les trois Homère bouffons, et surtout de Shakespeare. D’une
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fonction analogue dispose en Italie le périodique Conciliatore (1811-1819).
Les salons stimulent d’une façon insistante les relations entre les littératures
(par exemple, « la chambre bleue » de Catherine de Rambouillet, qui reçoit
un grand nombre d’écrivains, d’artistes, de savants, amateurs de plaisirs
spirituels et de littérature étrangère, surtout italienne. On assiste jusqu'à la
Révolution française à une véritable mode des salons, dont la tradition sera
reprise au XIXe siècle par Mme de Staël qui réunit chez elle Mme de
Récamier, Mme de Beaumont, Benjamin Constant, Fauriel etc. La mode
des salons se répand à cette époque-là en Allemagne, en Autriche, en Italie,
en Russie, en Roumanie aussi (à Iassy et à Bucarest, où l’on organisait
« des soirées » sur le modèle français et où l’on s’entretenait sur de divers
aspects de la littérature française). Les feuilles du temps – Curierul
românesc, Albina românească et la revue bilingue Le glaneur moldoroumain publient des comptes-rendus concernant ces réunions mondaines.
De tous ces agents qui assurent la liaison entre les diverses
littératures, on se propose de s’arrêter dans cette courte étude sur la
traduction. Il faut faire dès le début la distinction entre les traductions et
les adaptations. Traduire une œuvre, c’est la transposer d’une façon
presque exacte, d’une langue dans une autre ; l’adaptation d’un texte
suppose une déformation des valeurs originales, ce qui détermine son rôle
secondaire. Le traducteur G. Murnu, par exemple, a employé beaucoup
d’archaïsmes et de régionalismes roumains afin de rapprocher le milieu
homérique au nôtre, en suggérant des analogies de moeurs; Romulus
Vulpescu a remplacé l’atmosphère de la Renaissance des poèmes de Villon
par des images de la réalité roumaine ; les transpositions des poèmes de La
Fontaine réalisées par Tudor Arghezi reflètent beaucoup l’auteur roumain.
Tous ces exemples nous aident à observer que l’adaptation a une fonction
déformante, représentant le point de vue du récepteur et non pas, comme ce
serait normal, celui de l’émetteur.
Dans son étude statistique portant sur les traductions élaborées dans la
période 1780-1860, Paul Cornea [2] enregistre l’existence de 679
traductions groupées en 935 recueils ; le critique roumain observe
également que les traductions des textes français représentent le plus grand
nombre de transpositions en roumain - 385 titres.
De nos jours encore, la traduction jouit d’un grand intérêt de la part
des créateurs littéraires ; témoin, l’Index Transalionum, le répertoire
international des traductions, édité par l’Organisation des Etats-Unis. Tous
ceux qui ont analysé cette forme de transposition et de circulation des
valeurs d’une langue à l’autre s’accordent à dire que la langue française est
l’intermédiaire le plus fréquent entre les littératures du nord et celles
appartenant au sud de l’Europe.
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Il y a une multitude de règles à observer et à respecter si on veut
réaliser une bonne traduction : tout premièrement, s’il s’agit de transposer
une œuvre en prose, il faut insister sur le rythme de la phrase ; si l’on veut
traduire une poésie, il faut tenir compte de la structure générale du style et
de la fonction du mot dans le contexte sémantique et musical de la phrase
lyrique.
Une condition essentielle dans la transposition des textes d’une
langue dans une autre exige la considération intégrale du texte. La fidélité
par rapport au texte original est un élément imposé de plus en plus par les
nouvelles relations internationales, tout cela à cause des déformations
enregistrées à travers le temps, qui provoquaient une certaine
méconnaissance des littératures étrangères (par exemple, les traductions
réalisées au XVIIIe étaient incomplètes ; les transpositions françaises de
Werther supprimaient les douze pages qui enregistraient les fragments
écrits par Ossian, et Clarissa de Richardson a subi de nombreuses
mutilations au moment de sa parution en France ; les transpositions en
roumain des romans russes et anglais de l’entre-deux-guerres étaient
souvent elliptiques).
Une autre condition essentielle dans la traduction des textes concerne
la considération de leur contenu et de leur forme. Le chercheur soviétique
F.M. Dostoievski considère qu’il y a des langues moins accessibles à la
traduction ; le français, par exemple, ne peut pas rendre de façon adéquate
les classiques russes, car il s’intéresse davantage aux aspects essentiels,
généraux, raisonnables, conceptuels ; l’anglais, par contre, vise les aspects
concrets, singuliers, individuels. Al. Dima s’oppose totalement à cette
théorie : même si la base des traductions est assurée par la parenté
linguistique, il faut savoir que chaque langue possède la capacité intégrale
de la traduction, en exprimant, en fait, la même structure de la spiritualité et
de l’humanité qui pour l’essentiel, ne change jamais. Ce qui causerait les
éventuelles déformations, c’est, d’une part, la méconnaissance des langues
en question, de leurs règles grammaticales ou de leur organisation interne,
et, de l’autre, les conceptions philosophiques du traducteur (ce qui a fait de
l’écrivain chrétien Young un déiste dans la version française de ses œuvres,
et d’Ossian - un troubadour).
L’exactitude de la traduction dépend dans une grande mesure du type
de l’œuvre transposée. Les textes classiques sont plus facilement
transférables d’une langue à l’autre, car on y met l’accent sur leur contenu
d’idées, tandis que les textes romantiques et symbolistes peuvent être
mutilés au cours de la traduction.
Ioan Oprea repère l’existence de certaines correspondances [3] entre
les traits spécifiques de chaque langue et l’aspect de la philosophie créée
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entre les limites de celle-ci. Chaque langue reflète une certaine manière
d’observer le monde. L’espagnol, par exemple, ne dispose d’aucun verbe
pour dire devenir, mais, en tant que langue ibérique, a à sa disposition deux
mots pour exprimer le verbe être (être par son essence = ser, être par l’état
= ester). L’espagnol se caractérise, de ce point de vue, par une
prédisposition pour le statique et compense les possibilités de l’allemand
d’exprimer l’idée de devenir (langue marquée par l’omniprésence de
werden, qui exprime l’existence par l’essence, l’existence instantanée et
permanente).
Hans Georg Koll constate que « la structure moléculaire du français
correspond à sa structuration sous forme mosaïquée, s’accordant
parfaitement au sens déductif ou linéaire de la pensée cartésienne ».
Tout cela nous aide à conclure que, dans ces conditions, toute traduction est illusoire, car
les traits spécifiques des langues ne sont pas transmissibles.
Les particularités de profondeur des modalités de communication,
spécifiques à chaque langue, peuvent déterminer des difficultés majeures
dans l’élaboration des correspondances appropriées dans la transposition du
message véhiculé dans la langue - source dans la langue - cible, et même la
création effective d’une fausse image. Aussi les traducteurs des poésies
d’Eminescu, surtout ceux d’origine roumaine, « ont-ils rendu le poète
hermétique, et Eminescu ne l’est pas du tout, ou comique, analphabète »,
affirme Jean-Louis Courriol, le traducteur des œuvres lyriques de notre
poète national.
La traduction n’a pas l’unique rôle de remplacer les mots d’une
langue par des lexèmes d’une autre langue ; le but de ce procédé consiste à
transmettre des textes à une autre culture en restituant le contenu de ceux-ci.
La pratique de la traduction a été accompagnée, le long des siècles,
par un exercice moins fréquent, l’auto-traduction. On sait que Saint Jérôme
a été le premier à illustrer son double statut d’auteur converti en traducteur
de son œuvre. Cette technique a été fréquemment employée jusqu'à la fin
du Moyen Age et pendant la Renaissance, surtout par les poètes qui
rédigeaient leurs œuvres dans leur langue natale, vernaculaire, parlée
uniquement à l’intérieur de leur communauté et qui étaient obligés à la
transposer dans une langue véhiculaire. Joachim du Bellay considère, dans
sa Défense et illustration de la langue française, que chaque langue
possède un pouvoir particulier et intraduisible. C’est en elle que se trouvent
toute beauté et toute vérité transmissibles. Si la langue imite, se répète,
s’affadit ; si personne ne l’élabore ni ne l’enrichit, c’est le génie d’un
peuple qui s’affaiblit. Selon cet illustre représentant de la Pléiade, les poètes
uniquement peuvent traduire des poésies ; en outre, le meilleur traducteur
est le poète lui-même, celui qui a écrit la poésie en question.
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Cette conception a été perpétrée à travers les siècles, jusqu'à l’époque
moderne ; le meilleur exemple en ce sens serait celui des écrivains qui se
sont exilés au XXe siècle et qui n’ont pas trouvé de traducteurs pour leur
œuvre.[4] Voilà, par exemple, le cas de Panait Istrati [5] qui a transposé en
roumain son œuvre rédigée initialement en français ; Zamfir Bălan opère
dans son étude liminaire de l’édition bilingue Tsatsa Minnka – Ţaţa Minca
et de La maison Turingher [6] une intéressante comparaison entre le texte
français et la version roumaine :
Le texte roumain relève d’un niveau sémantique plus nuancé que son
antécédent. Malgré le fait qu’il n’y a plus d’exotismes, la traduction est plus
riche stylistiquement par une plus grande flexibilité du lexique. L’acte de la
création généré par la traduction tend à dépasser les limites fixées par la
rédaction en français. L’œuvre d’Istrati s’enrichit en couleur locale au
moment où on veut la mette en roumain. Les termes ressentis comme
neutres en français deviennent plus expressifs, plus nuancés et interfèrent
dans une grande mesure avec l’aspect oral de la langue. [7]
La variété du lexique est évidente dans les exemples qui suivent :
chien – cotei, des voituriers – o droaie de căruţaşi, des vieilles –
bătrâioare, elles – nenorocitele astea, rien qui vaille – n-am făcut nici o
brânză.
Il avançait ainsi vers la
marchande à laquelle parlait Anna,
roulait des yeux amoureux et
demandait:
-Ces oeufs, n’y a-t-il pas un
poulet dedans? Dans ce cas, il faut
que je vous paye au prix du poulet!
Je ne veux pas vous tromper!
Aşa, de pildă, făcând pe clientul, se adresă
ţărancei cu care Ana tocmai sta la tocmeală şi o
întreba, cu miorlăieli de cotoi şi dând ochii peste cap,
ca un june amurez la teatru:
-Spune-mi mata, te rog, dacă nu cumva astea
au pui în ele, căci, în asemenea caz, vreau să ţi le
plătesc cu preţul puilor! N-aş vrea să te înşel, doamne
fereşte!
La présentation du comportement du professeur, neutre en français,
est transposée en roumain par la voix du narrateur, ce qui la rend
sarcastique et ironique : Aşa, de pildă, făcând pe clientul…
Toute aussi significative s’avère être la description de l’atmosphère
d’une place publique (cet exemple sert à mettre en parallèle les
correspondances existantes au niveau morphologique de la phrase) :
Les appels flatteurs, l’énumération
aux multiples diminutifs des articles exposés,
les arguments attendrissants, se croisent dans
l’espace avec la parole amère, le sarcasme,
l’expression injurieuse, selon que vous avez
apprécié ou méprisé la marchandise.
Fiecare îşi striga clienţii şi îţi făcea
pomelnicul mărfii, amestecând cuvinte
deopotrivă
de
dezmierdătoare,
şi
petrecându-te cu un iureş de sudălmi, dacă
nu cumva gustai din unt ori din smântână
şi plecai strâmbând din nas.
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On peut observer également que, dans la version française, la
description est en général nominale, ce qui confère au fragment un
caractère statique, tandis que la traduction transforme l’image du marché
dans un scène dynamique, centrée sur des formes verbales qui suggèrent le
frémissement spécifique à une place publique.
Au niveau de la syntaxe, Istrati préfère des énoncés plus courts en
roumain, qui rendent le texte plus dynamique, plus rythmé ; mais toutes ces
différences imposées par l’adaptation d’une première version en roumain ne
modifient pas de façon essentielle le roman. Istrati se place près du texte
original, en l’imitant servilement et ce qui en résulte, c’est un calque.
Cependant, l’analyse parallèle des deux versions nous aide à prouver le fait
que choisir le roumain signifie pour Istrati revenir à l’unité établie entre la
réalité racontée et la langue grâce à laquelle il avait initialement déchiffré
les significations de celle-ci.
Les œuvres auto-traduites de cet écrivain roumain d’expression
française ont en commun quelques aspects spécifiques à cet exercice de
transposition linguistique, à savoir : la conversion, le calque et le hapax.
La conversion représente le passage d’un mot à une autre classe
grammaticale (d’un adjectif à la classe du nom, par exemple). L’œuvre de
Panait Istrati contient un grand nombre de tels procédés : « Tant pis pour
les boudeurs » devient en roumain « S-au bosumflat ? Atâta pagubă ! » –
donc le nom français a un équivalent roumain appartenant à la classe des
verbes [8]; en outre, le syntagme « les genoux repliés» est traduite par «
Ţinându-şi genunchii în braţe.» [9]
Il y a d’autres écrivains aussi qui ont préféré l’auto-traduction,
aboutissant à des résultats surprenants ; il suffit de rappeler les noms d’Ilie
Constantin, auteur et traducteur du Marchand de sabres (1997) /
Neguţătorul de săbii, de Miron Chiropol, devenu Kiropol (Les morts s’en
mêlent (1991) / Diotima, (1997) et celui de Virgil Tănase, Apocalipsa unui
adolescent de familie (1992) / Apocalypse d’un adolescent de bonne
famille (1980).
Le calque est un procédé linguistique qui attribue de nouveaux sens, à
partir d’un modèle étranger, à des mots déjà existants dans la langue ; il
peut même former des expressions ou des mots nouveaux par la traduction
de leurs éléments dans une autre langue. Du verbe roumain a se
(îm)păienjeni, Miron Kiropol obtient s’araigniser, en évitant le mot
français voiler recommandé par les dictionnaires bilingues roumain français. La phrase « Răutatea, calicia, cruzimea adăugau o altă geană
pleoapelor lor care se "păienjeneau" » devient dans la version française du
traducteur Miron Kiropol « La méchanceté, la lésine, la cruauté ajoutaient
un cil à leurs yeux qui "s’araignisaient"». Le verbe roumain du contexte: «
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Cel mai mărunt pas de fiinţă mă isterizează » devient: « Le moindre pas
d’être "m’hystérise"». Conscient de l’inédit de ces verbes, l’auteur avertit le
lecteur par l’emploi des guillemets. Virgil Tănase recourt encore à ce
procédé au moment où il présente le Père Noël dans la version
communiste : « Moş Crăciun de acasă se numea aici [la serbare] Moş Gerilă
», qui est transposé en français par « le père Noël des foyers s’appelait ici
père la Gelée ».
Le hapax représente la création des vocables sui generis et on
l’emploie pour construire des mots appartenant à toutes les classes
grammaticales.
Miron Kiropol invente quelques épithètes insolites qui coexistent parfois avec
leur doublure consacrée (céleste et célestielle, dans le syntagme « la femme
célestielle »). Mais généralement leur rôle consiste à mettre en relief les noms qu’ils
déterminent ; c’est le cas du syntagme « ce présent clochardesque ». Le nom «
porcinité », tout en traduisant le mot roumain « porcie », dénonce le sentiment
frustrant ressenti par l’étranger dans l’immensité parisienne : « Eşti un porc.
Continui să fii un porc, să te bucuri de porcie », écrit Miron Kiropol et la phrase
traduite devient : « Tu es un porc. Tu continues à être un porc, à te réjouir de ta
porcinité ». Construction hybride, mélange de calque et de hapax, le nom
douceâtreries (« les plus ignobles douceâtreries ») est la réplique du mot roumain «
dulcegării », qui joue sur l’étymologie latine commune de l’adjectif et sur les
possibilités offertes par la dérivation suffixale.
La variété des procédés de construction du traducteur Virgil Tanase
surprend le lecteur en attirant son intérêt. L’imagination créative de cet
auteur auto-traduit va parfois jusqu’au délire, tout comme dans le passage:
« Juchée sur sa bicyclette, la demoiselle, en quête d’un nouveau monde
océan et tropicant, hyacinthique, sentimental, andalou, porcelinesque,
gorge-de-pigeon, flûtentil et rocibel, prend de très nobles allures, des allures
de capitaine, capitaine au long cours … ». Cette énumération luxuriante
comprend cinq épithètes inventées par le traducteur qui devient ainsi
créateur ; il invente des mots en ajoutant des suffixes, ou par l’anagramme
(« căci cuvântul rocibel ascunde un altul, bricole »).
On observe donc que, de nos jours, le traducteur fait un grand effort
de virtuosité artistique en essayant de comprimer sa personnalité pour
respecter intégralement les œuvres originales. Ce qui en résulte, c’est un
repère essentiel dans la circulation des valeurs littéraires. Les traductions
développent une connaissance réciproque des littératures et constituent
même un examen de résistance et de durabilité des créations.
En tant que moyen de communication interhumaine, la langue se
transforme parfois en objet d’investigation philologique, essayant
d’identifier certaines particularités spécifiques à chaque langue observée
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séparément, et en même temps, l’empreinte fixée par une langue sur une
communauté et sur une culture par ses mécanismes spécifiques.
Notes :
[1] Cf Alexandru Dima, Principii de literature comparata, EER, Bucuresti, 1972
[2] Paul Cornea, Introducere în teoria lecturii, Editura Minerva, 1988, p. 27
[3] Ioan Oprea, Lingvistică şi filosofie, Institutul European, Iaşi, 1992, p. 76
[4] La théorie de la traduction désigne cette conversion de l’écrivain en son propre
traducteur, cette modification de son statut par le syntagme – le passage de la
traduction allographe à la traduction auctoriale. (cf Gérard Genette, in
Michaël Oustinoff, Bilinguisme d’écriture et auto-traduction, 2001, p. 26)
[5] Le critique roumain Perpessicius considérait Panait Istrati comme un écrivain
roumain authentique par le contenu de ses récits, et français par la langue utilisée.
George Călinescu, à son tour, estime que Panait Istrati ne se rattachera jamais à la
littérature roumaine, car ses auto-traductions ne sont pas spontanées ; elles
n’imitent pas servilement les idiotismes tellement exotiques en français.
[6] Panait Istrati, Tsatsa Minka – Tata Minka, Editura Istros, Braila, 1997 et Panait
Istrati, La Maison Thuringher. Vie d’Adrien Zograffi, Editura Istros, Braila, 1998,
pp. VII- XLVII
[7] Zamfir Balan, “Studiu introductiv”, in Panait Istrati, La Maison Thuringer. Vie
d’Adrien Zograffi, Editura Istros, Braila, 1998, p. XLIV (la traduction nous
appartient)
[8] Panait Istrati, op. cit., p. 39
[9] idem, p. 40
Bibliographie:
o Călinescu, G. (1941) Specificul naţional, în Istoria literaturii de la
origini până în prezent, Bucureşti : Minerva
o Craia, S. (1995) Francofonie si francofilie la romani, Bucureşti :
Demiurg
o Cornea, P. (1988) Introducere în teoria lecturii, Bucureşti: Minerva
o Diaconescu, M. (1999) Istoria literaturii daco-române, Bucureşti:
Alcor Edimpex
o *** 100 cei mai mari scriitori români (2003) Bucureşti : Lider
o Dima, Al. (1972) Principii de literatură comparată, Bucureşti: EER
o Istrati, P. (1998) La Maison Thuringer. Vie d’Adrien Zograffi, Braila : Istros
o Istrati, P. (1997) Tsatsa Minka – Tata Minka, Braila : Istros
o Kiropol, M. (1991) Diotima. Les morts s’en mêlent, Paris : La
Bartavelle
o Martin, M. (1981) G.Călinescu şi „Complexele literaturii române”,
Bucureşti: Albatros
o Oprea, I. (1992) Lingvistică şi filosofie, Iaşi: Institutul European
253
o
Tanase, V. (1980) Apocalypse d’un adolescent de bonne famille, Paris :
Flammarion
L’AUTOTRADUCTION - ACTE CREATEUR
COMPLEXE :
ENTRE L’EQUIVALENCE ET LA PROLIFERATION
Ana Guţu
Université Libre Internationale de Moldova
La traduction en tant qu’acte créateur réalisé par l’auteur du
transfert intersémiotique est une reproduction en alter ego de l’original
conçu par l’auteur. La dualité en tant qu’essence de la traduction se
projette dans le duo auteur-traducteur, qui est extériorisé, extrinsèque.
Nous définissons l’autotraduction comme une internalisation de la
transcendance intersémiolinguistique, dont la phénoménologie implique
plus d’avatars de la création, de la surcréation, débouchant vers une
prolifération idéique, causée par l’essence dialectique de l’acte
communicatif en soi. Le moment présent n’existe pas comme tel (G.
Guillaume), celui passé et celui futur se prêtant à une analyse dissécable,
via des exégèses passionnantes et altérables dans l’espace et dans le temps.
De ce point de vue l’autotraduction est une fixation conventionnelle du
mouvement mobilisé de l’esprit humain (auteur-traducteur dans la même
personne), valable pour le moment présent de la «pensée pensante»
(Ch.Peirce), allant d’une langue vers une ou d’autres. Cette fixation est
éphémère, soumise, comme nous le montre l’expérience, à des re-pensées
multiples, entraînées par la dialectique de l’axe ascendante des
mondovisions, souvent monadiques (monade – dans l’acception de
Leibniz). De point de vue conceptuel l’autotraduction est aussi un phénomène rare.
En vertu de ce «déficit» praxiologique, les réflexions autour de l’autotraduction ne
constituent pas trop souvent le sujet des études volumineuses. Nous avons décidé de
faire part de notre modeste expérience dans ce sens.
Sur une terre qui se mondialise et la connaissance des langues
s’instrumente à tel point que les polyglottes ne sont plus des «raretés», les
habiletés langagières, dont la traduction représente l’activité la plus
répandue, commencent à jouer un rôle importantissime dans l’affirmation
sociétale des personnalités. Le mixage linguistique et multiculturel, dû d’un
côté, à la géopolitique des pays, d’autre côté, aux mariages interethniques,
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mène aux bilinguismes et même tri ou polylinguisme, exercés au sein des
communautés diverses.
Selon nous, la traduction en tant qu’acte créateur réalisé par
l’auteur du transfert intersémiotique, est une reproduction en alter ego de
l’original conçu par l’auteur. La dualité en tant qu’essence de la traduction
se projette dans le duo auteur-traducteur, qui est extériorisé, extrinsèque. La
traduction a constitué l’objet de nombreuses études à la longue des siècles,
en commençant par Cicéron jusqu’à Nida, Meschonnic, Ladmiral, Lederer
et d’autres savants bien connus en la matière.
Le phénomène d’autotraduction auquel nous consacrons cet article,
a été l’objet d’un nombre de recherches génétiques (Sardin-Damestoy,
2002; Gunnesson, 2005) à la base des œuvres de certains auteurs bien
connus au public large et dont la création représente l’expérience déjà
classique dans le domaine: Thomas More, Du Bellay, Calvin, John Donne,
Goldoni, Mistral, Tagore, Beckett, Aitmatov ou Julien Green. Il y a trente
ans Anton Popovici a défini l’autotraduction comme «traduction d’un
ouvrage original dans une autre langue effectuée par l’auteur lui-même»
(Popovic, 1976 : 19). Traitée jusqu’à présent comme une activité
«rarissime» (Balliu, 2001: 99; Grady Miller, 1999:11), l’autotraduction
surgit de plus en plus comme une activité allant de pair avec l’exercice
intellectuel contemporain non seulement pour les littéraires, les linguistes,
les écrivains, mais également pour les savants, confessant des sciences
exactes. Aujourd’hui l’autotraduction est un exercice bien répandu aux
Etats Unis, au Canada, en Inde, en Belgique, en Espagne, en Afrique du
Sud, en Russie, en France (Santoyo, 2005: 2).
Il est évident que l’autotraduction a trait à l’aspect social,
économique, politique, culturel, scientifique des activités humaines. Le
fondement de l’autotraduction a un caractère profondément intrinsèque et il
est constitué de l’apanage linguistique-langagier de chaque personne
exerçant l’autotraduction. Nous définissons l’autotraduction comme une
internalisation de la transcendance intersémiolinguistique, dont la
phénoménologie implique plus d’avatars de la création, de la surcréation,
débouchant vers une prolifération idéique, causée par l’essence
dialectique de l’acte communicatif en soi. Selon la théorie de Guillaume,
le moment présent n’existe pas comme tel, celui passé et celui futur se
prêtant à une analyse dissécable, via des exégèses passionnantes et
altérables dans l’espace et dans le temps. De ce point de vue
l’autotraduction est une fixation
conventionnelle du mouvement
mobilisé, de la démarche unique de l’esprit humain (auteur-traducteur
dans la même personne), valable pour le moment présent de la «pensée
pensante» (terme de Ch.Peirce), allant d’une langue vers une ou d’autres.
255
Cette fixation est éphémère, soumise, comme nous le montre l’expérience,
à des repensées multiples, entraînées par la dialectique de l’axe ascendante
des mondovisions, souvent monadiques (monade - dans l’acception de
Leibniz, Didier, 1995: 175). En vertu du «déficit» praxiologique de
l’autotraduction, les réflexions autour de cette expérience ne constituent pas
trop souvent le sujet des études volumineuses. Nous avons décidé de faire
part de notre modeste expérience dans ce sens.
Nous devons souligner, d’abord, que l’autotraduction est un cas de
figures à plusieurs volets. Tout d’abord, l’autotraduction est une création
complexe. On pourrait étendre l’affirmation de Bishop à propos de Beckett
et constater que l’autotraduction est une quadruple création: a) textes
écrits initialement dans la langue A (première); b) leur traduction dans la
langue B (deuxième); c) textes écrits initialement dans la langue B; d) leur
traduction dans la langue A. La langue A, à supposer, est considérée,
traditionnellement, la langue maternelle. Les partisans du bi- et même
trilinguisme (Steiner, par exemple), sont embarrassés de définir avec
précision quelle est leur langue A (maternelle), Steiner affirme, par
exemple, qu’il lui est difficile de dire avec précision quelle a été la langue
qu’il a commencé à parler la première, il a l’impression qu’il a commencé à
parler toutes les trois langues à la fois – le français, l’anglais et l’allemand:
Je n’ai pas le moindre souvenir d’une première langue. Autant que je
puisse m’en rendre compte, je suis aussi à l’aise en anglais qu’en français
ou en allemand. Les autres langues que je possède, qu’il s’agisse de les
parler, de les lire ou de les écrire, sont venues par la suite et sont marquées
par cet apprentissage conscient. (Steiner, 1998: 173)
Il les considère, d’ailleurs, toutes les trois, comme langues
maternelles. Les connaissances linguistiques-langagières acquises
nativement ou par formation sont une condition sinequa non pour
l’exercice de l’autotraduction. Il y a donc, deux sources de polylinguisme:
par acquisition native et par formation. Toujours Steiner affirme que la
traduction en tant qu’activité professionnelle peut être exercée par des
personnes qui ont acquis une ou plusieurs langues, car le processus de
l’acquisition –apprentissage implique une approche consciente dans
l’assimilation du phénomène linguistique :
Le meilleur traducteur est quelqu’un qui a consciemment appris à
parler couramment une seconde langue. Quand on est bilingue, on ne voit
pas les difficultés, la frontière entre les deux langues n’est pas assez nette
dans l’esprit. (Steiner, 1998: 178)
Pour ce qui est de l’autotraduction, il nous semble que le vecteur de
son exercice est bidirectionnel: s’autotraduisent les personnes qui ont
acquis les langues à la naissance, aussi bien que celles qui ont acquis les
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langues par formation. Par formation – citons une liste incomplète,
d’ailleurs, de noms: Leonardo Bruni, Etienne Dolet, Du Bellay (latin –
français); Dimitrie Cantemir (latin – roumain), Antioh Cantemir (roumain –
russe – anglais), Nicolae Iorga (roumain – français), Victor Banaru,
République de Moldova, (roumain – russe – français), Ion Druţă,
République de Moldova, (roumain – russe). Par nativité : Elsa Triolet (russe
– français), Samuel Beckett (français – anglais), Vladimir Nabokov (russe –
anglais), Chingiz Aitmatov (kirghiz – russe) en nous référant à l’exemple
des langues acquises. Il y a aujourd’hui encore une frontière assez floue et
non-tranchante entre la langue dite maternelle (la langue de la mère - père,
des grands parents) et la langue acquise excellemment dans son enfance
(par exemple, l’espace de l’ex-URSS), mais qui n’est pas la langue des
parents ou des grands parents. Tel est le cas d’une bonne partie de la
population de la République de Moldova où la génération qui a vécu en
URSS s’exprime aussi bien en ruse qu’en roumain. Il n’en est pas déjà de
même pour la jeune génération. Le roumain est ma langue maternelle, le
russe est la langue que j’ai acquise à l’âge de 5 ans grâce à la
communication quotidienne dans la maternelle. Le français est la langue
étrangère première que j’ai acquise professionnellement à l’université.
L’espagnol est la langue étrangère seconde acquise également à
l’université. La question laquelle des langues peut être considérée pour une
personne langue maternelle («langue de la mère, par abus de langage,
langue première d’un sujet donné, même si ce n’est pas la langue de sa
mère» - Mounin, 2004: 198) a eu plusieurs réponses dans les études
sociolinguistiques. Certains sont d’avis qu’une fois que la personne pense
dans une langue, celle-ci peut être considérée sa langue maternelle. Je dois
avouer que je me surprends souvent de penser (à part le roumain) en russe,
en français, et même en espagnol. Des fragments de raisonnements
m’arrivent aussi en anglais, langue que je n’ai jamais apprise, mais qui s’est
emparé de mon esprit en vertu de son utilisation à toutes les échelles de la
communication. De point de vue scientifique on pourrait rajouter à cette
caractéristique de la pensée les quatre composantes de la connaissance
professionnelle d’une langue afin d’exercer d’une manière plénipotentiaire
l’acte de la communication – expression écrite, expression orale,
compréhension écrite, compréhension orale. A mon avis, pour compléter
la définition des caractéristiques de la langue maternelle, il faut y rajouter,
une, fort importante: la communication poétique au niveau de la création
– expression. Autrement dit, si la personne fait des vers, de la poésie, dans
une langue sans difficulté et empêchement, cette dite langue en est pour elle
maternelle.
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Pour revenir à l’autotraduction, c’est une figure de haut pilotage
linguistique-langagier due à une appartenance culturelle (présentielle ou à
distance), à une habileté extrêmement poussée de l’esprit humain. Je ferais
une distinction entre les autotraductions scientifiques qui sont stigmatisées
de la nécessité de communication savante, nécessité dictée par la
réalisation de la transmission du patrimoine via un instrument unifié de
communication – qui est, de nos jours, sans aucun doute, l’anglais. Je
laisserais de côté ces autotraductions scientifiques qui passent dans la
plupart des cas par le stylo du rédacteur de langue anglaise et sont
«instrumentées» consciemment, logiquement et raisonnablement.
J’aborderai l’autotraduction de point de vue de la complexité de ce
phénomène qui se manifeste chez les écrivains parfaitement bilingues,
l’autotraduction qui souvent me semble une impulsion de l’inconscient.
Je fais de la poésie depuis mon enfance. A cette époque-là j’ai fait des
vers en russe surtout, j’écrivais mon journal en russe. Ce n’est pas difficile
à expliquer. Faute de littérature de belles lettres en roumain dans les années
’70 du siècle dernier, j’ai lu un tas de créations littéraires en russe, y
compris des oeuvres littéraires roumaines, françaises, anglaises – toutes
des traductions en russe. D’ailleurs, à l’époque, l’URSS était le pays où l’on
traduisait le plus au monde vers le russe. La machine à traduire soviétique
était extraordinaire, ce qui est intéressant, c’est que les chefs-d’oeuvre de la
littérature universelle étaient ensuite traduits du russe vers les langues
nationales des républiques socialistes. Le russe était la langue-pilote de la
traduction littéraire. C’était la seconde langue maternelle pour nous, les
enfants, les adolescents, les étudiants de cette époque-là. J’étudiais aussi le
français à l’école, mais j’étais encore loin de la création poétique
francophone. Cela m’est arrivé après mes études à l’université, après avoir
exercé durant quelques années le métier de professeur de français, après
avoir soutenu ma thèse de doctorat que j’ai faite à la base du corpus des
exemples tirés des œuvres littéraires françaises.
A partir des années ’90 avec la déclaration de la souveraineté de la
République de Moldova, le russe a connu un recul important dans son
utilisation sociétal. Le déclanchement de la création poétique et publiciste
francophone dans mon esprit peut être qualifié comme un phénomène de
compensation linguistique-civilisatrice. La totalité de connaissances
linguistiques dans la langue russe qui ne s’actualisait plus, a été compensé
par le bagage linguistique et extralinguistique de la langue française.
L’ouverture brusque et débordante vers l’information qui venait d’au-delà
des frontières avec l’ouest, fermées jusque là, a déplacé l’accent du
cosmopolitisme qu’on éprouvait à l’égard de la langue et la culture russes,
sur la langue et la culture française (pour moi personnellement). C’est ainsi
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que j’ai commencé à écrire a) mes recherches; b) mes poèmes; c) mes
articles publicistes en français, en les traduisant ensuite en roumain, et en
roumain en les traduisant ensuite en français.
Le cas de ma thèse de doctorat que j’ai traduite en français est encore
plus intéressant. Le texte de la thèse a été écrit en russe, c’était la langue de
toutes les recherches en URSS. En 1993 j’ai soutenu ma thèse en roumain,
mais à la base d’un texte scientifique écrit en russe. Deux ans après j’ai
publié le livre à la base de ma thèse de doctorat, que j’ai traduite en
français. Cette autotraduction est la seule réalisation volumineuse dans mon
expérience avec l’implication du russe. Bien sûr, que j’ai fait d’autres
autotraductions avec le russe et le roumain, le russe et le français, mais
c’était des écrits publicistes de petit volume, qui, de même que la traduction
de la thèse, ont constitué et constitue des activités générées par la nécessité
professionnelle et sociale et non pas par l’inconscient envahisseur de l’acte
créateur. Je ne veux point dire par cela que les autotraductions des écrits
scientifiques (que ce soit avec le russe ou le français) n’exigent pas
d’efforts créatifs, pas du tout. Tout simplement, j’insiste sur le caractère un
peu forcé du processus de l’autotraduction, et de l’implication plus
insistante des contraintes de l’autotraduction, valables également pour la
traduction traductionnelle des textes scientifiques: fidélité informationnelle,
équivalence épistémologique et terminologique.
Les poèmes que je fais naissent tantôt en roumain, tantôt en français.
La langue du poème dépend de l’impulsion inconsciente matérialisée dans
des sentiments d’abord et exprimée ensuite dans la langue que l’esprit
choisi. J’ai bien dit: l’esprit choisit. Selon moi, une personne polyglotte est
dans la plupart des cas une personne érudite. Schleiermacher écrivait très
éloquemment à propos des polyglottes: «ces maîtres admirables qui se
meuvent avec une égale aisance dans plusieurs langues, pour lesquels une
langue apprise parvient à devenir plus maternelle que la langue maternelle.»
(Schleiermacher, 1999: 63). La connaissance de plusieurs langues implique
indubitablement l’activation (le déclic) de plusieurs centres neuronaux qui
réfère à des réalités extralinguistiques multiples: aimer en français, penser à
des choses philosophiques en roumain, chanter en espagnol, jurer en russe
ou en anglais. Je viens de citer, mes propres inflexions psycholinguistiques,
bien sûr. En autotraduisant un poème je n’effectue pas un transfert nécessité
par qui que ce soit. Je réalise l’autotraduction par désir irrésistible de créer,
de dire la même chose dans une autre langue afin d’insister sur mes
sentiments. Comme si l’expression de ces mêmes sentiments en deux
langues différentes ferait vivre et revivre le moment de l’exaltation
(bonheur, malheur, tristesse, joie etc.) deux fois plus intensément.
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Revenons à notre définition de l’autotraduction: une internalisation
de la transcendance intersémiolinguistique, dont la phénoménologie
implique plus d’avatars de la création, de la surcréation, débouchant vers
une prolifération idéique, causée par l’essence dialectique de l’acte
communicatif en soi. En tant qu’adepte de l’approche sémiotique envers la
traduction en générale, l’autotraduction me semble encore d’avantage
relever de la sémiotique. Le poème est un macrosigne complexe, référant
à la réalité objective ou idéique, souvent aussi très codé et difficile a
traduire pour un traducteur, autre que l’auteur. C’est ça l’atout de
l’autotraducteur: pour lui le poème à traduire n’est pas un macrosigne codé,
il est complètement transparent, clair et bien structuré, l’autotraducteur
connaissant à fond tous les compléments implicites de l’entité à traduire. Le
poème englobe une multitude de minicodes de la communication
intersémiotique: celui des symboles, ces icônes, des indices (couleurs,
fétiches, chiffres, etc.). Grâce à cette structure complexe la communication
poétique, transcendant vers une autre langue, a besoin souvent d’appui
extralinguistique dans la traduction: images, explications en bas de pages.
Pour l’autotraducteur la transfert s’avère être moins problématique – il
effectue également le travail du sémioticien, en interprétant correctement le
texte poétique original.
Quelles sont, alors, les difficultés de l’autotraduction poétique?
D’abord, il y en a certaines, valables pour la traduction poétique: la rime, la
mélodie, la longueur du vers, le volume quantitatif du poème. Mais il y en
a qui tiennent au risque suivant : la prolifération idéique, entraînant la
modification du poème original jusqu’au point d’en avoir une autre création
dans la traduction. Ce phénomène n’échappe non plus à la traduction
poétique, donnant naissance à l’appropriation poétique, une forme moderne
du plagiat. Mais dans le cas de l’autotraduction la prolifération idéique est
due à l’essence dialectique de l’acte communicatif en soi. Cela s’explique
par le fait que l’écriture d’un poème est en fait le résultat de plusieurs
réécritures, rédigées à la base de plusieurs pensées – pensées, celles-ci étant
le résultat de plusieurs pensées – pensantes (terme de Ch. Peirce). Il en est
de même pour l’autotraduction. On dit qu’il y a toujours de la place pour
mieux faire, cela est d’autant plus valable pour le mieux dire ou le mieux
écrire. Ainsi donc, le problème de la perte et du gain, postulé par certains
traductologues comme un pseudo-problème, surgit inévitablement avec une
intensité accrue. La dialectique de la semiosis ad infinitum, pour laquelle
plaide Peirce, chapeaute judicieusement l’acte de l’autotraduction poétique.
L’autotraducteur propose, parfois, plusieurs traductions pour ses
poèmes, cette altérité se manifestant dans le temps. La dialectique de la
communication découle, tout d’abord, de la dialectique de la pensée, et, par
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la suite, ou a priori plutôt, par la dialectique des sentiments.
L’autotraducteur est en plein droit de sacrifier pour perdre ce qu’il
considère nécessaire afin de pouvoir compenser la perte par un équivalent
«sentimental», à savoir, sémantique, lui, sachant fort bien, mieux qu’un
traducteur autre, ce qu’il oeuvre afin d’obtenir une traduction soeur de
l’original. La démarche de l’esprit de l’autotraducteur n’est pas à disséquer
le poème en plusieurs tranches horizontales ou verticales: le poème à
autotraduire représente pour lui un jaillissement intègre de sentiments
vécus, qui s’articulent dans des éléments linguistiques-langagiers, devenant
d’emblée équivalents, d’abord dans l’esprit de l’autotraducteur, et, ensuite,
dans celui du lecteur, par trafic d’autorité, bien sûr. D’ailleurs, du point de
vue de l’autorité, en dépit de cette antinomie auteur-traducteur, qui a évolué
à la longue des siècles vers une complémentarité dialectique, dans une
émulation virtuelle, l’autotraducteur se situerait sur une marche supérieure
à la position du traducteur.
A la question pourquoi s’autotraduire – nous pourrions répondre en
invoquant trois raisons principales: a) par vanité, en premier chef; b) par
tempérament linguistique (le désir de voir son œuvre écrite dans une autre
langue que celle de l’original); c) par méfiance vis à vis du travail d’un
autre traducteur qui risque, selon l’autotraducteur, de mal interpréter le
texte original. D’un certain point de vue, l’autotraduction réduit à zéro la
distance dans le temps (parfois se chiffrant à des siècles dans le cas de la
traduction) entre l’auteur et le traducteur. Je dirais que l’autotraduction est
la manifestation idéale de la transcendance des macrosignes textuels d’une
langue à une autre, en dehors de toute critique extérieure du produit final.
L’autotraduction bénéficie, selon moi, d’une sorte d’immunité créatrice,
elle est hors de toute remarque corrective ou blâmante.
Voyons, donc, comment nous envisageons l’acte de l’autotraduction
dans la perspective d’un graphe formel, pour transmettre d’une manière
concise et adéquate nos réflexions antérieures. Dans ce but nous avons
formalisé nos raisonnements sous la forme d’un signe complexe que
j’expose dans le dessin ci-dessous:
261
auteur- traducteur
Traduction
Création
perte
gain
LB
LA
Création
Traduction
auteur-traducteur
Par la suite nous vous proposons une exemplification
d’autotraduction de deux poèmes: une poésie pour enfants et un poèmes
lyrique. Nous avons publié en 2003 un recueil de poésies pour les enfants,
intitulé en roumain Poezii pentru copii, le titre français est Poésies pour les
petits, j’ai remplacé exprès le roumain «copii» - «enfants» par «petits»
justement pour garder la mélodie et la rime du titre.
Vara
L’été
Hai, copii, ne-aşteaptă vara,
E vacanţă-n toată ţara,
Să pornim călătoria
Prin păduri, câmpii şi glie.
Chers enfants, l’été arrive,
Les vacances reviennent hâtives,
On commence le voyage
Par les bois, jardins, parages.
Soarele plăcut zâmbeşte,
Ne bronzează, ne-ncălzeşte,
Lacul limpede şi marea
Ne salută peste zare.
Le soleil nous chauffe, gaiement,
Il nous bronze, en souriant.
Mer profonde, lac serein
Nous clignotent enfin de l’œil !
În hambare grâul curge,
Şi căpşuna este dulce,
Scurt e drumul la bunici –
Vară, să nu te mai duci!
Blé, mais, récolte grande,
Les campagnes qui nous attendent.
Fraise douce, bel espace,
Reste encore, été fugace !
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Cette poésie a été écrite d’abord en roumain et ensuite traduite en
français, immédiatement. C’était le principe de travail sur ce recueil de
poèmes pour les enfants. Pour transmettre l’atmosphère de l’été, j’ai mis
l’accent sur quelques idées principales: la joie d’être en vacances (idée
complètement inspirée de la joie de mes enfants), les immenses possibilités
de voyages et la richesse de la récolte estivale. Les trois idées coïncident
avec le nombre de strophes. Si nous regardons l’autotraduction, nous
constatons que je n’ai rien perdu au niveau des idées. Par contre, j’ai perdu
au niveau des éléments lexicaux constitutifs des idées, mais j’ai compensé
ces pertes par des gains idéiques qui peuvent être appelés surcroîts des
création ou surcréations - rajouts idéiques. Ce sont des compensations
voulues et choisies délibérément par l’autotraducteur en vertu de la
transmission contraignante de la forme. Selon nous, les rajouts idéiques
ne doivent pas être confondues avec les équivalents transèmes ainsi
qu’avec les équivalents modulés ou transposés (dans l’acception vinaydarblenetinne). Nous définissons les équivalents transèmes comme des
entités idéiques qui explicitent dans le texte traduit les molécules
sémiques implicites dans le texte original. Ainsi, dans le poème
autotraduit il y a trois rajouts: clignotent enfin de l’œil; Les campagnes qui
nous attendent; bel espace. Il y a également trois équivalents-transèmes: E
vacanţă-n toată ţara - Les vacances reviennent hâtives; Lacul limpede şi
marea - Mer profonde, lac serein; În hambare grâul curge - Blé, mais,
récolte grande. Nous attestons dans l’autotraduction deux équivalents
modulés: Hai, copii, ne-aşteaptă vara - Chers enfants, l’été arrive; Vară,
să nu te mai duci! - Reste encore, été fugace! D’habitude, je tache de
suivre fidèlement l’apanage idéique du poème, tout en réservant une liberté
qui oscille à l’intérieur d’une strophe, dans le choix des moyens
linguistiques-sémiotiques de la réexpression du texte roumain en texte
français.
En voilà encore un poème, celui-ci est une création lyrique cette fois.
C’est un poème que j’ai fait en 1995 en roumain d’abord ensuite en
français. Le titre a souffert une modification essentielle: c’est un premier
rajout idéique dans l’autotraduction.
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Când spun „Eu te iubesc”
Les grands mots
Când spun „Eu te iubesc”,
Nu-i simplă-nlănţuire
De vorbe triviale
Mereu în revenire.
Quand je te dis «je t’aime»
C’est plus qu’un simple mot
Qui banalement s’enchaîne
En éternel écho.
Când spun „Eu te iubesc”,
Nu-s vorbe de serviciu
Ce pică la-ntâmplare
Şi seamănă-a capriciu.
Quand je te dis « je t’aime »
C’est plus qu’un mot - outil
Qui tombe de mes lèvres
Comme un caprice subit.
Când spun „Eu te iubesc”,
Topeşte focul gheaţa,
Şi aştrii strălucesc,
Şi infinită-i viaţa.
Quand je te dis « je t’aime »
Glaciers deviennent buées,
Explosent les astres blêmes,
En vert vivace des prés.
Când spun „Eu te iubesc”
Cad ploi de flori alese
Din raiul cel domnesc
Cu îngeri şi mirese
Quand je te dis «je t’aime»
Des fleurs de paradis,
Des anges de poèmes
Descendent en douce pluie.
Doi sori apar atunci
Pe-azurul glob ceresc,
Şi lungi sunt clipe dulci
Când spun „Eu te iubesc”...
Se lèvent deux soleils
Sur la divine plaine…
Quelle délicieuse merveille
Quand je te dis «je t’aime»
Dans l’autotraduction que j’ai réalisée, à part le titre, il y a encore
deux rajouts idéiques: En vert vivace des prés; Sur la divine plaine, microidées qui manquent complètement dans l’original. J’ai perdu l’idée de
l’original de la vie infinie - Şi infinită-i viaţa. J’ai remplacé cette idée par le
symbole du vert des prés, le vert qui symbolise également la vie. C’est une
solution sinueuse, mais la démarche de mon esprit fait justement ce choix
instantané. L’autotraduction comporte aussi quatre équivalents transèmes:
Mereu în revenire - En éternel écho; Ce pică la-ntâmplare – Qui tombe de
mes lèvres; Topeşte focul gheaţa,/ Şi aştrii strălucesc - Glaciers deviennent
buées,/ Explosent les astres blêmes; Şi lungi sunt clipe dulci - Quelle
délicieuse merveille. J’ai aussi recouru à des équivalences modulées et
transposées: triviale – banalement; vorbe de serviciu – mot – outil; ainsi
que la troisième strophe toute entière.
Cette quantification des équivalences dans le texte poétique autotraduit
n’est qu’une atomisation structurelle expresse qui vient appuyer la
complexité des changements opérés lors de l’acte traductif. Mais en effet, le
dépistage de ces équivalences est possible uniquement après la réalisation de
l’autotraduction. On ne cherche pas spécialement des rajouts, des
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équivalences, des modulations ou d’autres types de transformations. Quand
je m’autotraduis je suis l’impulsion première. Je n’ai pas l’habitude de
revenir sur mes pas. Ce qui est fait – est fait. Je n’ose pas gâcher la priméité
du tissu idéique dans l’autotraduction. Bien sûr, c’est mon option qui
n’exclue aucunement d’autres possibilités, et notamment, des réécritures, de
repensées des retraductions. Ce qui se reflètent aussi dans les traductions des
textes poétiques d’autrui. Nous connaissons les multiples traductions en
français des poèmes d’Eminescu, en roumain des poèmes de Baudelaire,
elles ne cessent pas de foisonner dans le temps et dans l’espace. Ces variantes
de traduction naissent grâce aux perceptions exégétiques différentes qui ne
s’arrêtent pas de jaillir dans les tètes lumineuses et illuminées des poètes –
traducteurs français et roumains.
En guise de conclusion nous voudrions insister sur la nature
profondément sémiotique de l’autotraduction, activité largement contiguë
aux spécificités sociolinguistiques de la personnalité de l’écrivain, à sa
mondovision et à son élan créateur. L’autotraduction d’un texte poétique est
une démarche unique de l’esprit créateur, une sensibilisation à double sens
jaillissant d’un bilinguisme réel qui permet l’exercice de la création/
traduction dans les deux sens: langue A - langue B et vice versa: langue B langue A. L’impulsion première dans l’autotraduction poétique compte
beaucoup dans la transmission adéquate des sentiments vécus. Les
réécritures des autotraductions risquent de provoquer des proliférations qui
peuvent éloigner l’apanage idéique autotraduit de celui original.
Bibliographie :
o Balliu, C. (2001) Les traducteurs: ces médecins légistes du texte. In:
Meta, 46/1, p. 92-102.
o Bishop,
T.
Beckett
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http://www.cciccerisy.asso.fr/beckett05.html#Tom_BISHOP. Consulté
le 05.05.2006.
o Didier, J. (1995) Dictionnaire de la philosophie. Paris, Larousse.
o Guillaume, G. (1969) Langage et science du langage. Paris-Québec.
Nizet-Presse de l’Unversité de Laval, 2e édition.
o Gunnesson, A.-M. (2005) Ecrire à deux voix. Eric de Kuyper, autotraducteur. Erscheinungsjahr, Bruxelles, Bern, Berlin, Frankfurt am
Main, New York, Oxford, Wien.
o Guţu, A. (2000) Dulce lacrimă de dor. Chişinău.
o Guţu, A. (2003) Poezii pentru copii/Poésies pour les petits. Chişinău.
o Miller, G. (1999) The Author as Translator. ATA Spanish Language Division:
Selected Spanish-Related Presentations, St. Louis, Missouri, ATA 40th Annual
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Conference, p. 11-17.
Mounin, G. (2004) Dictionnaire de la linguistique. Paris, Quadrige/Puf.
Pierce, C. (1978) Ecrits sur le signe. Paris, G.Deledalle.
Popovic, A. (1976) Dictionary for the Analysis of Literary Translation,
Edmonton, Department of Comparative Literature, The University of Alberta.
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No3.
Sardin-Damestoy, P. (2002) Samuel Beckett auto-traducteur ou l'art de
" l'empêchement ". Lecture bilingue et génétique des textes courts auto-traduits
(1946-1980), coll. " Traductologie ", Artois Presses Université.
Schleiermacher, F. (1999) Des différentes méthodes du traduire. Paris, Editions
du Seuil. Traduit par Antoine Berman.
Steiner, G. (1998) Après Babel. Paris, Albin Michel.
LA TRADUCTION LITTÉRAIRE
Nicolae Taftă
Université « Dunărea de Jos » de Galaţi
Traducerea literară presupune o confluenţă şi stabilirea unei
paralele nu doar între două coduri de comunicare, ci între două paradigme
care nu concordă, prin urmare care nu acoperă acelaşi tip de experienţă
umană. De aceea, transpunerea unei opere dintr-o limbă în alta se bazează
pe o analiză textuală ce permite ulterior crearea unei structuri de limbaj
(artistic în cazul traducerii literare), pe care autorul însuşi ar fi creat-o,
poate, dacă ar fi scris în limba traducătorului. Nu există o metodă sau un
manual de traducere în cazul operelor literare, fiecare traducător fiind pus
în situaţia de a-şi inventa propriile tehnici şi propriul său demers, în funcţie
de opera pe care a ales să o re-creeze în limba în care traduce, apoi în
funcţie de sensibilitatea sa şi de talentul artistic de care dispune. În Franţa
s-a creat în ultimele decenii un cadru instituţional menit să favorizeze şi să
stimuleze activitatea de traducere, pentru a oferi publicului francez
posibilitatea de a lua contact cu literatura lumii intregi.
Tout commentaire portant sur les aspects majeurs de cette activité
doit partir de l’idée que la traduction constitue, dans l’histoire des relations
humaines, le moyen par excellence de communiquer et de réaliser des
échanges spirituels, d’élargir l’horizon culturel des membres d’une
communauté, de connaître et de se faire connaître. Quant à la traduction
littéraire, elle a été toujours le domaine favori des esprits éclairés, grands
intellectuels cosmopolites qui cherchaient à mettre en valeur les influences
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occasionnées par les contacts avec d’autres civilisations. Par le biais de ce
genre de communication entre deux cultures, des transformations d’ordre
linguistique et de nature artistique peuvent se produire dans la langue
seconde et dans la culture d’accueil. Les deux systèmes en contact n’ayant
pas suivi la même évolution, le décalage tend toujours à se réduire grâce
aux transferts opérés par les traducteurs et les emprunts de toutes sortes,
depuis le vocabulaire et les modes d’expression jusqu’aux modèles
littéraires. Le critique Jacques Derrida parle là-dessus de «la transformation
d’une langue par une autre». [1] On peut rappeler à titre d’exemple les
célèbres cas de l’influence du grec littéraire sur le latin, celle du grec et du
latin sur l’italien et sur le français de la Renaissance, puis l’influence
française sur la langue et la culture roumaines au cours du XIXe siècle.
Traduire c’est mettre en parallèle non seulement deux codes de
communication mais aussi et surtout deux grands paradigmes qui ne
concordent pas, donc qui ne couvrent pas le même terrain d’expériences de
vie matérielle et spirituelle, qui ne partagent pas la substance de la réalité
dans les mêmes classes et catégories, observe Alexandru Niculescu. [2] La
traduction littéraire suppose nécessairement un acte d’analyse textuelle,
note le critique qui cite dans ce sens une idée d’Ezra Pound affirmant que la
traduction de la poésie, par exemple, se réalise par l’engendrement d’une
structure de langage que l’auteur lui-même aurait créée s’il avait écrit dans
la langue du traducteur.
Certaines cultures ayant atteint un niveau d’évolution très élevé se
sont constituées en structures aptes à offrir aux autres des valeurs
spirituelles et des modèles artistiques plutôt qu’à en assimiler à leur tour,
par le biais des traductions littéraires. C’est le cas, en partie, de la structure
socio-culturelle de la France, même si elle a toujours été ouverte vers les
quatre horizons et que ses intellectuels fussent avides de connaître et de
mettre en valeur les conquêtes spirituelles de toute l’humanité. Cependant,
au niveau institutionnel, les Français ont été moins préoccupés dans le
passé, vu le prestige et l’universalité de leur langue et de leur civilisation,
par l’absorption des valeurs littéraires des autres nations. Or, depuis
quelques décennies, le Ministère de la Culture et de la Communication a
fait de la politique de promotion de la traduction littéraire un des axes
importants du soutien au livre en général. Le Centre national des Lettres a
entrepris, dans les années quatre-vingts du siècle dernier, une importante
action dans le domaine des traductions, renforcée au fur et à mesure par la
suite, ce qui témoigne d’une évidente préoccupation de faire connaître au
public français les grandes œuvres de la littérature universelle. Il faut
signaler qu’il existe actuellement en France une Direction du Livre et de la
Lecture qui accueille des écrivains étrangers et cherche à faciliter le
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dialogue entre les créateurs français et ceux qui font connaître leurs œuvres
à l’étranger, les traducteurs, leurs confrères. D’autre part, la même
Direction du Livre a lancé il y a quelque vingt ans (vers la fin de 1986) une
politique de sensibilisation aux littératures du monde, entreprise baptisée
les «Belles étrangères» et qui se propose d’élargir l’éventail des
préoccupations dans ce domaine. A part les littératures américaine,
anglaise, allemande et italienne, déjà «fréquentées» par les traducteurs
français, il y a des valeurs inestimables à révéler au public français dans le
monde arabe, en Asie, en Amérique Latine, puis en Europe centrale et dans
les pays de l’Est. Parmi les poètes français contemporains qui se sont
consacrés à la traduction littéraire il faut citer les noms de quelques grands
écrivains, tels René Char, Eugène Guillevic, Jean Grosjean, Yves
Bonnefoy, Philippe Jaccottet, Roger Munier, Michel Deguy, Bernard Noël,
Jacques Roubaud, Claude Esteban et bien d’autres.
Cet intérêt spectaculaire pour les valeurs artistiques du monde est
soutenu et attisé par l’association culturelle ATLAS, créée en 1983 sur
l’initiative et sous l’égide de l’Association des Traducteurs littéraires de
France et dont l’objectif essentiel est de promouvoir la traduction littéraire
comme activité créatrice en réunissant en séances annuelles les
professionnels du domaine et les autres personnalités s’intéressant tout
particulièrement à cette activité. L’association a son siège administratif à
Paris, tandis que son siège social se trouve à Arles, où se tiennent
annuellement, depuis 1984, au mois de novembre, les Assises de la
Traduction littéraire, dont les Actes sont publiés régulièrement en coédition avec les Actes Sud et la revue TransLittérature. La première
réunion organisée dans ce cadre, en 1984, a eu comme objectif déclaré de
sensibiliser le public aux enjeux culturels de la traduction littéraire. Aussi
a-t-on décidé à cette occasion de créer un centre de la traduction, et le
Collège International des Traducteurs littéraires, qui siège à Arles, a été
créé trois ans plus tard (en 1987), sur le modèle du collège allemand de
Straelen. (Notons que des collèges similaires existent aussi en Espagne, en
Italie, en Suisse, en Grèce). L’activité des ces centres est censée contribuer
à renforcer les liens culturels et linguistiques entre tous les pays de la
planète.
Depuis l’année 1985 l’Association attribue régulièrement un Grand
Prix national de la Traduction, et on peut apprécier que cette consécration
d’une activité considérée autrefois par certains comme secondaire (les
traducteurs sont des «écrivains de l’ombre», disait-on) situe maintenant le
traducteur sur une nouvelle position, fort honorable, puisqu’il jouit
désormais d’une considération proche de celle que l’on accorde à l’auteur.
De toute façon, on souligne davantage l’importance de son travail créateur
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et sa contribution à faire circuler les valeurs culturelles. En paraphrasant et
en retournant en quelque sorte le célèbre dicton qui soutient que le
traducteur trahit inévitablement le texte original («Traduttore, traditore»),
on affirme actuellement que «Ne pas traduire, c’est trahir».
Les débats déroulés au cadre des diverses réunions des spécialistes
dans le domaine tournent inlassablement, depuis des siècles, autour de la
question si la traduction doit être littérale et fidèle ou bien littéraire et libre,
et la conclusion qui se dégage presque invariablement est que ce travail si
délicat, nécessairement créateur, tient toujours du miracle pour sa capacité
à allier la fidélité à l’œuvre avec la création, voire avec l’invention, puisque
le texte traduit est «une écriture seconde» et que la traduction d’un style
(celui de l’œuvre originale) suppose toujours un «style de la traduction».
L’art du traducteur relève, aux dires de ceux qui se sont lancés dans cette
terrible aventure, d’une vertu d’ordre intérieur, d’une énergie spirituelle
censée permettre d’atteindre jusqu’au «noyau de l’incandescence» autour
duquel est né le poème original.
Claude Esteban, l’un des virtuoses dans la traduction de la poésie
espagnole en français, intitule Poèmes parallèles un volume paru en 1980
aux Editions Galilée où il réunit des poésies de Jorge Guillén, Octavio Paz,
Juan Ramon Jimenez, Fernando Pessoa, César Vallejo, Alejandra Pizarnik,
Pere Gimferrer, ainsi que Gongora et Quevedo. Dans la préface du recueil
le célèbre poète traducteur se livre à des commentaires particulièrement
intéressants sur la nature subtile et si difficile de ce «combat avec l’ange»
du créateur original, surtout lorsqu’il s’agit de la poésie. Il serait même
impossible, nous laisse entendre l’analyste, de traduire des vers, car un
poème est un monde à lui seul et il n’y a pas d’équivalence à trouver pour
le reconstituer tel quel dans une autre langue. «Ai-je traduit Quevedo? se
demande-t-il. N’ai-je fait, à mon insu, que le trahir? J’ai voulu que tous
ceux-là qui ne peuvent l’approcher en espagnol entrevoient, même un seul
instant, ce feu qui malgré ma ferveur s’est offusqué dans des mots de
cendre.» [3]
Au cours de son intervention dans l’activité du forum d’Arles, en
1986, sous le titre Le Travail du traducteur: territoires, frontières et
passages, Claude Esteban commence par se garder de l’intention de
formuler quelque théorie de la traduction ou bien d’établir des critères
précis concernant sa nature, soulignant que son expérience en la matière
l’inclinerait plutôt à rejeter toute explicitation conceptuelle et à s’en tenir,
bon gré mal gré, à «une sorte d’empirisme évasif». Cependant le poète
n’hésite pas à offrir et à commenter des réflexions personnelles témoignant
souvent de ses incertitudes et moins de ses convictions là-dessus. Il est
saisissant de voir que, malgré la qualité incontestable des versions
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françaises qu’il «tire» de la création des écrivains espagnols, le traducteur
insiste sur le caractère impénétrable de ce qu’il appelle le «mystère d’une
re-création». En évoquant les théories des philosophes du langage, il
considère ces derniers comme des «zélateurs de la belle totalité
notionnelle» qui s’emploient à «dissiper même cette zone étrangement
opaque où prend forme le labeur infini de l’interprète». Or, le poète oppose
à l’idée des adeptes de Wittgenstein, qui apprécient que la traduction d’une
langue en une autre est une tâche mathématique, une attitude plus sage et
prudente, manifestée déjà par Jakobson qui juge que la poésie est
«intraduisible par définition», puisqu’elle relève d’une «transposition
créatrice» dont il faudrait aussi fixer le profil. (4) Heureusement, ou peutêtre malheureusement, souligne Claude Esteban, les théoriciens ne mettent
pas en pratique leur savoir si péremptoire, tandis que les poètes,
«prisonniers de leur expérience pragmatique», n’envisagent nullement de
s’enfermer dans une idéologie de la traduction, qui étoufferait leur esprit
créateur et entraverait leur sensibilité d’artistes véritables.
Une définition selon laquelle la traduction consiste à produire dans la
langue d’arrivée «l’équivalent naturel le plus proche du message de la
langue de départ, d’abord quant à la signification, puis quant au style» (telle
qu’elle est formulée par un linguiste américain de Harvard University dans
l’étude On Translation) ne saurait jamais avoir l’adhésion totale d’un poète.
Une telle conception convient surtout pour la communication utilitaire,
tandis que la poésie, et l’acte littéraire en général, témoignent du fait que les
mots ne s’identifient guère sans restriction à des concepts. Au contraire,
dans la création littéraire le mot, qui est comme «surgi du mutisme
universel des choses», représente tout à la fois une manière de
manifestation, une sorte d’ «épiphanie verbale» et une «profération de tel
ou tel aspect du sensible», tandis que le son, «cristallisation vocale
incomparable à toute autre, n’en figure pas le simple vêtement auditif, une
sorte de parure précaire, mais il en constitue, organiquement, l’élément
moteur, indissociable de cela même qu’il exprime.» En effet, poursuit cet
analyste de la traduction de la poésie, il persiste chez tout artiste véritable
une trace du vouloir démiurgique originel qui assigne au Verbe une autre
vertu que celle d’invoquer, par un jeu symbolique de signes, l’existence de
notre monde. [5]
Le Poète a été toujours vu comme un mage ou un visionnaire,
«prophète sacré» et seul à avoir le front éclairé, aux dires de Hugo, ou bien
comme un voyant qui entreprend par son acte créateur «un long, immense
et déraisonné dérèglement des sens», selon Rimbaud. Lorsqu’il prend la
parole, note à son tour Claude Esteban, il se présente comme l’héritier du
génie fondateur qui inventait à la fois le nom et la chose, l’Etre et le Dire,
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comme l’affirmaient les pré-socratiques. Maîtrisant un savoir qui
transcende le réel commun et plus ou moins banal, il est pénétré de l’idée
que c’est lui qui crée, par son alchimie du Verbe, les parcelles de réalité qui
composent le monde de son œuvre, et ce Verbe créateur qui fait vibrer l’air
de l’univers inventé par l’artiste est «inaliénable», invariable et non
répétable. Comment le reproduire en une autre langue que celle du
démiurge qui a donné vie à tout un monde par son acte créateur? L’aventure
poétique est unique du fait même que les mots «ainsi convoqués et mis
ensemble ne l’ont jamais été auparavant de la sorte», d’où il s’ensuit que la
poésie est «l’invention d’un lieu au sein d’une langue. Il ne s’agit donc
point d’un exercice verbal dont tout système notionnel rendrait compte,
mais de l’apparition d’une morphologie et d’une syntaxe du monde qui ne
se reproduiront jamais de manière identique et que le traducteur, s’il a
conscience de la gravité de sa tâche, a pour mission de redécouvrir et de
restituer (nous soulignons)». [6]
L’idée de base qui se dégage de cet exposé d’un spécialiste, artiste
praticien et analyste à la fois, puis en bonne partie des débats qui suivent,
c’est que la traduction est elle aussi un faire, le fameux poïein aristotélicien
sans lequel on ne peut guère envisager l’engendrement d’une œuvre d’art
authentique, par conséquent le traducteur doit s’engager personnellement et
s’illustrer dans un travail créateur, même si ce dernier s’effectue à partir
d’une œuvre née de l’inspiration et de l’expression artistique d’autrui. Le
Moi personnel du traducteur, son goût artistique et sa sensibilité jouent le
rôle capital lorsqu’il s’agit, tout d’abord, de choisir l’œuvre à traduire (et ce
choix relève toujours d’une nécessaire compatibilité et d’une grande affinité
spirituelle entre auteur et traducteur), puis d’appréhender ses sens, ses
charmes et ses secrets, enfin de les re-faire, c’est-à-dire de les re-créer dans
la langue d’arrivée.
Quant à une méthode à adopter et à appliquer pour réaliser la
translation d’une langue à une autre, elle ne devrait jamais exister, puisque
chaque traducteur doit s’inventer, pour lui seul, la démarche appropriée, en
fonction de l’œuvre à traduire. Qu’il s’agisse d’une approche littérale qui
engage la «technique» du mot à mot (il vaudrait mieux dire du mot pour
mot), ou bien d’un travail libre et littéraire, dont il résulte une sorte de
double de l’œuvre originale, le choix et le goût, la sensibilité et le talent
créateur du traducteur sont toujours pleinement engagés et s’illustrent de
manière évidente dans le «produit» fini résultant de son entreprise. En
commentant les versions roumaines que le poète George Coşbuc a données
de L’Enéide de Virgile ou de La Divine comédie de Dante, le critique Tudor
Vianu observe que le traducteur ne s’est pas contenté de rendre très
fidèlement les constructions de l’original, puisqu’il s’est ingénié à
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s’approcher de son vocabulaire et même de son timbre, aussi a-t-il «dilaté»
l’élément lexical de provenance latine de sa langue maternelle en
introduisant parfois des néologismes pour assurer à sa variante des
sonorités plus proches de celles de l’original. [7] Un autre exemple de
traduction que l’on peut considérer comme «fidèle», mais qui est géniale
par la contribution d’un interprète, créateur par excellence, au niveau du
lexique et de l’expression plastique d’où jaillit un humour irrésistible, est
celui des variantes roumaines que Romulus Vulpescu a «inventées» à partir
des œuvres de Villon, de Rabelais et de Jarry, parmi tant d’autres. C’est un
Rabelais roumain, dirait-on, que le poète traducteur nous offre à la lecture
par sa version de Gargantua, sans pour cela fausser tant soit peu l’esprit de
l’original et son charme exquis. Quant à l’exploit d’un poète comme Ştefan
Augustin Doinaş, qui entreprend de mettre en roumain les textes
hermétiques de Mallarmé, il consiste à conserver les formes poétiques
rigoureuses de l’original, depuis la structure métrique et sonore jusqu’à la
structure syntaxique, et le poète espère introduire de la sorte de nouveaux
modèles poétiques dans le registre du lyrisme roumain. Au pôle opposé se
situent, dans notre littérature, les adaptations de Tudor Arghezi d’après les
fables de La Fontaine. Le critique George Hanganu observe que le poète
roumain réalise, en traduisant les œuvres du fabuliste français, ce que ce
dernier a créé en utilisant les apologues d’Esope, de Phèdre ou de Pilpay:
une fable nouvelle, vivante, rajeunie, «habillée de poésie». [8] Or, il
convient de souligner que, tout en empruntant au poète français le motif de
telle ou telle fable qu’il choisit de re-créer en roumain, ainsi que le schéma
général de l’histoire dans son déroulement d’un bout à l’autre, c’est une
version originale que le traducteur-interprète nous offre. Sa création
double, en amplifiant ingénieusement, le texte de départ, et c’est sa poésie,
toute personnelle, «inaliénable» (selon le mot de Claude Esteban) et non
répétable, qui habille d’un vêtement très haut en couleurs les allégories
animalières tellement connues dans la culture du monde.
Notes:
[1] Apud Alexandru Niculescu, Între filologie şi poetică, Editura Eminescu,
Bucureşti, 1980, p. 53
[2] Idem
[3] Cité par François Xavier Jaujard, membre du Conseil d’Administration
d’ATLAS, in Actes des Troisièmes Assises de la Traduction Littéraire, Arles,
1986, Actes Sud, p. 29
[4] Claude Esteban, «Le Travail du traducteur: territoires, frontières et passages»,
in Actes des Troisièmes Assises de la Traduction littéraire (Arles 1986), Actes
Sud, 1987, p. 31
[5] Idem, pp. 32-33
272
[6] Idem, p. 34
[7] Cf. Tudor Vianu, Studii de literatură universală şi comparată, Ed Academiei
RPR, 1963, pp. 598-599
[8] George Hanganu, Interferenţe şi peisaje literare franceze, Ed Univers,
Bucureşti, 1973, p. 171
Bibliographie:
o *** Actes des Troisièmes Assises de la Traduction Littéraire, Arles, 1986, Actes
Sud
o Esteban, C. (1987) «Le Travail du traducteur: territoires, frontières et
passages», in Actes des Troisièmes Assises de la Traduction littéraire (Arles
1986), Actes Sud
o Hanganu, G. (1973) Interferenţe şi peisaje literare franceze, Bucureşti: Ed
Univers
o Niculescu, Al. (1980) Între filologie şi poetică, Bucureşti: Editura Eminescu
o Vianu,T. (1963) Studii de literatură universală şi comparată, Ed Academiei
RPR
DEUX APPROCHES TRADUCTIVES: LA TRADUCTION
ET L’INTERPRÉTATION
Angelica Vâlcu
Université «Dunãrea de Jos» de Galaţi
Studiul nostru se situeazã în perspectiva teoriei interpretative a
traducerii. Traducerea şi interpretarea sunt douã demersuri traductive care,
ambele, trec printr-o activitate de reperareşi stabilire a sensului unui mesaj.
Traducerea interpretativã este o activitate prin care traducãtorul şi/sau
interpretul îşi însuşesc sensul unui discurs/text transformându-l în propria
lor voinţã de a spune ceva, dupã care, reactualizeazã acest sens într-un nou
discurs/text într-o limbã diferitã.
Généralités. La réflexion théorique dans le domaine de la traduction
s’est renforcée pour trois raisons: 1) les travaux en sémantique et en
sémiotique (R. Barthes et A. G. Greimas); 2) l’apparition et le
développement de l’intelligence artificielle; 3) l’insuccès de l’ambition de
créer une langue universelle (espéranto, par exemple).
Selon Umberto Eco [1] la question fondamentale que se pose le
traducteur est de savoir si en traduisant «il faut amener le lecteur à
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comprendre l’univers culturel de l’auteur, ou bien s’il faut transformer le
texte original en l’adaptant à l’univers culturel du lecteur».
La traduction et l’interprétation sont deux approches traductives qui
ne sont pas trop différentes. Ce qui diffèrent ce sont les modalités de reexpression tout comme les modalités d’expression dans les discours oraux
et dans les textes écrits: l’interprétation se passe dans un temps mesuré et
doit se soucier du contenu des formes linguistiques éphémères, tandis que
la traduction qui tient compte de la persistance des formes «s’efforce d’en
trouver le profil dans sa langue» après avoir pris une option sur le sens. Les
deux, le traducteur et l’interprète, ont la capacité et la compétence d’établir
une transmission du discours d’une langue vers une autre. Leur travail
s’exerce sur le sens du message. C’est la théorie interprétative de la
traduction ou ce qu’on appelle la théorie du sens ou la théorie moderne de
la traduction.
Cette théorie a été élaborée à l’ESIT (l’Ecole Supérieure d’Interprètes
et de Traducteurs) qui fait partie de l’Université Paris 3, Sorbonne
Nouvelle. La personnalité la plus connue de l’ESIT est Danica
Seleskovitch.
Selon la théorie interprétative de la traduction de Danica
Seleskovitch, la traduction est un processus par lequel on transforme «un
texte ou un discours en un autre texte ou discours qui possède, sous une
forme différente, le même sens rationnel et émotionnel»[2]. Traduire ce
n’est pas transformer un message d’une langue en une autre langue mais
transmettre le sens d’un message d’un texte. Le sens est défini comme étant
le vouloir dire du locuteur et pour le lecteur/auditeur c’est le compris.
La traduction interprétative est une opération par laquelle un
traducteur et/ou un interprète appréhendent le sens (le vouloir dire de
l’orateur) d’un discours/texte (la compréhension), reformulent,
intérieurement ce sens (la phase de déverbalisation), se l’approprient en le
transformant en leur propre vouloir-dire et le réactualisent en un nouveau
discours dans une autre langue (la phase d’expression).
C’est précisément l’analyse des mécanismes de compréhension et
d’expression qui s’avère être la plus profitable pour l’explication du
phénomène de la traduction.
Nous allons suivre les étapes de l’opération traduisante telles qu’elles
sont développées avec beaucoup de minutie par Danica Seleskovitch.
La compréhension. Pour Seleskovitch l’activité de traduction doit
s’appuyer sur le rapport langue/parole: le niveau langue est représenté par
les mots hors contexte et le niveau parole est constitué par des phrases
fabriquées ou «vues en dehors des paramètres discursifs, dont le
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transcodage produit des correspondances (qui ont leur utilités dans
l’enseignement des langues». [3]
La langue donne une signification aux mots mais la parole les
embellit de «notions inimaginables au seul plan lexicologique. Or, ce sont
ces notions qui, constituant le sens, doivent être comprises par celui qui lit
l’œuvre du traducteur comme elles le sont par celui qui prend conscience
de l’original» [4]. En conséquence, on ne traduit pas la langue mais le
discours ou le texte.
Le point de départ de la théorie de Danica Seleskovitch a été la
traduction orale, à savoir l’interprétation des conférences, que ce soit
traduction en consécutive ou en simultanée. Pour argumenter ses idées, elle
a examiné, tout d’abord, le type de prise de notes de ces interprètes /
traducteurs en faisant la distinction entre:
a) la prise de notes des mots;
b) la prise de notes des idées.
Les notes sont personnelles et elles aident à réveiller chez le
traducteur un souvenir (encore présent) de ce qu’il a compris du texte.
Dans la première catégorie (a), sont inclus les mots isolés dans le
discours et qui n’ont d’autre sens que leur signification linguistique
(exemples: les énumérations, les appellations, les chiffres...). Un mot peut
avoir une ou de plusieurs significations dans le système de la langue, hors
contexte; ce sont les significations trouvées, en principe, dans un
dictionnaire.
La deuxième catégorie, la prise de notes des idées, représente un point
de repère pour le traducteur/interprète, lequel repère lui rappelle l’idée de
l’énoncé émis par l’auteur (énoncé qu’il a à traduire). Dans ce cas il s’agit du
sens que le mot possède dans un énoncé discursif: «Le sens est ce à quoi un
signe renvoie lorsqu’il s’insère dans un énoncé concret, dans une séquence
linguistique issue d’un acte individuel de parole» [5]. On peut en tirer la
conclusion que pour saisir le sens d’un texte le traducteur devrait passer par
deux étapes de compréhension:
- la compréhension de la langue;
- la compréhension du discours;
La compréhension du sens d’un texte est déterminée par d’autres
indices inclus dans les différents types de contextes dans lesquels
apparaissent ces textes: situationnel, verbal, cognitif ou général sociohistorique .Les spécialistes s’accordent à reconnaître que les connaissances
extralinguistiques agissent à l’intérieur du processus de compréhension.
Mais, en quoi consiste la compréhension? Nos étudiants savent-il
qu’est ce qu’on comprend par «comprendre»? Si l’on met l’accent sur
l’aspect cognitif de l’interprétation on peut dire avec D. Seleskovitch
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(1984) que «Interpréter, c’est comprendre ». Définissant le sens dans le
cadre de la communication, Hurtado Albir [6] considère que «pour que
l’acte de parole soit réussi (…) il faut que le sens compris du récepteur soit
égal au vouloir dire de l’émetteur» d’où découle la définition de la fidélité
en traduction: «adéquation du sens compris du traducteur avec le vouloir
dire de l’auteur et adéquation du sens compris du destinataire de la
traduction avec celui du texte original», (Hurtado Albir, 1990:141)
La compréhension est un acte très important et l’ignorer constitue
une grave erreur de la part des traducteurs. L’étape de la compréhension
suppose deux types de connaissances: la connaissance du sujet et la
connaissance de la langue. Bien connaître une langue ne suffit pas pour
traduire correctement un texte dans cette langue et donc se considérer un
bon et fin traducteur. Ce qui est le plus important, c’est la perception «du
contour conceptuel d’un énoncé en l’enrichissant du contexte référentiel
dans lequel il baigne» [7].
Les deux sous - catégories de prises de notes, dont nous avons parle
ci-dessus, nous renvoient à la célèbre dichotomie de Saussure
langue/parole qui dans la théorie de la traduction devient la dichotomie
signification/sens. Cette dichotomie entraîne la différence entre les deux
opérations de la traduction: le transcodage et la traduction proprement dite.
Le transcodage est une opération par laquelle un mot d’une langue,
qui n’a qu’une seule signification, passe dans une autre langue. Cette
démarche n’implique pas d’autres données extralinguistiques.
La traduction proprement dite suppose la compréhension d’un
vouloir dire de l’auteur, l’extraction d’un message et la re-expression de
celui-ci dans une autre langue
L’interprétation des indications fournies par le texte est renforcée par
l’emploi interactif d’une série de connaissances antérieures: connaissances
des concepts, de la langue, de comportements sociaux, de structures
textuelles. C’est pourquoi, pour parvenir à la compréhension, nos étudiants
devront être habitués à utiliser d’autres connaissances que celles purement
linguistiques. Ils pourront, par exemple, fonder leurs suppositions
concernant le sens sur plusieurs sources d’indices: schémas, paragraphes
explicatives, illustrations, titres, paragraphes lus antérieurement, liens entre
les mots qui sont semblables entre la langue cible et la langue source, etc.
Le savoir-faire de comprendre sera soutenu par une réflexion
approfondie à ce qu’on dit sur le sujet, à l’importance de ces connaissances
en fonction du texte à lire et à traduire et par l’apport de ce qu’on sait sur
l’organisation des divers types de discours et surtout exploiter cette
connaissance.
Pour utiliser ces stratégies de compréhension l’enseignant devrait,
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tout d’abord, amener les apprenants à discuter de ces stratégies. Les
étudiants seront invités à indiquer de quel type d’indice se sont-ils servi
pour déchiffrer le sens d’un texte (même si le type d’indice est différent de
celui qu’un camarade avait utilisé dans la même démarche).
La déverbalisation. L’étape qui suit à la compréhension du sens est la
déverbalisation. C’est une phase essentielle qui, à vrai dire, accompagne le
processus de compréhension du texte.
Selon la théorie interprétative le traducteur / interprète, au lieu de
passer d’un énoncé en langue base vers l’énoncé en langue cible, il passe
par la phase de déverbalisation totale dans laquelle ce qui reste, c’est le
message pur, sans nulle représentation linguistique. En partant de ce
message déverbalisé, le traducteur / interprète exprime un énoncé dans la
langue d’arrivée.
La déverbalisation est conçue comme une opération mentale nonverbale. Cette phase est présente dans l’interprétation consécutive ou
simultanée et elle est presque absente dans le cas de la traduction du texte
écrit.
Hurtado Albir [8] soutient que «toute lecture est une compréhension
de textes» et dans ce sens le lecteur doit développer un processus
interprétatif dont le produit est son sens compris. La déverbalisation est
une sorte de reformulation intérieure du sens saisi par l’interprète.
La ré-expression. La phase de réexpression, la dernière du processus
de traduction/interprétation, comporte la restitution du sens du texte à
traduire dans une autre langue. Le sens sera rendu accessible sur deux
plans: le sens notionnel et le sens émotionnel. Le traducteur a, à tour de
rôle, la tâche du lecteur pour comprendre et la tâche de l’écrivain pour faire
comprendre le vouloir dire initial. Le traducteur sait bien qu’il ne traduit
pas une langue en une autre, mais qu’il comprend une parole et qu’il la
transmet en l’exprimant de manière qu’elle soit comprise.
Il s’agit d’une négation de la traduction linguistique, d’une négation
de la traduction à partir des structures des langues. Pour le travail sur le
sens il faut disposer d’une double compétence dans le maniement du
langage: une compétence de compréhension pour évaluer le vouloir dire de
l’auteur du texte original et une compétence de réexpression pour refaire le
texte dans la langue d’arrivée.
Pour re-exprimer un message il faut comprendre plus qu’une petite
phrase que l’on a à traduire; pour exprimer d’une manière cohérente la
pensée originale de l’auteur, le traducteur / interprète doit faire la sienne
cette pensée et la passer par le filtre de sa personnalité.
277
Conclusions. Selon les théoriciens de la traductologie, l’activité de
traduction signifie «la transmission, par l’intermédiaire des unités lexicales
et/ou terminologiques, d’un message et d’une intention (un effet) d’une
langue (langue A) dans une autre (langue B) tout en respectant les procédés
morpho-syntaxiques et morpho-sémantiques des deux langues en contact»
[9].
Cette définition donnée par Ghassan Zerez nous oblige à avoir en vue
plusieurs éléments, tels que l’importance de l’intention, de l’effet que
cherche à créer l’auteur en plus de l’information qu’il donne dans son texte
et puis, l’importance des unités lexicales et terminologiques dans une
opération de traduction.
Sur le plan pédagogique, le problème des deux approches traductives
doit être traité avec beaucoup d’attention car, lorsque l’apprenti /
traducteur part de la langue, il a tendance à être trop influencé par la langue
de départ et à réaliser des calques sémantiques et syntaxiques de la langue
de départ ce qui nuit à la compréhension de l’information transmise par le
texte traduit. Les étudiants en traduction devront être conscients qu’ils
transmettent non pas des mots mais un sens. En d’autres mots, ils saisissent
le sens dévêtu de toute trace linguistique de la langue de départ afin qu’il
n’en reste aucune influence linguistique. C’est le point d’où le
traducteur/interprète part pour ré-exprimer l’énoncé dans la langue
d’arrivée.
En résumant, traduction et interprétation ne sont pas contradictoires:
l’interprétation est à la base de l’activité de communication, activité qui
inclut l’ensemble des stratégies et des procédés employés pour construire
et échanger du sens. Traduire est l’acte par lequel on transfert une
interprétation, l’interprétation de l’auteur en une autre celle du traducteur,
avec toutes les pertes concernant le sens que cette opération implique.
C’est pourquoi pas toutes les traductions d’un texte sont les mêmes, elles
changent en fonction de la compétence et du savoir-faire du traducteur.
Notes:
[1] voir Actes du X-e Colloque de l’ATLAS, Actes Sud, 1996,
www.fr/dess/cours_aix/oseki/page04
[2] Seleskovitch, Danica, «Traductologie», in Traduire, no. 150, p. 8.
[3] ibidem, p. 9
[4] Lederer, Marianne, «Transcoder ou réexprimer», in Interpréter pour
traduire, op. cit., p. 18, http://demeter.univ_lyon2.fr :8080/sdx/theses
[5] Mousa, Ayman, (2003), Les dimensions sémiotiques de la traduction:
théorie et pratique, http://demeter.univ-lyon2.fr8080/sdx/theses
[6] Hurtado Albir Amparo, (1990) La notion de fidélité en traduction, Paris,
Didier, p. 51
278
[7] Delisle, Jean, (1980), L’analyse du discours comme méthode de traduction: initiation à la
traduction française de textes pragmatiques anglais, théorie et pratique, Canada, Ed. de l’Université
d’Ottawa, p. 70
[8] ] Hurtado Albir Amparo, (1990), La notion de fidélité en traduction, Didier, p. 141
[9] Zerez, Ghassan, Pour une théorie de la traduction; application au discours journalistique
français – arabe), www. marges.linguistiques.theses-en-ligne
Bibliographie:
o *** (1996) Actes du X-e Colloque de l’ATLAS, Actes
Sud,
www.fr/dess/cours_aix/oseki/page04
o Delisle, J. (1980) L’analyse du discours comme méthode de traduction:
initiation à la traduction française de textes pragmatiques anglais,
théorie et pratique, Canada: Ed. de l’Université d’Ottawa
o Hurtado Albir, A. (1990) La notion de fidélité en traduction, Paris:
Didier
o Lederer, M. «Transcoder ou réexprimer», in Interpréter pour traduire,
http://demeter.univ_lyon2.fr :8080/sdx/theses
o Mousa, A. (2003) Les dimensions sémiotiques de la traduction: théorie
et pratique, http://demeter.univ-lyon2.fr8080/sdx/theses
o Seleskovitch, D. «Traductologie», in Traduire, no. 150
o Zerez, G. Pour une théorie de la traduction; application au discours
journalistique français – arabe, www. marges.linguistiques.theses-enligne
279
ROMANIAN CULTURAL AND
TRANSLATION STUDIES
TRADUCERILE ŞI ROLUL LOR ÎN FORMAREA
LIMBILOR LITERARE MODERNE
Doina Marta Bejan
Universitatea „Dunărea de Jos” din Galaţi
Articolul îşi propune să treacă în revistă contribuţia traducerilor din
sec. al XVII-lea la crearea limbii române literare în special, şi a
spiritualităţii româneşti, în general. Sunt amintite traducerile şi
traducătorii care, mai mult sau mai puţin explicit, au contribuit la crearea
sentimentului naţional, pe de o parte, şi la integrarea culturii române, în
general, în viaţa spirituală a Europei. Astfel se evidenţiază contribuţia
traducătorilor de literatură religioasă la crearea unei limbi care să-i
unească pe românii din cele trei provincii româneşti, deschiderea lor catre
sec. al XIX-lea, spre ideile înscrierii limbii române literare şi separat,
dezvoltarea în spiritul laic a interesului pentru ştiinţa modernă a sec. al
XIX-lea, care a dus la o intensă activitate de traducere a textelor
ştiinţifice. Toate aceste elemente, îmbinate, duc la crearea spiritului
modern în cultura română, traducerile având locul lor bine definit.
Traducerea, proces de mare complexitate, permite comparaţia între
două sau mai multe sisteme lingvistice, dovedindu-se a fi o activitate
fundamentală a spiritului uman. (Wandruszka,1972: 3)
Eugenio Coşeriu (1977: 222) consideră că.obiectivul traducerii din
punct de vedere lingvistic, este acela de a reproduce aceeaşi desemnare şi
acelaşi sens cu semnificaţiile unei alte limbi. Se produce astfel un fenomen
de interferenţă lingvistică care stimulează creativitatea lexicală a
traducatorului, fie în direcţia reconstituirii sensului textual al unui lexem
tradus cu materialul morfematic sau semantic al limbii în care se traduce
(calcul lexical), fie prin transferul integral al semnului tradus (împrumutul
lexical). Tot Eugenio Coşeriu (apud Munteanu, 1995: 7) studiind
fenomenul interferenţei lingvistice, în condiţiile bilingvismului, remarcă
disponibilitatea unei limbi pentru transfer de structuri dintr-o altă limbă,
numind-o „permeabilitate lingvistică” (“Durchlässigkeit der Sprachen”).
Această permeabilitate afectează în spcial „punctele slabe” (“schwache
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Punkten”), adică acele structuri care manifestă „goluri” (“Lücken”) în
posibilităţile expresive globale, transferul lingvistic fiind favorizat de
„incompletitudinea paradigmelor existente ca atare”. Coşeriu arată că
există o „permeabilitate condiţionată istoric” (“eine historisch bedingte
Durchlässigkeit”) care afectează o limbă într-un anume moment al istoriei
sale.
Cercetarea istorică a limbilor literare moderne europene a evidenţiat,
la majoritatea dintre ele, o epocă de început, a traducerilor şi a adaptărilor
de texte redactate în limbi de cultură anterioare – limbile „clasice”.
Primesc denumirea de „clasice”, limbile scrise „cultivate ca atare într-un
mediu cultural aloglot, din raţiuni diverse (liturgice, religioase,
educaţionale, etc.), în mod exclusiv sau în paralel cu o limbă naţională
(populară)” (Munteanu, 1995: 5). Funcţia acestor limbi clasice au
îndeplinit-o în culturile din Occident limba latină, iar în cele din Estul şi
Sud-Estul Europei greaca, slavona şi, parţial, latina. Prin traduceri s-a
transmis din greacă în latină şi slavonă şi, de aici, în limbile literare
moderne un fond noţional comun care a condus la realizarea unei
adevărate „comunităţi conceptuale europene” pe deasupra tuturor
graniţelor lingvistice, ceea ce asigură astăzi „o relativă facilitate a
traducerii dintr-o limbă europeană într-alta, în pofida diferenţelor
tipologice, de origine şi de structură gramaticală” (Munteanu,1995:10).
În patrimoniul spiritual al fiecărei naţiuni din spaţiul european, data
traducerii Bibliei (cea mai mare şi mai importantă traducere a Evului
Mediu) este un eveniment care marchează întotdeauna abordarea unei
trepte culturale superioare. Istoria tălmăcirii textelor biblice în limbile
vernaculare moderne se suprapune peste istoria mişcărilor „protestante”
care au cuprins Europa începând cu secolul al XV-lea. Cea dintâi traducere
a Sfintei Scripturi într-o limbă populară, germana, apare la 1466 la
Strasbourg şi se datorează teologului Rudigerus, fost rector al universităţii
din Lipsca; i-au urmat treisprezece ediţii, în parte revizuite, până la apariţia
Bibliei de la Augsbourg (1518), iar la 1534 apare celebra traducere
integrală a textului biblic realizată de Martin Luther, operă care a avut cea
mai mare importanţă în formarea şi creşterea limbii germane moderne. În
spaţiul englez, prima traducere autorizată a textelor sacre este celebra The
King James Bible (Londra,1611), operă la care au lucrat timp de cinci ani,
cincizeci de cărturari, grupaţi în şase echipe; ea a fost precedată în timp de
traducerea lui Wycliff (1370), de traducerea Noului Testament a lui
Tyndale (1526) şi de The Bible and Holy Scriptures (Geneva, 1560).
Despre importanţa traducerii de la 1611, în Printing and the Mind of Man
se afirmă : „Această carte s-a cercetat şi s-a citit în toate casele, iar
înrâurirea ei asupra caracterului, imaginaţiei şi inteligenţei unei naţiuni
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întregi, timp de trei sute de ani, a fost mai mare decât al oricărui curent
literar sau mişcare religioasă din istoria noastră.” (apud Miron, 1988:
4). Pentru limba franceză cele mai vechi versiuni biblice integrale datează
din 1477, versiunea calvină tiparită la Lyon (fragmentar a circulat încă din
secolul al XII-lea), urmată de cea a lui Faber Stapulensis (1530-1532),
care, deşi pusă la index, a avut o foarte largă răspândire. Textul biblic a
fost tradus şi în alte limbi moderne occidental-europene, la date şi
împrejurări culturale diferite: în italiană, la Veneţia, în traducerea lui
Malermi, în catalană la 1478, cehă – 1488, suedeză şi islandeză – 1540,
daneză – 1550, poloneză – 1561, maghiară -1591 (versiunea protestantă) şi
1826 (versiunea catolică), portugheză – 1778, spaniolă – 1790. Toate
aceste succesive traduceri şi revizuiri biblice din spaţiul european apusean
au avut ca suport celebra versiune latină a textului sacru, Vulgata,
traducerea epocală a Fericitului Ieronim.
„În spaţiul ortodox opoziţia bisericii tradiţionale faţă de
naţionalizarea mesajului scriptural a avut mult mai mare succes decât în
Occident, în bună măsură pentru faptul că greaca Septuagintei şi a Noului
Testment putea fi considerată identică cu limba naţională a grecilor,
aceeaşi funcţie îndeplinind-o pentru popoarele de origine slavă, limba
slavonă. Prima versiune integrală a Bibliei în limba slavonă, care a apărut
în 1581, la Ostrog în Ucraina, a fost ulterior retipărită de câteva ori,
satisfăcând mulţumitor nevoile culturale ale naţiunilor slave, de vreme ce
versiuni vernaculare apar relativ târziu: ucraineană în 1798, sârbă şi
bulgară în 1868, rusă în 1876. Oficialităţile ecleziastice greceşti au acceptat
abia în ultimile decenii tipărirea unei versiuni biblice în neogreacă. [...]
Aşa se face că Biblia de la Bucureşti (1688) reprezintă prima ediţie
integrală a textelor sacre într-o limbă populară în spaţiul oriental-ortodox.
Redactarea şi tipărirea sa s-au petrecut fără nici un fel de convulsiuni, întro colaborare [...] între factorul politic, cărturari laici şi oameni ai Bisericii,
înaltul cler.” (Munteanu, 1995: 17) .
Influenţa limbilor „clasice” asupra începuturilor limbilor literare
moderne a fost deosebit de importantă, deoarece în actul de traducere din
epoca medievală s-a impus metoda literală de traducere, singura îngăduită
de necesitatea salvării integrale a sacralităţii textului tradus. „Aceasta
preţuire a literalismului în traducere, asociată părerii adânc înrădăcinate în
conştiinţa traducătorilor medievali că limbile vernaculare nu pot fi
înnobilate decât prin imitarea limbilor scrise autorizate de practica liturgică
a condus la aparţia unei forme artificiale a limbajului, pe care exegeţii o
descoperă la începutul oricărei limbi de cultură moderne.” (Munteanu,
1995:11) S-a observat că influenţa limbii latine era aşa de mare în secolele
al XIII-lea şi al XIV-lea încât «l’évolution du français ait complètement
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perdu au XV-e siècle son caractère populaire et spontané.» (Brunot, 1967:
2) Sunt citate în aceste secole nume de cărturari francezi care
conştientizează nevoia de a „înnobila”(magnifier) franceza prin imitarea
strictă a latinei. S-a studiat (Lerch şi Ernst, apud Munteanu, 1995: 8)
penetrarea în vocabularul francez a semantismului creştin (evoluţii
semantice, achiziţii neologistice) prin intermediul traducerilor biblice;
amintim şi amplul studiu al lui Kunze (1935) dedicat traducerilor biblice
ale lui Lefèvre d’Etaple şi P. R. Oliveton, cu privire specială asupra
vocabularului. S-a constatat de asemenea că Wykliff, autorul primei
versiuni biblice integrale în engleză, urmărea sistematic “to preserve the
form of Latin wherever possible.” (Partridge, 1973: 24 apud Munteanu,
1995: 11) Modelul limbii latine deţinea prestigiul absolut şi în spaţiul
medieval german. Niclas von Wyle, care a publicat între 1461-1478
optsprezece tratate monastice traduse din latină, afirma că „orice germană
împrumutată dintr-o latinească bună [….] trebuie şi ea privită ca o germană
bună, graţioasă şi vrednică de laudă, care nu lasă loc pentru vreo
îndreptare” (apud Munteanu, 1995: 11). Şi pentru alte limbi romanice s-au
făcut studii în acest sens; cercetătorul Paul Zurcher (1970: 31-312) a
realizat un bogat glosar al termenilor italieneşti îmbogăţiţi semantic prin
contactul cu textul biblic. Pentru limba română literară, care cunoaşte în
secolele de început, al XVI-lea şi al XVII-lea, o perioadă de mari traduceri
religioase, ce au culminat cu traducerea integrală a Bibliei de la 1688, s-a
realizat un studiu textual comparativ al diverselor versiuni româneşti
biblice anterioare anului1688, de către Eugen Munteanu (1995).
Cercetătorul pune în evidenţă existenţa unui „adevărat idiom de traducere
care, în comparaţie cu limba vorbită de la baza sa, este caracterizat printrun aspect artificial, rezultat din imitarea strictă a structurilor lingvistice ale
originalului grecesc sau slavon” (Munteanu, 1995: 11). Transferul
lingvistic prin intermediul căruia româna, ca limbă de cultură în stadiul
poţential, şi-a asigurat cadrul primar necesar pentru achiziţiile ulterioare
cunoaşte următoarele trei etape principale :
 Contactul lingvistic primar şi direct, realizat în actul traducerii, la
nivelul textului. Are loc acum, ca urmare a interferenţei între două coduri
lingvistice, un transfer de substanţă semantică, lexicalizată în limba română
după modelul limbii de contact cultural. Textul rezultat prin traducere este
o copie, o reconstituire cu material lexical românesc a structurii textului
original. Absenţa unor norme literare româneşti ferme la nivel semantic şi
sintactic, asociată obişnuinţei de a exersa activitatea intelectuală în limba de
cultură luată ca model, face adesea insesizabil pentru traducător, caracterul
artificial al limbii traducerii.
 Etapa idiomatizării elementelor lingvistice achiziţionate prin
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transfer lingvistic, prin utilizarea de catre alţi cărturari a formelor şi
sensurilor obţinute prin transfer primar; se produce un proces de selecţie şi
de eliminare, în urma căruia o parte din formele adoptate capătă, prin uzaj
extins, caracterul unor norme, integrându-se în procesul de standardizare şi
de normare.
 Etapa asimilării complete. Structurile semantice şi sintactice de
împrumut îşi pierd «amprenta străină», adaptându-se la sistemele semantic,
derivativ, morfologic şi sintactic românesc.
Între structurile lingvistice care îşi datorează acestui proces apariţia
lor în limba română, cercetătorul amintit menţionează: împrumuturi de
sens şi calcuri lexicale, construcţii frazeologice, locuţiuni, expresii şi
sintagme, modificări în semantismul categorial al unor verbe, lărgirea
funcţionalităţii unor conjuncţii şi modificări în regimul cazual sau în
spectrul semantic al unor prepoziţii.
Ilustrăm cu un exemplu preluat din materialul bibliografic (Munteanu,
1995: 251-280) procesul de lexicalizare în româna literară a unui concept de
origine biblică, pâinea cea de toate zilele; sintagma apare în Noul
Testament, atunci când Iisus propune discipolilor săi textul rugăciunii „Tatăl
nostru”, şi traduce gr. αρτο επιονσιο. În limba română, prima realizare
semantică a conceptului επιονσιο. s-a concretizat în sintagma pita noastră
săţioasă şi a apărut în toate versiunile româneşti din secolul al XVI-lea ale
rugăcinii sub influenţa textelor slavone după care s-au făcut primele
traduceri. În textele româneşti din primele decenii ale secolului al XVII-lea
începe să apară formularea pâinea noastră cea de toate zilele, de inspiraţie
occidentală şi care poate fi considerată ca un semn al unei mutaţii de
mentalitate culturală şi confesională; este momentul Noului Testament de la
Balgrad (1648), când învăţaţii grupaţi în jurul mitropolitului Simeon Stefan,
animaţi de dorinţa unei abordări exegetice de tip filologic a textelor sacre au
analizat surse greceşti şi latine şi au optat pentru formularea inspirată de
latinescul noster panis cotidianus din Vulgata. Astfel se creează o nouă
tradiţie interpretativă care va capăta în timp stabilitatea unei adevărate norme
lexicale, sintagma de toate zilele putând fi regăsită în textele lui Antim
Ivireanul şi în Biblia de la Bucureşti şi de aici în unele versiuni ulterioare
ale textelor biblice. Creată în contextul introducerii limbii naţionale în
biserică, sintagma pâinea (noastră) cea de toate zilele a câştigat stabilitatea
unui component definitiv al mentalităţii colective româneşti, dincolo de orice
opţiune culturală, teologică sau confesională. Prin generalizare, această
sintagmă adjectivală a ajuns să aparţină fondului frazeologic primar al limbii
române, desemnând „hrana necesară pentru trai”; p. ext. „mijloace
necesare vieţii”, sensuri cu care este frecvent atestată în texte literare şi în
vorbirea cotidiană.
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Exemplul de mai sus evidenţiază modalităţile concrete de racordare a
limbii române literare, prin intermediul traducerilor religioase, la ceea ce sa numit „comunitatea conceptuală europeană”; ulterior, în secolele al
XVIII-lea, al XIX-lea şi al XX-lea, acestei filiere i se va adăuga sursa
textelor moderne în funcţie de laicizarea şi diversificarea culturii.
Dacă latina a modelat în chip hotărâtor începuturile limbilor de
cultură occidentale moderne, greaca, iniţial prin intermediul slavonei
ecleziastice, iar mai apoi direct, a transmis limbii române literare
incipiente, modelul său lingvistic, traducerile având un rol bine determinat.
Bibliografie:
 Coşeriu, E. (1977) Lo erroneo y lo acertado en la teoria de la
trduccion, in vol El hombre y su lenguaje. Estudios de teoria y
metodologia linguistica, Editorial Gredos, Madrid,1977, pp. 215-239
 Miron, P. (1988) O nouă ediţie a Bibliei lui Şerban, in vol. Biblia
1688, Pars I, Genesis, Iaşi
 Munteanu, E. (1995) Studii de lexicologie biblică, Editura
Universităţii « Al.I.Cuza » Iaşi
 Wandruszka, M. (1972) Perspectives interlinguistiques, Cursurile de
vară şi colocviile ştiinţifice, Sinaia
ROMANUL
OBSEDANTULUI
DECENIU:
ALEGORIA CORECTĂ POLITIC LA PARABOLĂ
DE
LA
Alina Crihană
Universitatea „Dunărea de Jos” din Galaţi
L’éparpillement des apparences de libéralisme dans la Roumanie des
années ’70 augmente un traumatisme refoulé par les écrivains et l’effet de
cette schizoïdie sera l’apparition d’une littérature « ésopique », soupape
défoulatrice autant pour le public confronté progressivement à la terreur
que pour l’artiste consolé à l’intérieur du royaume de la fiction. La
parabole devient la formule romanesque maîtresse : en s’appuyant sur la
fiction de l’« obsédante décennie », en particulier, l’histoire diégétique
dénonce, par l’intermédiaire des allégories, des symboles et des mythes, la
falsification de l’Histoire nationale. Le roman devient le terrain symbolique
du retour du refoulé, l’espace fictionnel où l’idéologie régnante est
dépourvue de ses apparences rationnelles et révèle son visage monstrueux.
Tout en privilégiant, sur le plan thématique, le rapport entre l’individu et
l’Histoire, cette formule romanesque assume la démythification des
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métanarrations politiques officielles. Figures, scénarios et décors qui se
placent, d’une manière patente, dans le sillage des mythes primordiaux y
sont entraînés dans un processus de « défiguration, qui vise à dévoiler ce
qui se tenait caché dans le discours de l’origine », à savoir le discours du
pouvoir totalitaire.
Un personaj din romanul Obligado de Constantin Ţoiu crede „că în
proză azi nu mai contează intriga sau conflictul, contează ‘magia’ scrisului
(…); n-o ai, degeaba umpli tu sute de pagini cu fel de fel de probleme
politico-sociale care pe lângă faptul că au început să cam plictisească
lumea, mai erau ‘şi incomplete’.” Sorin Viţeleanu, de profesie…critic
literar, îl citează pe Nabokov, model declarat, opunând, cu ocazia unui
cenaclu organizat în salonul unui „nume în literatura română”, poetica
narativă a maestrului - maculaturii prolecultiste. Dincolo de aspectul
autoreflexiv al discursului „şiretului” Minos, să remarcăm că reacţia
împotriva realismului socialist (în cadrul cenaclului, „celebrul” Durău citea
o astfel de nuvelă) trimite aluziv la „oboseala” romanului politic.
La distanţă de douăzeci de ani, un alt mare critic se întreba, cu o
oarecare amărăciune, cine mai citeşte astăzi „parabolele politice” ale anilor
’70, în epoca atâtor „post-...isme” şi a Internetului? Să îndrăznim să o
spunem: cu excepţia specialiştilor, mulţi dintre ei înclinând să limiteze
fenomenul literar circumscris deceniilor 7 şi 8, mai cu seamă, la o
ipostaziere în formulă mai mult sau mai puţin „esopică” a aberaţiilor epocii
totalitare, nimeni. La fel de sigur pare să fie faptul, însă, că un cititor căruia
respectivul context istoric îi este cvasinecunoscut şi care, determinat de cine
ştie ce împrejurări, s-ar apuca să răsfoiască F, Vânătoarea regală, Galeria
cu viţă sălbatică, Bunavestire sau Don Juan, Refugii sau Biblioteca din
Alexandria, Păsările sau Lumea în două zile, ar trece foarte rapid peste
„problemele politico-sociale” şi, poate, ar descoperi în aceste romane,
dincolo de „magia scrisului”, profunzimea semnificaţiilor general-umane.
Unui astfel de cititor căruia profunda alienare din anii dictaturii îi rămâne
străină, întrucât nu a trăit-o, cărţile respective i-ar oferi un alt tip de
„consolare”: e aproape sigur că acesta ar fi incapabil să detecteze
„şopârlele”, pentru că nici că i-ar trece prin cap să le caute. Citind, de pildă,
în romanul de la începutul anilor ’80 al lui Petre Sălcudeanu, Biblioteca din
Alexandria, istoria cu scroafa Aneta care, incapabilă să se mai ridice din
cauza greutăţii, adăpostea sub cutele de grăsime o întreagă colonie de
şobolani (şi care, hrănită cu mâncarea tuberculoşilor, moare după o criză de
hemoptizie), tânărul respectiv ar avea dificultăţi să identifice dincolo de
aluzia transparentă la „tovarăşa Ana”, chipul distorsionat al altei „Doamne
de fier”. E mai sigur, însă, că acest cititor ar descoperi în istoriile cu
286
„animale bolnave” prezente în mai toate romanele generaţiei ’60, ceea ce
fascinează, încă, după secole, în fabulele indiene (sau cele ale lui Esop sau
La Fontaine), în Romanul Vulpii sau Călătoriile lui Gulliver, sau, mai
aproape de noi, în Ferma animalelor sau Metamorfoza. Un cititor din zilele
noastre nu-l va identifica în „Marele Take Bunghez” din Galeria cu viţă
sălbatică, autor de „drame istorice” cu aspect de farse groteşti, pe cutare
politruc din „epoca de tristă amintire”, aşa cum, cu siguranţă, nu va putea so facă, în absenţa comentariilor de subsol, nici în cazul vistiernicului
Flimnap, campion la sărituri pe frânghie în Lilliput, mascând aluzia politică
la Robert Walpole, înalt demnitar în Anglia secolului al XVIII-lea.
Revenind la „amicul” Viţeleanu–Minos, „Judecător al Asiei” în
„lumea” încărcată de ezoterism a romanului lui Ţoiu, să amintim că acesta
are o teorie asupra raportului dintre ficţiune şi realitate (o supratemă a
romanului şaizecist). El crede că „unii care se uită la lume, care privesc la
lume, fiindcă ăsta-i rostul lor, al criticilor, să privească şi să aleagă din ce
văd ei ceva, şi să pună pe pânză, în versuri, mă rog, fiecare pe craca lui,
cum stă şi observă realitatea (…). Cam patru cincimi din acest cadru,”
spune criticul literar, „nu ne privesc direct”, întrucât acestea constituie
teritoriul „zeilor”, acoperit de „nori” (s.n.). „Ei bine (…), abia a cincea
cincime, aia de jos, conta, şi aia era câmpia întinsă până la orizont (…).
Noi, a zis rar ca la şcoală (s.n.), pe această câmpie vedem un c…(…). Un
excrement, sigiliul nostru terestru: ce-am mâncat şi-am mistuit şi-am scos
pe maţe înălţând un purcoi orgolios, sfidător, un pestilenţial Turn Babel
(…).”
„Lecţia” personajului „spurcat la gură” al lui Constantin Ţoiu, o
sclipitoare fabulă în interiorul căreia poetica ficţiunii întâlneşte teoria
receptării şi, în egală măsură, „critica criticii”, are meritul de a arăta că
interpretarea dată unei opere de artă, să zicem a romanului, este determinată
de o serie de factori care îi sunt extrinseci; dincolo de mecanismele textuale
care „programează” lectura construind ipostaza ideală a unui Cititor Model,
„capabil să coopereze la actualizarea textuală la fel cum gândea (…) autorul
[1], maşinăria „leneşă” “trăieşte din plusvaloarea de sens introdusă (…) de
destinatar”[2].
Semnificaţiile atribuite operei depind, aşadar, de
poziţionarea celui care o „citeşte” în spaţiul dintre intenţionalitatea, afişată
sau nu, a autorului şi propriul sistem de competenţe.
Capacitatea de a distinge, dincolo de „nori”, teritoriul sacru al
„zeilor” propus de imaginarul simbolic (mitic) pus în circulaţie în romanele
generaţiei ’60, este, nu în ultimul rând, o chestiune de „conivenţă
culturală”. Fie că ne raportăm la cititorul marcat de contextul psihoistoric
(din epoca în care aceste romane au fost publicate), fie că ne raportăm la
acela din zilele noastre – avem în vedere atât cititorul „obişnuit” cât şi
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Cititorul Model – delimitarea formelor ficţiunii narative, de la
„parabola”politică, la parabola condiţiei umane sau la aceea „a
literaturii”, se dovedeşte a fi o problemă de interpretare.
Limitându-ne la „cadrul” tabloului imaginat de personajul din
Obligado (deci la ceea ce autorul propune spre interpretare), vom avea mai
întâi prilejul să constatăm, în romanele generaţiei ’60, o construcţie pe
paliere a semnificaţiilor: la baza piramidei (pe suprafaţa plană a „câmpiei”)
vom descoperi sintemele „obsedantului deceniu”, „sigiliul terestru” (s.n.)
care „fixează” aceste opera în contextul istoric, politico-social; urcând spre
vârf vom întâlni parabola [3] autentică, întemeiată pe structuri ale
imaginarului mitic supuse unei „reinvestigări” (de la miturile primordiale la
marile mituri literare: Don Quijote, Don Juan, Robinson , Faust etc.).
Rămâne de văzut, apoi, în ce măsură „purcoiul pestilenţial” este îndreptăţit
să aspire la statutul de „Turn Babel”; ar fi să dublăm mişcarea verticală de
la alegorie la simbol, cu o secţionare orizontală, de natură să evidenţieze cât
de „răsuflată” este „povestea asta”, „istoria” (cum o numeşte Iuliu Ortopan,
profesor de istorie şi „maestru spiritual” în Însoţitorul). Cu alte cuvinte, să
mai scormonim puţin şi prin gunoi.
Alegorie şi simbol. Mit.
Unul dintre naratorii din Vânătoarea regală (1976) de D.R. Popescu,
un tânăr „căutător de adevăr”, îi povesteşte anchetatorului Tică Dunărinţu
(tot un Hamlet/ Don Quijote) o istorie care l-a marcat în copilărie: locuitorii
din Câmpuleţ, cuprinşi de „febra turbării”, ajung să transforme o nuntă întrun spectacol grotesc, în cadrul căruia, actori şi spectatori deopotrivă, latră şi
muşcă, pe fondul muzical asigurat de ţiganii lăutari. Perspectiva asupra
episodului nunţii transformate, imediat, în „alai de înmormântare” (oamenii
speriaţi că au turbat se îndreaptă spre dispensar jelind) este una dublă: cea a
copilului Nicanor care începuse să conştientizeze mecanismul Puterii, şi cea
a tânărului medicinist (un „spintecător al burţii Istoriei”, ca doctorul Şuşu al
lui Ţoiu), care comentează evenimentele de pe poziţia maturităţii conferite
de timp. Observaţia acestuia din urmă – înscriindu-se în palierul
„sapienţial”, structură redundantă în romanele şaizeciste, în legătură cu
„drumul fără viitor” al sătenilor („Dar nu toate localităţile se numesc
Câmpuleţ. Asta se vede pe orice hartă” – s.n.) marchează distanţa dintre
două grile de lectură exhibate de text. Este distanţa, în egală măsură, dintre
două forme ale ficţiunii: o alegorie politică mascând realităţile satului
românesc postbelic şi o parabolă simbolică despre condiţia umană. (Ne vom
distanţa în acest punct de opinia formulată de Nicolae Manolescu în Arca
lui Noe [4] care pune pe acelaşi plan alegoria şi simbolul, într-o analiză,
altfel, pertinentă şi seducătoare).
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Cine citeşte romanele generaţiei ’60 ale căror „fabule” se fixează pe
contextul istoric al României postbelice, atunci când nu îşi plasează
„acţiunea” în teritorii „neidentificabile” (ca Racul lui Alexandru Ivasiuc,
Viaţa pe un peron de Octavian Paler sau Lunga călătorie a prizonierului de
S.Titel), va constata că, în aproape toate cazurile, este inserată aici o istorie
din anii „obsedantului deceniu”. Indiferent de spaţiul care-i este acordat,
indiferent de poziţia pe care se plasează în planul raportului dintre naraţiune
şi istorie, ficţiunea respectivă se constituie într-un element redundant în
ansamblul romanelor amintite. O bună parte a criticii „tinere” s-a grăbit, aşa
cum s-a remarcat, să înghesuie aceste cărţi în „cămăruţa cu vechituri “a
istoriei literare (ca să nu spunem de-a dreptul la „groapa de gunoi”),
considerând că, nemaiavând pe cine să consoleze în contextul
postdecembrist, rolul lor s-a încheiat. Cu observaţia, reînnoită, că
respectivele demersuri critice se limitează la aspectele de conţinut
(schematism al fabulei, personaje stereotipe, teme redundante), neglijând
structurile formale (atunci când nu se referă, vag, la „esopism”) să încercăm
să descriem scenariul director al ficţiunii despre „obsedantul deceniu”.
Un personaj a cărui criză existenţială reflectă criza lumii în care
trăieşte, fie că este vorba de aceea rurală (ca în romanele lui Fănuş Neagu,
D.R.Popescu, S.Titel ş.a.), fie - de aceea citadină (A. Buzura, N. Breban,
C.Ţoiu, Al.Ivasiuc etc.), fie de una situată la confluenţa primelor două,
încearcă să-şi regăsească echilibrul prin intermediul reconstituirii trecutului
(rememorare, confesiune dublată de (auto)analiză, indiferent de gradul
implicării în istoria respectivă: istorie personală sau istorie a altora, ca în
romanul–anchetă, sau ambele). Trecutul (prin „natura” sa de timp închis
între nişte limite) îi apare personajului, la începutul questei sale, ca un
domeniu al certitudinii în care ar putea afla soluţia ieşirii din labirintul
prezentului. Operaţia de reconstituire se poate întemeia fie pe simpla
anamneză sau pe consemnarea confesiunilor unor martori, fie pe ordonarea
unor documente scrise, „istoriografice” sau personale, aşa cum am
arătat.„Căutătorul de adevăr” (anchetator sau anchetat, sau şi una şi
cealaltă) valorizează trecutul prin raportarea permanentă la prezent („lumea
răsturnată”); întotdeauna un trecut circumscris „obsedantului deceniu” va fi
„demonizat” („cu voie de la miliţie”, ar spune criticii tineri), în timp ce, în
cele mai multe cazuri, acela „fixat” la începutul secolului sau în epoca
interbelică, va fi idealizat: „feţele” lumii / Istoriei oscilează între utopie şi
distopie, niciodată reperabile în stare pură. Acest traseu al cărui ţel este
exorcizarea Răului (Istoria interiorizată) ca temelie a „răzbirii la lumină”,
este punctat de confruntarea cu „figurile” sale emblematice: să le numim
Diavolul dimpreună cu cohorta lui de „demoni mărunţi”.
Erou şi forţe ale Răului sunt, în egală măsură, integrabili în categoria
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„ficţionarilor”, trăiesc, cu alte cuvinte, în afara realităţii, hrănindu-se cu
iluzii: primul, izolat în insula interioară, va eşua întotdeauna în planul
„realului (ca Hamlet sau Don Quijote), cei din urmă îmbătaţi de iluzia
Puterii, vor sfârşi prin a fi striviţi. Erou, căutare a idealului, luptă cu Răul
…să nu uităm să adăugăm eşecurile în iubire (ale eroilor romanelor lui
Buzura, Ivasiuc, Ţoiu…); bine, dar acesta este tiparul etern al al
romanescului, de la marile epopei ale Antichităţii, întemeiate pe scenarii
mitice, la alegoriile medievale, romanele picareşti, istorice, realiste etc, cu
oscilaţiile specifice marilor mişcări cultural-religioase şi cu valorizările
ambivalente ale imaginarului (pozitivisme şi rezistenţe faţă de ele) cu tot. În
acest punct ni se pot aduce cel puţin două obiecţii: pe de o parte, că
„schema” propusă implică, deja, o interpretare şi, pe de altă parte, că ea e
îmbrăcată, în romanele şaizeciste, de conţinuturi social-politice specifice
României comuniste. Interpretarea care însoţeşte schema de mai sus are
menirea de a arăta că analiza pură a structurilor tematice păcătuieşte prin
generalizare; temele sunt aceleaşi, indiferent de epocă: raportul individistorie, subordonat marii teme a condiţiei umane traversează literatura de la
Antichitate până în prezent. Ceea ce conferă specificitate structurilor
tematice eterne este punerea lor în relaţie cu anumite forme; este
constatarea cea mai banală cu putinţă. În ceea ce priveşte cea de-a doua
obiecţie, un răspuns adecvat presupune o reconsiderare a strategiilor prin
intermediul cărora, în romanele generaţiei ’60, Ficţiunea „citeşte” Istoria.
Criticii care agreează vocabula „esopism” îşi întemeiază demersul pe o
confuzie terminologică: aceea dintre alegorie şi simbol.
Spre deosebire de alegorie care, în calitate de „traducere concretă a
unei idei greu de sesizat sau de exprimat simplu”, apelează la un sistem de
semne ce „conţin întotdeauna un element concret sau exemplar al
semnificatului”, în cazul „imaginaţi(ei) simbolic(e) propriu-zis(e). (…)
semnificatul nu mai este de loc prezentabil” iar „semnul nu poate să se
refere decât la un sens şi nu la un lucru sensibil” [5]. G. Durand distinge,
de pildă, în interiorul Evangheliilor între „parabole”, adevărate ansambluri
simbolice ale Împărăţiei, şi simplele ‘exemple’ morale: Bunul Samaritean,
Lazăr şi Bogătaşul cel Rău etc., care sunt doar nişte apologuri alegorice.
„Simbolul este, conform aceleiaşi opinii, ca şi alegoria, trimitere a
sensibilului de la figurat la semnificat, dar el este, prin natura însăşi a
semnificatului inaccesibil, şi epifanie, adică apariţie, prin şi în semnificant,
a indicibilului”[6]. Dat fiind faptul că sfera semnificantului simbolic este
inaccesibilă simţurilor (aparţinând domeniului transcendenţei, aceste
„obiecte” imposibil de perceput vor constitui întotdeauna subiectele
predilecte ale metafizicii, artei, religiei, magiei), simbolul, „inadecvat prin
esenţă, adică para-bolă”, este „transfigurarea unei reprezentări concrete
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printr-un sens pentru totdeauna abstract. Simbolul este deci o reprezentare
care face să apară un sens secret, el este epifania unui mister”[7].
Dacă în cazul alegoriei, atât semnificantul cât şi semnificantul tradus
de el sunt strict delimitaţi, (alegoria, asemenea emblemei are un singur
sens), în cazul simbolului, cei doi termeni „infinit deschişi”, având în
comun redundanţa, îi conferă acestuia o pluralitate de sensuri.
Adoptând drept criteriu principiul redundanţei (care „nu este
tautologică, ci perfecţionantă prin aproximări accumulate”[8], G.Durand
propune o clasificare a semnificanţilor simbolici în măsură să „corecteze” şi
să „completeze” inadecvarea la semnificat: simbolurile rituale
(caracterizate prin redundanţa gesturilor ), simbolurile mitice (miturile şi
ansamburile de parabole, cum e acela evanghelic al „Împărăţiei lui
Dumnezeu” prezintă o redundanţă manifestată la nivelul „anumitor
raportări logice şi lingvistice, între idei şi imagini exprimate verbal”) şi, în
fine, simbolurile iconografice („‘copia’ redundantă a unui loc, a unui chip,
a unui model, desigur, dar şi reprezentarea de către spectator a ceea ce
pictorul a reprezentat deja tehnic…”) [9].
Romanul generaţiei ’60 a construit imaginea unei lumi marcate de o
profundă criză apelând la reliefarea, prin intermediul unui sistem de
redundanţe, a unor destine prototipice; rămâne de văzut în ce măsură
această imagine este alegorică sau simbolică şi deci, în ce măsură lumea
respectivă se raportează la un spaţiu şi timp strict delimitate (un semnificant
unic) sau la o „sumă” de permanenţe umane.
Să urmărim aceste redundanţe în câteva romane publicate în deceniul
al optulea, diferite ca formulă narativă dar care au în comun, la nivelul
fabulei, o istorie plasată în anii ’50: Păsările (1970) de Al. Ivasiuc, Orgolii
(1977) de A. Buzura, Biblioteca din Alexandria (1980) de P. Sălcudeanu,
Ploile de dincolo de vreme de D.R. Popescu şi Galeria cu viţă sălbatică
(1976) de C. Ţoiu. Dacă ne limităm la fabulă, vom identifica în toate aceste
romane stereotipiile prezentate în schema de mai sus: un căutător de adevăr
(Liviu Dunca – inginer constructor şi geolog, Ion Cristian – chirurg eminent
aflat în căutarea unui citostatic care să învingă cancerul, Petre Curta –
scriitor în devenire lucrând la o carte – memorial despre foştii ilegalişti
eliminaţi de la putere, Tică Dunărinţu – procuror care investighează o
posibilă crimă cu substrat politic şi Chiril Merişor – redactor la un ziar cu
profil „cultural”), implicat într-o anchetă cu miză politică, având în spate o
sumă de eşecuri (întotdeauna un eşec în iubire) şi ambiţionând să afle un
antidot împotriva „morţii psihice”. Un traseu existenţial şi un profil moral
aproape identice îi unesc pe aceşti Don Quijote (aluzia la modelul respectiv
este redundantă în toate aceste romane) pe care exilul interior autoimpus şi
un comportament rezumabil în formula „a-ţi urma drumul până la capăt”, în
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ciuda conştientizării distanţei infinite între propriul ideal şi realitatea
degradată, îi fac să apară în ochii lumii ca nebuni şi ridicoli. Să remarcăm
că toţi au o mică ciudăţenie: Liviu Dunca vede sau îşi închipuie că vede o
apariţie feminină (obsedanta Doamnă în verde), Ion Cristian se
autoclaustrează în propriul laborator unde stă de vorbă cu câinii folosiţi la
experimente (pe care i-a obişnuit să fumeze), Petre Curta hrăneşte lupi întro poieniţă din împrejurimile sanatoriului de tuberculoşi, Tică Dunărinţu
apelează la informaţiile unor „nebuni” – Circarul Francisc şi baba Sevastiţa,
călătoare în Iad şi în Rai, iar Chiril Merişor vede o „fantomă” (cel puţin
aceasta este perspectiva apropiaţilor, până la un punct, despre statmajorist).
Să mai constatăm că, în toate cazurile, în aceste destine exemplare (din care
nu lipseşte experienţa închisorii asociată cu momentul revelaţiei) este
implicată o carte: pe Liviu Dunca îl obsedează biblioteca transferată în pod
din vechea casă a familiei (între zecile de cărţi de drept se află un atlas ale
cărui imagini înfăţişând uriaşe păsări de mare îl urmăresc de-a lungul
existenţei); Ion Cristian pătimeşte din cauza unei proiectate cărţi despre
fascism (materialul adunat se va constitui în probă incriminatorie
determinând aruncarea lui în închisoare); Petre Curta găseşte soluţia
învingerii absurdului în scrierea unei cărţi ( pentru care va fi anchetat) în
care să redea adevăratul chip al Istoriei; în Ploile de dincolo de vreme
„cartea” e legată de destinul unui dublu al lui Tică, Adrian (fostul puşcăriaş,
proiectând o crimă!), obsedat de un basm din copilărie; în fine, Chiril
Merişor este anchetat şi moare în închisoare, spânzurat, din cauza unui
Jurnal, „periscopul” prin care „se străduia să refacă realitatea, imposibil de
a fi altfel percepută…” Despre simbolismul tutelar al Cărţii vom mai avea
prilejul să vorbim. Deocamdată ne mulţumim să constatăm că aceasta este,
în toate cazurile, asociată cu un anume spaţiu securizant – acela al utopiei
interioare în care individul rămâne „indestructibil”. Să mai spunem că toate
aceste personaje au o imagine ideală despre „adevăratul” comunism (Chiril
va declara într-o şedinţă că, mai presus de orice altceva, „comunismul este
omul”) şi că, în replică, toţi vor fi excluşi din partid? E foarte evident că
respectivul segment, plasat în contextul „obsedantului deceniu”, face parte
din „micile compromisuri” făcute cu cenzura.
Redundanţele reperate până aici în sfera tipologiei, a fabulei
romaneşti în general (le-am putea adăuga şi altele), se circumscriu strict
sferei tematice; limitându-ne la aceasta din urmă ne-ar fi imposibil să facem
distincţia între nişte cărţi profund diferite în planul „magiei” scriiturii şi nu
numai. La un prim nivel de lectură, protagoniştii romanelor sus-menţionate
par să ilustreze un prototip încadrat într-o istorie care se apropie, prin
repetiţiile frizând convenţia, de modelul apologului. Aşa cum am avut
prilejul să constatăm (în capitolul anterior), în romanul şaizecist nici un
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personaj, indiferent de statutul pe care-l are în interiorul fabulei, nu
constituie un caz emblematic pentru o ordine morală în stare pură. Fiecare
protagonist situându-se sub semnul dublului, el este prins într-o reţea de
dubluri şi dedublaţi care include deopotrivă „victimele” şi „călăii”.
Pentru Liviu Dunca (Păsările), incapabil să se regăsească într-o lume
în care oamenii i se par „bolnavi de amnezie lacunară”, aceea din care face
parte propria familie, („mecanisme repetând gesturi stereotipe”),
reconstituirea unui trecut marcat de eşecuri (trădat de logodnica pentru care
„conceptul de frică” este o „regulă de viaţă superioară”, apoi de fostul său
maestru, Cheresteşiu, devenit colonel de Securitate, sclavul necesităţii
istorice, al lui „crede şi nu cerceta”, trece prin experienţa revelatorie a
închisorii) pare să fie soluţia ieşirii din criză. Rememorările succesive
transpuse în confesiuni cu valoare terapeutică au drept efect situarea acestui
trecut sub semnul unei perpetue automistificări („M-am falsificat, poate
dintr-un ciudat orgoliu mazochist.”), generată de confuzia dintre lumea
reală (în tinereţea petrecută pe şantier, înainte de anchetare şi condamnare,
oamenii îi apăruseră ca o „masă cenuşie”, fără nici un fel de
individualizare”) şi ficţiunea personală întemeiată pe mitologia „adevărului
istoric”. Conştientizarea distanţei dintre cuvintele „mari” („devenisem(...)
prizonierii lor”) şi realitatea stând sub semnul măştilor, al aparenţei nu este
singurul punct în care traseul existenţial al călăului („Marelui Mahăr”
Dumitru Vinea, rivalul lui Dunca, spectacolul morţii îi dezvăluie adevărul
unei lumi de coşmar în spatele propriei ficţiuni construite din „adevărul”
lozincilor) se suprapune peste cel al victimei. În cartea lui Al. Ivasiuc călăi
(D.Vinea, tovarăşa Victoriţa, „marele” Sebişan, Cheresteşiu – securistul) şi
victime (Dunca şi Margareta Vinea) împărtăşesc acelaşi destin marcat de un
moment al „dreptului pus la încercare”, apoi de o neobosită luptă pentru
salvarea unei ficţiuni legitimatoare căreia revelaţia nimicului mascat de
cuvinte (momentul demistificării) îi pune capăt definitiv (Margareta,
Ştefania demonstrează că nu toate închisorile se numesc Elsinore şi că un
destin ca al Ofeliei „se vede pe orice hartă”), sau temporar. În plus, fiecare
istorie având drept protagonist un personaj doar aparent integrabil uneia
dintre cele două „categorii” aflate în raport de compensare reciprocă, le
luminează pe celelalte într-un perpetuu joc al oglinzilor paralele. Indiferent
de spaţiul „concret” în care este plasată aventura cunoaşterii, între
momentul „căderii” marcând prăbuşirea iluziilor şi acela al „ridicării către
lumină” marcând tentativa recuceririi libertăţii interioare (oraşul provincial,
şantierul tinereţii lui Dunca, închisoarea, culoarele Securităţii „casa cu cai
pe pereţi” a Margaretei, uzina patronată de „tatăl” Vinea şi „mama”
Victoriţa, pădurea în care se desfăşoară „vânătoarea regală” a mai-marilor
politici, etc.), lumea din Păsările poartă pecetea teatrului, un decor în
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veşnică metamorfoză, o scenă pe care actori aparent diferiţi joacă în una şi
aceeaşi „dramă” a rolurilor impuse de scenariul Istoriei. Romanul lui
Ivasiuc este construit în baza principiului redundanţei (atingând atât
„mythosul” cât şi gramatica narativă), identificabil, în egală măsură, în
cărţile citate ale lui A. Buzura, P. Sălcudeanu, D. R. Popescu şi C. Ţoiu.
În Orgolii toată lumea este bolnavă de „cancer”: de la Creatorul/Tiran
Ion Cristian (neobositul căutător al antidotului pentru care-şi sacrifică
întreaga existenţă este şi cel care încearcă să „dicteze” propriul model în
primul rând fiului şi, în cele din urmă, tuturor celor cu care intrase vreodată
în contact), trecând prin categoria „demonilor mărunţi” (de la marele
trădător Redman şi „prietenii” din conducerea universităţii ai lui Cristian,
până la micul delator, semnatarul „jurnalului”) şi până la câinii învăţaţi să
fumeze. (Să n-o uităm nici, mai ales, pe „Sybila” – Cristina Fărcaşiu,
iniţiatoarea în eros a lui Ion Cristian într-o tinereţe a idealurilor în plin
avânt, bătrâna crescătoare de lupi, bolnavă de cancer, în „prezentul”
naraţiunii). Unii sunt doar ameninţaţi de el: mai tânărul asistent al
chirurgului, Anania, la fel de tânăra Vera, iubita acestuia şi, mai ales,
Andrei, fiul. În romanul lui Augustin Buzura cancerul se numeşte „moarte
psihică” şi el atinge deopotrivă victimele şi călăii.
Şi personajele romanului lui Sălcudeanu, Biblioteca din Alexandria,
sunt bonave: de tuberculoză. Toţi pacienţii sanatoriului de pe „muntele
vrăjit” imaginat de acest prozator „mânjit” sunt foşti ilegalişti detronaţi de
regimul în fruntea căruia se află tovarăşa Ana şi apropiaţii ei. Între
victimele utopiei personale, vinovate în trecut de moartea a sute de oameni,
o lume pestriţă în interiorul căreia „boala” aduce la acelaşi numitor pe
„maestrul” Isaac Landesmann şi tiranul Lică Cozmin, pe „nebunul”
căutător al „florii vieţii”, Visalon, şi pe nebunul Costache, cel care-şi
hrăneşte teiul cu propriul sânge infectat, pe „îngrijiţi” şi pe „îngrijitori”
(exemplele pot continua până la epuizarea reţelei de dubluri şi dedublaţi
care constituie, în roman, întreaga galerie a personajelor), se află un
„scriitoraş în devenire”. Misiunea lui Petre Curta, una impusă de
împrejurări dar şi, mai ales, una asumată în deplina conştiinţă a sacrificiului
personal, este aceea de a converti „purcoiul pestilenţial” alcătuit din vieţile
retrăite pe calea anamnezei (dublată de confesiune) ale „foştilor” într-o
Istorie „adevărată” (renăscuta „bibliotecă din Alexandria”), în egală măsură
exorcizare şi renaştere. Petre Curta, „ţap şi duhovnic” asemeni lui Isac
Sumbasacu din Galeria cu viţă sălbatică, oficiază un „botez” colectiv (aşa
cum o atestă între altele, imaginea simbolică a arborelui – arcă din finalul
cărţii protagonistului şi a lui Sălcudeanu), incluzând propria fiinţă; la
capătul traseului, după suprimarea lupilor/porci devastatori ai oricărui
paradis sfidând Istoria, Curta/Visalon surâde noii „imago mundi”: tânăra
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pădure de brazi hrănind cu oxigen plămânii ciuruiţi ai tuberculoşilor este
deopotrivă, epifania pădurii de simboluri pe care o propune Biblioteca din
Alexandria. Prin intermediul acesteia din urmă, romanul lui Petre
Sălcudeanu se raportează, dincolo de Istoria mai mult sau mai puţin
„falsificată”, la o Metaistorie: asemeni Muntelui magic, modelul declarat
din prima pagină, el este o parabolă.
Ploile de dincolo de vreme se deschide cu o scenă (showing) ai cărei
protagonişti sunt un tânăr proaspăt ieşit din închisoare şi gardianul care-l
însoţise până la poartă; după un schimb de replici oarecum tăioase, cei doi
pleacă împreună, ca nişte vechi cunoştinţe, la o bere. Dacă identitatea
naratorului rămâne ambiguă, aşa cum se întâmplă în cazul majorităţii
povestirilor (sunt optzeci de micronaraţiuni) care alcătuiesc romanul,
perspectiva este una bine precizată: ea este atribuită unui personaj diform
care, de la „înălţimea” patului-tron din chirpici pe care este aşezat, îi vedea
pe cei doi „ca într-o oglindă”...(s.n.).
Romanul lui D.R. Popescu începe cu o secvenţă de tip „mise en
abyme”, a cărei funcţie poate fi, în acest punct, eventual intuită, nicidecum
identificabilă cu precizie, dar care se „luminează” treptat graţie „cioburilor
de oglindă” presărate în întreg corpul textului. Perspectiva „monstrului”
Eftimie, figură dublă în interiorul căreia Diavolul şi Maestrul spiritual se
află în raport de echilibru compensatoriu (se cuvine să facem precizarea că
piticul cu rudimente de membre îi „vedea” pe cei doi graţie aptitudunilor
sale telepatice, de la kilometri distanţă), reflectă „ordinea” lumii răsturnate,
redundantă în romanele lui D.R.Popescu şi ale colegilor săi de generaţie.
Scena plasată în incipit este una emblematică: în Ploile de dincolo de
vreme, graniţele dintre victime şi călăi sunt imposibil de delimitat (graţie
mai ales jocurilor temporale şi de perspectivă), tot aşa cum e dificil de
precizat dacă ridicătura de pământ pe care stă Eftimie este un pat sau un
tron.
În fiecare dintre personaje se dă o luptă între întuneric şi lumină: între
închiderea într-o existenţă stând sub semnul rotirii autodevorante în cerc, a
cărei emblemă este veşnic renăscutul Moise-ouroboros, şi voinţa de a o
transcende, chiar dacă aceasta din urmă se manifestă în sensul construirii
de ficţiuni consolatoare (Circarul „nebun” Francisc se vrea „Împărat al
norilor” domnind peste un paradis de carton şi tablă vopsite în culori
ţipătoare; „diabolicul” Moise încearcă să dribleze moartea psihică în braţele
femeii căreia, se pare, i-ar fi trimis bărbatul la moarte; tânărul Adrian,
asemeni dublului său din basm - Mistriceanu cel pe jumătate înghiţit se
şarpe – crede că exorcizarea răului interior e posibilă prin uciderea celui
care l-a declanşat şi aşa mai departe.) Personajele lui D.R. Popescu sunt
simboluri într-o carte care vorbeşte despre „geneze” (una dintre acestea
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este propria geneză) apelând la miturile primordiale – fie ele iudeo-creştine,
persane, egiptene, greceşti sau mexicane – interpretabile şi (re)interpretate
din două perspective diferite: a Creatorilor lor (unii dintre ei având chipul
Diavolului, ca Dolângă, ucigătorul de lupi, sau Moise) şi a celor cărora ele
le sunt destinate. Doar aparent opuse, cele două categorii sunt veşnic
substituibile: în Ploile de dincolo de vreme fiecare narator devine personaj,
renăscând sub un alt chip în ficţiunile create de ceilalţi. Pentru a pune
ordine în Babelul Istoriei, deci pentru a atinge statutul de Creator la care
aspiră, căutătorul de adevăr Tică Dunărinţu ar trebui să aibă curajul
distrugerii; noul Hamlet de la Câmpuleţ (sau cun s-o fi numind) este însă
incapabil de acest act ce presupune, mai întâi, înfruntarea propriilor
„demoni” raţionalişti. Este sensul lecţiei de istoria religiilor pe care i-o ţine
Magicianul Francisc, interpret, ca şi baba Sevastiţa, al semnelor lumii de
aici şi de dincolo (una dintre figurile „hermetice” ale cărţii):
„...cosmogoniile sacre, nu numai ale caldeenilor, ale tuturor popoarelor
aproape, atribuiau zeilor secundari (şi nu numai acestui mare Dumnezeu
unic) organizarea şi crearea deci a lumii. Redactorul (cel care a scris geneza
era şi el un fel de redactor) n-a îndrăznit să elimine un cuvânt consacrat prin
uz (Elohim – geniile planetelor la perşi şi caldeeni, decanii egiptenilor etc.)
– el a trecut printre cele două puteri fiind ambiguu. Romanul lui
D.R.Popescu este o parabolă despre degradarea „Istoriilor sacre” create de
orice putere totalitară şi despre posibilitatea renaşterii prin spintecarea
burţii Istoriei, sau prin înlăturarea marii pietre care împiedică ieşirea din
peştera mormânt. Să ne permitem să-l parafrazăm pe autorul Vânătorii
regale: nu toate localităţile se numesc Lăzăreni. Asta se vede pe orice
hartă.
Şi Constantin Ţoiu scrie cărţi cu uriaşi şi pitici şi, mai ales, cu pitici
cocoţaţi pe umerii uriaşilor: aceştia din urmă se numesc Shakespeare,
Cervantes, Swift, Goethe sau, sigur, Mateiu Caragiale, Camil Petrescu etc.
Dar aceasta este o altă viziune a „Vizuinii cu hoţi” şi despre ea va fi vorba
în altă parte. Piticii din Galeria cu viţă sălbatică sunt, de fapt, de două
feluri: unii, ca Harry Brummer, bătrânul anticar care crede că pe o scară a
densităţii (închipuită de el) cărţile sunt cele mai grele „după plumb”, sunt
ucigători de ploşniţe; ceilalţi sunt ucigători de păuni. Ei se numesc Grigore
Spuderca („un drac de cancelarie”), Ariel Scarlat (arătând „ca un moşneag
mic şi rău din basme), Sergiu Zecheru (tânăr romancier, fost rândaş) sau
Aristică Ceilalţi (autor de voluminoase „romane rurale”). Acestora din
urmă le place să joace în spectacole cu iz de farse groteşti precum acela
regizat de “marele dramaturg” Take Bunghez la “Maison de l’oubli” (cum
numeşte Puiu Cavadia delabratul Palat Mogoşoaia – „loc de seamă al
muncilor literare”, - făcând analogia cu „sanatoriile unor distinşi bolnavi de
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maladii subtile”). Spre deosebire de acela al lui Dante, infernul plasat în
Bucureştii anilor ’50 - ’60 al lui Ţoiu este un spaţiu în care „nu se lasă la
intrare nici o speranţă; din contră, sediul speranţei de-aici începea, şi-al
gloriei răbdătoare” (cel puţin aşa credea Cavadia). În fine, piticii respectivi
joacă într-„o dramă istorică, având şi aluzii moderne, cât fusese posibil”:
Încoronarea lui Take Bunghez, al cărei protagonist e însuşi autorul şi care
se încheie, după înlăturarea supuşilor neîndemânatici şi autoîncoronarea
„tiranului” cu fraza acestuia din urmă: „Luaţi, mâncaţi şi mai ales beţi,
aceasta este drama mea!” (s.n.)
Spectacolul regizat de Fiul Dogmei („mătuşa Istoriei” cum ar spune
Socratele Bufon din Însoţitorul) constituie, în fabula romanului lui Ţoiu,
ceea ce era „piesa interioară” sau „teatrul în teatru” la Shakespeare: o „mise
en abyme”, poate cea mai semnificativă dintre multiplele parabole
autoreflexive care revelează, într-un nesfârşit joc de oglinzi, sensurile
acestei cărţi reflectând o lume în care „păcatul originar” a devenit „politică
de stat”. Lumea din Galeria cu viţă sălbatică este o lume pe dos în care
piticii cocoţaţi pe tocuri foarte înalte sălăşluiesc în palate, fie ele „ale
uitării”, în timp ce zeii (sau Gulliver-ii), mă rog, unii dintre ei, se
adăpostesc fie în „crematoriu” (anticăria – Centru al regenerării), fie într-o
anume „Vizuină cu hoţi” patronată, fireşte, de două călăuze în infern:
Sybila Praxiteea şi Hermesul Bufon Harry Brummer. Aceştia din urmă, mai
cu seamă cel de-al doilea, sunt maeştrii spirituali al lui Don Quijote, întrucât, ca în orice parabolă, a condiţiei umane sau a literaturii, acolo unde
apar forţele Răului, se naşte şi un cavaler rătăcitor dispus să le înfrunte, - în
Galeria cu viţă sălbatică el se numeşte Chiril Merişor, este un (fost)
comunist exclus din partid, încă încrezător în idealul pur al noii religii (ce
să-i faci, cenzura) până când, aruncat în închisoare, se sinucide: ultimul său
cuvânt, scris pe un pachet mototolit de Naţionale este kafkianul
„indestructibil”. Delimitarea strictă a piticilor de uriaşi nu este însă, în
romanul lui Ţoiu, posibilă întotdeauna; dacă ar fi aşa, el ar semăna foarte
mult cu cărţile lui Aristică Ceilalţi, aprig susţinător (alături de Zecheru) al
„realismului teribil” opus „lumii lui Don Quijote” a realismului magic
sudamerican. Împărţirea lumii în „bufoni” şi „nebufoni” este aici, ca şi în
atâtea alte romane ale generaţiei ’60, o problemă ce ţine de perspectivă;
ceea ce e sigur e că toţi sunt mai mult sau mai puţin nebuni (nu şi bufoni):
într-o lume condusă de pitici ce se cred uriaşi (asemeni suveranului din
Lilliput) nu se poate supravieţui decât luptînd cu armele acestora. Cel care
doreşte să fenteze Istoria regizată de unii ca Take Bunghez, trebuie, măcar
de formă, să-şi „uite” de sine şi să-şi asume rolul de măscărici (ca maiorul
Ionel Roadevin), fie pe acela de „thug”: în această ipostază, fermecătorul
Fortinbras/ Cavadia (şi maestrul său, unchiul episcop) îl întâlneşte pe
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Marele Mahăr sus-numit. Pentru noul apostol al lumii pe dos, un absolvent
de Litere „obsedat de dialectica contrariilor”, hrănit cu lecturi materialiste şi
…patristice, „libertatea este necesitatea înţeleasă”, iar „a cunoaşte înseamnă
a fi rău”: lui Pavel Cavadia fiecare coborâre în infern, culminând cu aceea grotescă – de la „Maison de l’oubli” (cînd în timp ce nepotul de episcop
oficiază liturghia, Zecheru urinează pe pereţii cavoului) îi întăreşte
„credinţa”. Nu este cazul celor care, asemeni lui Chiril (figură dublă, în
egală măsură, în interiorul căreia căutătorul de ideal, iubitorul de „himere”
ale cărui dubluri sunt Izot – copilul prooroc, Profesorul de Rezistenţa
materialelor, „infirmul” Isac, procurorul Avram Pandelescu, Statmajoristul
şi, evident, Harry, îl întâlneşte pe materialistul fascinat de „thug-ul Cavadia
sau de „Avestiţa, fata Satanei”), se află în incapacitatea de a concilia planul
ideilor cu acela al acţiunii, eşuând în aceasta din urmă. Aceştia sunt, însă,
autenticii păstrători de memorie (să nu-l uităm pe popa Calist, arheolog
amator şi lider spiritual al unei comunităţi trăind în afara timpului şi
hrănindu-se cu o „himeră” – propria suferinţă retrăită şi re-creată prin
intermediul povestirii convertite la mit). Pedeapsa lumii pentru orgolioasa
lor izolare este marginalizarea: ei sunt „nebunii”, „infirmii”, „fantomele”
sau „măscăricii”. Fără îndoială, romanul lui C.Ţoiu poate fi citit şi ca o
alegorie politică (este una din lecturile posibile ale episodului ai cărui
protagonişti sunt o anume „Doamnă de fier” şi poliţistul–filosof Ionel
Roadevin, cel care îl va relata, după ani, episcopului şi apoi „hoţilor”
Galeriei).
A-l fixa însă în formula romanului politic despre „obsedantul
deceniu” este mai mult decât o aberaţie; Galeria cu viţă sălbatică este, mai
presus de orice, o parabolă: una despre condiţia umană, despre crime
morale şi pedepse morale şi, poate, despre eşecul oricărui misticism, şi una
a literaturii ridicate la rangul de Existenţă pe calea unui nesfârşit dialog cu
modelele. În interiorul acesteia, Literatura citeşte Istoria şi o re-scrie
propunând şi grilele de lectură prin intermediul vocilor unor hermeneuţi
(este de pildă, cazul lui Harry interpretând-o în cheie filosofică sau
psihanalitică, în faţa „ucenicului benevol” Chiril).
Dacă în romanele sus-amintite contextul istoric rămâne unul din
planurile la care se raportează semnificanţii simbolici (o Istorie care poartă,
însă, pecetea Mitului), în Racul lui Al. Ivasiuc şi Viaţa pe un peron de
O.Paler, istoria este definitiv convertită la parabolă. Este inutil să mai
spunem că grila politică rămâne, şi în aceste cazuri, una dintre lecturile
posibile mai cu seamă pentru cartea lui Ivasiuc (în care opţiunea pentru
decorul „sudamerican” – o mică republică dictatorială, nu este din păcate,
dublată de o formulă narativă „adecvată”). Imaginarul simbolic operează
însă aici la un nivel superior de abstractizare; la fel ca în romanele analizate
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ale lui C.Ţoiu şi D.R.Popescu şi, într-o mai mică măsură, poate, în cele ale
lui Buzura, Sălcudeanu şi Ivasiuc, personajele din Viaţa pe un peron şi
Racul sunt arhetipuri (dacă în acesta din urmă ele încă mai poartă un
nume, în romanul lui O.Paler protagoniştii sunt Profesorul de istorie şi,
sigur, o anume Eleonora care însă întrupează un mit, aşa cum cartea însăşi
lasă să se înţeleagă), plasate însă în coordonate spaţio-temporale imposibil
(Viaţa pe un peron) sau dificil de identificat istoric (Racul).
În Viaţa pe un peron se construieşte, în egală măsură, o distopie
totalitară, însă într-o formulă narativă diferită (naraţiune homodiegetică),
având în comun cu Racul aceeaşi structură „sapienţială”, amintind de astă
dată de Ecclesiast: povestire exemplară de tip rememorare, cel mai adesea
(exemplul personal va fi aproape întotdeauna „legitimat” prin aluzia la un
model al literaturii), urmată de „sentinţă” (în formula eseului filosofic). În
baza acestui „scenariu” redundant sunt juxtapuse istoriile unor „pasiuni”
(sensul biblic – traseul cristic – este exhibat) şi ale unor eşecuri, reînviate
din perspectiva – dublă – a naratorului– personaj (aceea a autoexilatului în
gara-grotă, a cărui voce mediază şi istoria Eleonorei, dublând istoria
povestită cu comentariul revelator, şi a „actorului” care a trăit evenimentele
trecutului); între cele două puncte de vedere distanţa pare să fie aceea dintre
„literatură” (automistificare) şi existenţa „reală” stând sub semnul
absurdului, cel puţin aşa lasă să se creadă meditaţia amară a CristuluiBufon care este Profesorul de istorie. În realitate, „răstignit undeva între
viaţă şi moarte”, între revolta lui Sisif şi resemnarea cristică, între voinţa de
a acţiona a primului Don Quijote şi ezitarea lui Hamlet, Profesorul e
incapabil să trăiască în afara literaturii, în ciuda conştientizării faptului că
ea permite doar exorcizarea, nu şi înlăturarea răului. Pentru acest „Don
Quijote în robă de magistrat” care pledează în „procesul lui Robespierre”
(„chipul” însuşi al Marelui Mecanism) de pe ambele poziţii, a acuzării şi a
apărării, lumea este o carte („Mi-am zis atunci că lumea e plină de
semne.”), iar distanţa dintre fiară şi creator e aceea dintre cufundarea în
ignoranţă şi uitare şi interpretarea echivalentă cu o re-creare. În universul
simbolic impregnat de memorie mitică din Viaţa pe un peron, traseul
labirintic al Profesorului, Hermeneut al Istoriei şi al condiţiei umane, reface
marile destine ale literaturii în configuraţii arhetipale ce traversează
imaginarul cultural de la Evanghelii la proza absurdului. Profesorul se
înşeală sau ne înşeală atunci când declară că lungul său memorial a fost
doar o pledoarie, nu o spovedanie. Confesiunea din Viaţa pe un peron este
şi una şi cealaltă: o spovedanie, dublată de o pledoarie; istoria (sau istoriile)
în formulă simbolică se autocontemplă într-un şir de oglinzi „literare” carei conferă legitimitate.
Istoria „nebunului” autoexilat în „grota” ticsită de cărţi refuzând
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vizitele prietenilor incapabili să-l înţeleagă, convinşi că „adevărul nu poate
dormi în haine de saltimbanc”, recheamă din memoria literaturii marile
figuri de „nebuni”: de la Cristos („să-l faci pe altul nebun când logica lui te
irită...”), la personajele lui Erasmus şi Shakespeare şi, mai ales, la Cavalerul
Tristei Figuri.
Lecţia de istorie a profesorului – una referitoare la condiţiile care fac
posibile şi întreţin totalitarismele (parabola îmblânzitorilor de cobre şi
aceea a dresorilor de câini), rezumabilă în formula „Robespierre a fost
împins să devină Robespierre” este, în egală măsură, una de filosofie şi una
de literatură; aceasta din urmă începe cu Biblia: „Orice grotă are uneori
partea ei de vină. Orice singurătate are căteva picături de sânge pe mâini.
Pillat din Pont n-a fost decât un criminal igienic. Iar ghilotina a căzut nu
numai în numele teroarei, ci şi al tăcerii chiar dacă această tăcere nu era
decât o formă de a trăi.” Mai mult decât atât, în Viaţa pe un peron, parabola
se autocomentează, cu alte cuvinte, îşi exhibă construcţia simbolică:
„Pretutindeni există o pădure în care se pierde o linie ferată.(...) Şi o
mlaştină unde ne trag amintirile. Eu am imaginat gări, peroane şi am trăit
aşteptările”. (s.n.)
Pe scena noului teatru al lumii imaginat de Octavian Paler, într-un
decor arhetipal ambivalent (gara-grotă, înconjurată de o pădure, o mlaştină
şi un deşert sunt, în egală măsură, spaţii ale morţii şi ale regenerării), se
joacă o dramă cu un singur personaj; actorul, întruchipând „figura” dublă a
condiţiei umane (Dumnezeu şi Fiara, sfântul şi şobolanul, mangusta şi
cobra…) este deopotrivă scenograful şi regizorul spectacolului în care
reînvie, prin vocea celui care strigă în pustie, marile parabole ale literaturii.
La Judecata de Apoi a Profesorului, Istoria, chemată în banca acuzaţilor,
trişează: ea nu se lasă reprezentată de marii tirani, ci îşi selectează purtătorii
de cuvânt din rândurile marilor păstrători de memorie.
De fapt, în romanele generaţiei ’60, Istoria, ori de câte ori îşi face
apariţia, e întotdeauna „însoţită” de aceste „figuri” care o legitimează, în
aceeaşi măsură în care o transcend: mituri, arhetipuri, simboluri. „Istoria
oamenilor, arată G. Durand, nu este un destin obiectiv prefabricat de o
fatalitate mecanică, deci materială, ea nu apare decât ca fructificarea,
produsul care se iveşte din înflorirea operelor oamenilor; ea este fiica
mitului (s.n.), adică a potenţialităţilor imaginative” [10]. În romanele
şaizeciste se demonstrează, începând cu palierul structurilor narative (unde
voci diferite îşi dispută „adevărul” Istoriei, fiecare perspectivă imprimândui un coeficient mai mare sau mai mic de „mitologizare”, aşa cum o atestă
comentariile metanarative) şi terminând cu acela al structurilor diegetice (la
nivelul cărora orice istorie îşi „dezveleşte” scheletul mitic, multiplicând
reţelele de imagini simbolice redundante în construcţii de tip „mise en
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abyme“), că într-adevăr, istoria „este fiica mitului”. Şi nu este vorba aici
doar de o construcţie „à thèse” a cărei miză ar fi denunţarea mitografiei
oficiale; de fapt, distorsiunile operate asupra semnificaţiilor unor scenarii
sau cărţi „sacre”, în romane precum cele ale lui D. R. Popescu din ciclul F
(Geneza, Exodul, Apocalipsa sunt cel mai frecvent invocate în vederea
construirii distopiilor întemeiate pe devalorizarea unor mituri primordiale)
sau cele ale lui C.Ţoiu („Cina cea de taină” a lui Take Bunghez din Galeria
cu viţă sălbatică sau „raiul” socialist din Însoţitorul) ş.a., se înscriu într-un
demers ce visează demistificarea oricărei ideologii care conduce la
anihilarea individului. Fără îndoială, că multe dintre aceste romane sunt
parabole totalitare, însă prin recontextualizarea mitică a evenimentelor
istoriei postbelice integrate unor scenarii a căror redundanţă („figuri”,
„decoruri”, „trasee”) le conferă valenţe simbolice, ele se subordonează unei
parabole a condiţiei umane. Pentru profesorul din Viaţa pe un peron,
lumea umană degradată este oglinda „involuţiei“ lui Dumnezeu, de la
neputinciosul revoltat împotriva morţii la tiranul „care şi-a ucis propriul
fiu”. Însoţitorul este şi un roman politic despre lumea ieşită din matcă a
României anilor ’70 -’80, dar, mai mult decât atât, este o carte despre
„marile enigme ale lumii”, despre mecanismul iluziei care reglează toate
religiile „de la asiro-caldeeni până la iudei, creştini şi la politicile totalitare
ale secolului”, despre traseele antropologice ale Utopiilor, de la „regatul
fericit” al Preotului–rege Ioan la piramidele din capete omeneşti ale
tiranilor care au exploatat eterna nevoie de mit a umanităţii. Academicianul
din Clopeni nu este singurul autor de disertaţii de istoria ideilor şi a
mentalităţilor graţie cărora micile istorii ale indivizilor din cutare sat sau
oraş românesc postbelic sunt ridicate la rangul de parabole. În fiecare dintre
aceste romane există cel puţin un Creator care citeşte Istoria şi o re-scrie
propunându-i şi hermenentica şi care o transformă, implicit, într-o „carte
reveletă”.
Călăuzele în labirinturile de oglinzi ale ficţiunii, „bătrânii înţelepţi” ca
Hary Brummer, August Pălărierul, Don Iliuţă, Megaclide Pavelescu, ş.a..
ştiu că în faţa degradării ireversibile a materiei (să o numim Istorie),
„singura formă care este eternitatea e povestirea (s.n.)”: „povestea unor
fapte ce-au trecut ca prin vis” (F). Şi mai ştiu, ei, deţinătorii cheilor, că nu
există porţi închise în lumile ficţiunii, ci doar „oameni de la ţară” obsedaţi
de „complexul de închidere a porţii”. Ba chiar o declară în mod repetat.
Ei, „pedagogii invizibilului” şi Cavalerii oricăror ficţiuni, Bufonii care
aşează în faţa lumii (diegezei) şiruri nesfârşite de oglinzi, cerându-ţi,
precum Cyrano-ul de la „Maison de l’oubli”, să repeţi, împreună cu ei, că
„Noaptea e o amăgire a mea de care vreau să mă lepăd !”, sunt, însă, în
cele mai multe cazuri, consideraţi nebuni.
301
Note:
1. Umberto Eco, Lector in fabula.Cooperare interpretativă în textele narative,
Editura Univers, Bucureşti, 1991, p.87;
2. Ibid., p.83;
3. Cf. Gilbert Durand, Aventurile imaginii.Imaginaţia simbolică.Imaginarul,
Editura Nemira, Bucureşti, 1999, care atribuie prefixului grecesc para „sensul său
cel mai puternic: care nu atinge”, p.17;
4. Cf. N. Manolescu, Arca lui Noe.Eseu despre romanul românesc, colecţia 100+1,
Editura Gramar, Bucureşti, 1999, pp. 632-654;
5. Gilbert Durand, op.cit., p.15;
6. Ibid., p.16;
7. Ibid., p.17;
8. Ibid., pp.17-18;
9. Ibid., p.19;
10. Gilbert Durand, Figuri mitice şi chipuri ale operei - De la mitocritică la
mitanaliză-, Editura Nemira, Bucureşti, 1998, p.148.
Bibliografie:
o Booth, W. (1976) Retorica romanului, Bucureşti: Univers
o Braga, Corin (1999) 10 studii de arhetipologie, Cluj-Napoca: Dacia
o Dällenbach, L. (1977) Le récit spéculaire. Essai sur la mise en abyme,
Paris: Seuil
o Durand, G. (1977) Structurile antropologice ale imaginarului,
Bucureşti: Univers
o Durand, G. (1998) Figuri mitice şi chipuri ale operei – De la
mitocritică la mitanaliză-, Bucureşti: Nemira
o Durand, G. (1999) Aventurile imaginii. Imaginaţia simbolică.
Imaginarul, Bucureşti: Nemira
o Eco, U. (1991) Lector in fabula.Cooperare interpretativă în textele
narative, Bucureşti: Univers
o Genette, G. (1987) Nouveau discours du récit, Paris: Seuil
o Istrate, I. (1995) Romanul obsedantului deceniu (1945-1964), ClujNapoca: Diamondia
o Lintvelt, J. (1994) Încercare de tipologie narativă. Punctul de vedere.
Teorie şi analiză, Bucureşti: Univers
o Lovinescu, M. (1994) Est-etice, Unde scurte, IV, Bucureşti:
Humanitas
o Manolescu, N. (1999) Arca lui Noe.Eseu despre romanul românesc,
Bucureşti: Gramar
o Petrescu, L. (1979) Romanul condiţiei umane, Bucureşti: Minerva,
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o Simion, E. (2004) În ariergarda avangardei (convorbiri cu Andrei
Grigor), Bucureşti: Univers enciclopedic
o Spiridon, M. (1989) Melancolia descendenţei. Figuri şi forme ale
memoriei generice în literatură, Bucureşti: Cartea Românească
o Ţeposu, R. G. (1983) Viaţa şi opiniile personajelor, Bucureşti: Cartea
Românească
o Ulici, L. (1995) Literatura română contemporană ( I – Promoţia 70),
Bucureşti: Eminescu
o Ungureanu, C. (1985) Proza românească de azi, Bucureşti: Cartea
Românească
o Vlad, I. (1983) Lectura romanului, Cluj-Napoca: Dacia
ÎNTRE EROS ŞI THANATOS: O RE-LECTURĂ A
IPOSTAZELOR ARHETIPALE ALE FEMINITĂŢII
BACOVIENE
Nicoleta Ifrim
Universitatea „Dunărea de Jos” din Galaţi
L’érotique de Bacovia s’inscrit dans une ‘dialectique de la descente’
centrée sur l’image de la féminité thanatique qui met en oeuvre le
processus complexe de l’anéantissement de l’amour dans le cadre des
quatre âges du soi : l’âge éthéré, l’âge aquatique, l’âge calorique et l’âge
chtonien. De ce point de vue, la féminité se trouve à la recherche de son
identité lyrique, en transgressant, d’une manière régressive, les
significations de l’univers concrète et arrivant à la fin, à un niveau minéral
de «l’amour de plomb ». La femme crée, dans la poésie de Bacovia, sa
propre individualité poétique, elle est l’autrui qui peut mettre en oeuvre
une référence, le système de projection au niveau du sentiment d’amour les
angoisses et l’involution existentielle.
Memoria arhetipului, ca sursă primară a actului creator poetic,
direcţionează implicit construirea discursului literar pe coordonatele
conştiinţei mitice, căci, aşa cum afirma Novalis, „mitologia conţine istoria
lumii arhetipurilor: ea închide trecutul, prezentul şi viitorul” [1], iar
Kierkegaard notează în acelaşi sens: „Mitologia constă în a menţine ideea de
eternitate în categoria timpului şi spaţiului.” [2] Actul poetic şi arhetipalitatea
relaţionează intim astfel încât manifestarea lirică converteşte din nou
arhetipul în materie primă, îl poetizează, structurându-se ca o meta-realitate
care intră în dialog cu spaţiul arhetipal ancestral. În acest sens, Gaston
303
Bachelard valorifică conştiinţa mitic-arhetipală în literatură, construind o
poetică modernă a elementelor, transferând aceste viziuni în inconştientul
colectiv şi creaţie, urmărind principiile lui Jung. Văzute arhetipal, la
Bachelard elementele „sunt mai degrabă o serie de imagini... rezumând
experienţa ancestrală a omului în faţa unei situaţii tipice, adică circumstanţe
care nu-i sunt proprii unui singur individ, ci care se pot impune oricărui om.”
[3] El va realiza o „fenomenologie a imaginaţiei” prin elemente, „imagini
princeps care exprimă universul şi omul”, „arhetipurile înrădăcinate în
inconştientul uman”. Configurând astfel „sfera psihică şi fizică a realelor”,
„spaţiul afectiv din interiorul lucrurilor,” Bachelard vede în materia sa
cvadripartită „oglinda noastră energetică.” În acest fel, psihanaliza
imaginarului iniţiată de criticul francez devine o poetică materialistă a
conotaţiilor grupate în jurul celor patru semne, arhetipuri ale imaginaţiei
creatoare. În ultimele sale cărţi, Bachelard, urmat de exegeza antropologică a
lui Gilbert Durand, analizează conştiinţa poetică în momentul genezei
imaginii, şi apoi opera, constelaţia unor asemenea nuclee, astfel încât critica
sa se transformă într-o sinteză de metafore, de potenţialităţi funcţionale care
modelează inconştient procesul creativ. Comentând rolul acestor metafore
axiomatice, Bachelard notează că „simbolurile nu trebuie să fie judecate din
punct de vedere al formei (...) ci al forţei lor ce valorifică imaginea literară şi
transcende forma, fiind mişcare fără materie.” [4]
Pornind de la schema critică bachelardiană, demersul nostru îşi
propune să descopere în universul bacovian o reverie a materiei, a
elementarului în particular, analizând funcţionalitatea sa în cadrul viziunii
asupra femininului. Feminitatea bacoviană utilizează în structura lirică
procedeul‚ însuşirii în sensul ‘transformării creative’, operaţie ce determină
deconstrucţia întregului spaţiu bacovian: eul feminin utilizează
instrumentarul arhetipal al viziunii poetice pentru a provoca disoluţia
perspectivei existenţiale, acţionând deci complementar la expansiunea
thanatică. Feminitatea nu mai este un sprijin sau un univers compensatoriu
ce ar putea atenua nihilomelancolia poetică, ci devine factor intrinsec al
disoluţiei universale.
Dacă în cazul viziunii generale bacoviene, apelul poetic la
elementarul negativ este manifest, construind implacabil un spaţiu dominat
de imanenţe thanatice, în cazul ipostazelor feminine, organic integrate
discursului liric general, se observă nu o preluare mimetică a cadrelor
poetice proxime ci mai ales o asumare a acestora, o identificare ontologică
a femininului cu elementaritatea mortiferă care însă nu se mai manifestă
explicit, ci implicit, transformând consecutiv femininul în ‚nihilfeminitate’.
Erotica bacoviană se înscrie astfel într-o ‘dialectică a căderii’ centrată pe
imaginea feminităţii thanatice care instrumentează procesul complex al
304
neantizării erosului în cadrul celor patru vârste ale eului său: vârsta
‘aerială’, vârsta hidrică, vârsta calorică şi vârsta chtoniană. Într-o astfel de
perspectivă, feminitatea se angajează într-un proces de căutare a propriei
identităţi lirice, transgresând semnificaţiile universului concret în mod
regresiv, atingând în final nivelul mineralizant al ‘amorului de plumb’.
Femeia bacoviană îşi creează acum propria individualitate poetică, este acel
Celălalt definibil prin capacitatea sa de a constitui referenţialitatea, sistemul
de proiectare în eros a neliniştilor şi involuţiei existenţiale.
‘Căderea’ simbolică a cuplului se înscrie izomorf ‘psihismului
descensional’, aerul bacovian pierzându-şi însemnele catharcticascensionale: vechile valenţe ale complexului lui Atlas sau ale înălţării
uranice sunt puse în criză de cădere, prăbuşire dialectică, iar inconştientul
erotic este marcat de un abis imaginar. Apocatastaza erotică, sub forma
simbolică a plânsului (căderea sonoră) domină poetica interiorităţii
nocturne a cuplului:
„Auzi cum muzica răsună clar
În parcul falnic, antic şi solemn
Din instrumente jalnice de lemn
La geamuri cântă toamna funerar.”
(Vals
de
toamnă)
„Ascultă tu bine iubito,
Nu plânge şi nu-ţi fie teamă,
Ascultă cum greu din adâncuri,
Pământul la dânsul ne cheamă.”
(Melancolie)
Sunetul-plâns, melodia thanatică a lumii şi a cuplului bacovian,
devine limbaj al dezagregării erotice: „Un larg salon vedeam prin draperii, /
Iar la clavir o brună despletită / Cânta purtând o mantie cernită, / Şi trist
cânta, gemând, printre făclii. / Lugubrul marş al lui Chopin / Îl repeta cu
nebunie.../ Şi-n geam suna funebra melodie, / Iar vântul fluiera ca ţipătul de
tren.” (Marş funebru). Dacă analizăm sonoritatea produsă de eul feminin
prin prisma psihismului descensional, se poate constata că simbolismul
melodiei-plâns rezidă în teama unei regresiuni către aspiraţiile primitive ale
psihismului, creionând şi modalitatea de a deconstrui prin eufemizare
constantă însăşi substanţa erosului. În interstiţiile imaginilor poetice
bacoviene, muzicalitatea se defineşte ca o completare şi o potenţare a
spectrului thanatic încât, muzica, în calitate de meta-imagine, organizează,
în infernul erotic bacovian, un spaţiu al sonorităţii feminine, care provoacă
şi întreţine angoasa erotică. În acest context, „temele muzicale, modulaţiile
sonore, instrumentele constituie organul propriu răului din lume, armonia
305
nefiind decât o formă perfidă, de o cruzime rafinată, a infernului existenţei”
[5]: „Iubita cântă-un marş funebru” (Nevroză), „Deschide clavirul şi cântămi / Un cântec de mort.” (Trudit), „Lugubrul marş al lui Chopin / Îl repeta
cu nebunie” (Marş funebru).
Cel de-al doilea nivel al configurării feminităţii bacoviene este
reprezentat de vârsta hidrică, prin care femininul bacovian se autodefineşte
în raport cu universul poetic, dar şi valorifică acest element pentru a
determina o modificare substanţială, în registru thanatic, a sentimentului
erotic. Prima observaţie care se impune este că Bacovia creează un spaţiu
poetic dominat de apele mortifere încât, „congenital, Bacovia este un
nordic, fascinat de fecioare pale şi de copleşitoare ninsori, de celeste
melodii şi de idile hieratice, denunţând târgul intrat în putrefacţie autumnală
şi înecat în demenţiale ape drept numai faţa imperfectă, grotescă a marelui
tărâm septentrional.” [6] Dominanţa apocaliptică a acvaticului configurează
imaginar conştiinţa „discontinuităţii cuplului”, reflectată în eterne „oglinzi
de ape” (Nervi de toamnă), spaţii spectrale ale neantizării erosului, dar şi
proiecţii izomorfe ale apei disolutive. Proiecţia ofelizată a feminităţii,
asociată „apei tenebrelor”, construieşte bacovian un sens apropiat cu cel pe
care Bachelard îi identifică în analiza prozei Pământ de sânge a lui Edgar
Poe: elementul acvatic primeşte „coloratura de pedeapsă universală,
coloratura lacrimilor... Apa din orice loc şi din orice mlaştină apare ca apă
mamă a tristeţii umane, ca materie a melancoliei. Nu e vorba de o impresie
vagă şi generală; este vorba de o participare concretă. Poetul nu mai visează
imagini, el ţinteşte substanţa. Grelele lacrimi aduc în lume un sens uman, o
viaţă umană, o materie umană.” [7] Moartea acvatică a cuplului atrage după
sine o reverie thanatică a apei, căci „fiinţa umană are destinul apei care
curge. Apa este în adevăr un element tranzitoriu. Ea este metamorfoza
ontologică esenţială între foc şi pământ. Fiinţa sortită apei este o fiinţă în
vertij. Ea moare în fiecare minut, fără încetare ceva din substanţa sa se
prăbuşeşte. Moartea cotidiană nu este moartea exuberantă a focului care
străpunge cerul cu săgeţile sale; moartea cotidiană este moartea apei, ea
sfârşeşte mereu prin moartea sa orizontală.” [8] Eul bacovian ascultă singur
zgomotul ploii (în urma morţii cuplului), ia act de golirea transcendenţei
erotice, ascultă pustiirea universală: „Plouă, plouă, plouă / Vreme de beţie /
Şi s-asculţi pustiul / Ce melancolie. / Plouă, plouă, plouă / Singur, singur,
singur, / Vreme de beţie / I-auzi cum mai plouă, / Ce melancolie / Singur,
singur, singur.” (Rar) Simbolul mortifer tutelar guvernează realitatea
erotică bacoviană determinând cristalizarea funcţiilor mortifere ale
femininului bacovian în două complexe bachelardiene ale reveriei hidrice,
complexul lui Caron şi complexul Ofeliei. Ambele exprimă nuanţe
individualizate ale aceluiaşi nucleu ideatic şi imagistic: extincţia prin
306
pierderea în infinitatea spaţiului acvatic sau sfârşitul prin imersiunea în
adâncul hidric. În ambele ipostaze, pentru femininul bacovian, apa
reprezintă un agent al inevitabilei stingeri biologice dar şi erotice,
înglobează în materialitatea ei cosmosul morţii potenţiale. Complexul lui
Caron – numit astfel prin analogie cu omonimul luntraş mitologic, care
trecea sufletele celor morţi peste apele Aheronului – îşi păstrează în erotica
bacoviană semnificaţia mitică iniţială, de călătorie pe ape către o destinaţie
nenumită însă, croazieră funebră, al cărei sfârşit echivalează cu dispariţia
într-un teritoriu necunoscut, rămas inaccesibil conştiinţei, dar situat în zarea
misterioasă, aflată dincolo de linia îndepărtată a orizontului acvatic.
Această călătorie thanatică este instrumentată de femininul bacovian care,
deşi îi preia conotaţiile mitice, le redimensionează în sensul accentuării
mortifere determinând nu numai orizontalitatea hidrică evazivă, dar şi
descensiunea în neant. Femeia bacoviană devine astfel un Caron efeminizat
care orientează erosul spre extincţie. Analizând structura complexului lui
Caron, Bachelard îşi pune următoarea întrebare: nu cumva „moartea nu a
fost ea însăşi întâiul navigator?” Din perspectiva acestei interogaţii, sicriul
nu ar fi „ultima barcă. Ar fi cea dintâi. Moartea nu ar fi ultima călătorie. Ar
fi cel dintâi voiaj.” [9] Pornind de la această supoziţie, Bachelard
generaliza, formulând un sugestiv precept: „Eroul mării este un erou al
morţii. Primul marinar este întâiul om viu care a fost la fel de temerar ca
unul mort.” [10] De aceea se poate afirma că fascinaţia hidrică asupra
femininului bacovian (actualizată generic în dimensiunea diluvială a
spaţiului femeii în poezia erotică) este, de fapt, o stăruitoare chemare spre
extincţia erotică, o persuasivă invitaţie către sfârşitul iubirii, o permanentă
provocare extincţială din care erosul bacovian iese etern înfrânt. Dar una
din mărcile profunde ale complexului lui Caron o constituie, în poezia lui
Bacovia, moartea cuplului ca plutire în derivă pe apa-materie transformată
în suport material al thanaticului: „Şi-aştept în zăpadă... dar ce mai aştept ?”
(Plumb de iarnă)
Complexul Ofeliei dezvoltă o reverie a morţii prin scufundare, căci
„apa, patrie a nimfelor vii, este totodată patria nimfelor moarte, adevărata
materie a morţii feminine. (... ) Apa este elementul morţii tinere şi
frumoase, a morţii înflorite şi, atât în dramele vieţii cât şi în acelea literare,
ea este elementul morţii fără orgoliu, fără răzbunare. (... ) Apa este simbolul
adânc, organic al femeii care nu ştie decât să-şi plângă durerea şi ai cărei
ochi se umplu atât de uşor de lacrimi.” [11] Bacovienele „fecioare
despletite” transpun, în majoritatea poemelor erotice, modelele ofelice şi
motivul izomorf al pletelor curgânde. Este, după Bachelard, „ocazia uneia
dintre cele mai clare sinecdoci poetice. Va fi un păr plutitor, un păr despletit
de valuri. Pentru a înţelege bine rolul detaliului creator în visare, să reţinem
307
pentru moment doar această viziune a părului plutitor. Vom vedea că
imaginea însufleţeşte numai ea singură un întreg simbol al psihologiei
apelor, că ea explică singură tot complexul Ofeliei.” [12]
A treia suprastructură elementară ce potenţează simbolistica femininului
thanatic este reprezentată de vârsta calorică a feminităţii bacoviene, dar
semnificaţiile pirice ale imagisticii poetice ating întreaga creaţie bacoviană şi
Grigurcu nota în acest sens că „creaţia lui Bacovia emană o măreţie aspră şi
sfâşietoare de crater stins.” [13] Dacă privim imaginarul focului din perspectiva
psihologizantă, am putea considera că infernul caloric al creaţiei bacoviene este,
cum afirma Laurenţiu Ulici, refularea propriei psihologii a eului poetic: „Infernul în
care coboară Bacovia e, de fapt, obiectivizarea propriei psihologii. Curiozitatea e că
poetul se lasă impresionat de acesta făcându-se a nu şti că lumea de a cărei durere se
contaminează nu există decât ca proiecţie a unui suflet bolnav.” [14] Este valorificat
focul în latura sa distructivă, neantică, deoarece în reliefarea erosului mortifer
bacovian, simbolismul negativ al focului semnifică suferinţa lentă, devoratoare,
acceptarea morţii erosului prin carbonizare. Este portretizat aici aspectul funebru al
complexului lui Empedocle, pe care îl defineşte Gaston Bachelard: „În acest
complex se uneşte iubirea şi respectul focului, instinctul vieţii şi al morţii.” [15]
Femininul bacovian pare a se supune supremului imperativ empedoclian: „Să
distrugem focul vieţii noastre printr-un suprafoc, suprauman, fără flăcări sau cenuşă,
care va aduce neantul chiar în inima fiinţei. Când focul se devorează pe sine, când
puterea se întoarce împotriva ei înseşi, se pare că fiinţa se întregeşte în clipa pierderii
sale şi că intensitatea distrugerii este dovada supremă, proba cea mai clară a
existenţei. Această contradicţie, aflată la însăşi rădăcina intuiţiei fiinţei, favorizează
transformările valorilor la nesfârşit.” [16] Poema Negru valorifică psihismul caloric,
dar nucleul acestei reverii este erosul tinzând spre neantizare: „Carbonizat, amorul
fumega”.
În cadrul ultimului nivel de semnificaţie al reveriei elementarităţii,
femininul bacovian conotează obsesiv extincţia erosului, încadrându-l
generic în vârsta chtoniană a fiinţării eului său: acum dialectica recurentă a
căderii erosului în non-existenţă ia forma actualizatoare a unor simboluri
claustromorfe care vizează în mod simultan atât exteriorul cât şi interiorul
spaţialităţii. Elementul chtonic generează însă şi simbolismul intimităţii, al
reîntoarcerii la sânul său matern, operând şi o transmutare a sexelor –
principiul masculin al voinţei devine feminin, un adăpost al repaosului.
Dacă descinderea, cum precizează Bachelard, presupune un spaţiu
protector, sugerând fiinţa maternă în sensul concluziilor lui Mircea Eliade,
femininul bacovian tinde a substitui senzaţia de protecţie cu cea de
nesiguranţă în poeme erotice în care elementul chtonian potenţează
ambivalent siguranţa maternă cu teroarea extincţiei. Pătrundem astfel în
regimul „nocturn” al imaginii, termenul lui Durand semnificând acceptarea
308
legilor caducităţii: „Antidotul timpului nu va mai fi căutat la nivelul
suprauman al transcendenţei şi al purităţii esenţelor, ci în liniştitoarea şi
calma intimitate a substanţelor.” [17] Această visare regresivă a teluricului
ca element se asociază în erotica bacoviană cu extincţia, căci mormântul
dominat de viziunea macabră a disoluţiei erotice devine pentru Bacovia o
extatică anihilare. Iminenta moarte a erosului şi a iubitei, obsesie
thanatofilă dominantă la Bacovia, transformă imaginarul poetic într-un
catharsis al mineralului astfel încât erosul este auto-chtoniat în simboluri
ale spaţiilor închise. Mihail Petroveanu observa caracterul mortifer al
camerei, afirmând că „odaia, în loc să ofere acel minimum de securitate,
acea căldură tristă, este nu atât un adăpost, un retranşament impenetrabil cât
un teren deschis adversităţilor exterioare şi o arenă a coşmarurilor lăuntrice,
de vreme ce contribuie la sentimentul de înstrăinare a eului, de destrămare a
lui până la inconsistenţa umbrei.” [18] Spaţiul claustrant locuit de
proiecţiile feminine dezvoltă angoasa morţii şi anularea existenţială a
cuplului, configurând o „fenomenologie thanatică a spaţiului” şi, implicit,
ipostaze ale feminităţii devoratoare: „La toamnă când frunza va îngălbeni, /
Când pentru ftizici nu se ştie ce noi surprize vor veni – / Alcoolizaţi, bătuţi
de ploi, cum n-am mai fost cândva, / Târziu, în geamul tău, încet, cu o
monedă voi suna. / Şi-n toamna asta udă, mai putredă ca cele ce s-au dus, /
Când vântul va boci din nou la cei de jos, la cei de sus, / ... / Va bate
ploaia... şi târziu la geamul tău, / Voi plânge-ncet.” (Nervi de toamnă) În
această viziune, arhetipul casei nu se coasociază maternalului (am acorda în
acest caz o prea mare importanţă biografismului), ci potenţează negativ
insecuritatea cuplului erotic, determinând conştiinţa tragică a disoluţiei
erosului. Spaţialitatea interioară devine referent pentru poemele de dragoste
bacoviene care transcriu o „fenomenologie a cavităţilor”, iar eul liric se află
în ipostaza „înghiţitorului înghiţit” (în termenii lui Bachelard), prizonier al
propriei arhitecturi spaţiale a reveriei cuplului.
Punctul final al căderii erotice pare a fi „neantul-plumb”, care se
insinuează concentric în interiorul cuplului bacovian, mai ales fiind
prefigurat de diferitele ipostazieri ale feminităţii thanatice, de altfel
circumscrise dialecticii căderii în moarte. Simbol referenţial, plumbul
sugerează un „metal-idee”, atotcuprinzător, corolar al vârstelor eului
feminin (materiei intrate în vârtejul degradării ce coasociază imaginile
pământului mineralizat, apei stihinice, aerului mortifer şi calorismului
apocaliptic), simbolizând în erotica bacoviană un cumul de forme
involutive, care trimit la substratul mortifer al existenţei erotice. Din acest
punct de vedere, schema involuţiei reveriei erotice pare a urma, la Bacovia,
următorul traseu:
309
vârsta
aerială
vârsta
hidrică
femininul
thanatic
vârsta
calorică
cercul tutelar
vârsta
chtoniană
plumbul
opresiv
Note:
[1] Apud Gusdorf, G., (1996), Mit şi metafizică, Timişoara: Amarcord, p.263
[2] Ibidem, p. 264
[3] Bachelard, G., (1999), Pământul şi reveriile odihnei, Bucureşti: Univers, p. 63
[4] Ibidem, p. 6
[5] Petroveanu, M., (1969), George Bacovia, Bucureşti: Editura pentru literatură,
p. 245
[6] Grigurcu, Gh., (1974), Bacovia, un antisentimental, Bucureşti: Albatros, p. 198
[7] Bachelard, G., (1999), Apa şi visele, Bucureşti: Univers, p. 89-90
[8] Ibidem, p. 91
[9] Ibidem, p. 103
[10] Ibidem, p.109
[11] Ibidem., p.202
[12] Ibidem., p.209
[13] Grigurcu, Gh., op. cit., p. 204
[14] Ulici, L., (1971), Recurs, Bucureşti: Ed. Cartea Românească, p. 73
[15] Bachelard, G., op. cit., p. 82
[16] Ibidem, p. 107
[17] Durand, G., (2000), Structurile antropologice ale imaginarului, Bucureşti,
Ed. Univers Enciclopedic, p. 207
[18] Petroveanu, M., op. cit., p. 137
310
Bibliografie:
o Bachelard, G. (1999) Apa şi visele, Bucureşti: Univers
o Bachelard, G. (1999) Pământul şi reveriile odihnei, Bucureşti: Univers
o Durand, G. (2000) Structurile antropologice ale imaginarului, Bucureşti:
Univers Enciclopedic
o Grigurcu, Gh. (1974) Bacovia, un antisentimental, Bucureşti: Albatros
o Gusdorf, G. (1996) Mit şi metafizică, Timişoara: Amarcord
o Petroveanu, M. (1969) George Bacovia, Bucureşti: Editura pentru
literatură
o Ulici, L. (1971) Recurs, Bucureşti: Ed. Cartea Românească
TEXTUL LABIRINT SAU
CU JOCURILE INTERTEXTUALE
DIALOGUL
PRIVILEGIAT
Doiniţa Milea
Universitatea „Dunărea de Jos” din Galaţi
La compétence de lecture est un amalgame de connaissances
abstraites, de stéréotypes culturels, que le lecteur acquiert par sa pratique
des œuvres littéraires et malgré sa valeur subjective, elle ne fonde pas
moins la capacité de suivre une histoire à travers un pacte de lecture plus
ou moins explicite fixant l’attente du lecteur. Les compétences des lecteurs,
fondées sur l’intertextualité peuvent ệtre exploitées par un auteur, dans la
mesure où il est susceptible de les prévoir et de jouer dans ou au-delà des
limites du pacte de lecture. Le détournement stratégique des attentes
implicites qui ont dirigé les hypothèses entre dans le projet d’un texte
labyrinthique, qui brouille les frontières textuelles, laissant ouvert
l’évaluation du succès ou de l’échec du travail de lecture. La construction
du texte de Borges oriente le lecteur en impasse par des inférences
textuelles ou intertextuelles,parfois fictives, joue avec les contraintes
narratives, assure la subversion des règles, tout en provoquant l’effet de
surprise dans la lecture.
Analizând modelele canonice ale literaturii, la sfârşit de secol XX,
Harold Bloom, celebru critic literar nord-american, autor al Canonului
occidental, vede literatura hispano-americană a secolului XX, sub semnul a
trei întemeietori: povestitorul argentinian Jorge Luis Borges, poetul chilian
Pablo Neruda şi romancierul cubanez Alejo Carpentier, părinţi literari şi
scriitori reprezentativi. Romancieri „atât de diferiţi”, precum Julio Cortázar,
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Mario Vargas Llosa, Carlos Fuentes, sunt născuţi
311
„la impulsul lor”. Dintre toţi autorii latino-americani ai acestui secol,
Bloom consideră că Borges cunoaşte cea mai mare universalitate prin
câteva elemente care-l individualizează în egală măsură: o conştiinţă
vizionară şi ironică a literaturii, idealizarea relaţiei scriitor – cititor, care i-a
permis o sugestivitate infinită şi detaşarea de orice complicaţii culturale, o
imagine centru a spaţiului său literar, „labirintul”, către care converg toate
obsesiile sale poetice, tot atât o emblemă a haosului, închizând case, oraşe,
idei şi biblioteci, cât şi o imagine a „cosmosului labirint”, imagine favorită
a lui Borges, legată de mitul energiilor morţii; „în labirintul universului său
ne confruntăm cu propriile noastre imagini, nu doar ale naturii ci şi ale
Sinelui”, suprapunând alegoric, într-un „labirint ucigaş al literaturii”,
imagini ale înfruntării cu propriul dublu, într-o „oglindă” imaginară. Proza
lui Borges, fragmentar constituită, nu mai este saga a unui continent, nici
măcar al unei regiuni identificabile, în sensul că toate construcţiile
ficţionale exprimă sentimentul pierderii în infinitul spaţial şi temporal,
oboseala în faţa propriei identităţi, iluzia eternităţii clipei, vanitatea
memoriei universale, elemente care „contaminează”, după formularea lui
Bloom, iradiază simbolic, prin situarea în spaţiul magiei artei, în care totul
este posibil, asemenea „cărţii de nisip”, carte infinită, care ca şi nisipul nu
are nici început şi nici sfârşit. „Fantasticul cerebral”, sintagma care
caracterizează polivalenţa universului construit de Borges, un univers al
mai multor lumi simultane sau suprapuse, permite trecerea din realitatea
iniţială în universul gândit: povestea din Ruinele circulare, permite ca
metafora cutiilor chinezeşti, construcţia unei lumi gândite de un fachir, care
nu există însă decât în închipuirea altui fachir: „Scopul care-l călăuzea nu
era imposibil, chiar dacă era supranatural. Voia să viseze un om; voia să-l
viseze cu integritatea sa minuţioasă şi să-l impună realităţii. Acest proiect
magic epuizase întregul spaţiu al sufletului său.”
Rătăcirea spiritului într-o lume alcătuită din toate cărţile posibile şi
imaginabile, este o altă variantă (Biblioteca Babel): „Universul (pe care alţii
îl numesc bibliotecă) se compune dintr-un număr nedefinit de coridoare
hexagonale (...) Eu afirm că Biblioteca o să dureze mai departe: iluminată,
solitară, infinită, inutilă, incoruptibilă, secretă.”
Aceste lumi ale jocului imaginaţiei şi ale ficţiunii, dau naştere unor
situaţii paradoxale, în care un narator, care cumpără o carte de o greutate
neobişnuită, devine prizonier al acestei cărţi, nu mai iese din casă, citeşte o
carte infinită, de care nici o formă de distrugere nu-l poate scăpa (Cartea de
nisip).
Textul magic şi poetic al lui Borges, se construieşte în jurul a trei
constante, de-a lungul întregii sale creaţii: autorul şi proiecţia sa de hârtie –
naratorul, puterea magică a cărţii şi infinita imagine a timpului, elemente pe
312
care titlurile volumelor le pune în vedetă, în egală măsură ca teme ale
ficţiunii, cât şi ale căutării critice: Ficţiuni, Artificii, Căutări.
Volumul din 1941 – Grădina potecilor ce se bifurcă, conţine câteva
din aceste elemente particulare ale lumii lui Borges, pe care autorul şi le
prezintă în Prolog: sunt „piese fantastice”, în „Ruinele circulare totul e
ireal”, „în Pierre Menard, autorul lui Don Quijote ireal este destinul pe
care protagonistul şi-l impune. Lista de scrieri pe care i le atribui nu e
îndeajuns de distractivă, dar nici arbitrară; este o diagramă a istoriei sale
mentale ... Alcătuirea de cărţi vaste este o nesăbuinţă obositoare ... Cea mai
bună metodă este să simulezi că aceste cărţi există deja şi să faci un
rezumat sau un comentariu. Astfel a procedat Carlyle în Doctor Resartus
(...) ... am preferat scrierea de însemnări pe cărţi imaginare. Acestea sunt
Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius şi Cercetarea operei lui Herbert Quain”.
Autorul îşi ghidează lectorul oferindu-i cuvintele cheie care îi pot
facilita accesul în spaţiul ficţiunilor sale: „ireal, fantastic”, „istorie
mentală”, „cărţi imaginare”.
Cele şapte piese care compun volumul sunt legate printr-o strategie de
verosimilitate, în care un autor cunoscut (Adolfo Bioy Casares, cu care
Borges a şi scris câteva piese ficţionale poliţiste) caută un cuvânt Uqbar în
mai multe dicţionare şi enciclopedii, se vizitează Biblioteca Naţională, unde
în atlase, cataloage, memorii ale călătoriilor şi istoricilor se caută suferinţe,
dar nimeni nu fusese vreodată în Uqbar. Uqbar, cu nebuloasele puncte de
referinţă ale frontierelor, cu trimiterea la literatura din Uqbar, cu caracterul
fantastic, ale cărei legende şi epopei nu se refereau niciodată la un fapt real
ci la două regiuni imaginate, Ulejnas şi Tlön ... Uqbar se afla sub semnul
neliniştitor al „oglinzii”, care multiplică irealitatea, un mit al civilizaţiei şi
al culturii, un spaţiu inventat, o enciclopedie fictivă, care-l atestă, ca şi
Tlön, care invadează spaţiul real: „Trecuseră doi ani de când descoperisem
într-un volum al unei anumite enciclopedii pirat o sumară descriere a unei
ţări false ... Cine sunt cei care au inventat Tlön-ul? Pluralul este inevitabil,
pentru că ipoteza unui singur inventator – a unui infinit Leibniz lucrând în
ceaţă şi modestie – a fost refuzată în mod unanim. Se presupune că această
brave new world este opera unei societăţi secrete de astronomi, ingineri,
metafizicieni, poeţi, moralişti, pictori ... conduşi de un obscur om de geniu
(...) La început s-a crezut că Tlön ar fi un haos clar, o iresponsabilă licenţă
de imaginaţie (...)”.
Universul propus de Borges stă sub semnul imaginarului, şi al
ficţiunii: „S-a stabilit că toate operele constituie opera unui singur autor
atemporal şi anonim (...) O carte care nu închide în ea propria-i contracarte
este considerată incompletă”. Lumea lui Borges este Tlön – „Tlön va fi
fiind un labirint, dar este un labirint urzit de oameni, un labirint făcut pentru
313
ca oamenii să-l poată descifra. Lumea va fi Tlön.”
Biblioteca Babel, alt drum, eseistic constituit, propune tema recurentă
a lui Borges, biblioteca ca lume, planetă fictivă, în care trăiesc nu doar toate
cărţile scrise ci şi acelea care ar putea fi scrise, în toate limbile care există
sau au existat, într-un catalog infinit, în egală măsură fictiv şi fals, în care
omul este „un bibliotecar imperfect”, poate găsi o carte „care să constituie
abrevierea şi compendiul perfect al tuturor celorlalte: un anume bibliotecar
a parcurs-o şi este aidoma unui zeu”.
Povestirile lui Borges sunt „iluzii”, simboluri ce transcriu propria
condiţie de ficţionar într-o lume ce-şi ascunde sub straturi de reprezentări şi
mituri realitatea intimă. Singura opţiune a creatorului este acceptarea
existenţei în şi prin irealităţi: „Să facem ceea ce nici un idealist n-a făcut; să
căutăm irealităţi care să confirme caracterul halucinant al lumii”.
Condiţia autorului care-şi pierde individualitatea, rescriind la infinit
aceeaşi literatură pe care o readaptează sensibilităţii contemporane este o
altă obsesie borgesiană, formulată în Pierre Menard, autorul lui Don
Quijote, unde, ca şi în Biblioteca Babel, Borges formulează credinţa în
Cartea Unică, pe care o rescrie un Pierre Menard, despre care Gérard
Genette spunea că este „tlönian prin excelenţă”, adică utopic şi fictiv:
simpla reproducere presupune recitirea, citatul este o rescriere, orice cititor
devine astfel, prin contaminare, autor, iar respectarea literei e însoţită prin
rescriere de o torsionare a spiritului textului. Ca pretutindeni la Borges, şi
aici problema identităţii este şi problema Operei; dacă a citi scriitura zeului
înseamnă a fi Zeul, atunci un principiu adecvat de lectură devine şi un
principiu productiv: „Toţi oamenii, în momentul vertiginos al orgasmului,
sunt acelaşi om. Toţi oamenii care repetă un vers din Shakespeare sunt
William Shakespeare” (Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius).
Infidelitatea lectorului, al cărui text se îndepărtează de textul
scriitorului, poate varia între ipostaza lui Pierre Menard, a cărui lectură din
Don Quijote, conservând integritatea textului crează un semnificat distinct
(„textul lui Cervantes şi cel al lui Menard sunt verbal identice, dar ce de-al
doilea este infinit mai bogat”), care conţine chiar esenţa acetui tip de lectură
/ scriitură, şi ipostaza lectorului care trebuie să continue textul iniţiat de
scriitor, operând modificări (eroul lui Borges, Herbert Quain remarcă: „nu
mai există cititori, în sensul ingenuu al cuvântului”): „Quain obişnuia să
argumenteze că cititorii sunt o specie deja dispărută (...) Afirma de asemeni
că dintre feluritele desfătări pe care le poate procura literatura, cea mai
înaltă este invenţia. De vreme ce nu toţi sunt capabili de o asemenea
fericire, mulţi vor trebui să se limiteze la simulacre. Pentru aceşti imperfecţi
scriitori care sunt în puzderie, Quain a redactat cele opt povestiri din
volumul Statements. Fiecare din ele prefigurează ori făgăduieşte un bun
314
argument, cu voinţă zădărnicit de autor. Una din ele – nu cea mai izbutită –
insinuează două argumente. Lectorul, furat de vanitate, este convins că le-a
imaginat el însuşi” (Cercetarea operei lui Herbert Quain). Borges creează
şi o practică aparte a metaficţiunii: pseudo – rezumatele sau rezumatul
fictiv, ca în Tlön sau în Grădina potecilor care se bifurcă. Este însă în
multe secvenţe, o rescriere, care, spre deosebire de metaficţiune nu
comentează tensiunea dintre noua lectură şi vechea lectură, nici participarea
cititorului la producţia textului: în metaficţiuni ca Istoria asediului
Lisabonei, de José Saramango sau Terra Nostra de Carlos Fuentes, sunt
încorporate enunţuri explicite, reale sau fictive, care reconstruiesc o lume,
nu o reflectă; profesiunea de corector a personajului Raimundo, care
introducând un „Nu” în textul pe care-l copiază, rescrie fictiv istoria reală,
este o metaforă a condiţiei omului care prin rescrieri şi corectări caută la
nesfârşit adevărul (Istoria asediului Lisabonei).
Ipostaza autorului, este definită ca alegorie a sterilităţii, un autor
asimilabil unui minotaur al labirintului culturii: „A fi, într-un fel oarecare,
Cervantes şi a ajunge la Quijote, i-a părut mai puţin anevoios – în
consecinţă , mai puţin interesant – decât a continua să fie Pierre Menard şi a
ajunge la Quijote, prin intermediul experienţelor lui Pierre Menard” (Pierre
Menard, autor al lui Don Quijote).
Gérard Genette, într-un studiu publicat în Cahiers de l’Herne, 1964,
La Littérature selon Borges, apreciază elementul de legătură între scriitor şi
lector, la Proust şi Borges: „Acesta e statutul vertiginos al naratorului
proustian („lectorul”), invitat, nu ca Nathanael să zvârle această carte, ci
dimpotrivă, s-o rescrie, cu desăvârşire infidel şi miraculos exact, aşa cum
Pierre Ménard inventează, cuvânt cu cuvânt, Don Quijote (...) Adevăratul
autor al povestirii nu este doar acela care o ascultă.”
Din acest punct de vedere, opţiunea personajului lui Borges, Pierre
Menard de a rescrie romanul lui Cervantes şi nu altă operă contemporană
lui, ţine de logica perfecţiunii textului „definitiv”, acela în care autorul
vehiculează „cuvinte definitive, cuvinte care postulează înţelepciuni
miraculoase ori divine, sau deciziuni de o tărie supraomenească – unic,
niciodată, totdeauna, totul, perfecţiune, desăvârşit ...” (Borge – Discusión,
1964 – La supersticiosa ética del lector).
Ceea ce ficţiunile lui Borges construiesc parabolic pentru a defini
imensul imperiu al spaţiului literar, este deconstruit în confesiunile şi
dialogurile borgesiene, care funcţionează ca o oglindă atât pentru lumea
interioară a autorului cât şi a operei, ca şi cum strategia de „punere în abis”
ar fi fost gândită pentru lumea lui Borges. „Un scriitor îşi aşteaptă propria
operă (dacă îmi permiteţi să fiu paradoxal). Cred că un scriitor este mereu
schimbat de produsul său. Poate că la început ceea ce scrie nu este relevant
315
pentru el. Dacă însă continuă să scrie, va descoperi că aceste lucruri sunt o
continuă provocare. Eu am scris mai mult decât ar fi trebuit. Regret, dar
trebuie să spun că am scris cam cincizeci sau şaizeci de cărţi şi totuşi
descopăr că toate aceste cărţi există în prima carte pe care am publicat-o, în
acea carte obscură, scrisă cu mult timp în urmă, Fervor de Buenos Aires,
publicată în 1923. Deşi este o carte de poezii, descopăr că majoritatea
povestirilor mele sunt acolo, numai că sunt tăinuite, pot fi găsite într-un fel
tainic şi numai eu pot să le scot la iveală. Şi totuşi continui să recitesc
această
carte
şi
să
rescriu
ceea
ce-am scris acolo. Asta este tot ce pot să fac. Mă reîntorc mereu la această
carte în care mă regăsesc şi-n care-mi aflu cărţile viitoare.” (Borges despre
Borges / Convorbiri cu Borges la 80 de ani)
„Recitire” este cuvântul care pentru scriitorul Borges defineşte
raporturile cu lumea literară. Aici încep marile modele ale literaturii, cu care
scriitorul trăieşte afinităţi profunde: „Dacă trebuie să numesc o singură carte
ca fiind cea mai bună din toată literatura, cred că aş alege Divina Commedia
a lui Dante. Şi totuşi nu sunt catolic. Nu pot să cred în teologie. Nu pot să
cred în ideea pedepsei sau a recompensei. Însă poemul în sine e perfect (...)
în cazul lui Dante fiecare vers este perfect (...) Fiecare cuvânt este perfect,
fiecare cuvânt este la locul lui. Ţi se pare că nimeni n-ar putea îmbunătăţi un
vers al lui Dante. Don Quijote este poate una dintre cele mai frumoase cărţi
scrise vreodată. Nu datorită intrigii (...) însă omul Alonso Quijano, care s-a
visat Don Quijote, este poate unul dintre cei mai buni prieteni ai noştri. Este
cel puţin unul dintre cei mai buni prieteni ai mei. Să creezi un prieten pentru
atâtea generaţii este o faptă greu de egalat. Şi Cervantes a făcut-o.”
Povestirile sale apropiate de formula eseului, aspectul parabolic –
narativ al poemelor, meditaţia asupra singurătăţii şi adevărurilor absolute
ale lumii, în cei treizeci de ani de orbire, conturează un univers literar mai
aparte, separat de spaţiul amplu de frescă a romanului sud-american,
Borges îşi reconsideră permanent sursele, îşi autocomentează ficţiunile,
subliniind permanent fie lumea literaturii, din care-i pleacă sursele, fie
necesara lectură „deschisă”, multiplicitatea de sensuri ale lumii, pe care
textul său le închide într-o povestire supraetajată, căreia îi construieşte
metatextul: „Îl citeam pe Henry James. Am fost impresionat, aşa cum aţi
fost probabil cu toţii de povestirea lui The Turn of The Screw (O coardă
prea întinsă), care admite mai multe interpretări. V-aţi putea gândi la
apariţiile de acolo ca la nişte duşmani travestiţi în stafii şi v-aţi putea gândi
la copii ca fiind nişte nebuni sau nişte victime sau poate complici. Henry
James a scris câteva povestiri într-una singură. Atunci m-am gândit să fac şi
eu acelaşi lucru. Am să încerc şi eu acelaşi şiretlic, să scriu trei povestiri
într-una singură. Aşa am scris El Sur (Sudul), în care o să găsiţi trei
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povestiri. În primul rând aveţi o parodie: Un om este ucis de ceea ce
iubeşte. Acesta este reversul a ceea ce a spus Oscar Wilde: Căci toţi ucidem
ce iubim – Aceasta ar fi o versiune. Puteţi da alta dacă aţi considera
povestirea realistă şi în acest caz aţi avea o interpretare realistă care nu lear exclude pe celelalte: aţi putea considera a doua jumătate a povestirii ca
fiind ceea ce visează personajul când moare sub cuţitul medicului în spital.
Căci, într-adevăr, omul era avid de o moarte epică. Îşi imagina că moare cu
un cuţit în mână. De fapt, murea sub cuţitul chirurgului. Aşa că totul era
doar un vis al lui. Am sentimentul că aceasta este interpretarea corectă.
Cred, într-adevăr, că povestirea aceasta este bună din punct de vedere
tehnic, pentru că relatează trei povestiri în acelaşi timp. Şi ele nu se
stingheresc una pe alta. Este aspectul cel mai interesant. În primul rând ai
putea descoperi o parabolă. Un om este avid de sud, însă, când se întoarce
în sud, sudul îl omoară. Aici ai parabola. Apoi ai povestirea realistă a unui
om care înnebuneşte şi ajunge să se bată cu un ucigaş beat. Apoi, în al
treilea rând – simbolul cel mai profund – cred că totul este un vis.
Povestirea nu ar relata, de fapt, moartea unui om, ci moartea pe care
el o visează în timp ce moare.”
Această triplă interpretare, în trei chei de lectură, în funcţie de tipul de
text construit pentru suportul ficţiunii, rezumă concepţia borgesiană a
textului făcut din texte, a textului universal, concentrat în text, ca vestitul
labirint – metaforă (Grădina potecilor care se bifurcă - Ficţiuni): „mi-am
închipuit un labirint de labirinturi, un sinuos labirint crescător (...)”, sau
acele puncte ale spaţiului, care primesc simultan toate imaginile
universului, vestitul Aleph: „Îmi lămuri că Aleph înseamnă unul din
punctele spaţiului care conţine toate punctele (...) un loc unde se află, fără a
se confunda, toate locurile din lume, văzute din toate unghiurile (...) Fiecare
lucru (...) era o infinitate de lucruri din pricină că eu îl vedeam cu
limpezime din toate punctele universului (...) am izbucnit în plâns, pentru
că ochii mei văzuseră acel tainic şi ipotetic tot, al cărui nume oamenii îl
uzurpă, dar pe care nici un om nu l-a privit vreodată, neînchipuitul univers.”
(El Aleph)
Există elemente de legătură, secvenţe textuale reluate, din „ficţiune”
în ficţiune, care evocă permanent un text de bază din care curge la nesfârşit
textul infinit al lumii (incluzând şi scriitura în mişcare a autorului dar şi
textul universal al civilizaţiei umane), cum ar fi trimiterea la istoria celor
1001 de nopţi, secvenţele biografice sau lecturile formative: „Mi-am
amintit şi de noaptea aceea care se află în miezul celor O mie şi una de
nopţi, şi în care regina Shahrazad (printr-o magică neatenţie a copistului)
începe să povestească textual istoria celor o mie şi una de nopţi, cu riscul de
a ajunge din nou la noaptea în care o povesteşte, şi tot astfel la nesfârşit.”
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Cu această perspectivă, Borges alege circularitatea tematică ca
imagine a circularităţii temporale, a timpului universal, a circularităţii
obsesive a destinului şi a istoriilor lumii pe care literatura le reia la
nesfârşit: „În odăiţa unui han, pe la o mie opt sute şaptezeci şi ceva, un
bărbat visează o luptă. Un gaucho îşi împlântă cuţitul într-un om cu faţa
întunecată, îl azvârle apoi ca pe o traistă de oase, îl priveşte zvârcolindu-se
şi dându-şi sufletul, se apleacă să-şi şteargă cuţitul, îşi dezleagă armăsarul şi
încalecă încet, ca să nu se creadă că fuge. Ce s-a petrecut o dată se repetă
mereu, la nesfârşit; arătoasele oştiri s-au spulberat şi n-a rămas decât o
umilă înfruntare cu cuţite; visul unuia e parte din memoria tuturora” (El
Hácedor, 1960 – Creatorul).
Funcţionalitatea citatului literar, filozofic ţine de jocul între text şi
comentariul lui metatextual: Borges fie comentează citate, fragmente pentru
a-şi argumenta construcţia fictivă, fie se comentează pe sine, eseistic prin
citat; uneori trimiterea la o sursă este fictivă, testând plăcerea cititorului de
aventuri şi jocuri spirituale, dar şi ţesătura erudită a ficţiunilor sale eseistice,
după modelul mai vechi al hărţii desenate în cuvinte pentru uzul
ascultătorilor neştiutori de călugărul lui Boccacio din Decameron sau a
citatelor şi autorilor fictivi, pe care-i recomandă Cervantes, ca reţetă a unei
cărţi erudite, în Cuvântul înainte la Don Quijote de la Mancha. Ceea ce
rezultă este o stranie şi nebănuită aventură pe tărâmul intertextualităţii reale
sau fictive: „Sunt în şirul nopţilor (O mie şi una de nopţi), minuni pe care
mi-ar plăcea să le văd regândite în germană. Nu este miraculos faptul că în
noaptea 602 regele Shahriar aude din gura reginei propria lui poveste?
Urmărind cadrul general, o poveste cuprinde de obicei alte poveşti (...);
scene înăuntrul altei scene, ca în tragedia Hamlet, ridicări la putere ale
visului (...) Anticamerele se confundă cu oglinzile, masca se află sub chipul
pe care-l ascunde, nimeni nu mai ştie care este omul adevărat şi care sunt
idolii lui. Şi nimic din toate acestea nu are importanţă; această dezordine
este obişnuită şi acceptată, aşa cum sunt născocirile stării de vis”
(Traducătorii celor O mie şi una de nopţi – În istoria eternităţii - 1936).
Intertextul fictiv generează un joc pentru uzul lectorului (ca şi în
cazul romanului lui José Saramago – Istoria asediului Lisabonei) între
elementele de istorie reală, care au personaje recognoscibile şi istoria
ipotetică sau fictivă care se insinuează în cea reală: chiar organizarea
textuală sugerează graniţa inserţiei: „nimic nu ne împiedică să ne imaginăm
că (...); Să ne închipuim că la Toledo se descoperă manuscrisul unui text
arab şi că paleografii îl declară ca fiind scris de însăşi mâna acelui Cide
Hamete Benengeli din care Cervantes s-ar fi inspirat pentru Don Quijote. În
text citim că eroul, care, precum bine se ştie (...) descoperă, după una din
multele-i lupte, că a ucis un om. În acest punct fragmentul încetează:
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problema este să ghicim sau să presupunem, cum reacţionează Don
Quijote.” (Creatorul – Un trandafir galben; O problemă)
Acest mod de a ieşi din spaţiul textului finit, printr-o mânuire ludică a
intertextualităţii, se face rescriind textul citat într-o direcţie diferită: „Dacă
această istorie ar fi fost scrisă de Kafka, Wakefield n-ar fi izbutit pentru
nimic în lume să se mai întoarcă (...) Modificarea trecutului nu înseamnă
doar modificarea unui singur fapt; înseamnă anularea consecinţelor
acestuia, care tind să fie infinite. Altfel spus, înseamnă să creezi două istorii
universale.”
Nivelul textual la care se construieşte universul lui Borges se situează
astfel în imaginaţie pură (chiar trimiterea la un roman inexistent, scris de un
autor inexistent, închis într-o carte de autoritate – Enciclopedia Bompiani
din Cronicas de Bustos Domecq, 1967, sau lista de enciclopedii reale şi
fictive în care autorul caută date despre Uqbar, constituie repere ale
labirintului – bibliotecă, pe care Borges le numeşte Ficţiuni).
Autorul Borges poartă măştile personajelor sale fictive, ele însele autori
posibili, cu care ca în autoficţiuni se intersectează: Pierre Menard, Herbert
Quain, Jarmolinski, Hladik, cărora le atribuie opere ale sale, preferinţe
literare şi filozofice; într-o povestire ca El Zahir, relatarea care se petrece în
planul ficţiunii este atribuită lui Borges: „Cel mai de seamă vrăjitor ar fi acela
care s-ar vrăji pe sine însuşi într-atât încât să-şi ia propriile plăsmuiri drept
apariţii de sine stătătoare. N-ar fi acesta cazul nostru?” (Alte investigări –
Avatares de la tortuga)
Scriitorul ca producător de fantasme, asimilându-se magicianului prin
aceea că nu se lasă dominat şi anihilat de fantasmele propriului inconştient,
prin proiectarea în universul imaginar din lumea ficţională devenită realitate
textuală, aceşti „demoni” de care vorbeşte şi Marquez, constituie temele lui
Borges, care-l plasează undeva între mit şi realitate, dacă plasăm faptele
imaginarului uman în mit.
Borges, prin „ficţiunile” sale, un fel de eseuri filozofice mascate sub un
limbaj aluziv, metaforic – simbolic, pune sub semnul egalităţii lumea fictivă
şi cea reală, acceptând ca principiu posibilitatea ca „Don Quijote să fie lector
al lui Don Quijote şi Hamlet spectator al lui Hamlet”, atât din perspectiva
textului infinit al lumii în care spaţiile sunt transgresate cât şi din perspectiva
lumii ca proiecţie mentală, ca imagine a subiectivităţii, cu care filozofia
idealistă şi doctrinile gnostice alimentează spiritul uman neliniştit.
Pentru Borges, lumea reală şi cea imaginată, este reconciliată la un
nivel textual în structura unor sintagme metaforice ca „Biblioteca Babel”,
„Oglinda infinită”, „Labirintul”, „Aleph”, „Tlön”, „Uqbar”, „Ruinele
circulare”, „Cartea fiinţelor imaginare”, „El Zahir”. Obsesia „visului”
ca existenţă care trimite la o întreagă lume filozofică, eseistică, şi
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imaginativă (ne amintim imaginea magicianului din Ruinele circulare, care
creează un om prin vis şi prin puterea gândului, sau a personajului care-şi
visează propria moarte pe patul de moarte, La otra muerte, trimite la
suprapunerea Universului infinit din spaţiul „imaginaţiei”, al visului şi al
cărţii, pe corpul „labirintului” mental, alcătuit el însuşi din rădăcinile
cosmogoniilor orientale, din tradiţia cabalistică şi gnostică, trăind în
labirintul memoriei umanităţii, un fel de inconştient colectiv, la care
universul borgesian aderă.
Această strategie naşte şi face să dispară lumi imaginate, ca în
fantasticul proiect tlönian al unei societăţi secrete, în care spiritul uman se
substituie ideii de Dumnezeu (proiectul acestei lumi fictive şi virtuale,
realizat într-o limbă fictivă, tlöniana, este Orbis Tertius, un fel de spaţiu
terifiant pluridimensional).
Ceea ce Borges, cetăţean al lumii, propune lumii argentiniene şi sudamericane de origine, este un alt tip de literatură, o ficţiune triumfătoare,
care subordonează realul.
Bibliografie:
o Bellini, G. (1985) Historia de la literatura hispanoamericana,
Madrid: Editorial Castalia
o Benedetti, M. (1977) „Recursul supremului patriarh”, Secolul XX, 10.
o Blanchot, M. (1982) Infinitul literar: El Aleph în Secolul XX, 5-6
o Borges despre Borges. Convorbiri cu Borges la 80 de ani, (1990),
volum îngrijit de Willis Barnstone, Cluj: Dacia, (Borges at eighty
conversations, 1982).
o Iser. W. (1985) L’Acte de lecture-théorie de l’effet esthétique, Bruxelles,
Pierre Mardaga
o Llosa, M. V. (1972) „Hegemonia imaginarului”, Secolul XX, 9
o Nouhaud, D. (1996) La littérature hispano – americaine, Le roman, la
nouvelle, le conte, Paris: Dunod
o Oltean, Ş. (1996) Ficţiunea, lumile posibile şi discursul indirect liber,
Cluj-Napoca: Studium
o Rujea, V. (2004) Lumea ca proiecţie mentală, Proza fantastică
hispano – americană, Cluj: Limes.
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SPRE O NEGOCIERE A RELAŢIEI DINTRE
SEMNIFICAT ŞI SEMNIFICANT.
PREZENTARE SAU REPREZENTARE?
Steluţa Stan
Universitatea „Dunărea de Jos” din Galaţi
Dacă înţelesul este, mai degrabă, multiplu, ambiguu şi construit
social, atunci atât autorul, cât şi criticul sau cititorul sunt la dispoziţia
structurilor lingvistice. Majoritatea romanelor post-moderniste nu mai
cred în oglindirea directă a realităţii în text, deşi unele dintre acestea par
să aibă o mare bucurie în a se juca cu această noţiune, realitatea
devenind o construcţie pur lingvistică; dacă avem de-a face cu vreo
reflectare, aceasta este cea a structurilor lingvistice; nu lumea poate fi
reprezentată, ci discursul ei.
Sunt bine cunoscute atât teoriile lingvistului elveţian, Ferdinand de
Saussure, prezentate într-o serie de cursuri la Universitatea din Geneva în
perioada 1906-1911 şi reunite mai apoi în lucrarea postumă, Cours de
linguistique générale (1915), cât şi impactul extraordinar pe care ele l-au
avut asupra scrierilor literare şi critice ulterioare. Saussure pune accentul
pe construirea înţelesului, pe faptul că structurile lingvistice determină
perceperea realităţii, astfel încât sensul nu poate exista independent de
limbă (Norris 1982:4; Saussure 1915:65)[1]. Din această perspectivă,
imaginea oglinzii lui Stendhal, preluată şi de George Eliot la începutul
romanului Adam Bede (dar şi mai târziu de Virginia Woolf, pentru care
picătura de cerneală este, în primul rând, o oglindă a picăturii de cerneală
a domnişoarei Flanders din Jacob’s Room [2]), cea care se mişcă de-a
lungul unui drum, este nepotrivită, în opinia structuraliştilor, pentru că ea
presupune că ideile preced cuvintele. Structuraliştii susţin că “our
knowledge of things is insensibly structured by the systems of code and
convention which alone enable us to classify and organize the chaotic flow
of experience” (Norris 1982: 4).
Pentru ei, literatura nu mai poate fi considerată emanaţia naturală a
unei minţi inspirate. Acesta pare să fie cel mai semnificativ câştig:
demistificarea literaturii ca discurs special, privilegiat, pentru că
structurile, codurile şi convenţiile pot fi găsite atât în literatură cât şi în
Literatură. Structuralismul pune în discuţie ideea comun acceptată că
“[w]hat is most ‘real’ is what is experienced, and [...] the home of this
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rich, subtle, complex experience is literature itself. Like Freud, it exposes
the shocking truth that our most intimate experience is the effect of a
structure” (Eagleton 1983:109).
Dacă înţelesul este, mai degrabă, multiplu şi construit social, atunci
autorul, dar şi criticul sau cititorul sunt la dispoziţia structurilor lingvistice.
În timp ce critica umanistă a Realismului vedea în autor producătorul de
sens şi moralitate (Matthew Arnold, John Ruskin, F. R. Leavis, Thomas
Carlyle), criticii post-saussurieni caută înţelesul în relaţia co-creativă
dintre text şi cititor [3].
Încă din vremea literaturii orale, omul şi-a pus întrebări despre locul
şi rolul lui în univers; începând însă cu perioada de după cel de-al doilea
război mondial, identitatea (individului, naţiunii sau a unei anumite
minorităţi) a devenit un cuvânt-cheie. De ce nu, atunci, şi identitatea
textului (literar)?
Ca şi Saussure, majoritatea romanelor postmoderniste susţin că
înţelesul începe să fie perceput ca irevocabil ambiguu şi plural. Nimeni nu
se mai preface, macar, că ar crede în oglindirea directă a realităţii în text,
deşi unele dintre acestea par să aibă o mare bucurie în a se juca cu această
noţiune. Realitatea a devenit o construcţie pur lingvistică şi, dacă avem dea face cu vreo reflectare, aceasta este cea a structurilor lingvistice: “[a]ll
literary texts are woven out of other literary texts, not in the conventional
sense that they bear the traces of ‘influence’ but in the more radical sense
that every word, phrase or segment is a reworking of other writings which
precede or surround the individual work. There is no such thing as literary
‘originality’, no such thing as the ‘first’ literary work: all literature is
intertextual” (Eagleton 1983: 138).
Este o consecinţă pentru literatură a teoriei saussuriene a diferenţei,
în care limba este un sistem de termeni interdependenţi, în care valoarea
fiecăruia rezultă din prezenţa simultană a celorlalţi.
Cea mai mare parte a criticii literare a secolului XX – de la critica
practică a lui I. A. Richards la Noua Critică americană, de la structuralism
la post(-)structuralism şi deconstrucţie, de la modernism la postmodernism
– este, din punct de vedere teoretic, formalistă; ea întoarce spatele (în
principiu, cel puţin) legăturii dintre viaţa de dincolo de text (în a cărei
existenţă Derrida - aşa cum s-a spus de multe ori şi cum el însuşi a negat,
tot de nenumărate ori, că ar fi spus, nu credea - şi cea a textului. Aceasta i
se pare profesorului Valentine Cunningham (1994) „un fenomen curios”,
care a atras atenţia multor comentatori, mai ales a celor de tendinţă
marxistă. Vina, dacă se poate vorbi despre aşa ceva, Cunningham o
ataşează influenţei teoriei mai-sus menţionate, în ciuda aspectelor
inconsistente pe care le identifică în aceasta (poate cea mai importantă, dar
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şi cea mai influentă, fiind privilegierea semnificantului în detrimentul
semnificatului), asupra criticilor şi teoreticienilor post-belici. Efectul
spectaculos a fost că referinţa, lumea, cei care folosesc limba în acte de
vorbire reale, caracterul istoric al acesteia (limba văzută diacronic), au fost
sancţionate, dispreţuite şi degradate, evidenţiindu-se, în schimb, caracterul
ambiguu şi arbitrar al semnului lingvistic, dar şi al relaţiei dintre entitatea
lingvistică şi cea a lumii extratextuale. Concluzia este aproape tăioasă:
“Language refers to the world we know. [...] Try as one might, two sides
of a coin cannot be separated and yet remain legal currency” (20-1).
În sprijinul argumentaţiei este adusă şi afirmaţia lui Émile
Benveniste, conform căreia « Entre le signifiant et le signifié, le lien n’est
pas arbitraire, il est nécessaire ». Semnul, nu numai că acoperă şi comandă
realitatea, el este chiar acea realitate. Nu este mai puţin adevărat, însă, că,
simptom al condiţiei postmoderne, realul este considerat un construct
social şi literar deopotrivă, constituit prin intermediul limbajului şi al
imaginii. Contactul cu realitatea este mediat, referenţialitatea ‘obiectivă’ şi
cea ‘psihologică’ nefiind altceva decât intertextualităţi camuflate.
În capitolul ‘Narativ şi descriptiv în proza postmodernistă’, Carmen
Muşat consideră că determinantă pentru funcţia descriptivă nu este relaţia
de desemnare, cât cea de semnificare, în măsura în care obiectele
exterioare devin ficţiuni interioare, şi tot în măsura în care descriptorul
porneşte de la senzaţii pentru a crea imagini, “într-un efort permanent de
recuperare a lumii şi a propriei sale fiinţe”, şi introduce în ecuaţie
percepţia cititorului, infinit variabilă; astfel, “referentul unei opere literare
variază de la o epocă la alta şi de la un cititor la altul” (2002: 97-8),
omniscienţa auctorială fiind înlocuită cu competenţa narativă a lectorului,
în spaţiul naraţiunii intersectându-se universul fictiv, lumea lectorului şi
intertextul.
Sau, cum spune Barthes, limba este cea care vorbeşte, nu autorul, el
pledând pentru o schimbare de accent de la autor la cititor (1977: 143) [4].
Toate aceste teorii lingvistice (structuraliste, cu influenţă asupra
modernismului, dar mai cu seamă, post-structuraliste şi deconstructiviste,
cu impact asupra literaturii postmoderniste) sunt tot atâtea atacuri la adresa
Realismului şi ideologiei liberal umaniste, împotriva teoriei conform
căreia fiecare text are înscris în el un singur adevăr care este reflecţia unei
minţi morale şi care poate fi extras cu ajutorul unei judecăţi sănătoase, al
unui simţ practic. Critici precum Catherine Belsey, Terry Eagleton sau
Edward Said văd Realismul ca pe o unealtă de control ideologic, tocmai
pentru că pretinde că este normal şi neutru.
Teoria care susţine că ‘realitatea’ şi ‘adevărul’ sunt doar construcţii
lingvistice, fără vreo valoare absolută, subminează, de fapt, un întreg
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sistem de control social şi pedagogic a cărui putere depinde de existenţa
transcendentală a celor două concepte. Textele postmoderne, asemeanea
celor moderne înaintea lor, sunt, în acelaşi timp, moştenitoarele şi
autoarele acestei subminări radicale.
H. Porter Abbot tratează distincţia dintre prezentare şi reprezentare
în capitolul ‘Defining Narrative’ din The Cambridge Introduction to
Narrative (2002), făcând trimitere la problematica definirii termenului
‘reprezentare’, folosit în definirea naraţiunii ca reprezentare a unui
eveniment sau a unei serii de evenimente.
Legat de distincţia de mai sus, Jonathan Culler pune o altă întrebare,
la fel de pertinentă, în ‘Identity, Identification, and the Subject’ (2000:
113-4): vorbim despre reprezentare sau producere? discursul reprezintă
identităţi deja existente sau le produce chiar el? În sprijinul ideii
discursului care produce/creează, Culler aduce două nume: Michel
Foucault şi criticul american Nancy Armstrong.
Foucault şi Derrida sunt deseori grupaţi împreună ca ‘poststructuralişti’, dar, în timp ce Derrida oferă un model de interpretare a
textelor identificând o logică internă a acestora, opiniile lui Foucault nu se
bazează pe texte – de fapt, el citează uimitor de puţine documente sau
discursuri – ci oferă un cadru general gândirii despre texte şi discursuri în
general.
În The History of Sexuality, de ex., Foucault ia în discuţie ceea ce el
numeşte ‘ipoteza represivă’: ideea general acceptată că sexul este ceva
reprimat, în special de secolul al XIX-lea, şi pe care modernii s-au luptat
să-l elibereze. Foucault susţine că, departe de a fi ceva natural care a fost
reprimat, ‘sexul’ este o idee complexă produsă de o sumă de practici
sociale, investigaţii, discuţii şi scrieri – pe scurt, ‘discursuri’ sau ‘practici
discursive’ – în secolul al XIX-lea. Doctori, preoţi, romancieri, psihologi,
moralişti, politicieni, toţi cei pe care îi legăm, într-un fel sau altul, de idea
de reprimare a sexualităţii sunt, în opinia istoricului francez, răspunzători
de ‘naşterea’ a ceea ce numim ‘sex’. Foucault scrie: “The notion of ‘sex’
made it possible to group together, in an artificial unity, anatomical
elements, biological functions, conducts, sensations, pleasures; and it
enabled one to make use of this fictitious unity as a causal principle, an
omnipresent meaning, a secret to be discovered everywhere” (Foucault în
Culler, 2000: p. 5).
Autorul nu neagă existenţa actului fizic, a organelor sexuale sau a
sexului biologic. Ceea ce susţine el este că s-a creat o unitate artificială, în
care au fost amestecate elemente potenţial diferite, şi chiar această unitate
a ajuns să fie considerată fundamentală identităţii individului. Apoi, printro răsturnare crucială, acest lucru numit ‘sex’ a fost văzut drept cauza unei
324
varietăţi de fenomene care fuseseră grupate pentru a crea idea. Acest
proces a dat sexualităţii o nouă importanţă şi un nou rol, transformând-o în
secretul naturii individului. Analiza lui Foucault indică sexul ca, mai
degrabă, efect decât cauză, produsul discursurilor care încearcă să
analizeze, descrie şi regleze activităţile fiinţelor umane.
Dacă ar fi să adăugăm un al doilea exemplu de dominaţie a
semnificantului asupra semnificatului, am recurge, poate, la cea mai
uşoară alegere – “Simulacra and Simulations” al lui Baudrillard şi mesajul
pierderii realului în favoarea imaginii sau jocului semnelor.
Reprezentarea, în opinia autorului, porneşte de la principiul că
semnul şi realul sunt echivalente (chiar dacă utopică, această echivalenţă
este o axiomă fundamentală). Simularea, dimpotrivă, porneşte de la
caracterul utopic al principiului echivalenţei, de la negarea completă a
semnului ca valoare, de la semn ca sentinţă la moarte a oricărei referinţe.
În timp ce reprezentarea încearcă să absoarbă simularea tratând-o drept
reprezentare falsă, aceasta consideră tot edificiul reprezentării ca fiind el
însuşi un simulacru.
Argumentaţia lui Baudrillard continuă, punctând ceea ce el
consideră a fi “the transition from signs which dissimulate something to
signs which dissimulate that there is nothing” (Brooker 1992: 153).
Exemplul pe care îl aduce în sprijinul teoriei simulării ca strategie a
realului, neo-realului şi hiper-realului este binecunoscut deja: Disneyland,
modelul perfect al tuturor nivelurilor simulării. O analiză ideologică a
acestui regat al jocului dintre iluzii şi fantasme, a acestei lumi imaginare,
l-ar putea defini ca rezumat al modului de viaţă american, panegiric al
valorilor americane, transpunere idealizată a unei realităţi contradictorii. În
opinia autorului, totul ascunde altceva: o simulare de ordinul al treilea [5],
mascarea absenţei oricărei realităţi; Disneyland este acolo pentru a
ascunde faptul că aceasta este ‘adevărata’ ţară, America cea ‘reală’.
Disneyland este prezentat ca fiind imaginar cu scopul de a ne face să
credem că restul este real, când, de fapt, Los Angeles-ul şi toată America
nu mai sunt reale, ci de ordinul hiper-realului şi al simulării. Nu se mai
pune problema unei false reprezentări a realităţii (aşa cum face ideologia),
ci a ascunderii faptului că realul nu mai este real şi astfel a salvării
principiului însuşi al realităţii.
În textele postmoderniste, accentul se pune pe multiplicitatea
înţelesului datorată pluralităţii inerente limbii, efect al pluralităţii realităţii,
iar negocierea se face între text şi cititor, (re)producătorul de sens.
Gheorghe Crăciun (1982) descrie şi el, trecerea violentă de la galaxia
Guttenberg la cea a lui Marconi şi conştiinţa proceselor simultane,
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transformarea rapidă a lumii înconjurătoare sub presiunea mass mediei şi
efectul acesteia atât asupra scriitorului, cât şi a cititorului.
În mod inevitabil, această ficţionalizare a lumii prin mass media face
ca atitudinea ‘realistă’ a scriitorilor postmoderni să presupună
recunoaşterea şi asumarea caracterului construit al realităţii, proza
postmodernistă devenind, oricât de paradoxal ar putea suna, mimetică, dar
într-un sens complet diferit de cel al prozei realiste a secolului al XIX-lea:
“When reality has become unreal, literature qualifies as our guide to
reality by de-realizing itself. [...] In a paradoxical and fugitive way,
mimetic theory remains alive. Literature holds the mirror to unreality [...]
its conventions of reflexivity and anti-realism are themselves mimetic of
the kind of unreal reality that modern reality has become. But “unreality”
in the sense is not a fiction but the element in which we live”. (Graff 1979:
53)
Note:
[1] Profesorul V. Cunningham îşi rezervă dreptul de a scoate în evidenţă
faptul că marginalizarea sau chiar respingerea legăturii dintre limbă şi
scriere, pe de o parte, şi realitate, pe de alta, se datorează filologului
elveţian şi inconsistenţelor teoriei lui, dar şi nenumăratelor lecturi şi
interpretări, multe eronate, ale vestitului Cours de linguistique générale.
‘Infelix Culpa’ în In the Reading Gaol (1974), pp. 16-22.
[2] Dacă tocul lui Eliot generează o lume, un timp, un spaţiu conceput
realist, oglinda unei lumi pe care prietenii şi cunoştinţele lui Marian Evans
o puteau decoda uşor şi recunoaşte ca fiind propria lor lume, cel al Virginiei
Woolf dă naştere altor tocuri şi cerneluri, unui text care ştie că este text, dar
şi text despre lumea din afara lui.
[3] “When words meet worlds, when writing occurs, when readers leave the
world to enter a text, ‘the stakes’ – to borrow Paul de Man’s words to J.
Hillis Miller - ‘are enormous’. The quest for meaning is like the desire for
life, presence, survival, against the threatening encroachments of death,
absence, annihilation.” Cunningham (1994), p. 13.
[4] Parafrazând definiţia pe care el o dădea realismului în S/Z (1970), am
putea spune că acesta nu constă atât în a copia realul, cât în a-i sublinia
caracterul livresc şi construit.
[5] Baudrillard distinge patru faze succesive ale imaginii: 1–reflexia
realităţii, 2–mascarea şi deformarea realităţii, 3–mascarea absenţei
realităţii, 4–nici o relaţie cu nici un fel de realitate, imaginea fiind propriul
ei simulacru.
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Bibliografie:
o Barthes, R. (1977) ‘The Death of the Author’, în Image – Music – Text,
Stephen Heath (trad.), New York: Hill and Wang
o Brooker, P. (ed.) (1992) Modernism/ Postmodernism, London & New
York: Longman
o Crăciun, Gh. (1982) ‘Autenticitatea ca metodă de lucru’, în Astra 4
o Culler, J. (2000) Literary Theory. A Very Short Introduction, Oxford &
New York: Oxford University Press
o Cunningham, V. (1994) In the Reading Gaol. Postmodernity, Texts and
History, Oxford UK&Cambridge USA: Blackwell
o Eagleton, T. (1983) Literary Theory, England: Basil Blackwell
o Graff, G. (1979) Literature Against Itself, Chicago & London: Chicago
University Press
o Muşat, C. (2002) Strategiile subversiunii. Descriere şi naraţiune în proza
postmodernă românească, Piteşti: Paralela 45
o Norris, C. (1982) Deconstruction: Theory and Practice, London:
Methuen
o Porter Abbott, H. (2002) The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
ANGLICISME ÎN PRESA ECONOMICĂ ROMÂNEASCĂ
ACTUALĂ
Anca Trişcă
Universitatea „Dunărea de Jos” din Galaţi
À partir d’un corpus tiré de la presse écrite post-communiste, notre
contribution se propose d’examiner d’une perspective sémantique et
fonctionnelle la terminologie économique d’origine anglo-américaine (des
emprunts proprement dits).
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Les motivations sociolinguistiques et psycholinguistiques de
l’emprunt sont examinées en relation avec les principes et les stratégies de
la communication économique.
La «créativité» du roumain actuel est mise en relief par l’extension
des sens et par le développement des valeurs figurées (pour la plupart
péjoratives).
On a souligné le rôle de l’anglais – véhicule de la mondialisation –
dans la diffusion des valeurs idéologiques et culturelles américaines, par
l’intermède des connotations positives associées aux emprunts et calques
analysés.
Mutaţiile profunde intervenite în viaţa societăţii româneşti după
decembrie 1989 au impus un nou tip de comunicare politică, „deschisă”
tuturor înnoirilor lexicale (împrumuturi, calcuri, creaţii interne, evoluţii
1
semantice etc.) .
Observaţiile care urmează se referă la împrumuturi de origine
engleză şi la calcuri după modele englezeşti întâlnite în presa economica,
cu atenţie specială pentru anii 2005-2006 :
Anglicism
Advertising
Back-office
Bonusuri
Brand
Brand manager
Business
Call-center
Consumer finance
Consortiu
Corporate affairs
Country manager
Consumer market
Dealer
Disaster holidays
Due diligence
e-learning
General manager
Holding
Hi-tech
International
Business
&Intercommunication
manager
In-store
Saptămâna
Financiară
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Business
Week
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Joburi
Know-how
Leader
Leasing
Mall-uri
Manager partener
Management
Managing director
Manager business
agency
Master franciza
Neuromarketing
Newsletter
Pack shot
Regulatory affairs
Rebranduite
Retail
Roaming
Service
Service fee
Senior manager
Senior copywriter
Shopping marketing
Short-selling
Showroom
Spot
Streaming
Trend
Voodoo
Website
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 Advertising
“..nu dă semne că s-ar fi plictisit de advertising”(Capital, nr.13, 30
martie 2006)
 Back-office
„..oameni specializaţi pentru activităţi de back-office la credite, în
cazul serviciilor financiar-bancare”(Capital, nr.13, 30 martie 2006)
 Bonusuri
„Noi vom da în continuare bonusuri agenţiilor care fac performanţă
în vânzările de bilete”(Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie 2006)
 Boom
„..cum ar fi cazul boom-ului de vânzări pe care îl înregistrează
retailerii pe perioada sărbătorilor.”(Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Brand
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„Harta românească a brandingului a cunoscut în ultimul timp un
freamăt pentru că nume mari ale industriei mondiale şi-au întors privirea
către ea.”(Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
„Piaţa de branding este sub cinci milioane de euro”.(Capital, nr.13,
30 martie 2006)
 Senior copywriter
„Până la fondarea agenţiei, Cazan a fost senior copywriter la agenţia
Lowe Lintas România”(Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Corporate affairs
„...explică Dan Pazara, director corporate affairs Rom Telecom”
(Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Corporate
„...în special pe segmentul corporate, care este reticent la schimbarea
numerelor de telefon” (Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Country manger
„...spune Adriana Boersma-Rodriguez, County Mannager Ericsson
România şi Moldova” (Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Chief investment officer
„Horia Manda, Senior vice president & chief investment officer al
RAEF” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie 2006)
 Due dilligence
„Dat fiind numărul mare al pretendenţilor, am început un proces de
selecţie, în urma căruia au rămas patru nume pe lista finală pentru due
dilligence în detaliu.” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie 2006)
 Hi-tech
„..cum ar fi maşina cu dotări hi-tech” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie
2006)
 Holding
„Forum Star a holdingului Auto Ţiriac, a fost desfiinţată de
managementul grupului”(Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 In-store
„Pentru Internity, acordul mai implică modificarea identităţii vizuale
şi comunicarea in-store.”(Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie 2006)
 Lider
„..ambiţia de a deveni lider de piaţă” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie
2006)
 Neuromarkening
„...neuromarkeingul este o combinaţie între neurologie şi
marketing” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprlie 2006)
 Pre-pay
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„La momentul lansării ofertei pre-pay de 2000 de minute în reţeta
pentru trei euro pe oră” (Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Service fee
„In SUA, agenţiile de turism încasează de la client între 20 şi 25 de
dolari pentru rezervarea unui bilet de avion (service fee)” (Capital, nr. 16,
20 aprilie 2006)
 Shopping center
„...ţara noastră fiind încă departe de ţările vecine în ceea ce priveşte
spaţiile de birouri de clasa A, shopping-center-uri şi spaţiile industriale
moderne” (Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Short-selling
„...despre tranzacţii în marjă, short-selling, derivative, iar, mai nou,
despre conturi agregate” (Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Training
„...francizorul oferă viitorilor parteneri un training specializat de
aproximativ cinci săptămâni vizând produsele, dar şi elementele de
marketing” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie 2006)
 Trend
„Trendul îl dă Tarom şi toate celalalte componente aeriene vor aplica
foarte repede politica operatorilor naţionali” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie
2006)
 Website
„În funcţie de fiecare website în parte, se pot găsi idei şi apoi metode
de implementare, care să crească traficul şi calitatea acestuia.” (Capital, nr.
16, 20 aprilie 2006)
Joburi al căror nume provine din limba engleză şi care nu sunt
prevăzute cu acest titlu în nomenclatorul Mininsterului Muncii şi
Protecţiei Sociale:
 Chief investment officer
„Horia Manda, Senior vice president & chief investment officer al
RAEF” (Capital, nr. 16, 20 aprilie 2006)
 Senior copywriter
„Până la fondarea agenţiei, Cazan a fost senior copywriter la agenţia
Lowe Lintas România”(Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Country manger
„...spune Adriana Boersma-Rodriguez, County Mannager Ericsson
România şi Moldova” (Capital, nr. 13, 30 martie 2006)
 Head of Socio-Economic Section, UNDP.
FLORIN BĂNĂŢEANU
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 Managing Partner Ascendis. Business
ADRIAN STANCIU
 Managing Partner GAV Scholz & Friends. Publicitate
LUCIAN GEORGESC
 Presedinte Leadership Development Solutions. Executive Search
RADU FURNICĂ
 Director de Vânzări şi Marketing, Crowne Plaza Bucureşti
MIOARA GHEORGHE
 Chartered Marketer, Managing Partner, Brandient Marketing
ANETA BOGDAN
 Partener Human Invest Training
Alegerea acestei categorii de termeni economici este motivată nu atât
prin numărul lor, cât prin frecvenţa de utilizare şi prin valorile semantice şi
stilistice dezvoltate pe teren românesc. Raportaţi la tranzacţiile economice
1
din ultimii ani, ei pot fi consideraţi cuvinte-martor , purtătoare ale unor
valori simbolice complexe.
În lingvistica românească, terminologia economică de origine
engleză nu a fost încă studiată în mod sistematic. Referiri ocazionale se
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găsesc în studii şi articole consacrate anglicismelor în general sau unor
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aspecte particulare ale influenţei engleze .
Expunerea de faţă este motivată de creşterea semnificativă a ponderii
influenţei engleze în terminologia economica românească, în contextul
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general al „invaziei” de anglicisme şi americanisme . Avem în vedere atât
împrumuturile (inclusiv nume proprii), cât mai ales calcurile (frazeologice
şi semantice) absente din dicţionarele româneşti, dar frecvent utilizate în
presă retail, tendinţă, etc.). Se cuvin, de asemenea, semnalate mutaţii
intervenite în sfera semnificaţiilor (denotative şi/sau conotative) şi a uzului
(în plan pragmatic-funcţional şi stilistic).
În consecinţă, vom considera ca rezultat al influenţei engleze unităţile
lexicale împrumutate sau calchiate care au un etimon sau un „model”
înregistrat în dicţionare generale (BBC) sau cu profil economic ale limbii
engleze.
În măsura posibilului, vom încerca să precizăm statutul de „noutate
5
lexicală reală” sau „noutate lexicală aparentă” al împrumuturilor şi
calcurilor, deşi asemenea distincţii sunt greu de făcut în absenţa unor
dicţionare datate (singurele care oferă informaţii referitoare la prima
atestare sunt DCR2 şi DEA). Un exemplu de „noutate aparentă” ar fi
utilizarea termenului lider în domeniul publicităţii cu sensurile „cel mai bun
produs” sau „primul într-un domeniu”, neînregistrate în dicţionarele
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româneşti, dar atestate în BBC: „Connex – liderul pieţei de telecomunicaţii
din România” (Adevarul, 10.02.2003, p. 5); „Dacia rămâne liderul pieţei”
(Adevarul , 31.01.2003, p. 6); „Antena 1 a dominat programul de Revelion
ca lider de audienţă” (Antena. 1, 1.01.2003). În acest caz, caracterul de
noutate este mai greu de sesizat, fiind vorba de lărgirea polisemiei unui
6
împrumut vechi (atestat în română de la jumătatea secolului al XIX-lea)
prin preluarea recentă (după 1989) a unui sens atestat în engleză şi uşor de
7
asociat celor deja existente în limba noastră .
Pentru Tatiana Slama-Cazacu, „invazia brutală de termeni străini”, în
principal împrumuturi englezeşti (desemnate metaforic drept „pulbere de
8
false diamante” ), reprezintă una dintre tehnicile de manipulare la care
recurge Puterea în scopul obscurizării comunicării reale şi pentru
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„mascarea” unor realităţi neconvenabile .
Un punct de vedere distinct în problema „englezismelor” din
jargoanele profesionale apare la un ziarist de notorietate – Cristian Tudor
Popescu, care se dovedeşte extrem de tolerant, invocând criterii pragmatice
(precizie şi brevilocvenţă) pentru a justifica utilizarea termenilor străini:
„Jargonul este o «scurtătură», o optimizare în vorbirea între doi inşi «din
branşă». Ce rost ar mai avea traducerea obositoare în româneşte a unor
concepte născute cu nume englezeşti? [...] Ca şi argoul, jargonul nu produce
confuzii, nu deformează sensuri, nu distruge limba gazdă, dimpotrivă, poate
servi unei comunicări cât se poate de eficiente”. (Un cadavru umplut cu
ziare. Scrieri, Iaşi, Polirom, 2001, pp. 158-159).
În plan politic şi social, principala explicaţie vizează statutul englezei
de lingua franca sau „limbă a globalizării”, demonstrat cu argumente
ştiinţifice, politice, statistice şi sociolingvistice în lucrări consacrate special
10
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acestui subiect sau procesului de globalizare în general . Dintre articolele
de presă cu titluri sugestive reţinem câteva, care preiau informaţii din
prestigioase publicaţii străine: „Un adevăr tot mai evident: Engleza, limba
globalizării” (Adevarul , 8.01.2002, p. 8); „Engleza, banca lingvistică de
date a întregii planete” (Adevarul, 22.01.2003, p. 12); „Euroengleza – limba
de comunicare a Europei lărgite?” (Adevarul, 6.11.2002, p.12).
Este interesant de remarcat că ascensiunea englezei ca „limbă
mondială” fusese semnalată încă din anii ’60 de Pierre Bourney, într-o
lucrare consacrată limbilor cu circulaţie internaţională, unde capitolul
referitor la engleză este intitulat „Une même langue pour le monde
12
entier” .
În sfârşit, specificul presei româneşti postdecembriste (caracterizate
printr-o mare deschidere spre sursele de informare occidentale şi
333
americane) şi noul statut al jurnalistului – văzut ca „mediator” între
eveniment şi public, dar şi ca „lider de opinie” – favorizează pătrunderea
masivă a termenilor economici preluaţi din engleză.
În cele din urmă, nu trebuie neglijaţi factorii socio- şi psiholingvistici
13
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responsabili de prezenţa „cultismelor” sau a împrumuturilor „de lux” :
snobismul lingvistic sau anglomania unor jurnalişti, veleitarismul
intelectual şi afectarea, comoditatea, necunoşterea resurselor limbii
materne. Se ajunge astfel la un jargone conomic , satirizat prin denumiri
precum engl. gobbledygook şi oficialese au romgleză.
Extinderile de sens presupun lărgirea domeniului de referinţă (a
extensiunii) şi reducerea intensiunii, prin neglijarea unor seme periferice
din definiţia englezească, ceea ce permite, ulterior, înlăturarea unor
restricţii contextual-stilistice (de combinare). Rezultă sensuri economice
extinse, sensuri depolitizate şi sensuri „stilistice”:
– Lider apare în DN3 şi în MDN cu sensurile consacrate din domeniile
politic / economic („conducător”) şi sportiv („echipă sau sportiv aflat în
fruntea unui clasament”), nefiind consemnat sensul din sfera publicităţii
(„Radio Contact – liderul vânzărilor de publicitate radio”).
„Pletora semantică” asociată în mass-media actuală termenului lider
include o diversificare a domeniilor de utilizare: politic (lider PNL /
parlamentar; liderul de la Casa Albă), sindical (liderul Ligii Sindicatelor
Miniere), artistic (liderul grupului „Divertis”), religios (lider spiritual
suprem al talibanilor). Reţine atenţia extinderea semnificaţiei în zona
referenţilor negativi (liderul reţelei de traficanţi; lider mafiot) şi realizarea
unor sinonimii contextuale foarte largi şi diversificate: lider / boss / şef de
clan, lider local (corupt) – baron local; lider / preşedinte; lider / primministru; lider al ţiganilor / bulibaşă etc.
Polisemia termenului lider impune precizarea sensului prin
determinanţi. Rezultă sintagme relativ stabile: lider spiritual (A, 1. 04.
2003, p. 14), lider naţional (A, 29. 03. 2003, p. 7), lider de opinie. Ultima,
calchiată după engleză, este specializată în domeniul comunicării politice,
beneficiind de explicitarea riguroasă în lucrări de profil: „Noţiunea de
«jurnalism de haită» presupune condiţionarea grupurilor de oameni de presă
prin liderii informaţiilor, cei care deţin informaţiile cele mai bune direct de
la sursă şi care dau tonul în interpretarea evenimentelor” (Pop, 2000: 11).
În presă, sintagma lider de opinie (având sinonim aproximativ
formator de opinie – N., 20. 01. 2003, p. 3) a dobândit o semnificaţie mai
largă şi mai puţin exactă, aşa cum observă – din perspectiva limbii franceze
– Thoveron (1996: 75): „Expresia «lider de opinie» s-a perimat, este
folosită astăzi fără discernământ pentru a desemna ceea ce ar trebui denumit
spre exemplu notabilitate sau personalitate pilot”.
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Semnificaţia sintagmei respective rămâne vagă, imprecisă într-un
context din presa românească actuală: „Diferenţele de avere dintre bogaţi şi
săraci se accentuează la nivel global, se arată în cel mai recent studiu al
Băncii Mondiale, bazat pe o anchetă în rândul a 2600 de lideri de opinie din
48 de ţări” (A, 10. 06. 2003, p. 5).
În majoritatea cazurilor, termenul lider apare în combinaţii
sintagmatice libere: „liderii NATO”, (A, 7. 11. 2002, p. 4); „liderii militari
americani” (A, 3. 05. 2003, p. 9); „lideri arabi moderaţi” (A, 4. 06. 2003, p.
9); „lideri masoni” (A, 4. 06. 2003, p. 3).
Caracterul recent al majorităţii faptelor lingvistice discutate aici nu
permite formularea unor concluzii sau previziuni solid fundamentate
privind direcţiile ulterioare de evoluţie.
Cu toate acestea, considerăm că „monitorizarea” termenilor
împrumutaţi din engleză sau calchiaţi după modele anglo-americane
prezintă interes pentru lexicologie şi sociolingvistică (ca expresie a
dinamicii lexicului), pentru lexicografie (sub aspectul asimilării lor în
română) şi last but not least, pentru publicişti şi specialiştii în comunicare
politică (în virtutea forţei de persuasiune a acestei terminologii).
Note:
1 Cf. fr. mot-témoin, concept introdus de Georges Matoré pentru a desemna
simboluri ale schimbării – de obicei neologisme – care indică apariţia unor idei sau
concepte noi (apud Cernicova 1999: 83).
2 Vezi Avram (1997); Constantinescu et al. (2002); Stoichiţoiu-Ichim (2001).
3 Stoichiţoiu-Ichim (2002); (2003 a).
4 Vezi Constantinescu et al. (2002:187): “At the end of the twentieth century,
traditional Romanian Francophilia is rivalled by an unprecedented Anglophilia”.
5 Vezi Avram (1998).
6 Apud DEA.
7 Pentru polisemia termenului lider, vezi Stoichiţoiu-Ichim (2003 b).
8 Slama-Cazacu (2000: 123-152).
9 „Prin această «stratagemă» [abuzul de termeni străini, mai ales englezi], fie sunt
acoperite realităţi neplăcute, fie (cuvântul fiind necunoscut) se împiedică
înţelegerea unei situaţii, fie, în orice caz, se încearcă, printr-o cosmetizare
lingvistică, modificarea imaginii compromise a unor fapte, acţiuni, obiecte, de
către o Putere politică, tehnocrată, comercială etc.” (ibidem, p. 51-52).
10 Vezi Crystal (2000) care aduce argumente istorico-georgrafice şi socioculturale pentru a explica ascensiunea englezei ca limbă a globalizării, neuitând să
sublinieze rolul jucat de o superputere precum SUA: “A language becomes an
international language for one chief reason: the political power of its people –
especially their military power” (p. 7); vezi şi Stoichiţoiu-Ichim (2003).
335
11 Ritzer (2003: 160-166) demonstrează convingător şi argumentat relaţia dintre
mcdonaldizare (înţeleasă ca omogenizare şi standardizare împinsă la extrem) şi
procesul de globalizare, care se manifestă sub forma „imperialismului cultural” al
SUA.
12 Bourney (1962: 105 şi urm.).
13 Vezi definirea conceptului la Guţu-Romalo (2000: 231).
14 Vezi Stoichiţoiu-Ichim (2001: 94 şi urm.).
Bibliografie:
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Surse şi abrevieri:
o Ant. 1 – Postul TV „Antena 1”
o BBC – BBC English Dictionary, London, BBC English and Harper
Collins Publishers Ltd.
o DCR – Florica Dimitrescu, Dicţionar de cuvinte recente, ediţia a doua,
2
Bucureşti, Editura Logos, 1997.
o DEA – Manfred Goerlach (ed.), A Dictionary of European Anglicisms.
A Usage Dictionary of Anglicisms in Sixteen European Languages,
Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001.
o DN – Florin Marcu; Constant Maneca, Dicţionar de neologisme, ediţia
3
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
a treia, Bucureşti, Editura Academiei, 1978.
DPER – Dicţionar politic englez – român, Bucureşti, Editura Junior, f.
a.
MDN – Florin Marcu, Marele dicţionar de neologisme, ediţie revizuită,
augmentată şi actualizată, Bucureşti, Editura Saeculum I. O, 2002.
N – „Naţional”
Prima TV – Postul TV „Prima TV”
PRO TV – Postul TV „PRO TV”
R Act – Postul de radio „România Actualităţi”
TVR1 – Postul TV „România 1”
338