"Traduttore, traditore" (translator, traitor) is an Italian saying which bemoans the uncertainty of translations. In the last two posts, I've presented criticisms of translations by Roberts Lowell and Bly. To be sure, the ideal is to read works in their original languages. Reading poetry through a translator is a perilous thing, like when King Mark sent his nephew Tristan to bring back Iseult (or Farquaad sending Shrek to bring back Fiona).

The cases of Bly and Lowell are a bit different. Bly is criticized for his inadequate poetic form, while Lowell is criticized for "improving" Leopardi's poetry with concrete details. What do I want in a translation of poetry? Well, a translation should be done by a poet who is a native speaker of the destination language and is highly fluent in the original language. The translation should not be merely literal but be sensitive to the relations of words and ideas in the destination language. I'm not a fan of prose translations, but am interested in seeing something of the poetic form of the original reproduced in translation.

Why do I read poetry in translation? I do so in order to encounter the geniuses of other cultures. I read Leopardi to get his perspective on life, living in Italy at a particular time. What I want is the human: this man who lived and died and struggled, who got some things right and other things wrong.

Do I want the translator to be invisible, transparent? No, I don't think so. Some translations I like: Marianne Moore's Fables of La Fontaine, John Ciardi's Divine Comedy, and J.G. Nichols translations of Italian poets. Each of these translators has a certain style and personality and negotiates the perils of translation with care.