Peter - portrait/ritratto

Peter - portrait/ritratto

martedì 16 agosto 2011

Words of Wisdom

If you have little or nothing to say, it's a good idea to shut up.

mercoledì 11 maggio 2011

Literary Translation II

Naffis-Sahely in PN Review 199 - Logue's Translation of Homer

"There is no definitive Homer and never will be. No single translator, not even the best, can lay claim to a work; all one can aspire to is a temporary lease. Matthew Arnlod had some good advice for would-be translators: be rapid, plain, direct and finally - noble".

"As with Pound's Cathay , it benefits from the LACK OF ANY AND ALL AWARENESS OF THE ORIGINAL" (my capitals)

I would not undergo surgery performed by a watchmaker, so why the hell do publishers allow monolinguists to translate!?!?!?!?!

venerdì 6 maggio 2011

Reading

I managed to attract around 40 people to my official presentation reading of Weathering - and less than half were friends or acquaintances!

giovedì 7 aprile 2011

mercoledì 30 marzo 2011

In Praise of Translators

Iain Bamford in PN Review 198, commenting on the complexity of Kant’s writing style, notes:
“The canonical English translation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason prepared by the Scottish philosopher Norman Kemp Smith has remained in print since its publication in 1929 and is reputedly more intelligible – even to German-speakers – than the original.”
Three cheers for translators at last!!!

mercoledì 26 gennaio 2011

Walcott & Heaney

By all accounts, Derek Walcott and Seamus Heaney are good mates. They have both won the Nobel Prize. They both had collections in the running for the 2010 T S Eliot prize. Walcott took it (Heaney had already won the Forward Prize). Both in their 70s, I've noticed one distinct difference: Walcott's White Egrets, to me, has stonger roots in the present - while mourning lost friends he also hails new and younger ones. The present looks to a future, in his own death. Heaney, on the other hand, in Human Chain, while writing poems in the present, to me seems to look more distinctly to the past - as in the lovely poem about the Conway Stewart fountain pen. Maybe just an impression ...