The ring of words · 1:32am Apr 10th, 2016
There's an old cartoon, I think from the New Yorker: a man sits in his study, glowering at the myriad books that line the walls around him. Two women peer in at the door. One, presumably his wife, says to the other: "He's having them all translated into French. He says they lose something in the original."
What does that have to do with the show? Well, remember the song "Hearts as Strong as Horses?"...
Micah Hogarth--author, artist, Vice President of the SFWA, daughter of Cuban refugees and fluent in Spanish--has an interesting observation about the Spanish version:
"We've got hearts strong as horses" (8 syllables) became "a luchar como corceles" (8 syllables!): "To fight like steeds." (The chorus continues: 'to train like steeds; to win like steeds.') The translators made the decision to interpret the text rather than going with a more literal option: adding the verbs ('to fight, to jump, to train, to win') was a fascinating choice, and in my opinion makes the song stronger in some ways than the English version.
The other fantastic thing there was the use of the word 'corcel' for horse instead of 'caballo.' If it looks Frenchified for a Spanish word, that's because it is: it came into Spanish from the French corsier, by way, as usual, of Latin. When I hear the word 'corcel' I think of a particular kind of horse: a horse out of legend, a war horse, and the Spanish etymology site agrees that it's associated with medieval tournaments. I've never seen 'corcel' except in the context of old-fashioned stories of princes and knights... in fact, that's how we use it in English, too, where we see it as "courser", an antiquated synonym for charger. '[emphasis mine] Caballo', on the other hand, is just... 'horse.' Like English, it's pretty neutral; a horse can be 'aww, cute, a horse!' or 'oh, right, that nag' or 'um, okay, a gorgeous Andalusian!' A steed though, has romantic connotations; it's a narrower class of horse. 'Corcel' is like that, which is another reason I like the Spanish version better.
This is like manna in the desert to me, because I obsess over the the timbre, the resonance, the ring of every word when I write (which is probably why I write so little). And I thought nobody else even cared about that except rich white kids studying on daddy's money at private liberal arts colleges.
(Uh, no offense if that's who you are and what you're doing right now. NO NO REALLY SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS...)
Then there was tail-end Charlie in the Comments section:
Tolkien went down a similar rabbit hole, except in his case it was comparing modern English to its ancient antecedents. It gave him an instinctive sensitivity for tenor and resonance that made him the author he was.
Which immediately brought to mind a book I'd read:
This is a history of Tolkien's journeyman years editing the Oxford English Dictionary, and it goes a long way towards explaining his particular style. He wasn't a literary author, in that he wasn't clued in to the current trends and fashions in literature during the 30's and 40's though, as an Oxford Don, he could have been if he'd wanted. Instead he went his own way and this is part of that way, the early part.
Some people think the key to Tolkien's writing is his world-building. That's part of it--but that's the easy part: anyone can make up vast, detailed universes. Others think the key is his use of myth, and that's part of it too. But with a little study anyone can come up with a wagonload of equally compelling old stories to strip for parts and recycle.
The thing that makes Tolkien feel like Tolkien is the thing that's hardest to get: the vast yet vitally sensitive command of language. The knowledge of the epic tale in every word, and of how to weave those tales together into the tales we want to tell, just as the nameless poet wove the epics of Christianity and the Norse gods together to tell the tale of Beowulf. That was what Tolkien gleaned from hammering away, day after day and year after year in the mines of the English language, following seams of curious ores like walrus and walnut to their mother lodes.
Because it matters, and matters perilously, whether we say horse, jade, barb, nag, courser, vanner, charger or steed. Our choice of words determines whether all we mean and all we feel falls dull upon, or rings true to the ear of our listener.
Bright is the ring of words
When the right man rings them,
Fair the fall of songs
When the singer sings them.
Still they are carolled and said
On wings they are carried—
After the singer is dead
And the maker buried.
(That sounds like Swinburne but it's not: its Robert Louis Stevenson, writing a tribute to Swinburne. The poem was later set to music by Ralph von Williams, because you might as well go for the hat trick)
Translating songs seems downright nightmarish to me. Managing not just to preserve the meaning in another language but add to it, all while taking rhyme and rhythm into account? I am in no small amount of awe.
No, Ed, that is exactly why I get so little writing done, too.
But god, there's nothing more satisfying than le mot juste.
Just a quick nitpick:
Maggie's the Vice President of SFWA...
Mike
With this talk of translation and meaning and Tolkien, I have an anecdote that fits here beautifully.
Specifically: Silmarillion is better in its Finnish translation than in the original English. (I know, because I've read both.) That the translators who tackled it (and Lord of the Rings, earlier) were extremely good, and consulted Tolkien's own guidelines for translation* closely, doesn't explain this on its own. What makes the real difference is Finnish language itself: it's better suited for the archaic, elevated style that Tolkien used than modern English, making the book an easier and more natural-feeling read while still getting the loftiness through.
*) He wrote those after the Swedish translator had mangled LotR terribly -- he added words, omitted others, changed whole phrases around, and outright bungled parts, like the infamous error where he translated Shelob's "lair" into "lår", a thigh, because he didn't recognize the original English word.
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Fixed, and thank you.
I confess, I still hear "woman who actually gets stuff done at the office" and immediately think "secretary" (because all the men are out golfing or having three-martini lunches). Words drag all their ancient and unfashionable histories along with them. Just like old men.
Whereas "Vice President" just makes me think, "Empty suit who balances out the ticket."
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I should probably go learn Finnish, then.
The Silmarillion came out when I was young and The Lord of the Rings was still fresh in my mind. I looked forward to reading it with a typical fannish mixture of excitement and reverence. But I came away baffled and, though I dared not admit it even to myself, disappointed. This wasn't like The Lord of the Rings at all. There was no eloquence of phrase or elegance of narrative. There was no story. It was just a laundry-list of figures and events cataloged in textbook prose, stilted, lifeless and dull.
I've long since learned that this was because it was never intended as a story, or even to be published. it was Tolkien's personal notes for The Lord of the Rings, and so in fact it was a catalog of the figures and events to which that story referred and on which it depended. It was like an inventory of the props and costumes for the original Star Wars: interesting to students of that work, but not to be enjoyed in the same way as the work itself.
But that knowledge doesn't still doesn't make The Silmarillion enjoyable, at least not to me. Because while I can remember plenty of scenes and characters and even individual lines from The Lord of the Rings, I can't recall a single thing about The Silmarillion. Well, except for that elf dude having sex with his sister. Ick.
Anyway--
media3.giphy.com/media/ZonoILTjVu264/200_s.gif
(Of course not: Toki's Norwegian*)
EDIT: ObPony--
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* I always thought he was Finnish
This was a fascinating discussion.
Sorry I have nothing more to contribute than praise.
My writing is rarely poetic (I think), with some notable exceptions: key scenes and foreshadowing are usually very word-specific for me.
Compulsive editors unite. I maintain there is a distinct difference between "gazed," "glanced," "stared," and "looked," and each colors the picture differently.
It has been a long while since I've read Lord of the Rings, or any Tolkien, and given I was much younger (read: had very different tastes) I know much of its luster was lost on me. Not in small part because I was a fan of the movies first, before the books. Of the prose in particular I recall practically nothing. But one amusing memory stands out. My mother did not like Lord of the Rings or Tolkien at all (having been exposed through us kids to the movies), and she later demonstrated her feelings for his writing: I came to my room one day to find my copy of The Fellowship sitting out, a page marked with orange ink, pointing out Tolkien had used "pale" and "green" about six times on a single page, often in the same paragraph (can underlines seem irritated?).
There shortly followed an argument over whether that made good writing or not. It was one of those moments time adds fondness to (which was rather lacking during the moment).
This, this, so much this. Man, I don't know what I would do without your blog posts.
Well, that's not true. I'd do basically the same thing I do now, except I'd do it more listlessly in a world devoid of color, like Pinkamena on the rock farm.
I added this blog to my blog index.
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In other words, it was like the Star Wars prequels.
3860610 That's because Finnish is closely related to Elvish. (From being so near the North Pole, I suppose.)
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That explains Jar-Jar Lúthien, then.
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Why, thank ya kindly! I see I'm in good company
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3861077
D'awwwwww, I bet you say that to all the
IrkenTOTALLY NORMAL EARTH-BOYS.img11.deviantart.net/2e27/i/2015/112/5/e/invader_zim__dib_and_zim_by_willardstilles-d8qpb0d.jpg
Belated note: "We've got hearts strong as horses" (8 syllables) should say 7 syllables.