Amy: I am thinking of translation today. The posture of translation is that there is another world in this human world that no language can express; that language is neither the source nor the target language. It is the ongoing effort itself, because for those who cross borders probably the only way to show the world what they saw in-between the two worlds – no, what they saw in both worlds, is to show their effort in translating one to the other. The effort itself is as important as what is actually shown, and in fact, it is something unspoken.

Steven: Yes, yes, yes... between the worlds, between the words, the silence...

Amy: yes, people underestimate the act in translation, but I think educators should work on this, to bring to students the experience that is experience only.

Steven: I think people should work on it, whether “educators” or not. We are all students of language as well as practitioners.

Amy: It is interesting because there is more than we can tell.

Steven: Always.

Amy: It is a poem of the poem, stories of poems.

Steven: ...and what we can’t tell is as important as what we can... What we don’t tell – even if we can – is as important as what we do.

Amy: Yes, they are the whole.

Steven: And without the silences, there is no whole...

Amy: This is what I am thinking.

Steven: Learning to hear nothing, to take nothing seriously...

Amy: I come to astonishment...

Steven: Yes.

Amy: This is the endless tension people are looking for. Not looking for, what is another better expression?

Steven: an astonishing world, full of miracles . . . and we are often so busy trying to gather them up that we fail to stand before them, astonished . . .

Amy writes: Yet, here I should further explain that reading both languages often makes a reader feel astonished, since the phenomena that they observe in two languages or between the two languages is inexpressible in either of the languages.  The silence in between the two languages is similar to the silence that artists and poets have tried to catch and express in their works, especially in many Chinese paintings and poems.  Yet, bilingual poetry readings and works provide another type of art in appreciating silence as well as listening.

When I asked Steven what the standard was for selecting a poet, he said just be interesting.  I had a hard time finding out what I am interested in – not that I do not have my own interests or don’t know my interests, but that I had been away from the Chinese poetry community for a while since I came to the United States, and literary standards that are usually discussed in classrooms have had such an influence on me that I had to take time to think what is an interesting poem in the world of contemporary poetry.  I decided to go online to find some new poems to read. I found a number of poems written by familiar poets such as Duoduo, Jianghe, etc. There were short descriptions of each poet and their works.  A description for Li Nan drew my attention:  graceful, compassionate.  I read her poems and felt that there was a deep yet light movement between peace and melancholy.  So I recommended the five posted on line to Steven and he asked me to contact Li Nan.  Through our colleague Zhang Xiaohong, I got Li Nan’s email and wrote a letter to her to ask for permission for translation.

She responded that in China, poetry writing and reading are also a few people’s works, but in human history, it is always a few people’s efforts that construct human civilization.  The eternal theme of her poetry writing is concern for suffering and compassion toward human existence. She said she would arrange more poems and hope she could give us more support.  She said spreading beautiful poetry to people is our common goal.

After receiving her response, Steven and I entered into the stage of translation.  We went to the University of Chicago to listen to a panel discussion on translation, and Steven suggested putting two heads together and seeing what would happen.

During the process of translation, the first problem we encountered was how to translate certain words whose meanings overlapped but were not completely identical.  For example, when we were translating Li Nan’s “In the Wide World,” we discussed how to translate the line “all beings are one.”  Initially, I translated it as “all beings are consistent,” since the word “yizhi” means “consistent.”  But Steven suggested changing it to be “one” since he read the Chinese character one “yi” in the line.  At first, I hesitated, since “yizhi” does not literally mean “one.” We sat at a coffee house in Chicago downtown and I looked at the lights under the roof and thought what yizhi meant.  Then I remembered I encountered the concept “one” when I studied English literature in graduate school.  I discussed with Steven about the concept of “One” in Christianity.  I came to understand that since polytheism’s influence, the line “all beings are one” in Chinese through the construction of “all beings” as subject and “consistent” presents the possibility of hinting at the “One” yet did not directly present “one” although the concept “one” also exists in Daoism, yet, what is hinted is just hinted.  In English, “consistent” does not make sense in this context.  After discussing, I agreed to change “consistent” to be “one” which enabled readers to understand the religions dimension of the poem.

Steven writes: It’s interesting that Amy was thinking primarily in “Christian” terms, while my reason for moving from “consistent” or “unified” to “one” was more directly informed by Buddhism. As I read the poem, it celebrates the unity of all things – not the “One” of Western monotheism, but the oneness of a vision that experiences the divine in all things. I can find that in Christian mysticism – but I’m more likely to find it (as I think Li Nan does) by being present to the astonishing wideness of a wide, wide world, knowing how small we are and how satisfying that is.

Amy continues: Another example is how to handle an expression that usually does not appear in the culture of the target language.  For example, when translating “New Year’s Wish,” “I present green grass to the loved one,” Steven was hesitating whether to translate “green grass” to be “flowers” since in Western tradition, flowers, not grass, are typically presented in front of a grave. But in China, people express their memories or respect to their ancestors by cleaning up the grave and planting green grass, and Li Nan expresses this by poetic words “presenting green grass” but not planting green grass.  Here, “green grass” also leads me to the understanding in representing a simple and humble virtue presented to someone who is significant to the poet. We came to agree to introduce this image into English by translating it.

When the poet absorbs some usage in the original language into English, as a non-native reader, how do I evaluate this kind of borrowing?  For example, reduplication of words exists commonly in Chinese language as well as in poetry.  Reduplication of words can soften the tone of the sentence and therefore carries a strong distinction of the culture. However, when translating into standard English writing, reduplicated words in Chinese are usually not reduplicated in English.  But Steven purposely reduplicated the words and was therefore bringing different color to the poems.  In this situation, I often have to adjust myself from a translator to be more creative while honoring the original as well as English to the best of my knowledge.

Steven writes: Repetition is common in English poetry and, in some places at least, in ordinary speech. I think of the difference between “far away” and “far far away” or the repetition of meaning in an old hymn like “softly and tenderly Jesus is calling...” And I think of what a difference it made if my granny described something as “little bitty tiny” instead of “small.” And there is the song that was popular when I was a child, “She wore an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini...” Or “easy easy now, easy,” as one might say to a skittish horse on a gravel slope...

And “green grass” grows more interesting as we continue to discuss it... Tending the grave and keeping the grass around it green is part of many “Western” traditions as well (though this is often left mostly to paid groundskeepers here). But I think there is much common ground in visiting the graves of one’s departed loved ones and seeing that they are well-maintained (or “presentable”), which usually means keeping the grass green as well as bringing flowers.

Amy continues: Sometimes, translation involves re-reading the text.  For example, in “Eleven Line Poem,” the last sentence, “range after range of mountains rising. (Originally, rising was translated into “standing” – “standing,” sounded more stationary, which I thought carried a stronger sense of a middle age woman).  But the word “rising” sounds with a movement that also presents a middle age woman’s awakening.  When I told Li Nan that she was very surprised by our interpretation and happy to use “rising” instead of “standing,” since this gave her a new angle from which to view her own poems.

Steven: Interesting, Amy... The difference between “rising” and “standing” is not so pronounced in English, though “standing” could be interpreted as less active. Both, though, suggest upward movement. If your point is that the original is more clearly stationary, then this is a good example of how the range of meaning can change in translation. Meanings of words often overlap, but there is nothing to prevent the reader from moving to an area of meaning that isn’t included in the overlap – both a strength and a weakness, don’t you think? In terms of sound, “rising” and “standing” would work equally well here, I think (“standing” picking up the last sound of “mountains” while “rising” reaches back to the first word of “range”). I’m not sure I understand what you mean when you say the sound of “standing” carries “a stronger sense of a middle age woman.” I could understand (though I’m not sure I would agree) if you wanted to suggest that “standing,” being more stationary, is more “middle-aged,” but that’s a matter of meaning more than of sound. Anyway, an interesting puzzle, and poetry is always at least in part a search for just the right word, which is always a moving target...