There are so many elements of translation that an make one conclude that it's a futile exercise.

The first that confronts any translator is equivalencies. The simplest words need attention. A word like tienda may be rendered as store, but the context may ask for something which describes a small outdoor market, where barter is more common than exchange of currencies. The problems are compounded when approaching a literary work. Each translator comes with a different set of aims and skills...Some may not be fluent in the original language and may have someone provide them with a literal translation to which they add their own understanding, often with wonderful results...Others are interested in providing the most accurate, word-for-word translation, which many students appreciate...Still others may be most passionate about providing a text in which the translated work appears as something new, with modernized language and settings, which can be exciting.

Poetry sets unique challenges before the translator. Does the transalator have a deep love for and understanding of poetry? Should the poem be kept in the original form, assuming that is even possible? Does the translator understand the differences in counting metrical feet in Spanish as opposed to English? Is it possible to retain some sense of rhythmic feeling of the original, even if forms can't be copied? And what of rhyme, that may come so easily in Spanish and Italian poetry, for example, and may need to be coaxed out of English? A translator who commits herself to rhyme may do well in a fourteen-line sonnet, but may compromise the integrity of a very long poem, always searching for the rhyme at the expense of meaning, sound, and image. And then we have metaphor, that magical transformation of two into one--Is it possible to substitute, to give away the original for a more updated version that may speak more directly to the reader? There is no one approach, there is no single solution to the problem of translating. And each translator will find that every book calls for a different answer, every poem, even. The only constant I have found is that I must love the work and feel it has changed my life. St. John of the Cross speaks to me, and I approach his work humbly.

The Challenge of Translation

There are so many elements of translation that an make one conclude that it's a futile exercise.

The first that confronts any translator is equivalencies. The simplest words need attention. A word like tienda may be rendered as store, but the context may ask for something which describes a small outdoor market, where barter is more common than exchange of currencies. The problems are compounded when approaching a literary work. Each translator comes with a different set of aims and skills...Some may not be fluent in the original language and may have someone provide them with a literal translation to which they add their own understanding, often with wonderful results...Others are interested in providing the most accurate, word-for-word translation, which many students appreciate...Still others may be most passionate about providing a text in which the translated work appears as something new, with modernized language and settings, which can be exciting.

Poetry sets unique challenges before the translator. Does the transalator have a deep love for and understanding of poetry? Should the poem be kept in the original form, assuming that is even possible? Does the translator understand the differences in counting metrical feet in Spanish as opposed to English? Is it possible to retain some sense of rhythmic feeling of the original, even if forms can't be copied? And what of rhyme, that may come so easily in Spanish and Italian poetry, for example, and may need to be coaxed out of English? A translator who commits herself to rhyme may do well in a fourteen-line sonnet, but may compromise the integrity of a very long poem, always searching for the rhyme at the expense of meaning, sound, and image. And then we have metaphor, that magical transformation of two into one--Is it possible to substitute, to give away the original for a more updated version that may speak more directly to the reader? There is no one approach, there is no single solution to the problem of translating. And each translator will find that every book calls for a different answer, every poem, even. The only constant I have found is that I must love the work and feel it has changed my life. St. John of the Cross speaks to me, and I approach his work humbly.

A Quiet Mind

Soon after I finished complaining of the difficulties of making books, my computer died. I don't think of myself as computer-driven--I don't write much email these days--but I depend upon it for music notation and book design among other things. All of that can wait, I thought. I could use someone's computer from time to time to check mail and rest from other work. What has surprised me is how much more time I have on my hands. I have been wanting to get back to writing poetry for some time, but for me, that means a lot of reading and time for thinking. It seems I just hadn't been able to clear my mind. Now, I realize how easy it is to fritter away time online--looking up this, following that--without realizing it. I think solitude--whether physical or just a retiring of the mind--is something that can be seen as frightening and sad. But without solitude, I cannot think and write, and though I look forward to getting another computer, I will protect my solitude from now on. A quiet mind is something Ican't do without.

THE MAKING OF A CHAPBOOK

It was an innocent enough idea. Make a small book of poetry at home and put it on my website at an affordable price. Poetry is hard to sell. Very hard. I learned that when I edited a journal, Romantics Quarterly, some years ago. People were reluctant to subscribe to a print journal, no matter how lovely, when there was an endless array of poetry zines online--all for free. I enjoy the internet as much as anyone, but also enjoy the pleasures of reading a book I hold in my hands. So why not create a beautiful little book--no more than 40 pages--which might tempt a few away from the computer screen.

I researched book making---yes, I admit--online--and it seemed an easy enough project. Chapbooks, small books usually 40 pages or less, have long been a refuge for poets and fictions writers. Having designed many issues of Romantics Quarterly as well as my own full length book of St. John of the Cross, I felt it would be simple. Ha!

I first decided what the look of my booklet was going to be, and proceeded to carefully format and arrange poems. This all takes time. A lot of time! But I was in familiar territory and felt confident.

My first hint of the troubles ahead came when I found that my professional design program, InDesign, could not print out booklets in the correct order. In a small 48 page book like mine, there are 12 folded pages that nest one into the other. So on the first paper you might have page 1 on the right side, and page 48 on the back. So, I had to first make a dummy, then copy all my carefully crafted pages and paste them into a new document. And yes, I lost formatting and borders along the way and had much to do over.

I definitely thought about giving up and quickly calculated how much easier it would be to send it off to a printer. But I though I'd at least try to see it through.

I also had numerous trips to office supply and art stores to see what my available options would be. I finally found an elegant ivory paper, 25% cotton, but had a number of trial printings before I could settle on the entire look. Then there was the question of binding--sewn binding was intriguing, but I was leaning toward staples. But I thought I'd try both. That meant more research and more trips to a craft store.

I gave sewn binding a try and was very surprised how much I liked it. It takes time, though, and my dreams of a smoothly operating at home production had all but vanished.

Still, I persevered. But my printing problems were exhausting. My printer is slow, and since there are decorative borders on every page, slower still. Then I found that although I could print one side of 12 pages at a go, I would always have trouble with the other side, and ended up feeding the pages one by one. And even with the utmost care, there was still the random mis- alignment or even smudge.

It had become clear that this was not a practical book. What it cost (and would Cost) me in time was above and beyond reason.
It seemed I had embarked upon a ridiculous path--and wasted valuable time. Still, I had a vision of something lovely, something that I could share. And yesterday, when I sewed the first complete prototype, I knew that it had been worth the trouble. I can't say that it is the most beautiful book ever, but it came to life beyond what I had imagined. It's not much to show for countless hours and aggravation, but it is a dream. I began to think of the idea, Time Is Money, and to see all the ways in which that was wrong. If we look at anything we do out of love, calculating hourly wage would kill it in a moment. It's not about money, but about seeing an idea from beginning to end--the end being to share something with the world. I'm not sure what I'll end up charging for my book, but it will not be too much. Right now I'm just printing and holding that thought.

MY HEART LEAPS UP (song)

It may seem as though I've set every poem I've ever read to music! But it isn't so! Nevertheless, I'm linking to a version I did of My Heart Leaps Up--one of Wordsworth's jewel-like poems. My friend Jorge Guzman sang and recorded the song in his studio here in South Florida.

My Heart Leaps Up
by William Wordsworth

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is Father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

(click below for song)
My Heart Leaps Up

Trial by Critics

Just to further impeach the credibility of Scott and other critics I should add that the publisher, Routledge of London, lists great poets in their RED-LINE series.

Chaucer
Shakespeare
Milton
Byron
Scott
Cowper
Moore
Burns
Goldsmith
Herbert
Pope
Campbell
Southey
Shelley
Coleridge
Hemans
Hood

Notably missing are John Keats who died in 1821, and William Wordsworth who died in 1850, a mere 20 years before the printing.