MAP — Modular Aggregation of Principles for Bible Translation

Phil writes:

"Today’s NY Times Magazine has a fascinating article about the translator of a new translation of ‘Odyssey’. She (the translator) grapples with issues we might be familiar with, but her process, that’s the part that makes this article worth the read.

It’s not so much we go on reinventing the wheel; it’s that it keeps on getting new spokes."

Extracted text from https://www.nytimes.com:

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Cover PhotoCredit Geordie Wood for The New York Times The First Woman to Translate the Odyssey Into English The classicist Emily Wilson has given Homers epic a radically contemporary voice.

By WYATT MASON NOV. 2, 2017 Continue reading the main storyShare This Page Share Tweet Pin Email More Save Late in August, as a shadow 70 miles wide was traveling across the United States, turning day briefly to night and millions of Americans into watchers of the skies, the British classicist Emily Wilson, a woman of 45 prone to energetic explanations and un-self-conscious laughter, was leading me through a line of Ancient Greek. Polytropos, Wilson said, in her deep, buoyant voice, pointing to the fifth word u of the 12,110-line epic poem that I had come to her office at the University of Pennsylvania to discuss. On the wall hung pictures of Wilsons three young daughters; the windows behind her framed a gray sky that, as I arrived, was just beginning to dim. The poem lying open before us was Homers Odyssey, the second-oldest text, after his earlier poem, the Iliad, in a Western tradition impossible to imagine without them.

Since the Odyssey first appeared in English, around 1615, in George Chapmans translation, the story of the Greek warrior-king Odysseuss ill-fated 10-year attempt to return home from the war in Troy to Ithaca and his wife, Penelope, has prompted some 60 English translations, at an accelerating pace, half of them in the last 100 years and a dozen in the last two decades. Wilson, whose own translation appears this week, has produced the first English rendering of the poem by a woman.

One of the things I struggled with, Wilson continued, sounding more exhilarated than frustrated as she began to unpack polytropos, the first description we get of Odysseus, is of course this whole question of whether he is passive the much turning or much turned right? This was

Treat me, I interrupted, as if I dont know Greek, as, in fact, I do not.

The prefix poly, Wilson said, laughing, means many or multiple. Tropos means turn. Many or multiple could suggest that hes much turned, as if he is the one who has been put in the situation of having been to Troy, and back, and all around, gods and goddesses and monsters turning him off the straight course that, ideally, hed like to be on. Or, it could be that hes this untrustworthy kind of guy who is always going to get out of any situation by turning it to his advantage. It could be that hes the turner.

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Continue reading the main story As Wilson spoke, I recalled a little formula by the American critic Guy Davenport about the difference between Homers two poems: The Iliad is a poem about force; the Odyssey is a poem about the triumph of the mind over force. Wilson was parsing the nature of that triumph, embedded in the poems very first adjective, a difference in mind that would make for a difference in Odysseuss nature, both as a warrior and as a husband.

The fact that its possible to translate the same lines a hundred different times and all of them are defensible in entirely different ways? That tells you something. So the question, Wilson continued, of whether hes the turned or the turner: I played around with that a lot in terms of how much should I be explicit about going for one versus the other. I remember that being one of the big questions I had to start off with.

That there could still be big questions about a nearly-three-millenniums-old poem that most everyone has heard of it has exerted an influence on writers, from Virgil to Milton to Joyce has everything to do with how Wilson is seeking to redefine the job of modern literary scholarship, an ambition that seems, in part, an inheritance. Born in 1971 in Oxford, England, Wilson comes from a long line of academics on her mothers side. Her mother, Katherine Duncan-Jones, a Shakespeare specialist, taught English literature at Oxford; her mothers brother, Roman history at Cambridge; her mothers father, a disappointed philosopher disappointed because, though he went to Cambridge, he couldnt get a job there taught at Birmingham; and her mothers mother, Elsie Duncan-Jones, also at Birmingham, was an authority on the poetry of Andrew Marvell.

That inheritance was as much literary as it was a matter of temperament. Her mothers experience as a female academic, Wilson said, over lunch the next day at a noisy bistro, was tied up with her colleagues in Somerville, the womens college where she taught. The older colleagues were mostly childless women and had this whole sort of anger anger and also refusal to understand that there might be extra demands on my moms time, because she had children. Wilsons mother and another colleague took matters into their own hands. It was revolutionary, Wilson tells me, with uncomplicated pride, and it was resented: I was the founding member of the Somerville crche. She and another female colleague who had a child who was the same age as me organized this day care, first in my house and then it moved to this building near Somerville College.

Mostly, Wilson recalls a quiet, almost somber childhood with her younger sister, the writer Bee Wilson, and her father, the prolific biographer, novelist and critic A.N. Wilson. There was a lot of silence, Wilson says. As a kid I was just aware of unhappiness, and aware of these things that werent ever being articulated, but the sense that nobody is going to be saying what they feel or encouraging anyone else to say what they feel. If youre unhappy, all you can do is go to your room and cry silently. Her parents divorced shortly before she went to college.

In school, Wilson was shy but accomplished. She liked French but was in terror of talking in class. The potential shame of pronouncing a French word wrong was pretty inhibiting, Wilson said, laughing. Its very easy to pronounce a French word wrong. But with Latin, Wilson found an instant home. She loved the systematization of it, the reams of things to memorize and to get right. You have all this information, and you can regurgitate, in the sense that you can strategize to translate an English sentence or a Latin sentence. You can do it all in writing. You dont have to have beautiful Latin pronunciation. It took away a whole level of shame.

As an undergraduate at Balliol College, Oxford, Wilson studied classics and philosophy. Though her education there, she says, offered her a strong introduction to literary study, it wasnt lost on her that none of her professors were women. There was an awareness of it being sort of a boys club. Just the fact of never having a female teacher, but its a difference to how you feel when you dont have any mentors who dont even know what it would be like. I never had a female mentor in classics. Still, the appeal of classics as a discipline was profound, particularly the way that Greek drama presented great emotional tumult. I had a childhood where it was very hard to name feelings, and just the fact that tragedy as a genre is very good at naming feelings. Its all going to be talked out. I love that about it.

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A page from a notebook Wilson kept while translating the Odyssey. Credit Geordie Wood for The New York Times Although Wilson was undecided on a direction after taking her undergraduate degree she had thoughts of doing law she ultimately chose to do further studies in English literature at Oxford while she figured her way forward, rereading some of her favorite books, particularly Miltons Paradise Lost. Emerging with a sense that the writers she appreciated most were in dialogue with antiquity, Wilson pursued a Ph.D. in classics and comparative literature at Yale. Wilson knew that if she was being smart, she ought to focus on something understudied, like Plutarch. I loved Plutarch, but I didnt love him as deeply as I loved Sophocles, Euripides, Milton. I just felt like I wanted to spend a little bit longer with Euripides.

Dedicated to her grandmother Elsie, Wilsons first book, Mocked With Death, grew out of her dissertation and was published in 2004. It looks at the way mortality was imagined, in the tragic tradition, by Milton, Shakespeare, Seneca, Sophocles and Euripides. Rigorous in its readings, Wilsons study is also frequently touching. It is about the broadest of human inheritances: our constant awareness of all that we will lose, are losing, have lost.

If youre going to admit that stories matter, Wilson told me, then it matters how we tell them, and that exists on the level of microscopic word choice, as well as on the level of which story are you going to pick to start off with, and then, what exactly is that story? The whole question of What is that story? is going to depend on the language, the words that you use.

Throughout her translation of the Odyssey, Wilson has made small but, it turns out, radical changes to the way many key scenes of the epic are presented radical in that, in 400 years of versions of the poem, no translator has made the kinds of alterations Wilson has, changes that go to truing a text that, as she says, has through translation accumulated distortions that affect the way even scholars who read Greek discuss the original. These changes seem, at each turn, to ask us to appreciate the gravity of the events that are unfolding, the human cost of differences of mind.

Continue reading the main story The first of these changes is in the very first line. You might be inclined to suppose that, over the course of nearly half a millennium, we must have reached a consensus on the English equivalent for an old Greek word, polytropos. But to consult Wilsons 60 some predecessors, living and dead, is to find that consensus has been hard to come by. Chapman starts things off, in his version, with many a way/Wound with his wisdom; John Ogilby counters with the terser prudent; Thomas Hobbes evades the word, just calling Odysseus the man. Quite a range, and weve barely started. Theres Alexander Popes for wisdoms various arts renownd; William Cowpers For shrewdness famed/And genius versatile; H.F. Carys crafty; William Sothebys by long experience tried; Theodore Buckleys full of resources; Henry Alfords much-versed; Philip Worsleys that hero; the Rev. John Giless of many fortunes; T.S. Norgates of many a turn; George Musgraves tost to and fro by fate; the Rev. Lovelace Bigge-Withers many-sided-man; George Edgingtons deep; William Cullen Bryants sagacious; Roscoe Mongans skilled in expedients; Samuel Henry Butcher and Andrew Langs so ready at need; Arthur Ways of craft-renown; George Palmers adventurous; William Morriss shifty; Samuel Butlers ingenious; Henry Cotterills so wary and wise; Augustus Murrays of many devices; Francis Caulfeilds restless; Robert Hillers clever; Herbert Batess of many changes; T.E. Lawrences various-minded; William Henry Denham Rouses never at a loss; Richmond Lattimores of many ways; Robert Fitzgeralds skilled in all ways of contending; Albert Cooks of many turns; Walter Shewrings of wide-ranging spirit; Allen Mandelbaums of many wiles; Robert Fagless of twists and turns; all the way to Stanley Lombardos cunning.

Of the 60 or so answers to the polytropos question to date, the 36 given above couldnt be less uniform (the two dozen I omit repeat, with minor variations, earlier solutions); what unites them is that their translators largely ignore the ambiguity built into the word theyre translating. Most opt for straightforward assertions of Odysseuss nature, descriptions running from the positive (crafty, sagacious, versatile) to the negative (shifty, restless, cunning). Only Norgate (of many a turn) and Cook (of many turns) preserve the Greek roots as Wilson describes them poly (many), tropos (turn) answers that, if you produced them as a student of classics, much of whose education is spent translating Greek and Latin and being marked correct or incorrect based on your knowledge of the dictionary definitions, would earn you an A. But to the modern English reader who does not know Greek, does a man of many turns suggest the doubleness of the original word a man who is either supremely in control of his life or who has lost control of it? Of the existing translations, it seems to me that none get across to a reader without Greek the open question that, in fact, is the opening question of the Odyssey, one embedded in the fifth word in its first line: What sort of man is Odysseus?

I do think that gender matters. Im not going to not say its something Im grappling with. I wanted there to be a sense, Wilson told me, that maybe there is something wrong with this guy. You want to have a sense of anxiety about this character, and that there are going to be layers we see unfolded. We dont quite know what the layers are yet. So I wanted the reader to be told: be on the lookout for a text thats not going to be interpretively straightforward.

Here is how Wilsons Odyssey begins. Her fifth word is also her solution to the Greek poems fifth word to polytropos:

Continue reading the main story Continue reading the main story Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy, and where he went, and who he met, the pain he suffered in the storms at sea, and how he worked to save his life and bring his men back home. He failed to keep them safe; poor fools, they ate the Sun Gods cattle, and the god kept them from home. Now goddess, child of Zeus, tell the old story for our modern times. Find the beginning.

When I first read these lines early this summer in The Paris Review, which published an excerpt, I was floored. Id never read an Odyssey that sounded like this. It had such directness, the lines feeling not as if they were being fed into iambic pentameter because of some strategic decision but because the meter was a natural mode for its speaker. The subtle sewing through of the fittingly wavelike W-words in the first half (wandered ... wrecked ... where ... worked) and the stormy S-words that knit together the second half, marrying the waves to the storm in which this man will suffer, made the terse injunctions to the muse that frame this prologue to the poem (Tell me about ... and Find the beginning) seem as if they might actually answer the puzzle posed by Homers polytropos and Odysseuss complicated nature.

Complicated: the brilliance of Wilsons choice is, in part, its seeming straightforwardness. But no less than that of polytropos, the etymology of complicated is revealing. From the Latin verb complicare, it means to fold together. No, we dont think of that root when we call someone complicated, but its what we mean: that theyre compound, several things folded into one, difficult to unravel, pull apart, understand.

It feels, I told Wilson, with your choice of complicated, that you planted a flag.

It is a flag, she said.

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this is different.

Although translation might seem a natural step for a scholar preoccupied by the connections between antiquity and later texts, Wilson was dissuaded from pursuing it. My colleagues told me: You really shouldnt be doing that kind of thing before tenure. Before tenure you have to write, you know, the right kind of book the right kind being one on a subject that your discipline has yet to exhaust. Wilson did write a range of books before tenure, most on canonical texts: her study of suffering and death in literature; a monograph on Socrates. But, not heeding her colleagues advice, she began to translate Greek and Roman tragedies. A selection of Senecas plays appeared in 2010; four plays by Euripides in 2016. Both projects were outgrowths of her old desire to spend a little bit longer with these authors.

I asked Wilson why translation isnt valued in the academy.

Because there is no perception that its serious intellectually. Its imagined as a subset of outreach. That youre going to be communicating with the masses, which is less important than being innovative within your field. And even though I think translation is a way of being innovative within your field, my colleagues dont see it that way.

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One of Wilsons copies of the Odyssey. Credit Geordie Wood for The New York Times One way of talking about Wilsons translation of the Odyssey is to say that it makes a sustained campaign against that species of scholarly shortsightedness: finding equivalents in English that allow the terms she is choosing to do the same work as the original words, even if the English words are not, according to a Greek lexicon, correct.

Continue reading the main story What gets us to complicated, Wilson said, returning to her translation of polytropos, is both that I think it has some hint of the original ambivalence and ambiguity, such that its both Why is he complicated? What experiences have formed him? which is a very modern kind of question and hints at There might be a problem with him. I wanted to make it a markedly modern term in a way that much turning obviously doesnt feel modern or like English. I wanted it to feel like an idiomatic thing that you might say about somebody: that he is complicated.

I asked: What about the commentator who says, It does something that more than modernizes it subverts the fundamental strangeness of the way Odysseus is characterized. Im sure some classicists are going to say its flat out wrong, Interesting, but wrong.

Youre quite right, she replied. Reviewers will say that.

How, I asked, would she address such a complaint from someone in her field?

I struggle with this all the time, Wilson said. I struggled with this because there are those classicists. I partly just want to shake them and make them see that all translations are interpretations. Most of the criticism Wilson expects, she says, will come from a digging in of the heels: Thats not what it says in the dictionary, and therefore it cant be right! And if you put down anything other than whats said in the dictionary, then, of course, you have to add a footnote explaining why, which means that pretty much every line has to have a footnote. ... Wilson paused. That goes to what this translation is aiming to do in terms of an immersive reading experience and conveying a whole narrative. I dont know what to say to those people, honestly. Wilson laughed her buoyant laugh. I need to have a better answer to them, because they will certainly review it, and they will certainly have a loud voice. They just seem to be coming from such a simple and fundamental misunderstanding.

Of what?

Of what any translation is doing.

What a translation is doing and what it should do has been a source of vigorous debate since there were texts to translate. Im not a believer, Wilson told me, but I find that there is a sort of religious practice that goes along with translation. Im trying to serve something.

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Emily Wilson in her Philadelphia home. Credit Geordie Wood for The New York Times. Early arguments about translation were over the Old Testament. One tale has it that an Egyptian king of the third-century B.C. wanted a Greek copy of the Pentateuch the five books of Moses for the Library of Alexandria. Some 70 Jewish elders said to be skilled in the Scriptures and in both languages were sent from Jerusalem. Each worked in a separate room to translate in isolation. When finished, they compared their work. The 70 translations? Identical, in the very same words and the very same names, from beginning to end, according to one account. The translation was, literally, faithful: God himself had moved their hands in unison, only one possible translation for his Word. Called Septuagint after its 70 translators, this Greek version became a foundational text, both for the early Christian church and for the impossible standard to which all subsequent translations are held: faithfulness. Later Bible translators failed to meet that mystical standard. The Catholic Church took 1,200 years to accept Jeromes Latin version (tainted with Judaism, was the charge, as it relied on Hebrew sources). The first English Bibles translator, John Wycliffe, was disinterred and his bones were burned for the heresy of translating into English, and his successor, William Tyndale, was excommunicated, sentenced to death by strangulation and burned at the stake.

Although you can understand, if not condone, how murderous rage at a translator might arise if a believer supposed a sacred text to have been desecrated by a translators hand, it is somewhat surprising that similar vehemence can greet translations of secular canonical texts. Perhaps the most famous such expression is in Matthew Arnolds On Translating Homer, his series of lectures in 1860 when he was Oxford professor of poetry. In them, he offered a takedown of existing translations of Homer and then asked in what faithfulness exists: The translator of Homer should above all be penetrated by a sense of four qualities ... that he is eminently rapid; that he is eminently plain and direct both in the evolution of his thought and in the expression of it, that is, both in his syntax and in his words; that he is eminently plain and direct in the substance of his thought, that is, in his matter and ideas; and, finally, that he is eminently noble.

Most every Homeric translation since has been scrutinized against his quartet of qualities. Wilson is not persuaded.

Continue reading the main story These are not good criteria, Wilson told me. I think he was a terrible reader of poetry. Its not like he ever translated Homer. I think he had a good classics major undergraduate kind of Greek, but I think its all to do with a particular notion of aesthetics and class, the whole plainness and nobility. Its about noblesse oblige and youre going to be the kind of gentleman whos going to have gone to Rugby and that will be the kind of language that we speak: the classy kind of language. And projecting all of that back on to the classics. This is what sweetness and light is. Its describing a boys club. I think its very interesting thats still with us. Those are the four? Its just the boys club.

I do think that gender matters, Wilson said later, and Im not going to not say its something Im grappling with. Im trying to take this task and this process of responding to this text and creating this text extremely seriously, with whatever I have, linguistically, sonically, emotionally.

At the center of each of Homers epics is a warrior. In the Iliad, it is Achilles, the greatest of the Greeks, a demigod almost invulnerable to death. Although the war is begun over a woman, Helen, stolen from her Greek husband by a Trojan, the Iliad is a poem about and presided over by men. Zeus is the poems prevailing god, and what men do, or are willing to do, in love and war and in the friendships that arise in war and its losses, are the poems preoccupations.

In the Odyssey, preoccupations shift, radically. Zeus is replaced by Athena as the dominant god of the tale; the poem begins not with Odysseus but with his wife, Penelope, who has been without him for 20 years, in a kingdom overrun by suitors for her hand, whom the conventions of hospitality ensure she cannot simply expel. The reader doesnt even see Odysseus until the fifth of the poems 24 books, where we learn that he has been living on an island with Calypso, a goddess, for seven years; that, earlier, he was detained by another goddess, Circe, with whom he also shared a bed; that the Sirens, as he navigates, call to him, desiring him; that a young princess falls in love with him; that, on all sides, women are temptresses, and whereas he submits, we are to understand that Penelope, alone, assailed, remains faithful.

In the second-wave feminist scholarship in classics, Wilson told me, people were very keen to try to read Penelope as, Lets find Penelopes voice in the Odyssey, and lets celebrate her, because look, here she is being the hero in an epic in ways we can somehow unpack. I find thats a little simplistic. What happens to all the unelite women?

WRITE A COMMENT In the episode that Wilson calls one of the most horrible and haunting of the whole poem, Odysseus returns home to find that his palace has been overrun by suitors for his wifes hand. Though she has resisted them, the women in her palace have not. Odysseus, after slaying the suitors, tells his son, Telemachus, to kill the women. It is an interesting injunction from Odysseus, who himself, during his 10 years of wandering, was serially unfaithful. In Robert Fagless much-praised translation of the poem, Telemachus says, before he executes the palace women on his fathers command: No clean death for the likes of them, by god!/Not from me they showered abuse on my head, my mothers too!/You sluts the suitors whores!

But Wilson, in her introduction, reminds us that these palace women maidservants has often been put forward as a correct translation of the Greek , dmoai, which Wilson calls an entirely misleading and also not at all literal translation, the root of the Greek meaning to overpower, to tame, to subdue werent free. Rather, they were slaves, and if women, only barely. Young female slaves in a palace would have had little agency to resist the demands of powerful men. Where Fagles wrote whores and the likes of them and Lattimore the creatures the original Greek, Wilson explained, is just a feminine definite article meaning female ones. To call them whores and creatures reflects, for Wilson, a misogynistic agenda: their translators interpretation of how these females would be defined. Here is how Wilson renders their undoing:

Continue reading the main story Continue reading the main story I refuse to grant these girls a clean death, since they poured down shame on me and Mother, when they lay beside the suitors. At that, he wound a piece of sailors rope round the rotunda and round the mighty pillar, stretched up so high no foot could touch the ground. As doves or thrushes spread their wings to fly home to their nests, but someone sets a trap they crash into a net, a bitter bedtime; just so the girls, their heads all in a row, were strung up with the noose around their necks to make their death an agony. They gasped, feet twitching for a while, but not for long.

If I was really going to be radical, Wilson told me, returning to the very first line of the poem, I wouldve said, polytropos means straying, and andra man, the poems first word means husband, because in fact andra does also mean husband, and I couldve said, Tell me about a straying husband. And thats a viable translation. Thats one of the things it says. But it would give an entirely different perspective and an entirely different setup for the poem. The fact that its possible to translate the same lines a hundred different times and all of them are defensible in entirely different ways? That tells you something. But, Wilson added, with the firmness of someone making hard choices she believes in: I want to be super responsible about my relationship to the Greek text. I want to be saying, after multiple different revisions: This is the best I can get toward the truth. Correction: November 8, 2017 An earlier version of this article misstated part of the name of a scholar who translated the Bible into English. His name was William Tyndale, not William York Tyndale.

Wyatt Mason is a contributing writer for the magazine and teaches at Bard College. He last wrote about the French writer and filmmaker Emmanuel Carrre.

A version of this article appears in print on November 5, 2017, on Page MM47 of the Sunday Magazine with the headline: Homers Daughter. Today's Paper|Subscribe

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The First Woman to Translate the 'Odyssey' Into English

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