Erkan Avşar
Translation cannot be done carelessly or without the necessary equipment, because that would not be “humane”. Showing language the care it needs is a debt we owe to humanity. In this piece I want to assess two translations of Mahmoud Darwish by two different translators. The poem in question is Darwish’s “‘Ud Isma‘il” (عُودُ إسماعيل, Ismail’s Oud). One translation appears in Yalnızlık Yenilemeden Kendini (Can Yayınları, 2009, p. 143), prepared by Metin Fındıkçı; the other is from Atı Neden Yalnız Bıraktın (Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone?, Ayrıntı Yayınları, 2017, p. 59), translated by Mehmet Hakkı Suçin.
Those who want the whole of this long poem can find it in the sources cited and compare. Here I will compare only the translations of the poem’s first section. Mahmoud Darwish’s poem begins:
عُودُ إسماعيل
فَرَسٌ على وَتَرَيْنِ ترقُصُ – هكذا
تُصْغي أَصابِعُهُ إلى دَمِهِ، وتنتشرُ القُرى
كشقائقِ النعمانِ في الإيقاعِ. لا
لَيْلٌ هناك ولا نهارٌ. مَسَّنا
طربٌ سَمَاويٌ، وهَرْوَلَتِ الجهاتُ إلى
الهيولى
هَلِّلويا،
هَلِّلويا،
كُلُّ شيء سوف يبدأ من جديدِ
The two translators’ versions of this section are, respectively, as follows:
İSMAİL’İN UDU
Bir kısrak dans ediyor iki tel üzerinde – Böylece
kulak veriyor parmakları kanına. Köyler dağılıyor
dağ laleleri gibi ahenkte. Ne gece var orada
ne de gündüz. Göksel bir neşe dokundu bize.
Yönler akın etti heyulaya
Halleluya
Halleluya
Her şey yeniden başlayacakTranslation: Mehmet Hakkı Suçin
İSMAİL’İN DÖNÜŞÜ
At vitrinde dans eder – böylece
Parmakları akan kanını dinler, köy meydanına yayılır
anemon çiçeğinin duruşu gibi, orası
ne gece ne de gündüz. Bizi semavi
toprak emer, tozlu yollarda
sallanarak
zerre
zerre
zerrelerle
her şey yeniden başlayacakTranslation: Metin Fındıkçı
A chain of errors that begins with the title!
The first thing that strikes us is that Fındıkçı translated the title “İsmail’in Udu” (Ismail’s Oud) as “İsmail’in Dönüşü” (Ismail’s Return). It seems the translator could not distinguish the word ‘ud (عُود, oud) from the Arabic word ‘awda (عَوْدَة), meaning “return”. Even someone with a basic grounding in Arabic knows the difference – that is, that an oud is not a return.
When we finish reading a poem entitled “Ismail’s Return”, we naturally expect a return, a reunion. Yet this poem has no theme of a character called Ismail returning or coming back from somewhere. Thus we find the first clues that we are dealing not so much with the translator’s translation skills as with an inadequate knowledge of Arabic.
How did watarayn turn into “vitrin”?
In the first line Mahmoud Darwish says that “a mare dances on two strings”. Fındıkçı translated this line as “At vitrinde dans eder” (A horse dances in the shop window). Leaving aside his turning the mare into a horse, what are we to say about his translating – pardon, “mistranslating” – the Arabic word watarayn (وَتَرَيْن), meaning “two strings” (of a musical instrument), as “vitrin” (shop window)? Can you imagine a translator rendering the English word “red” into Turkish as “ret” (rejection)?
The poem continues: “The villages spread like anemones in the rhythm.” Fındıkçı “makes up” this phrase as “köy meydanına yayılır anemon çiçeğinin duruşu gibi” (spreads over the village square like the posture of an anemone). What spreads, who spreads? Where did the “square” come from? What turns the word “rhythm” into “posture”?
Mixing up chaff and grain!
Let us continue the comparison. Where Mahmoud Darwish says “A heavenly rapture touched us”, Fındıkçı rendered it into Turkish as “Bizi semavi toprak emer” (The heavenly soil sucks us in). Of course, we have no difficulty understanding how he fell into this trap, since by now we have cracked the translator’s code. Fındıkçı could not distinguish the Arabic word tarab (طَرَب, rapture, delight) from turab (تُراب, soil) – rather like being unable to tell “soup” from “sock” (çorba and çorap). Again, Fındıkçı confused the verb massa (مَسَّ), meaning “to touch”, with massa (مَصَّ), meaning “to suck”.
Fındıkçı also rendered Darwish’s phrase meaning “the directions hurried to the primordial matter (hayula)” as “tozlu yollarda sallanarak” (swaying on dusty roads).
These simple errors, which an average translator would not make under normal circumstances, show that the translator’s knowledge of Standard Arabic remains at a very basic level.
Where on earth did “zerre” come from?
In Darwish’s poem the word “Hallelujah” (هَلِّلويا) is repeated twice after the word hayula. Metin Fındıkçı simply pinned the meaning “zerre” (particle) on both hayula (الهيولى), meaning “formless matter, the first state of matter”, and “Hallelujah” (هَلِّلويا), used in the Bible to mean “praise be to God”! How did “Hallelujah” – the subject of many songs in the West and a word we are used to hearing in many films – turn into “particle”? That is a question for Fındıkçı.
Yes, everything will begin anew!
We see that Fındıkçı rendered the last line of the section under discussion correctly as “Her şey yeniden başlayacak” (Everything will begin anew). That he rendered this line correctly at the end of a translation full of errors serves as a warning to incompetent translators, for Arabic literary translation will now be shaped by skilled hands. In recent years we have witnessed many works of Arabic poetry being brought into Turkish. From Mahmoud Darwish, Mural (Kırmızı Yayınları, 2015), Bu Şiirin Bitmesini İstemiyorum (I Don’t Want This Poem to End, Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2016) and Atı Neden Yalnız Bıraktın (Ayrıntı Yayınları, 2017) have been published. Another book by Darwish, again translated by Suçin, will appear in the coming months. We now have the chance to read poets such as Adonis, Mohammed Bennis, Nizar Qabbani, Ahmed al-Shahawy and Khulood Al Mualla in the style of a master translator. Needless to say, almost all these names had earlier been “massacred” by Metin Fındıkçı. The bones of Mahmoud Darwish, the great poet of Palestine, will no longer ache; instead of a translator’s ravings, Turkish readers will read Darwish in his true poetry.
Yes, “everything will begin anew”!
Erkan Avşar
Born in Ardahan in 1977, he graduated from the Department of Arabic Language Teaching, Gazi Faculty of Education, in 2000. From 2000 to 2003 he taught Arabic at a language school in Istanbul, and in 2003 completed his master’s degree at the Institute of Social Sciences, Marmara University. In 2003–2004 he worked for various publishers. Called up for military service in April 2004, he was selected as an Arabic interpreter (second lieutenant) for the Gendarmerie General Command and later completed the same duty at the General Staff. In 2005 he began working for the National Palaces of the Turkish Grand National Assembly, serving as an Arabic guide at Dolmabahçe Palace from 2005 to 2012; since 2012 he has worked as an Arabic guide at the Dolmabahçe Pavilion, also part of the National Palaces. His works on Arabic language teaching include Arapça Dilbilgisine Giriş 1: Sarf (Introduction to Arabic Grammar 1: Morphology), Arapça Yazma ve Okumaya Giriş (Introduction to Writing and Reading Arabic, with Prof. Dr. Musa Yıldız) and Türkçe Çevirileriyle Arapça Seçme Hikâyeler I–IV (Selected Arabic Stories with Turkish Translations, with Prof. Dr. Musa Yıldız). His translations into Turkish include works from Ibn Abd Rabbih – “Nükteler ve Mizahi Öyküler” (Witticisms and Humorous Tales), “Hükümdar ve Siyaset” (The Ruler and Politics), “Bedevi Arapların Özdeyiş ve Adetleri” (Sayings and Customs of the Bedouin Arabs), “Şarlatanlar, Deliler, Cimriler, Asalaklar Kitabı” (The Book of Charlatans, Madmen, Misers and Parasites) – and Muhammad Diyab al-Itlidi’s “Abbasi Geceleri” (Abbasid Nights).
Translated from the Turkish for this site.