Content s introduction chapter methodical basis of translation theory

CONCLUSION

Considering literature as being the product of the dominant ideology, it is obvious that sign systems cannot be assumed to be understood by everyone, for language is dynamic and apt to change quite rapidly. Furthermore, in most societies literary translation seems to have become so prominent that the very concept of translation tends to be restricted to literary translation in comparison with other types of translation and other texts.

One of the most difficult problems in translating literary texts is found in the differences between cultures. People of a given culture look at things from their own perspective. Indeed, one of the most difficult problems in translating literary texts is found in the differences between cultures. A translator who uses a cultural approach is simply recognizing that each language contains elements which are derived from its culture that every text is anchored in a specific culture, and that conventions of text production and reception vary from culture to culture. It is hard to overestimate the impact of the Greek inoculation to Slavonic plant. In my view, the very concept of poetry as a “special language”, sacred or prophetic one, which essentially differs from the prosaic speech (the widespread concept of Russian Classic poetry ), consciously or unconsciously, goes back to St.Cyrill’s heritage. Without the phenomena of Church Slavonic, familiar to everybody in its “flesh” and strange in its (Greek) “soul” we could never have such a poet as Osip Mandelshtam with his “fantastic of word”. The generations of the Orthodox Christians got used to know by heart the liturgical hymns and prayers without any attempt – not to translate them into Russian, but to understand it word by word! The situation formed a special sensitivity to the words that affect you immediately – and not inform you. A word as a portion of power rather than of meaning.
The next explosion of cultural activity of translation took place in the Eighteenth century. It was the time of rushed modernisation of medieval Russian culture. This time the models were taken mostly from France (but German, Italian and English played their part as well; e.g. Alexander Pope with his “Essay on Man” was one of the most influential English writers of the 17th century; he contributed to the philosophical language of Russian poetry). The West European models transformed the Russian language no less than the Greek ones. For instance, the so-called metaphysical language (the vocabulary for the abstract reflections and psychological observations) was created by the translators of French novels, such as “Adolph” by B.Constant, “Rene” by Chateaubriand and others. In the same way as we would not have our Mandelshtam without having the Greek element infused into the Russian language, we would not have E.Baratynsky and his followers – up to Brodsky – without the French implantation¹³.
What I meant to tell you is in no way the historical review nor a sort of archaeological study of the sources of the modern Russian language. I touch the past of our language to feel its present; not the sources but the resources of language is what I am interested in. The old dictum “In my beginning is my end” seems to be valid for the language. And that is why I’ve begun my discussion with the theme of freedom and boldness in translation.
In both cases, in its Greek and West European adventures, the Russian language behaved in a quite amazing manner: modestly and boldly at once. Modestly, because it demonstrated readiness and even pleasure to follow its new guide without any anxiety about losing its own identity. And boldly, because it (I mean, language and his writers) did not worry much about what is possible and impossible, fas et nefas. They did what seemed impossible before their deed. “It is not good Russian!” ,the phrase already mentioned above , would sound absurd to S.Cyrill and his followers. “Sure, it was not good Russian before – but henceforward it can be good Russian, and that’s why I am working now,” this would be the response of our great translators. What they obtained for the Russian language, for is writers and readers was not only the new texts or some new, borrowed means of expression but the strange and precious gift. Theirs was a gift of freedom in confronting the native language, the source of the linguistic carelessness that distinguishes the great style of Russian literature, the open and “irregular” writing of Dostoevsky and Leo Tolstoy. It was the art of translation, the art of being passive and obedient and hopeful, that made them fantastically free.
As it can easily guessed, in my own translator’s practice I try to follow the Cyrillian tradition. First of all, it means that to follow tradition is in no way to dread the tradition (as if it were a set of rigid imperatives): the tradition begins with the creation of the unprecedented things and demands to recognise what we lack now. We can use this or that expression even if they “don’t sound Russian”, if “nobody would say like that”: it’s enough for me if they sound authentic. As Marina Zwetaeva advised: if they tell you “Nobody would do like that!”, you can answer: “But I am not Nobody!”. Besides, I don’t know any other ways to render, for instance, such an author as T.S.Eliot, and every poet which is essentially remote from Russian prosody and modes. Perhaps, not so many people share my attitude now: the previous years formed other translators’ habits. But one of our best authors, V.V.Bibikhin , who managed to create the Russian versions of the most giddy theological and philosophical works, also calls his method of translation “Cyrillian”. It means for us not to “use” the words but to deal with a word that occurs as an event.