Ghosh 1

Rik Ghosh
Catherine Witt
French 334
12 December 2016

Translation of Translation: A Translation of Aloysius Bertrands Le Fou and Commentary

Translation seems to be a simple practice with a simple purpose: making a given work

any product that relies on some particular language accessible to a wider audience of people.

The process thus depends, evidently, on language itself, but the seemingly untenable nature of

language (discovered upon considering its inherent purpose and process of fulfilling that

purpose) is complicating, rendering translation to be quite a contentious endeavor. Toward the

end of characterizing what ultimately makes an effective translation, theorists have brought forth

conflicting propositions, and it is likely not possible to reach a consensus. There are some

Jean-Paul Vinay and Jean Darbelnet, for example who embrace the aforementioned

simplistic idea of translation, providing a primarily functional (or practical) theory in

examining how to best transfer denotative information conveyed in a text from one language to

another and establishing various procedures of stylistic expression. While useful for actually

translating texts, particularly those that are informative or non-artistic, practical theories such as

theirs do not consider the most intricate nuances or the limitations of language for that, on the

other end of the spectrum, there are theories such as Walter Benjamins. Theorists like Benjamin

and Goethe posit that language, like translation, seems simple in aiming to act as a means of

communication but cannot ultimately arrive at doing so because any single language is

intrinsically unable to perfectly characterize the forms it aims to describe. In this vein, both

Benjamin and Goethe favor, among other techniques, an interlinear translation that elucidates

ideas that lay hidden in the original text due, in part, to limitations of the source language.

Theories such as Benjamins and Goethes are particularly relevant when translating
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poetry. In poetry, words and grammar language, really are no longer used simply as a

vehicle for disseminating information in the way of, say, a scientific article. Rather, the form of a

poem and the interplay between words are paramount, essentially making any work of poetry an

exploration into the nature of language. In this way, poetry can be seen as a way of partially

circumventing the limitations of language: because poetry relies so heavily on figurative and

interlinear meaning often to the point of rendering literal meaning relatively unimportant ,

it is able to express ideas far more completely than standard discourse. Acknowledging the

imperfection of language, it abandons the (impossible) pursuit of explicitly describing ideas,

instead focusing on the far more feasible pursuit of maximizing interlinear meaning. Clearly,

then, a Benjaminian consideration is important when translating poetry, and an effective

translation will release information that lies hidden in the original. Keeping these ideas in mind, I

will attempt, in this essay, to provide an effective translation of Aloysius Bertrands Le Fou from

his set of poems Gaspard de la Nuit.

I will begin with a more detailed discussion of a few theories of translation those of

Benjamin and Vinay/Darbelnet , ultimately developing a working model with which to carry

out my own translation of Le Fou. Toward this latter end, I will provide a partial reading of the

poem; in doing so, I will investigate the nature of the prose poem as a sort of translation in itself,

incorporating details of Bertrands life, which was instrumental to his development of the genre.

Finally, keeping this analysis in mind, I will propose a translation that maximizes elucidation of

interlinear meaning and finish by explaining (through close reading of the text) choices that are

unusual, interesting, or may be controversial.

Immediately evident from studying the works of Benjamin, Goethe, and Vinay/Darbelnet

(as well as most other theorists who have written on translation) is that none of the works
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individually explicates very clearly how one might translate poetry in a practical sense.

Depending on the text, this is for different reasons, of course. In the case of Vinay and Darbelnet

in A Methodology for Translation, a great deal of practical advice is given the two manage to

condense translation (between French and English, specifically) into seven categories, which

they call procedures, and for any given unit of words, a procedure may be used alone or with

others to effectively translate the unit (Vinay and Darbelnet 128). Unfortunately, however, their

discussion goes only so far as to consider stylistic differences between languages, operating

under the assumption that a transferal of literal meaning is the ultimate desired product. This

certainly agrees with the publicly held notion of translation, but as discussed, this is troublesome

when applied to poetry where literal meaning is often of secondary importance.

On the other hand, Benjamin in The Task of the Translator seems to speak specifically of

translating poetry, reflecting heavily on the nature of language itself. His essay is, after all, an

introduction to his translation of Baudelaires Tableaux parisiens, but his general philosophy on

translation leans heavily towards reproducing interlinear meaning and the ways that words mean

rather than simply their meanings themselves. Implicit in his philosophy is the idea of the

translatability of a text, which Benjamin discusses towards the end of his essay (Benjamin 82).

He considers all texts to consist of a certain amount of information; lower-level texts, to a

greater extent, consist primarily of information, and are not a particularly fertile field for

translation, which as process, he says, should not exist as simply a mode of transmitting

information from one language to another. Higher-level texts, like poetry, depend primarily on

the expression of this information rather than the information itself, and can benefit greatly from

translation. To support this idea, he introduces the concept of a pure language that is able to

describe with perfect accuracy the forms it aims to describe, something that any single language
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cannot do for example, an object is assigned a particular name in each of the worlds

languages, and each of these names has its own connotation, derived from its unique etymology

and originating culture; only the (impossible) synthesis of all of these names, all of these

languages, and all of these connotations can arrive at describing the true nature of this object

(Benjamin 77-79). Of course, then, interlinear expression is powerful as, leaving room for

interpretation, it can convey what explicit discourse cannot; this is exactly what poetry does. To

translate poetry, Benjamin supports a careful translation of individual words (with the goal of

noting their specific effect in the source language and recreating it in the target language), and a

literal rendering of the syntax, which, in effect, will not cover the original [text]not black

its light, but [instead] allow the pure languageto shine upon the original (Benjamin 81).

Hence it is fruitful to translate poetry since an effective translation begins to decipher hidden

truths that lie dormant in existing texts. However, Benjamins proposed result is theoretically

beautiful but practically underwhelming: he imagines a translated text as existing within a

linguistic flux, a step towards a state where the result no longer [necessarily] means or

expresses anything but isthat which is meant in [both] languages (Benjamin 81). Benjamin is

therefore useful in providing (abstract) direction on how to go about translating poetry, but falls

short in explaining how to do it practically: after all, for most practical translations, one of his

initial premises does not hold. Translation, even of a poem, does (in part) serve to bring the poem

to speakers of other languages, not just to fulfill some higher Benjaminian purpose an

incomprehensible mesh of words that reveal truths about the nature of language will not do. For

this reason, when practically translating poetry, it is helpful to combine the ideas of Benjamin

and Vinay/Darbelnet.

As can now be gathered, the essays of Benjamin and Vinay/Darbelnet are complementary
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in that each is strong where the other is lacking. For my translation of Le Fou, therefore, I use the

procedures outlined by Vinay and Darbelnet as a practical guide and formal support for specific

translation issues. I use Benjamin, on the other hand, in translating particular symbols and

deciding how to maintain the overall poetics of the poem, revealing certain hidden elements, but

ultimately trying to change as little as possible toward the most literal rendering of the syntax

that does not completely obfuscate clarity. What is most striking about Benjamins method is

that, though he hints towards the impossibility of a truly effective translation, it is not completely

radical in essence, the interlinear illumination that Benjamin champions is remarkably similar

to simply the standard process of rhetorically analyzing a poem. Along these lines, then, I

incorporate Benjamins views on poetry into my own translation by analyzing the French poem,

understanding what rhetoric is at work, and attempting to recreate their effects in English.

Form is an important consideration in the analysis of poetry, and with a form as unique as

prose poetry particularly with Gaspard being the first instance of such a form , its

development cannot be ignored. Since Louis Bertrand is the originator of the genre, an

exploration of the prose poem as a form begins with an investigation into his life. In the preface

to his edition of Gaspard de la Nuit, Max Milner emphasizes Bertrands circonstances trs

particulires : une marginalit provinciale redouble dune marginalit sociale et conomique

(Bertrand and Milner 8). These marginalities are crucial to interpreting individual poems from

Gaspard, but they are also useful in discovering how the prose poem comes about. Of the first

marginality, Milner explains that la sgrgation de la province constitue un facteur de

marginalit supplmentaire, mais aussi une chance de trouver sa voie [en parlant de Bertrand] en

dehors des courantes imposs par la capitale, thereby stressing that it is really this marginality

of locality that allows Bertrand to develop his new poetic form (Bertrand and Milner 17). Yves
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Bonnefoy supports this idea in his On the Translation of Form in Poetry where he explains that a

regular accepted [style of] verse [has] the same structureas the social order of its society,

going so far as to call regular verse patterns an orthodoxy whose conventions are in

themselves a metaphor of social law (Bonnefoy 375). Of course, then, Bertrands being from

Dijon not Paris is paramount in allowing him to break Parisian poetic norms, and this

relation between Paris and Dijon definitely features in his poems. Next, to help explicate

Milners suggestion of social marginality, there is Luc Bonenfant in Le vers dtourn: Aloysius

Bertrand et la rinvention de la prose, who relates this marginality to a sense of inferiority felt

by Bertrand with respect to the great Romantic poets. Concerning Bertrands initial poetry,

written in verse, he expresses a sense that un jeune garon de seize ans naurait pu rivaliser avec

Hugo! and that accordingly, Bertrand devra trouver ailleurs un moyen de se distinguer this

moyen turns out to be the prose poem (Bonenfant 43).

Upon consideration, the prose poem is quite a strange genre in that it is itself a product of

translation, in a way. Here, of course, the translation is not between languages but rather between

forms of art the previously separate poetry and prose. Bonenfant explains this in saying that

Bertrand transpose dans le domaine de la prose des techniques qui appartiennent

traditionnellement au domain du vers, referencing Bertrands exploration of les possibilits

textuelles de la ponctuationles blanc typographiques[et] des astrisques (Bonenfant 43). If,

then, prose poetry is to be considered a type of poetry, it brings into question what poetry is,

exactly. I argue that these poetic techniques that Bertrand uses and Bonenfant describes as

poetic are really such because they cause information to lie interlinearly; using Benjamins

terminology, it destroys the heavy relation on information normally found in prose in favor of

having hidden meaning be the primary meaning, which is normally the case with poetry. In
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this way, prose poetry can indeed be seen as an almost purer form of poetry that does not contain

perhaps superfluous elements such as meter and rhyme scheme; rather, in a free form, it

maximizes the communicative power of poetic expression. The sketch-like nature of juxtaposed

images that make up the poems of Gaspard de la Nuit supports these ideas, and Bertrand himself

hints at them in his first preface and his Instructions M. le Metteur en pages. In the latter he

suggests as a rgle gnrale to blanchir comme si le texte tait de la posie, where by posie,

he refers to standard poetry in verse (Bertrand and Milner 301). He thus identifies his belief that

the power of poetry lies interlinearly and in presentation that this white space and that

which is left unsaid are the important contributors to poetrys effectiveness.

Moving on to considering Le Fou in particular, it is immediately clear that it is a poem of

contrast and duality. This idea is particularly evident here, but it is also a theme throughout the

entire set of poems, harkening back to the image from Bertrands preface of the two-sided

medallion, which he himself explicitly labels as a metaphor for art. Even the concept of a prose

poem itself is inherently antithetical, as the word prose is usually used to mean the opposite

of poetry in common discourse. Within the poem, evidence of this duality is present in many

forms a religious contrast between the devil and heavenly figures; a contrast between Paris

(an urban center) and Dijon (en Province); and even just simple contrasts between light and

dark or beautiful and gruesome imagery , and there is at least one instance of contrasting

duality in each alina. If this idea seems vague, I later address each type of contrast in my close

readings of sections of the poem that support my translations of them.

Perhaps just as evident as the idea of contrasting duality is the imagery of gold and

glittering objects the implications of such imagery are far greater than simple aesthetic

beauty. Just scanning briefly through the poem, the words carolus, or, luisants, trsors, pices,
 Ghosh 8

and lumineux, among others, stand out, creating a poem that itself seems to glow. Bertrands first

preface illuminates why these terms may be important when he says, Javais rsol, dit

Gaspard, de chercher lart comme au moyen-ge les rose-croix cherchrent la pierre

philosophale; lart, cette pierre phlosophale du XIXe sicle ! (Bertrand and Milner 61). The

glittering imagery throughout Le Fou (and the rest of Bertrands poetry) thus makes reference to

the art of alchemy, and in doing so, further explains Bertrands purpose in writing Gaspard de la

Nuit. Drawing a parallel between the poet and the alchemist, it explicates his search for a form

that is a pure expression of art, which contributes to his development of the prose poem.

Because this imagery is thus so important in representing the goal of Bertrands project as a

whole, with respect to translation, it is important to maintain this shine in the language.

I will now provide my translation of the poem. Because, as discussed, translation of

poetry is necessarily an act of interpretation, there will of course be elements that seem

contentious. While every choice cannot be explained, I will analyze those that yield the most

fruitful discussion after the translation. I have done my best to synthesize Benjamins rather

extreme ideas with more practical methods, only very rarely in particularly beautiful sections

changing original syntax for the sake of aesthetic expression in English (which Benjamin

would strongly argue against) and other than that, only if a truly literal rendering resulted in an

incomprehensible result. The translated poem is on the following page:

 Ghosh 9

The Fool

A carolus or even more,

If you would like it, a lamb dOr
Manuscripts from the Library of the King

The moon was combing her hair with a detangler of ebony, which was
silvering with glistening verses falling like a rain of glowworms the hills,
the fields, and the woods.

Eeail, the gnome whose treasures teem, was winnowing on my roof, to the
cry of the weathercock, ducats and florins, which were leaping, flickering
in cadence, the false coins being scattered across the street.

As will laugh the fool who wavers, each night, through the deserted city,
one eye to the moon and the other gouged!

Fiddling moon! he will grumble, gathering the tokens of the devil,

Ill buy the pillory to warm myself there up in the sun!

But it was always the moon, the moon that was going to bed. And Eeail
secretly moneyed in my cellar ducats and florins to cuts of the pendulum.

All the while, two horns ahead, a mollusk whom the night had lead astray,
was searching for its way along my luminous windows of stained glass.
 Ghosh 10

Perhaps the most striking element of my proposed translation is my change to the name

of the gnome, Scarbo, of which the translation is quite a bit more complicated than it initially

seems. Scarbo is a name fabricated by Bertrand: upon examination and research it does not seem

to have historical presence, but it does have unique phonic properties in French and in the

context of the poem. Since its meaning is thus irrelevant, rather than keep the same name, I

decided to instead replicate these phonic properties in English. The phrase where Scarbo is

introduced, in the second alina, is Scarbo, gnome dont les trsors foisonnent. Here, the s

sound present in the beginning of Scarbos name is also present in the middle of trsors and

foisonnent, which in effect adds to the haunting, uncanny nature of Scarbos persona, an echo

reverberating through the phrase. Furthermore, Scarbo sounds like the word escargot, which

means snail this is no coincidence. An image of a snail quietly moving along a stained glass

window is present in the last alina, but this peaceful scene is mysteriously unsettling. The snail

is described as moving with les deux cornes en avant, turning it into a sort of devilish figure,

which creates a stark contrast between itself and the stained glass (which has holy connotations)

on which it moves. Scarbo, too, is associated with the devil earlier in this poem and in other

poems where he appears, which generates another link between Scarbo and snails, or escargot.

Bertrand makes this relationship more tenuous thus more uncanny, really, since the reader

hesitates to decide if all these relations are intentional by using limaon (a less common way

of saying snail) in the final alina, instead of escargot. Thus, given the English word snail and

my translations of trsors as treasures and foisonnent as teem, I decided to change the name

Scarbo to Eeail, which similarly has no meaning in English, and, of course, sounds like snail

and begins with the e sound repeated in the middle of the other two words. Accordingly, I then

translated limaon at the end of the poem as mollusk. In a literal sense, this is not the exact
 Ghosh 11

same as a snail (the relationship between limaon and escargot is not analogous to the

relationship between mollusk and snail) but it maintains the poetic effect of never explicitly

mentioning snail, and as discussed in general earlier, this poetic effect is more important than

the explicit, literal detail.

In general, now, a major issue in translation is when a single French word has multiple

(often distinct) meanings, resulting in an idea that can be expressed by multiple English words.

The first instance of this sort is the title of the poem itself. Le Fou most conceivably has three

options for translation: the madman, the fool, or the jester, and each clearly has different

connotations. Madman suggests complete insanity of whomever it is describing, and jester

does not necessarily suggest any insanity whatsoever, referring to a performer in the kings court.

Fool seems to incorporate both of these elements (as does Le Fou in French): in some cases it

is used to mean this sort of performer, and in others it concerns itself with the psychology of its

referent. Keeping this in mind, I choose to use fool but not simply because it is the most

democratic choice rather, both definitions play an important role in the poem. To discover

why this is the case, it is first important to realize who le fou refers to. Throughout the entire

set of poems, Bertrand alludes to le fou being the poet, but this is made most explicit at the end

of the work in his poem to Nodier: in describing the typical actions (or duties) of various societal

roles (such as the emperor and the pope), he says it is le fou [qui] crit un livre, which is

clearly the work of the poet (Bertrand and Milner 218). Referring to the poet as le fou thus

hints at his dissatisfaction toward the (known to be unpleasant) life that results from his

dedication to his art. Bertrand in this way represents his social and economic marginalities (those

mentioned by Milner), seeing himself the poet-fool as both a madman, in pursuing the

goal of perfection in art, and a jester, forced to pander to the desires of others and society (the
 Ghosh 12

jester as a general image is also related to the presence of the Kings manuscripts as epigraph and

recurring motif of coins and money).

Furthermore, the second appearance of le fou, in the third alina, now helps

characterize the figure of the moon. Here, Bertrand experiments with the trope of the blind

seer (like Tiresias in the Oedipus trilogy), specifically with the poet (the fool) as this blind seer

a person who is unable to see the real world but is immensely knowledgeable, able to see

past the real world, in a way. Here, the poet-fool has one eye gouged, representing his inability to

see the real word (perhaps referencing Bertrands inability to fit into society, too), and his other

eye (the one with which he sees) looks towards the moon. Bertrand known to believe in the

truth contained in poetry, this image draws a relation, then, between poetry and the moon.

Reading the moon in this manner as a sort of genesis of poetic inspiration aids translation of the

phrase vers luisants found in the first alina. There again there is the problem of vers

luisants having two possible meanings in English glowworms, if translated as a unit, or

glittering verses, if translated individually word-for-word. Clearly the latter translation is more

important to support the prior characterization of the moon, personified as though it is a sort of

muse (the female pronouns support this idea) preparing for bed (stated explicitly in the fifth

alina), combing her hair as poetry falls out in consequence. However, though less pertinent to

the overall meaning, the first translation of glowworms falling from the sky provides a very

beautiful, striking image. It is here, then, I take perhaps the most liberties with my translation and

insert a simile in an attempt to incorporate both glowworms and glistening verses. I propose

this is okay because, in doing this, I essentially deconstruct, separate, and explicate the

(originally hidden) spaces in which the two definitions of vers luisants function while

keeping each definition in its original space. More explicitly, the glowworms translation, I
 Ghosh 13

have shown, has primarily visual, aesthetic function, so it is appropriate to place it in a simile,

which acts as a sign to exit the space of physical events and enter the space of description (where

this translation originally functioned anyway, implicitly). Similarly, I keep glistening verses

which I have shown to have conceptual significance in the original place of vers luisants,

thereby keeping it in the space of physical action and creating minimal disruption to the overall

poetic meaning.

Moving on, Bertrand also often uses words that are foreign or unusual to speakers of

standard French, and this sense of intralingual foreignness must be translated into English, too.

The first instance of this is in the section just discussed in the first alina, where he is describing

the moon combing her hair: rather than using the word peigne (which is the standard word for

comb) he uses dmloir. Though this is still recognizable as comb, it is a bit more strange in

usage and refers more to the English detangling comb, a particular styling tool. What is

important about the word dmloir, though, is that it contains a variant of the word mler, which

means to mix, or (loosely) to tangle. Continuing with the previously mentioned idea of the

moon as a source of poetic inspiration, verses falling out of her hair as she combs it, this reveals

an opinion of Bertrands that poetry is a way of presenting ideas clearly, ideas that otherwise

exist in a disorganized jumble in need of illumination. My choice in translating dmloir, almost

literally, as detangler, is thus effective because it keeps the sense of an unusual word referring

to the comb (while being clear still that a comb is being described) and contains a variant of the

word to tangle, maintaining the characteristic of the moon providing clarity in the form of

poetry. Another example of Bertrands using foreign, unusual words is found in the fifth alina,

where he uses the verb monnoyer. This seems to be a word that he made up himself: though very

similar to the verb monnayer, which means to sell or to monetize [a skill, for example],
 Ghosh 14

monnoyer is nowhere to be found. It, however, contains monnaie, and since the action is

applied to ducats and florins, there is an intuitive sense of what the word means I felt the best

way to translate this intuitive sense was to use the verb to money. Money is not usually used as

a verb, so this maintains the important feeling of unfamiliarity and ambiguity. Finally, along

similar lines of unfamiliarity and in the same alina, there is the phrase coups de balancier.

Upon searching for this object, it seems as though it is relatively unknown in French only

after extensive investigation did I find that it refers to a decapitation device (made of a blade

swinging back and forth) that is called a pendulum in English. Of course, this is not what

normally comes to mind at the thought of the word pendulum, so here, then, is a case where

direct translation works out perfectly even with appropriate ambiguity embedded organically!

A more universal problem of translation is how to negotiate idiomatic expressions that

exist in the source language but not the target language. In this poem, there is the expression

foin de la lune, which engenders a great deal of space for discussion when considered. As an

idiom, foin de [some object] translates roughly to shame on [that object], but literally, term-

by-term, it translates to hay of [that object]. The literal meaning of this phrase is significant in

the case of Le Fou insofar as the word foin is an instance of pastoral imagery. The contrast of this

hay with les jetons du diable, which appears shortly after, recalls the duality between Dijon

and Paris, between an area en Province and the urban center, since jetons can be seen as image of

the commerce present in urban locations. The moon, previously shown to be a source of poetic

inspiration, is thus associated with Dijon (recalling the idea Bertrands not being from Paris is

what allowed him to develop the poetic form that is the prose poem). Furthermore, by

associating these jetons with the devil, Bertrand portrays Paris negatively with respect to Dijon,

which is accordant with his well-noted pride in his home city. On another level, this alina as a
 Ghosh 15

whole also makes reference to Bertrands economic marginality mentioned by Milner. His

pursuit of poetry having left him impoverished and ill, Bertrand here expresses a thought of

giving up the poetic art: rejecting the moon (rejecting poetry), he begins to pick up jetons (an

image of economic wealth) with reservation (the association with the devil), and this culminates

in the contrasting image of using these jetons to buy a pillory, where, in the sun, he will be warm

(representing economic stability) but obviously tortured (since the pillory is a device of

punishment). In any case, the pastoral image in the initial interjection is essential to maintaining

this entire line of thought, so I chose to translate foin de la lune as fiddling moon, which

incorporates a hackneyed idiomatic sense of distaste with the pastoral image of a fiddler. Moving

on, recalling the contrast established between Paris and Dijon also helps in translating the

epigraph. What stands out most here is the end of the second line: un agneau dor. This image

seems unexpected, but the lamb is really another instance of pastoral imagery! Since, as

explained earlier, Dijon is linked with the pastoral in a way, it is notable that Dijon is the capital

of the Cte-dOr region of France. I propose, thus, that this epigraph is another instance of the

Dijon-Paris, pastoral-urban duality here the carolus (recalling royalty and commerce)

contrasts with the lamb from the comparatively pastoral Cote-dOr. This is why I do not translate

dor to golden or of gold; to maintain the reference to the geographic region I keep it in

the original language (a technique Vinay and Darbelnet refer to as borrowing), and in this case

the result should not seem overwhelmingly foreign to English speakers, either.

In this essay, I have provided a translation of Aloysius Bertrands Le Fou. Toward that

end, I first considered the nature of translation and language in general, deciding through

readings and synthesis of theoretical works that an effective translation of poetry can follow

practical procedures of translation but must be sure to prioritize the maintenance of interlinear
 Ghosh 16

poetic effects over literal meaning. In considering the inherent inability of language to act as a

perfect means of expressing explicit information, I proposed that poetry is in fact powerful for

this very reason because it aims to maximize interlinear meaning rather than expound

information explicitly (which is a futile task). Thus, in an attempt to understand the interlinear

meaning of Le Fou (so that I could convey it in my translation), I reflected on Bertrands life and

his related development of the prose poem. After suggesting a translation of the poem, I

concluded by discussing several specific problems that arose in the (translation) process,

providing close-readings of the poem that motivate certain choices that I made. In doing so, I

revealed how Le Fou and the idea of the prose poem itself seem to be intricately linked to

Bertrands life history, describing implicitly his various marginalities and the pitfalls of living for

ones art.
 Ghosh 17

Bibliography

Benjamin, Walter. "The Task of the Translator." Trans. Harry Zohn. The Translation Studies

Reader. London: Routledge, 2012. 75-85. Print. This is a theoretical text about translation

that discusses problems inherent in any singular language. Thus understanding any

language as imperfect in explicitly describing the true ideas/forms it aims to describe,

Benjamin argues that translation acts as a method of: (1) liberating ideas that lay hidden in

the source language as a result of its unavoidable imperfect expression and (2)

furthering/developing the target language by creating unusual/nonstandard sentence

structures etc. that are not accordant with traditionally accepted usage. I use Benjamins

ideas accordingly to establish a theoretical basis for the functional method I use in

translating poetry.

Bertrand, Aloysius, Paul Zweig, and Michelle Katz. Aloysius Bertrand. "Gaspard De La Nuit,

Extraits." A Selection from Gaspard of the Night. Paris: Lettres Modernes (Abbeville,

Impr. F. Paillart), 1964. Print. This is a translation of a few poems from Gaspard de la

Nuit, including the one I am interested in. The introduction contains a few insights that I

will use in my analysis of the poem as well as my discussion of what it might mean to

translate the poem given Bertrands objective in writing them. The translation of Le Fou

itself is quite odd, and I will only use it as a basis to see a particular interpretation of a

more traditional translation.

Bertrand, Aloysius, and Max Milner. Gaspard de la Nuit: Fantaisies la Manire de Rembrandt

et de Callot. Paris: Gallimard, 1980. Print. This is a complete edition of Gaspard de la

Nuit, including most of Bertrands associated works and notes. Particularly useful are a
 Ghosh 18

few of the other poems in the series, Bertrands two prefaces, his instructions to M. le

Metteur en pages, and Milners own preface.

Bonenfant, Luc. "Le Vers Dtourn: Aloysius Bertrand et la Rinvention de la

Prose." Romantisme 123.1 (2004): 41-51. CAIRN. Web. This work is part biography of

Bertrand, part analysis of his works. I use both parts in explicating how Bertrands life is

reflected in his poems, specifically in the one I translate, and then use this connection to

close-read and analyze the poem towards the goal of arriving at an effective, interlinear

translation.

Bonnefoy, Yves. "On the Translation of Form in Poetry." World Literature Today 53.3 (1979):

374-79. JSTOR. Web. This article discusses, among other topics, how a particular poetic

form is a representation of the social norms of the culture from which it originates.

Accordingly, it questions the relevance of attempting to maintain this sort of form in a

translation since the form, according to the papers argument, represents a completely

different, oftentimes-antiquated society than the one for which the translation is intended.

I use the article in proposing how Bertrand was able to go about crafting his new genre of

poetry, the prose poem.

Lewis, Philip E. "The Measure of Translation Effects." The Translation Studies Reader. London:

Routledge, 2012. 257-75. Print. This text describes specific problems and techniques in

translation French to English and vice versa. It is particularly interesting because it touches

on particular idiosyncrasies of the French language, the English language, and their

relation to one another for example, a semi-quantitative investigation into how, in some

cases, French uses more words to express the same thought as in English. Along with
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Vinay and Darbelnet, I use this source implicitly for practical issues that arise while

translating.

Vinay, Jean-Paul, and Jean Darbelnet. "A Methodology for Translation." Trans. Juan C. Sager

and M.-J. Hamel. The Translation Studies Reader. London: Routledge, 2012. 128-37.

Print. This is a practical text on translation that outlines seven procedures commonly

used when translating. It (conveniently) uses translations of various sentences and

passages from English to French and vice versa as examples for each procedure. I use

concepts from this text in creating my translation as both a method when I am unsure of

how to translate a certain phrase as well as formal validation for my more intuitive

translations of other phrases.

Von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang. "Translations." Trans. Sharon Sloan. The Translation Studies

Reader. London: Routledge, 2012. 64-66. Print. In this text, Goethe outlines three levels

(which he calls epochs) of translation and overall argues that a good translation preserves

overall form/style as well as interlinear meaning. Though I never explicitly reference this

text, his ideas are mostly accordant with those of Benjamin, and reading this text is really

what helped me truly understand Benjamins ideas.