Judging this prize is a great challenge and also a great pleasure. There was a wide range of poems submitted this year, in ancient and modern languages, some very well known, others translated for the first time. As judges, we have the difficult task of narrowing down the entries to a short list; this year we all agreed before we came together on the winning entry for the 14-and-under category, a charming rendering of a well known poem by La Fontaine, and on the winner of the Open category, a fresh, new version of Francesca’s address to Dante when he meets her on his journey through Hell.
But although we reached consensus on those poems and on our final list, we had some lively discussion about many of the other entries, and, as is to be expected, sometimes we had to agree to disagree. One poem I particularly liked was a translation by Marwin Kalo of one of his grandfather’s poems about the Aral Sea, which we all agreed merited a commendation. I also admired Richard Morris’ translation of St John of the Cross’s ‘Verses Written in Ecstasy from Deep Contemplation’, in which the translator has managed to find superb solutions to a deceptively simple poem full of complex layers of meaning and formal devices.
The commentaries are an important aspect of this prize, shedding light on the strategies employed by the translator and often reflecting the reasons for choosing a particular poet or poem. This year a lot of entrants stressed how much they had enjoyed the process and also how much they felt they had learned, which is, after all, what the prize was established to achieve. Interestingly, there were some very thoughtful commentaries about rather weak poems, though it was wonderful to note how many times translators said they felt ‘passionate’ about the poem they had chosen.
As in previous years, there were some splendid translations of classical poetry, which again reflects the high quality of teaching in this field. Sadly, and no doubt a reflection of the decline of modern language learning in schools, a low level of linguistic competence was apparent in some poems. I would not want to impose the rote learning of irregular verbs that my generation was forced to undergo on today’s pupils, but without some knowledge of grammar and syntax it becomes impossible to understand a poem, let alone translate it. Many of the young translators openly admitted in their commentaries that they were at sea with the poems they had chosen, even though they enjoyed the struggle.
In contrast to previous years, a great many entries used rhymed verse forms. Sometimes it was used brilliantly, but sometimes it descended into doggerel. Rhyme in English is very tricky, because it can seem deceptively easy but actually requires great skill and a lot of practice. The extent of the use of rhyme raised the question of how much contemporary poetry some of the translators are reading. The best advice I was ever given about writing and translating was to read, and read and read, advice that I pass on to my students. The more one reads, the more one opens doors to possibilities for one’s own writing.
I learned a great deal from reading these poems, and have noted several poets whose work I now intend to seek out. Reading the entries has also raised some interesting questions: why do some great poets fail to come across in another language, why have certain writers such as Baudelaire become unfashionable to a degree that they are almost untranslatable, why does surrealist poetry read so awkwardly in much English translation, what intrinsic qualities in a poem enable a translator to bring it back to life hundreds, if not thousands, of years after it was composed? Perhaps the simple answer to such questions is that what makes a poem translatable ultimately is the skill of the translator, its re-creator, the person, young or old, who can excite, move or entertain a new world of readers. This prize demonstrates annually how many people are capable of doing just that.
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