{"id":2368,"date":"2013-07-13T01:41:10","date_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:41:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost\/?p=2368"},"modified":"2013-07-13T01:41:10","modified_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:41:10","slug":"27-kalidasa-on-translating-kalidasa-vol-01-early-cultural-writings","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/01-works-of-sri-aurobindo\/03-cwsa\/01-early-cultural-writings\/27-kalidasa-on-translating-kalidasa-vol-01-early-cultural-writings","title":{"rendered":"-27_Kalidasa – On Translating Kalidasa.htm"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n\n\n
\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOn Translating Kalidasa
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tSince the different tribes of the human Babel began to study each
\nother’s literatures, the problem of poetical translation has constantly defied the earnest experimenter. There have been brilliant
\nversions, successful falsifications, honest renderings, but some
\nfew lyrics apart a successful translation there has not been. Yet
\nit cannot be that a form of effort so earnestly & persistently
\npursued and so necessary to the perfection of culture and advance of civilisation, is the vain pursuit of a chimera. Nothing which mankind earnestly attempts is impossible, not even the
\nconversion of copper into gold or the discovery of the elixir of
\nlife or the power of aerial motion; but so long as experiment
\nproceeds on mistaken lines, based on a mistaken conception of
\nthe very elements of the problem, it must necessarily fail. Man
\nmay go on fashioning wings for himself for ever but they will
\nnever lift him into the empyrean: the essence of the problem is to
\nconquer the attraction of the earth which cannot be done by any
\nmaterial means. Poetical translation was long dominated by the
\nsuperstition that the visible word is the chief factor in language
\nand the unit which must be seized on as a basis in rendering; the
\nresult is seen in so-called translations which reproduce the sense of the original faultlessly & yet put us into an atmosphere which
\nwe at once recognize to be quite alien to the atmosphere of the
\noriginal; we say then that the rendering is a faithful one or a success of esteem or a makeshift or a caput mortuum according to the nature of our predilections and the measure of our urbanity.
\nThe nineteenth century has been the first to recognize generally
\nthat there is a spirit behind the word & dominating the word
\nwhich eludes the “faithful” translator and that it is more important to get at the spirit of a poet than his exact sense. But after
\nits manner it has contented itself with the generalisation and not attempted to discover the lines on which the generalisation must
\n  
\n<\/span>
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tbe crystallised into practice, its extent & its limitations. Every translator has been a law to himself; and the result is anarchic
\nconfusion. As the sole tangible benefit there has been discovered a new art not yet perfected of translation into prose poetry.
\nSuch translation has many advantages; it allows the translator to avail himself of manifold delicacies of rhythm without
\nundergoing the labour of verse formation and to compromise with the orthodox superstition by rendering the word unit yet
\nwith some show of preserving the original flavour. But even in the best of these translations it is little more than a beautiful
\nshow. Poetry can only be translated by poetry and verse forms by verse forms. It remains to approach the task of translation
\nin a less haphazard spirit, to realise our essential aim, to define exactly what elements in poetry demand rendering, how far &
\nby what law of equivalent values each may be rendered and if
\nall cannot be reproduced, which of them may in each particular
\ncase be sacrificed without injuring the essential worth of the
\ntranslation. Most of the translations of Kalidasa here offered
\nto the public have been written after the translator had arrived at such a definite account with himself and in conscientious
\nconformity to its results. Others done while he yet saw his goal no more than dimly and was blindly working his way to the
\nfinal solution, may not be so satisfactory. I do not pretend that I have myself arrived at the right method; but I am certain that
\nreasoned & thoughtful attempts of this sort can alone lead to it.
\nNow that nations are turning away from the study of the great
\nclassical languages to physical & practical science and resorting
\neven to modern languages, if for literature at all then for contemporary literature, it is imperative that the ennobling influences
\nspiritual, romantic & imaginative of the old tongues should be
\npopularised in modern speech; otherwise the modern world,
\nvain of its fancied superiority & limiting itself more & more to
\nits own type of ideas with no opportunity of saving immersions in the past & recreative destructions of the present, will soon petrify & perish in the mould of a rigid realism & materialism.
\nAmong their influences the beauty & power of their secular &
\nreligious poetry is perhaps the most potent & formative.  
\n<\/span>
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe choice of meter is the first & most pregnant question that meets a translator. With the growth of Alexandrianism and the
\ndiffusion of undigested learning, more & more frequent attempts
\nare being made to reproduce in poetical versions the formal
\nmetre of the original. Such attempts rest on a fundamental
\nmisconception of the bases of poetry. In poetry as in all other
\nphenomena it is spirit that is at work and form is merely the
\noutward expression & instrument of the spirit. So far is this
\ntrue that form itself only exists as a manifestation of spirit and has no independent being. When we speak of the Homeric hexameter, we are speaking of a certain balance [of] spiritual force
\ncalled by us Homer working through emotion into the material
\nshape of a fixed mould of rhythmical sound which obeys both in its limiting sameness & in its variations the law of the spirit
\nwithin.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe mere quantities are but the most mechanical & outward part
\nof metre. A fanciful mind might draw a parallel between the elements of man & the elements of metre. Just as in man there is the outward food-plasm and within it the vital or sensational man conditioned by & conditioning the food-plasm & within the vital man the emotional or impressional man similarly related and again within that the intellectual man governing the others
\nand again within that the delight of the spirit in its reasoning
\nexistence & within that delight like the moon within its halo
\nthe Spirit who is Lord of all these, the sitter in the chariot &
\nthe master of its driving, so in metre there is the quantitative
\nor accentual arrangement which is its body, & within that body conditioning & conditioned by it the arrangement of pauses &
\nsounds, such as assonance, alliteration, composition of related &
\nvarying letters, and again within it conditioning & conditioned
\nby this sensational element & through it the mechanical element is the pure emotional movement of the verse and again within
\nthese understanding and guiding all three, bringing the element of restraint, management, subordination to a superior law of
\nharmony, is the intellectual element, the driver of the chariot of
\nsound; within this again is the poetic delight in the creation of
\n  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tharmonious sound, the august & disinterested pleasure of the
\nreally great poet which has nothing in it of frenzy or rather has
\nthe exultation & increased strength of frenzy without its loss of
\nself-control; and within this even is the spirit, that unanalysable
\nthing behind metre, style & diction which makes us feel “This is Homer, this is Shakespeare, this is Dante.”
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t[All these are essential before really great verse can be produced;
\neveryone knows that verse may scan well enough & yet be very
\npoor verse; there may beyond this be skilful placings of pause & combinations of sound as in Tennyson’s blank verse, but the result is merely artificially elegant & skilful technique; if emotion
\nmovement is super-added, the result is melody, lyric sweetness or
\nelegiac grace or flowing & sensuous beauty, as in Shelley, Keats,
\nGray, but the poet is not yet a master of great harmonies; for
\nthis intellect is necessary, a great mind seizing, manipulating &
\nmoulding all these by some higher law of harmony, the law of
\nits own spirit. But such management is not possible without the
\naugust poetical delight of which I have spoken, and that again
\nis but the outflow of the mighty spirit within, its sense of life &
\npower & its pleasure in the use of that power with no ulterior
\nmotive beyond its own delight.]1<\/font><\/sup>
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tBut just as the body of a man is also soul, has in each of its
\ncells a separate portion of spirit, so it is with the mechanical
\nform of a verse. The importance of metre arises from the fact that different arrangements of sound have different spiritual and
\nemotional values, tend to produce that is to say by virtue of the
\nfixed succession of sounds a fixed spiritual atmosphere & a
\ngiven type of emotional exaltation & the mere creative power
\nof sound though a material thing is yet near to spirit, is very
\ngreat; great on the material & ascending in force through the
\nmoral & intellectual, culminating on the emotional plane. It is a
\nfactor of the first importance in music & poetry. In these different
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t1 Paragraph bracketed in the manuscript. Written at the end of the piece, it was<\/i>
\napparently intended for insertion here. <\/i>\u2014  Ed.<\/i>
\n  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tarrangements of syllabic sound metre forms the most important, at least the most tangible element. Every poet who has sounded his own consciousness must be aware that management of metre is the gate of his inspiration and the law of his success. There is
\na double process, his state of mind and spirit suggesting its own syllabic measure, and the metre again confirming, prolonging and recreating the original state of mind and spirit. Inspiration
\nitself seems hardly so much a matter of ideas or feeling as of
\nrhythm. Even when the ideas or the feelings are active, they will
\nnot usually run into the right form, the words will not take their
\nright places, the syllables will not fall into a natural harmony. But if one has or succeeds in awaking the right metrical mood, if the
\nmetrical form instead of being deliberately created, creates itself or
\nbecomes<\/i>, a magical felicity of thought, diction & harmony
\nattends it & seems even to be created by it. Ideas & words come rapidly & almost as rapidly take their right places as in a
\nwell ordered assembly where everyone knows his seat. When the
\nmetre comes right, everything else comes right; when the metre
\nhas to be created with effort, everything else has to be done with effort, and the result has to be worked on over & over again
\nbefore it satisfies.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThis supreme importance of the metrical form might seem
\nat first sight to justify the transplanters of metre. For if it be the aim of good translation to reproduce not merely the mechanical
\nmeanings of words, the corresponding verbal counters used in
\nthe rough & ready business of interlingual commerce, but to create the same spiritual, emotional & aesthetic effect as the
\noriginal, the first condition is obviously to identify our spiritual
\ncondition, as far as may be, with that of the poet at the time
\nwhen he wrote & then to embody the emotion in verse. This
\ncannot be done without finding a metre which shall have the same spiritual and emotional value as the metre of the original. Even when one has been found, there will naturally be no success
\nunless the mind of the translator has sufficient kinship, sufficient
\npoints of spiritual & emotional contact and a sufficient basis of
\ncommon poetical powers not only to enter into but to render
\nthe spiritual temperament & the mood of that temperament,  
\n<\/span>
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tof which his text was the expression; hence a good poetical
\ntranslation is the rarest thing in the world. Conversely even if all
\nthese requisites exist, they will not succeed to the full without the
\ndiscovery of the right metre. Is the right metre then the metre
\nof the original? Must an adequate version of Homer, a real translation<\/i>, be couched in the hexameter? At first sight it would
\nseem so. But the issue is here complicated by the hard fact that
\nthe same arrangement of quantities or of accents has very seldom
\nthe same spiritual & emotional value in two different languages.
\nThe hexameter in English, however skilfully managed, has not the same value as the Homeric, the English alexandrine does not
\nrender the French; terza rima in Latinised Saxon sounds entirely different from the noble movement of the Divina Commedia, the
\nstiff German blank verse of Goethe & Schiller is not the golden
\nShakespearian harmony. It is not only that there are mechanical
\ndifferences, a strongly accentuated language hopelessly varying
\nfrom those which distribute accent evenly, or a language of ultimate accent like French from one of penultimate accent like
\nItalian or initial accent like English, or one which courts elision
\nfrom one which shuns it, a million grammatical & syllabic details besides, lead to fundamental differences of sound-notation.
\nBeyond & beneath these outward differences is the essential soul
\nof the language from which they arise, and which in its turn
\ndepends mainly upon the ethnological type always different in
\ndifferent countries because the mixture of different root races in
\ntwo types even when they seem nearly related is never the same.
\nThe Swedish type for instance which is largely the same as the
\nNorwegian is yet largely different, while the Danish generally
\nclassed in the same Scandinavian group differs radically from
\nboth. This is that curse of Babel, after all quite as much a blessing as a curse, which weighs upon no one so heavily as on the
\nconscientious translator of poetry; for the prose translator being
\nmore concerned to render the precise idea than emotional effects
\nand the subtle spiritual aura of poetry, treads an immeasurably
\nsmoother & more straightforward path. For some metres at least it seems impossible to find adequate equivalents in other
\nlanguages. Why has there never been a real rendering of Homer  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tin English? It is not the whole truth to say that no modern can
\nput himself back imaginatively into the half-savage Homeric
\nperiod; a mind with a sufficient basis of primitive sympathies &
\nsufficient power of imaginative self-control to subdue for a time
\nthe modern in him may conceivably be found. But the main, the
\ninsuperable obstacle is that no one has ever found or been able
\nto create an English metre with the same spiritual & emotional equivalent as Homer’s marvellous hexameters.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThat transmetrisation is a false method, is therefore clear. The translator’s only resource is to steep himself in the original,
\nquelling that in him which conflicts with its spirit, and remain on
\nthe watch for the proper metrical mood in himself. Sometimes
\nthe right metre will come to him, sometimes it will not. In the latter case effort in this direction will not have been entirely
\nwasted; for spirit, when one gives it a chance, is always stronger
\nthan matter & he will be able to impose something of the desired
\nspiritual atmosphere even upon an unsuitable metrical form. But if he seize on the right metre, he has every chance, supposing him poetically empowered, of creating a translation which shall not
\nonly be classical, but shall be the
\n<\/i>translation. Wilful choice of metre is always fatal. William Morris’ Homeric translation failed
\nhopelessly partly because of his affected “Anglosaxon” diction, but still more because he chose to apply a metre good enough possibly for the Volsungasaga to the rendering of a far more mighty & complex spirit. On the other hand Fitzgerald might
\nhave produced a very beautiful version in English had he chosen
\nfor his Rubaiyat some ordinary English metre, but his unique success was his reward for discovering the true equivalent of the quatrain in English. One need only imagine to oneself the
\ndifference if Fitzgerald had chosen the ordinary English quatrain
\ninstead of the rhyme system of his original. His Rubaiyat in spite of the serious defect of unfaithfulness will remain the final version of Omar in English, not to be superseded by more faithful
\nrenderings, excluding therefore the contingency of a superior
\npoetical genius employing the same metre for a fuller & closer translation.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tIn Kalidasa another very serious difficulty over & beyond  
\n<\/span>
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\n
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tthe usual pitfalls meets the unhappy translator. Few great Sanscrit poems employ the same metre throughout. In the dramas where metrical form is only used when the thought, image or
\nemotion rises above the ordinary level, the poet employs whatever metre he thinks suitable to the mood he is in. In English however such a method would result in opera rather than in
\ndrama. I have therefore thought it best, taking into consideration the poetical feeling & harmonious flow of Kalidasa’s
\nprose, to use blank verse throughout varying its pitch according as the original form is metrical or prose & the emotion
\nor imagery more or less exalted. In epic work the licence of metrical variation is not quite so great; yet there are several
\nmetres considered apt to epic narrative & Kalidasa varies them
\nwithout scruple in different cantos, sometimes even in the same
\ncanto. If blank verse be, as I believe it is, a fair equivalent for
\nthe anustubh, the ordinary epic metre, how shall one find others which shall correspond as well to the “Indra’s thunderbolt sloka”, the “lesser Indra’s thunderbolt sloka”, the “gambolling
\nof the tiger sloka” and all those other wonderful & grandiose rhythmic structures with fascinating names of which Kalidasa is
\nso mighty a master? Nor would such variation be tolerated by
\nEnglish canons of taste. In the epic & drama the translator is
\ndriven to a compromise and therefore to that extent a failure; he may infuse good poems or plays reproducing the architecture
\n& idea-sense of Kalidasa with something of his spirit; but it is a version & not a translation. It is only when he comes to
\nthe Cloud Messenger that he is free of this difficulty; for the
\nCloud Messenger is written throughout in a single & consistent
\nstanza. This Mandakranta or “gently stepping” stanza is entirely quantitative and too complicated to be rendered into any corresponding accentual form. The arrangement of metrical divisions is as follows: spondee-long, dactyl, tribrach, two spondee-shorts, spondee; four lines of this build make up the stanza. Thus<\/span><\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tś͞abd͞āy͞an<\/i>|t͞e m͝adh͝u<\/i>|r͝am͝an͝i<\/i>|la͞iḥ k͞īc͝a<\/i>|k͞āḥ p͞ūry͝a<\/i>|m͞āṇ͞āḥ <\/i>|
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\ts͞aṁs͞akt͞͞ā<\/i>|bh͞is tr͝ip͝u<\/i>|r͝͝͝av͝ij͝a<\/i>|y͞o g͞īy͝a<\/i>|t͞e k͞inn͝a<\/i>|r͞ībh͞iḥ, <\/i>|
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n
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\n

\n\t\t\tn͞irh͞r͞ād͞as<\/i>|t͞e m͝u<\/i>r͝a<\/i>|j͝a <\/i>
\n\t\t\ti͝v͝a <\/i>| c͞et k̅and͝a<\/i>|r͞es͞<\/i><\/font><\/font>u dhv͝a<\/font><\/i>|n͞ih<\/i><\/font><\/font> sy͞<\/font><\/i><\/span>ā<\/i><\/span><\/font>t
\n<\/font> <\/i>|
\n\t\t\t 
\n<\/font>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\ts͞aṅg͞īt͞ār<\/i>|th͞o n͝a<\/i>n͝u<\/i>
\n\t\t\t| p͝aś͝u<\/i>p͝a<\/i>|t͞es t͞atr͝a <\/i> | bh͞͞͞āv͞ī s͝a<\/i>|m͞agr͞ah<\/i><\/font><\/font>.
\n<\/font> <\/i>|
\n<\/font>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tIn casting about for a metre I was only certain of one thing that neither blank verse nor the royal quatrain would serve my purpose; the one has not the necessary basis of recurring
\nharmonies; in the other the recurrence is too rigid, sharply defined & unvarying to represent the eternal swell and surge of Kalidasa’s stanza. Fortunately by an inspiration, & without deliberate choice, Kalidasa’s lines as I began turning them flowed
\nor slipped into the form of triple rhyme and that necessarily
\nsuggested the terza rima. This metre, as I have treated it, seems
\nto me to reproduce with as much accuracy as the difference between the languages allows, the spiritual & emotional atmosphere of the Cloud Messenger. The terza rima in English lends itself naturally to the principle of variation in recurrence, which
\nimparts so singular a charm to this poem, recurrence in especial of certain words, images, assonances, harmonies, but recurrence
\nalways with a difference so as to keep one note sounding through
\nthe whole performance underneath its various harmony. In terza rima the triple rhyme immensely helps this effect, for it allows of
\nthe same common rhymes recurring but usually with a difference
\nin one or more of their company.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tIt is a common opinion that terza rima does not suit the English language and cannot therefore be naturalised, that it must always remain an exotic. This seems to me a fallacy. Any
\nmetre capable of accentual representation in harmony with the
\naccentual law of the English language, can be naturalised in English. If it has not yet been done, we must attribute it to some
\ninitial error of conception. Byron & Shelley failed because they
\nwanted to create the same effect with this instrument as Dante
\nhad done; but terza rima in English can never have the same effect as in Italian. In the one it is a metre of woven harmonies suitable to noble & intellectual narrative; in the other it can only
\nbe a metre of woven melodies suitable to beautiful description or elegiac sweetness. To occasional magnificences or sublimities it lends itself admirably, but I should doubt whether it could even  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tin the strongest hands sustain the burden of a long & noble
\nepic of the soul & mind like the Divina Commedia. But it is
\nnot true that it cannot be made in English a perfectly natural,
\neffective & musical form. It is certainly surprising that Shelley
\nwith his instinct for melody, did not perceive the conditions of
\nthe problem. His lyric metres & within certain limitations his blank verse are always fine, so fine that if the matter & manner
\nwere equal to the melody, he would have been one of the few
\ngreat poets instead of one of the many who have just missed
\nbeing great. But his Triumph of Life is a metrical failure. We
\nfeel that the poet is aiming at a metrical effect which he has not
\naccomplished.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe second question, but a far simpler one, is the use of
\nrhyme. It may be objected that as in the Sanscrit there is no
\nrhyme, the introduction of this element into the English version
\nwould disturb the closeness of the spiritual equivalent by the
\nintrusion of a foreign ornament. But this is to argue from a
\nquantitative to an accentual language, which is always a mistake.
\nThere are certain effects easily created within the rich quantitative variety of ancient languages, of which an equivalent in
\nEnglish can only be found by the aid of rhyme. No competent
\ncritic would declare Tennyson’s absurd experiment in Boadicea
\nan equivalent to the rushing, stumbling & leaping metre of the Attis with its singular & rare effects. A proper equivalent would only be found in some rhymed system and preferably I
\nshould fancy in some system of unusually related but intricate
\n& closely recurring rhymes. Swinburne might have done it; for
\nSwinburne’s work, though with few exceptions poor work as
\npoetry, is a marvellous repertory of successful metrical experiments. I have already indicated the appropriateness of the triple
\nrhyme system of the terza rima to the Cloud Messenger. English is certainly not a language of easy rhyming like the southern tongues of Europe; but given in the poet a copious command of words and a natural swing and felicity,
\nlaeta <\/i>rather than
\ncuriosa<\/i>, it is amply enough provided for any ordinary call upon
\nits resources. There are however two critical superstitions which
\nseriously interfere with the naturalness & ease rhymed poetry  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
\n
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\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tdemands, the superstition of the perfect rhyme and the superstition of the original rhyme. It is no objection to a rhyme that it is
\nimperfect. There is nothing occult or cryptic in rhyme, no divine
\nlaw compelling us to assimilate two rhymed endings to the very
\n\u00b4 letter such as the law of the Vedic chant by which a single letter
\nmispronounced sterilizes the mantra. Rhyme is a convenience
\nand an ornament intended to serve certain artistic purposes, to
\ncreate certain sound-effects, and if the effect of a perfect rhyme is beautiful, melodious and satisfying, an imperfect rhyme has
\nsometimes its own finer effect far more subtle, haunting and suggestive; by limiting the satisfaction of the ear, it sets a new chord
\nvibrating in the soul. A poem with an excessive proportion of
\nimperfect rhymes is unsatisfactory, because it would not satisfy
\nthe natural human craving for regularity & order; but the slavish use of perfect rhymes only would be still more inartistic because
\nit would not satisfy the natural human craving for liberty &
\nvariety. In this respect and in a hundred others the disabilities of
\nthe English language have been its blessings; the artistic labour & the opportunity for calling a subtler harmony out of discord have given its best poetical literature a force & power quite out of proportion to the natural abilities of the race. There are of
\ncourse limits to every departure from rigidity but the degree of
\nimperfection admissible in a rhyme is very great so long as it does
\nnot evolve harshness or vulgarism. Mrs Browning’s rhymes are ..
\nbad in this respect, but why? Because “tyrants” & “silence” is no rhyme at all, while “candles” & “angels” involves a hideous
\nvulgarism; and in less glaring instances the law of double rhymes
\ngenerally requiring closer correspondence than single is totally
\ndisregarded. The right use of imperfect rhymes is not to be forbidden because of occasional abuse. It is also no objection to
\na rhyme that it is “hackneyed”. A hackneyed thought, a hackneyed phrase there may be, but a hackneyed rhyme seems to me
\na contradiction in terms. Rhyme is no part of the intellectual
\nwarp & woof of a poem, but a pure ornament the only object of
\nwhich is to assist the soul with beauty; it appeals to the soul not
\nthrough the intellect or imagination but through the ear. Now
\nthe oldest & most often used rhymes are generally the most  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
\nPage \u2013
\n249<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tbeautiful and we ought not to sacrifice that beauty merely out of an unreasoning impatience of what is old. Common rhymes
\nhave a wonderful charm of their own and come to us laden
\nwith a thousand beautiful associations. The pursuit of mere
\noriginality can only lead us to such unpardonable extravagances as “haunches stir” & “Manchester”. Such rhymes any poet can
\nmultiply who chooses to prostitute his genius to the amusement of the gallery, or is sufficiently unpoetic to prefer the freedom of barbarous uncouthness to that self-denial which is the secret of
\ngrace & beauty. On the other hand if we pursue originality &
\nbeauty together, we end in preciosity or an artificial grace, and
\nwhat are these but the spirit of Poetry lifting her wings to abandon that land and that literature for a long season or sometimes for ever? Unusual & peculiar rhymes demand to be sparingly
\nused & always for the definite object of setting in relief common
\nrhymes rather than for the sake of their own strangeness.
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe question of metre and rhymes being satisfactorily settled there comes the crucial question of fidelity, on which every
\ntranslator has to make his own choice at his own peril. On one
\nside is the danger of sacrificing the spirit to the letter, on the other
\nthe charge of writing a paraphrase or a poem of one’s own under
\nthe cloak of translation. Here as elsewhere it seems to me that
\nrigid rules are out of place. What we have to keep in mind is not
\nany rigid law, but the object with which we are translating. If we
\nmerely want to render, to acquaint foreign peoples with the ideas & subject matter of the writer, as literal a rendering as idiom
\nwill allow, will do our business. If we wish to give a poetical
\nversion, to clothe the general sense & spirit of the writer in our
\nown words, paraphrase & unfaithfulness become permissible;
\nthe writer has not intended to translate and it is idle to criticise him with reference to an ideal he never entertained. But the ideal of a translation is something different from either of these. The
\ntranslator seeks first to place the mind of the reader in the same
\nspiritual atmosphere as the original; he seeks next to produce in
\nhim the same emotions & the same kind of poetical delight and
\naesthetic gratification, and lastly he seeks to convey to him the
\nthought of the poet & substance in such words as will create,  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
\nPage \u2013
\n250<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tas far as may be, the same or a similar train of associations,
\nthe same pictures or the same sensuous impressions. This is an
\nideal to which one can never do more than approximate; but the
\nnearer one approximates to it, the better the translation. How
\nit shall be done, depends upon the judgment, the sympathetic
\ninstinct of the poet, the extent to which he is imbued with the
\nassociations of both languages and can render not merely word by word but shade by shade, not only signification by signification, but suggestion by suggestion. There is one initial stumbling
\nblock which can never be quite got over; the mythology, fauna
\n& flora of Indian literature are absolutely alien to Europe. (We
\nare in a different world; this is no peaceful English world of
\nfield or garden & woodland with the cheerful song of the thrush or the redbreast, the nightingale warbling in the night by some
\nsmall & quiet river, the lark soaring in the morning to the pale
\nblue skies; no country of deep snows & light suns & homely
\ntoil without spiritual presences save the borrowed fancies of
\nthe Greeks or shadowy metaphysical imaginations of the poet’s
\nbrain that haunt thought’s aery wildernesses, no people homely [and] matter of fact, never rising far above earth or sinking
\nfar below it. We have instead a mother of gigantic rivers, huge
\nsombre forests and mountains whose lower slopes climb above
\nthe clouds;2<\/font><\/sup>
\nthe roar of the wild beasts fills those forests & the cry of innumerable birds peoples those rivers; & in their midst lives
\na people who have soared into the highest heavens of the spirit,
\nexperienced the grandest & most illimitable thoughts possible
\nto the intellect & sounded the utmost depths of sensuous indulgence; so fierce is the pulse of life that even trees & inanimate
\nthings seem to have life, emotions, a real & passionate history
\nand over all move mighty presences of gods & spirits who are
\nstill real to the consciousness of the people.)
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe life & surroundings in which Indian poetry moves cannot be rendered in the terms of English poetry. Yet to give up
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t2
\nAn alternative version reads, after “forests”:<\/i>
\nunder a burning sun or a magical moonlight;  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
\n
\nPage \u2013
\n251<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tthe problem and content oneself with tumbling out the warm,
\nthrobbing Indian word to shiver & starve in the inclement atmosphere of the English language seems to me not only an act of literary inhumanity & a
\n\t\t\tpoor-spirited confession of failure, but a piece of laziness likely to defeat its own object. An English
\nreader can gather no picture from & associate no idea of beauty
\nwith these outlandish terms. What can he understand when he is told that the atimukta creeper is flowering in the grove of  k\u00e9sara trees and the mullica or the [
\n] is sending out its fragrance into the night and the chocrovaque is complaining to his mate amid the still ripples of the river that flows through
\nthe jambous? Or how does it help him to know that the scarlet mouth of a woman is like the red bimba fruit or the crimson bandhoul flower? People who know Sanscrit seem to imagine
\nthat because these words have colour & meaning & beauty to them, they must also convey the same associations to their reader. This is a natural but deplorable mistake; this jargon is
\nmerely a disfigurement in English poetry. The cultured may read
\ntheir work in spite of the jargon out of the unlimited intellectual
\ncuriosity natural to culture; the half-cultured may read it because
\nof the jargon out of the ingrained tendency of the half-cultured
\nmind to delight in what is at once unintelligible & inartistic.
\nBut their work can neither be a thing of permanent beauty nor
\nserve a really useful object; & work which is neither immortal
\nnor useful what self-respecting man would knowingly go out of
\nhis way to do? Difficulties are after all given us in order that
\nwe may brace our sinews by surmounting them; the greater the
\ndifficulty, the greater our chance of the very highest success. I
\ncan only point out rather sketchily how I have myself thought it best to meet the difficulty; a detailed discussion would require
\na separate volume. In the first place a certain concession may be made but within very narrow & guarded limits to the need
\nfor local colour; a few names of trees, flowers, birds etc. may be transliterated into English, but only when they do not look hopelessly outlandish in that form or else have a liquid or haunting
\nbeauty of sound; a similar indulgence may be yet more freely
\npermitted in the transliteration of mythological names. But here  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
\nPage \u2013
\n252<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tthe licence ends; a too liberal use of it would entirely destroy the ideal of translation; what is perfectly familiar in the original
\nlanguage must not seem entirely alien to the foreign audience;
\nthere must be a certain toning down of strangeness, an attempt
\nto bring home the association to the foreign intelligence, to give at least some idea to a cultured but not Orientally erudite mind. This may be done in many ways & I have availed myself of
\nall. A word may be rendered by some neologism which will
\nhelp to convey any prominent characteristic or idea associated
\nwith the thing it expresses; blossom o’ ruby may, for instance,
\nrender bandhoula, a flower which is always mentioned for its redness. Or else the word itself may be dropped & the characteristic brought into prominence; for instance instead of saying
\nthat a woman is lipped like a ripe bimba, it is, I think, a fair translation to write “Her scarlet mouth is a ripe fruit & red.”
\nThis device of expressingly declaring the characteristics which the original only mentions, I have frequently employed in the
\nCloud Messenger, even when equivalent words exist in English,
\nbecause many objects known in both countries are yet familiar & full of common associations to the Indian mind while to
\nthe English they are rare, exotic and slightly associated or only
\nwith one particular & often accidental characteristic.3 A kindred
\nmethod especially with mythological allusions is to explain fully
\nwhat in the original is implicit; Kalidasa for instance compares a
\nhuge dark cloud striding northwards from Crouncharundhra to “the dark foot of Vishnu lifted in impetuous act to quell Bali”,
\n\t\t\tśyāmah<\/i><\/font><\/font> pādo baliniyamanābhyudyatasyeva vis<\/font><\/font>n<\/font><\/font>oh<\/font><\/font><\/i>. This I have
\n.. .<\/i> translated
\n<\/font>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t3 The following passage was written in the top margins of these pages of the<\/i>
\nmanuscript. Its place of insertion was not indicated:<\/i>
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tIt is an unfortunate tendency of the English mind to seize on what seems to it grotesque or ungainly in an unfamiliar object; thus the elephant & peacock have become almost
\nimpossible in English poetry, because the one is associated with lumbering heaviness & the other with absurd strutting. The tendency of the Hindu mind on the other hand is
\nto seize on what is pleasing & beautiful in all things & even to see a charm where the
\nEnglish mind sees a deformity & to extract poetry & grace out of the ugly. The classical
\ninstances are the immortal verses in which Valmekie by a storm of beautiful & costly images & epithets has immortalised the hump of Manthara & the still more immortal passage in which he has made the tail of a monkey epic.  
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n
\nPage \u2013
\n253<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t“Dark like the cloudy foot of highest God
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tWhen starting from the
\n\t\t\tdwarf-shape world-immense
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tWith Titan-quelling step through heaven he strode.”
\n<\/span>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tIt will be at once objected that this is not translation, but the most
\nlicentious paraphrase. This is not so if my original contention be
\ngranted that the business of poetical translation is to reproduce
\nnot the exact words but the exact image, associations & poetical
\nbeauty & flavour of the original. There is not a single word in the translation I have instanced which does not represent something at once suggested to the Indian reader by the words of the text.
\nVishnu is nothing to the English reader but some monstrous &
\nbizarre Hindu idol; to the Hindu He is God Himself; the word
\nis therefore more correctly represented in English by “highest God” than by Vishnu;
\n\t\t\tśyāmah<\/i><\/font>̣
\n\t\t\tpādaḥ <\/font><\/i>
\n\t\t\tis closely represented by
\n“dark like the cloudy foot”, the word cloudy being necessary
\nboth to point the simile which is not so apparent & natural to
\nthe English reader as to the Indian and to define the precise sort
\nof darkness indicated by the term
\n<\/font>śyā<\/font><\/i>maḥ<\/i>; Bali
\n\t\t\thas no meaning
\nor association in English, but in the Sanscrit it represents the same idea as “Titan”; only the particular name recalls a certain
\ntheosophic legend which is a household word to the Hindu,
\nthat of the dwarf-Vishnu who obtained from the Titan Bali as
\nmuch land as he could cover with three steps, then filling the
\nwhole world with himself with one stride measured the earth,
\nwith another the heavens and with the third placing his foot on the head of Bali thrust him down into bottomless Hell. All
\nthis immediately arises before the mental eye of the Hindu as he
\nreads Kalidasa’s finely chosen words. The impetuous & vigorous
\nterm abhyudyatasya <\/i>both in sound & sense suggests the sudden
\nstarting up of the world-pervading deity from the dwarf shape
\nhe had assumed while the comparison to the cloud reminds him
\nthat the second step of the three is referred to, that of Vishnu
\nstriding “through heaven.” But to the English reader the words of Kalidasa literally transliterated would be a mere artificial
\nconceit devoid of the original sublimity. It is the inability to seize
\nthe associations & precise poetical force of Sanscrit words that
\n<\/font>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\nPage \u2013
\n254<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\thas led so many European Sanscritists to describe the poetry of
\nKalidasa which is hardly surpassed for truth, bold directness &
\nnative beauty & grandeur as the artificial poetry of an artificial
\nperiod. A literal translation would only spread this erroneous
\nimpression to the general reader. It must be admitted that in
\nthe opposite method one of Kalidasa’s finest characteristics is, it is true, entirely lost, his power of expressing by a single simple
\ndirect & sufficient word ideas & pictures of the utmost grandeur or shaded complexity; but this is a characteristic which could
\nin no case be possible in any language but the classical Sanscrit
\nwhich Kalidasa did more than any man to create or at least
\nto perfect. Even the utmost literalness could not transfer this
\ncharacteristic into English. This method of eliciting all the idea-values of the original of which I have given a rather extreme
\ninstance, I have applied with great frequency where a pregnant
\nmythological allusion or a strong or subtle picture or image calls for adequate representation; more especially perhaps in pictures
\nor images connected with birds & animals unfamiliar or but
\nslightly familiar to the English reader. (At the same time I must
\nplead guilty to occasional excesses, to reading into Kalidasa
\nperhaps in a dozen instances what is not there. I can only plead
\nin apology that translators are always incorrigible sinners in
\nthis respect and that I have sinned less than others; moreover
\nexcept in one or two instances these additions have always been
\nsuggested either by the sound or substance of the original. I may
\ninstance the line <\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tA flickering line of fireflies seen in sleep, <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tKalidasa says nothing equivalent to or suggesting “seen in
\nsleep”, but I had to render somehow the impression of night &
\ndim unreality created by the dreamy movement & whispering
\nassonances of the lines<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\ta<\/font><\/i>lpālpabhāsaṁ<\/i><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tkhadyotālīvilasitanibhāṁ vidyudunmeṣadṛṣṭim<\/i><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\twith their soft dentals & their wavering & gliding liquids and
\nsibilants. Unable to do this by sound I sought to do it by verbal   <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tPage \u2013 255<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\texpression; and in so far made a confession of incompetence,
\nbut in a way that may perhaps carry its own pardon.)
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThere is yet another method which has to be applied far
\nmore cautiously, but is sometimes indispensable. Occasionally
\nit is necessary or at least advisable to discard the original image
\naltogether and replace it by a more intelligible English image.
\nThere is no commoner subject of allusion in Sanscrit poetry
\nthan the passionate monotoned threnody of the forlorn bird who is divided at night by some mysterious law from his mate,
\ndivided if by a single lotus leaf, yet fatally divided. Such at least
\nwas the belief suggested by its cry at night to the imaginative
\nAryans. Nothing can exceed the beauty, pathos & power with
\nwhich this allusion is employed by Kalidasa. Hear for instance
\nPururavus as he seeks for his lost Urvasie
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThou wild drake when thy love,
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tHer body hidden by a lotus-leaf,
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tLurks near thee in the pool, deemest her far
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tAnd wailest musically to the flowers
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tA wild deep dirge. Such is thy conjugal
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tYearning, thy terror such of even a little
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tDivision from her nearness. Me thus afflicted,
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tMe so forlorn thou art averse to bless
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tWith just a little tidings of my love.
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tAnd again in the Shacountala, the lovers are thus gracefully
\nwarned <\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tO Chocrovaque, sob farewell to thy mate.
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe night, the night comes down to part you.
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tFable as it is, one who has steeped himself in Hindu poetry
\ncan never bring himself wholly to disbelieve it. For him the
\nmelancholy call of the bird will sound for ever across the chill
\ndividing stream & make musical with pity the huge and solemn
\nnight. But when the Yaksha says to the cloud that he will recognize her who is his second life by her sweet rare speech and
\nher loneliness in that city of happy lovers “sole like a lonely
\nChocrovaque with me her comrade far away”, the simile has no   <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tPage \u2013 256<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tpathos to an English mind and even when explained would only seem “an artificiality common to the court-poetry of the Sanscrit
\nage”. I have therefore thought myself justified by the slightness of the allusion in translating “Sole like a widowed bird when all
\nthe nests Are making”, which translates the idea & the emotion
\nwhile suggesting a slightly different but related image.
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tI have indicated above the main principles by which I have
\nguided myself in the task of translation. But there still remains
\nthe question, whether while preserving the ideals one may not
\nstill adhere more or less closely to the text. The answer to this
\nis that such closeness is imperative, but it must be a closeness of word-value, not merely of word-meaning; into this
\n\t\t\tword-value there enter the elements of association, sound and aesthetic
\nbeauty. If these are not translated, the word is not translated,
\nhowever correct the rendering may be. For instance the words 
\nsalila, āpaḥ <\/i>and jala <\/i>in Sanscrit all mean water, but if jala
\n<\/i>may be fairly represented by the common English word & the more
\n\t\t\tpoetic
\nāpaḥ <\/i>by “waters” or “ocean” according to the context,
\nwhat will represent the beautiful suggestions of grace, brightness, softness & clearness which accompany
\nsalila<\/i>? Here it is obvious that we have to seek refuge in sound
\n\t\t\tsuggestions & verse-subtleties to do what is not feasible by verbal
\n\t\t\trendering. Everything therefore depends on the skill & felicity of
\n\t\t\tthe translator and he must be judged rather by the accuracy with which he
\nrenders the emotional & aesthetic value of each expression than
\nbrought to a rigid [accounting] for each word in the original.
\nMoreover the idiom of Sanscrit, especially of classical Sanscrit, is too far divided from the idiom of English. Literal translation
\nfrom the Greek is possible though sometimes disastrous, but
\nliteral translation from the Sanscrit is impossible. There is indeed a school endowed with more valour than discretion and more metaphor than sense who condemn the dressing up of the
\nAryan beauty in English clothes and therefore demand that not
\nonly should the exact words be kept, but the exact idiom. For
\ninstance they would perpetrate the following: “Covering with
\nlashes water-heavy from anguish, her eye gone to meet from
\nformer pleasantness the nectar-cool lattice-path-entered feet of   <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 257<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tthe moon and then at once turned away, like a land-lotus-plant on a cloudy day not awake, not sleeping.” Now quite apart
\nfrom the execrable English & the want of rhythm, the succession of the actions and the connexions of thought which are made admirably clear in the Sanscrit by the mere order of the words, is
\nhere entirely obscured & lost; moreover the poetic significance
\nof the words prityā <\/i>(pleasantness) and sābhre<\/i>, implying here rain as well as cloud and the beautiful force of
\nsalilagurubhiḥ <\/i>(water.<\/i> heavy) are not even hinted at; while the meaning & application
\nof the simile quite apparent in the original needs bringing out in
\nthe English. For the purpose of immediate comparison I give here
\nmy own version. “The moon-beams.”<\/font>4<\/font><\/sup> This I maintain though
\nnot literal is almost as close and meets without overstepping
\nall the requirements of good translation. For the better illustration of the method, I prefer however to quote a more typical
\nstanza.<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tŚabdāyante madhuram anilaiḥ kīcakāḥ pūryamāṇāḥ,<\/i><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tSaṁsaktābhis tripuravijayo gīyate kinnarībhiḥ;<\/i><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tNirhrādas te muraja iva cet kandareṣu dhvaniḥ syāt,<\/i> <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tSaṅgītartho nanu
\n\t\t\tpaśupates tatra bhāvī samagraḥ<\/i>. .<\/i>
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tRendered into [literal English] this is “The bamboos filling with
\nthe winds are noising sweetly, the Tripour-conquest is being sung
\nby the glued-together Kinnaries; if thy thunder should be in the glens like the sound on a drum the material of the concert of the
\nBeast-Lord is to be complete there, eh?” My own translation
\nruns
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOf Tripour slain in lovely dances joined<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tAnd linked troops the Oreads of the hill <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tAre singing and inspired with rushing wind
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tSweet is the noise of bamboos fluting shrill;
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThou thundering in the mountain-glens with cry
\n<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOf drums shouldst the sublime orchestra fill. <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t4 Sri Aurobindo apparently intended to transcribe a passage from his now-lost translation here. <\/i>–Ed.<\/i>  
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 258<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t“Of Tripour slain are singing” (tripuravijayo
\n\t\t\tgīyate<\/i>) requires
\nlittle comment. The word tripura
\n<\/i>means the “three cities” [and] refers to the three material qualities of
\nrajas<\/i>, sattva <\/i>& tamas<\/i>,
\nlight, passion & darkness, which have to be slain by Sheva the
\nemancipator before the soul can rejoin God; but there is no reference here to the theosophic basis of the legend, but purely to the legend itself, the conquest of the demon Tripoura by Mahadeva. There was no means of avoiding the mythological allusion & its
\n˙<\/i>
\n\t\t\t unfamiliarity had simply to be accepted.
\nSaṁsaktābhiḥ<\/i>, meaning “linked close together in an uninterrupted chain”, is here
\n` rendered by “joined in linked troops”; but this hardly satisfies
\nthe requirement of poetic translation, for the term suggests to an
\nIndian a very common practice which does not, I think, exist in
\nEurope, women taking each other’s hands and dancing as they
\nsing, generally in a circle; to express this in English, so as to create
\nthe same picture as the Sanscrit conveys, it was necessary to add
\n“in lovely dances”. The word Kinnaries presents a serious initial difficulty. The Purana mythologising partly from false etymology has turned these Kinnars into men & women with
\n\t\t\thorse-faces & this description has been copied down into all Sanscrit dictionaries, but the Kinnaries of Valmekie had little resemblance with these Puranic grotesques; they are beings of superhuman beauty, unearthly sweetness of voice & wild freedom who seldom appear
\non the earth, their home is in the mountains & in the skies; he speaks of a young Kinnar snared & bound by men & the mother wailing over her offspring; and Kekayie lying on the ground in her passion of grief & anger is compared to a Kinnarie fallen from the skies. In all probability they were at first a fugitive
\nimage of the strange wild voices of the wind galloping and crying
\nin the mountaintops. The idea of speed would then suggest the
\nidea of galloping horses and by the usual principle of Puranic allegory, which was intellectual rather than artistic, the head, the
\nmost prominent & essential member of the human body, would
\nbe chosen as the seat of the symbol. Kalidasa had in this as in
\nmany other instances to take the Puranic allegorisation of the old poetic figure and new-subject it to the law of artistic beauty. In no case does he depart from the Puranic conception, but his
\n   <\/span> <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 259<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tmethod is to suppress the ungainly elements of the idea, often
\npreserving it only in an epithet, and bring into prominence all the
\nelements of beauty. Here the horse-faces are entirely suppressed & the picture offered is that of women singing with unearthly voices on the mountain-tops. The use of the word Kinnarie here would have no poetic propriety; to the uninstructed it would
\nmean nothing and to the instructed would suggest only the ungainly horse-face which Kalidasa here ignores and conflict with the idea of wild & divine melody which is emphasized. I have
\ntherefore translated “the Oreads of the hills”; these spirits of the mountains are the only image in English which can at all render
\nthe idea of beauty & vague strangeness here implied; at the
\nsame time I have used the apparently tautologous enlargement “of the hills” because it was necessary to give some idea of
\nthe distant, wild & mystic which the Greek Oreads does not in itself quite bring out. I have moreover transposed the two lines
\nin translation for very obvious reasons.
\nThe first line demands still more careful translation. The
\nword śabdāyante <\/i>means literally “sound, make a noise,” but
\nunlike its English rendering it is a rare word used by Kalidasa
\nfor the sake of a certain effect of sound and a certain shade of
\nsignification; while therefore rendering by “noise” I have added
\nthe epithet “shrill” to bring it up to the required value. Again
\n\t\t\tthe force & sound of
\npūryamānāḥ <\/i>cannot be rendered by its
\nliteral rendering “filled” and anila<\/i>, one of the many beautiful
\n\t\t\t & significant Sanscrit words for wind, –vāyu, anila, pavana,<\/i>
\n   samīra, samīrana, vāta, prabha\u00f1jana, marut, sadāgati<\/i>,
\n\t\t\t-suggests powerfully the breath and flowing of wind & is in the
\n\t\t\tUpanishad used as equivalent to prana, the breath or emotional soul;
\n\t\t\tto render adequately the word "inspired" has been preferred to
\n\t\t\t"filled" and the epithet "rushing" added to "wind" Kīcakāh pūryamānāh anilaih <\/i>in the original suggests at once .<\/i>
\nthe sound of the flute, because the flute is in India made of the
\n .<\/i> hollow bamboo & the shrillness of the word
\nkīcakāh <\/i>assists the
\nsuggestion; in English it was necessary to define the metaphor.
\nThe last two lines of the stanza have been rendered with great
\ncloseness except for the omission of
\nnanu <\/i>and the substitution of  
\n\t\t\t<\/span>
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 260<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tthe epithet “sublime” for
\npaśupates<\/i>. Nanu <\/i>is a Sanscrit particle
\nwhich sometimes asks a rhetorical question but more often suggests one answered; the delicate shades suggested by the Sanscrit particles cannot be represented in English or only by gross effects
\nwhich would be intolerably excessive & rhetorical. The omission
\nof Pasupati, the name of Sheva as the Lord of Wildlife, though not necessary, is I think justified. He is sufficiently suggested
\nby the last stanza & to those who understand the allusion, by
\nthe reference to Tripoura; the object of suggesting the wild & sublime which is served in Sanscrit by introducing this name, is equally served in English by the general atmosphere of wild
\nremoteness & the insertion of the epithet “sublime”.
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThis analysis of a single stanza, ex uno disce omnes, will
\nbe enough to show the essential fidelity which underlies the apparent freedom of my translation. At the same time it would
\nbe disingenuous to deny that in at least a dozen places of each
\npoem, -more perhaps in the longer ones -I have slipped into
\nwords & touches which have no justification in the original. This is a literary offence which is always condemnable and always
\ncommitted. In mitigation of judgment I can only say that it has been done rarely and that the superfluous word or touch
\nis never out of harmony with or unsuggested by the original; it has sprung out
\n\t\t\tof the text and not been foisted upon it. I may instance the line<\/font>5
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/sup><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe remarks I have made apply to all the translations but
\nmore especially to the Cloud Messenger. In the drama except in
\nhighly poetical passages I have more often than not sacrificed
\nsubtlety in order to preserve the directness & incisiveness of the
\nSanscrit, qualities of great importance to dramatic writing, and
\nin the epic to the dread of diffuseness which would ruin the noble
\nharmony of the original. But the Cloud Messenger demands
\nrather than shuns the careful & subtle rendering of every effect of phrase, sound & association. The Meghaduta of Kalidasa
\nis the most marvellously perfect descriptive and elegiac poem
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t5 Sri Aurobindo did not write the line he intended to “instance” in his manuscript.<\/i>
\n\t\t\t–Ed.<\/i>  
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 261<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tin the world’s literature. Every possible beauty of phrase, every
\npossible beauty of sound, every grace of literary association,
\nevery source of imaginative & sensuous beauty has been woven
\ntogether into an harmony which is without rival & without
\nfault; for amidst all its wealth of colour, delicacy & sweetness, there is not a word too much or too little, no false note, no
\nexcessive or defective touch; the colouring is just & subdued in its richness, the verse movement regular in its variety, the diction simple in its suggestiveness, the emotion convincing &
\nfervent behind a certain high restraint, the imagery precise, right
\n& helpful, not overdone as in the Raghuvansa & yet quite as full of beauty & power. The Shacountala and the Cloud Messenger
\nare the <\/span>ne plus ultra<\/span> of Hindu poetic art. Such a poem asks for & repays the utmost pains a translator can give it; it demands all the wealth of word & sound effect, all the power of literary
\nbeauty, of imaginative & sensuous charm he has the capacity to
\nextract from the English language. At the same time its qualities of diction & verse cannot be rendered. The diffuseness of English
\nwill neither lend itself to the brief suggestiveness of the Sanscrit
\nwithout being too high-strung, nervous & bare in its strength
\n& so falsifying its flowing harmony & sweetness; nor to its easy
\nharmony without losing close-knit precision & so falsifying its brevity, gravity & majesty. We must be content to lose something in order that we may not lose all.
\n\t\t\t<\/span> <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThe prose of Kalidasa’s dialogue is the most unpretentious &
\nadmirable prose in Sanscrit literature; it is perfectly simple, easy
\nin pitch & natural in tone with a shining, smiling, rippling lucidity, a soft, carolling gait like a little girl running along in a meadow & smiling back at you as she goes. There is the true
\nimage of it; a quiet English meadow with wild flowers on a bright
\nsummer morning, breezes abroad, the smell of hay in the neighbourhood, honeysuckle on the bank, hedges full of convolvuli
\nor wild roses, a ditch on one side with cress & forget-me-nots &
\nnothing pronounced or poignant except perhaps a stray whiff
\nof meadowsweet from a distance. This admirable unobtrusive
\ncharm and just observed music (Coleridge) makes it run easily
\n   <\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 262<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tinto verse in English. In translating one has at first some vague
\nidea of reproducing the form as well as the spirit of the Sanscrit,
\nrendering verse stanza by verse stanza & prose movement by
\nprose movement. But it will soon be discovered that except in
\nthe talk of the buffoon & not always then Kalidasa’s prose
\nnever evokes its just echo, never finds its answering pitch, tone
\nor quality in English prose. The impression it creates is in no
\nway different from Shakespeare’s verse taken anywhere at its
\neasiest & sweetest
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tYour lord does know my mind: I cannot love him:
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tYet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOf great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tIn voices well divulged, free, learned and valiant;
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tAnd in dimension in the shape of nature
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tA gracious person; but yet I cannot love him. <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tHe might have took his answer long ago. <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOr again still more close in its subtle & telling simplicity <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOl.                       What is your parentage? <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tVi.             Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t          I am a gentleman. <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tOl.                              Get you to your lord; <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tI cannot love him: let him send no more;
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tUnless perchance you come to me again
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tTo tell me how he takes it. <\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tThere is absolutely no difference between this & the prose of
\nKalidasa, since even the absence of metre is compensated by the natural majesty, grace & rhythmic euphony of the Sanscrit language & the sweet seriousness & lucid effectiveness it naturally
\nwears when it is not tortured for effects.<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\tPage \u2013 263<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

On Translating Kalidasa   Since the different tribes of the human Babel began to study each other’s literatures, the problem of poetical translation has constantly…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[49],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2368","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-01-early-cultural-writings","wpcat-49-id"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2368","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2368"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2368\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2368"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2368"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2368"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}