In a globalized world, we encounter countless beautiful poems in the many languages of the world from a young age. However, since most people are unable to speak every language in the world, we are left with no choice but to rely on translations. One of these poems is „Azaleas (진달래꽃)“ by Kim So-wŏl. It is a Korean poem, that was first published in 1922, however is was published many times again afterwards. Just like the poem has been published many times, there are many different translations of this poem. It is important however, to see these translations not as an attempt to recreate the poem exactly but as a form of ‚deformation‘ and reinterpretation of the poem.
Firstly, what exactly is „deformation“? In order to understand why translation of a poem should not be seen as a reproduction but a reinterpretation through ‚deformance‘ or ‚deformation‘, it is necessary to first define what ‚deformation‘ is. Stephen Ramsay uses the following passages in his work „Potential Readings“ to clarify this:
„Jerome McGann and Lisa Samuels refer to such procedures as instances of „deformance“ – a word that usefully combines a number of terms, including „form“, „deform“, and „performance“. “ 1
„In one sense, deformation is the only rational response to complexity. Nearly all deformative procedures (which include outline, paraphrase, translation, and even genre description) are intended to alleviate some difficulty (…). All textual entities allow for deformation, and given that interpretation occurs amid a textual field that is by nature complex, polysemic, and multi-referential, one might say that most entities require it. Seen in this light, deformation is simply a part of our permanent capacity for sense-making.“ 2
In summary, deformance or deformation describes a way of trying to make sense of something by working with it or changing it in a way. In my opinion, the effects and potentials of deformance are better shown than just explained, so in the following passage, I want to examine the different translations a.k.a. deformations of Kim So-wŏl’s „Azaleas“.
This first translation shows a word for word translation, keeping the word order. There is no emphasis on what the poet might want to bring across put into this translation. In turn, this could be seen as the closest thing to a reproduction of the poem in another language. However, due to the difference in grammar and sentence structure between English and Korea, the poem – when translated like this – seems rather abstract and hard to grasp. We are able to get the gist of the poem: someone is leaving („go-you-will-time-at“) and the speaker is sending that person off („send you-I-will“). However, to make sense of what is articulated in the poem, we can’t just take it at words value.
This translation forces us to twist the words on the page. We are basically forced to do another deformation in our head to go from „die-I-even not tears shed-I-will“ to the understanding that might mean ‚Even if I die, I won’t shed a tear‘.
The second translation Brother Anthony presents, makes more sense of the text and puts the worlds in context with each other. Now, we can understand the poem just by looking at the sentences, without having to try to construct them differently ourselves. „When seeing me sickens you and you walk out I’ll send you off without word, no fuss.“ While the first translation mentions „revolt“ – though it was hard to make sense of that paragraph as a whole and who felt the revolt – this translation draws a clearer picture. The person leaving has become sick of the sight of the speaker.
„[T]reading lightly, go on, leave.“ The speaker is sending the other person off, accepting its fate without trying to fight it. This translation offers a better insight on the sadness of the situation. The poetic self has pretty much given up and seems to have no confidence in salvaging the situation. The speaker is trying hard to send the other person off well, not shedding a tear, even if it kills them inside.
The third translation offers more rhythm than the first two translations, giving the poem a kind of flow. „When you go away at least, sickened with the sight of me.“ This time, the parting seems like it has been a long time coming, like the speaker knew that one day, the other person would inevitably get sick of them and leave.
„I’ll pick azalea flowers, armfuls of purple, just to spread along the pathways as you go.“ „trampling down those flowers you find strewn before your departing feet“ Through those lines, we can understand the speaker’s pain and heartbreak. The speaker is sending the other person off with love. In a way wishing the person leaving to ‚walk on the flower road‘ (꽃길 간다). They are laying out the flower road for the other person, just so that person can trample all over it.
The fourth translation shows a version not only with flow, but with rhyme as well. Comparing this to the first, the second or even the third translation, we can see that now there are great differences. The gist of the poem remains the same: The speaker is sending someone off who eventually got sick of them. „Dumb and numb, I’ll send you on your way.“ This version is the only one among the translations covered here, that phrases it like this. This shows a sense of resentment towards itself from the speaker. In this version, compared to the other versions, the speaker seems to regret letting the other person go, feeling dumb because of it.
„You’re sick of me, is what you’ll say.“ In the other translations the feeling of the other person being fed up and sick of the speaker seemed to have come from the poetic self, not the other person in particular. Here however, the other person clearly articulates it as the reason for their leaving.
The fifth translation shows a more stubborn side of the speaker. „you think I’ll cry? Not on my life. I won’t!“ Whereas before, the speaker seemed to hold back their tears in order to make it easier for the other person to leave. The speaker is loathing itself, understanding in a way, that the other person would get sick of them. In this translation however, the speaker seems to refuse to cry out of spite.
Another difference is presented here „I’ll have them strew your road with azaleas“. This time, the speaker is not collecting and strewing the flowers themself, sending the other person off to walk on the flower road but they has someone else do it instead.
All in all this version of the poem feels angrier, spiteful and distant. Not at all sad, self loathing and heartbroken but still wishing the other person well, like the other versions.
This sixth version of the poem doesn’t mention the other person leaving the speaker because they got sick of them. It also doesn’t mention where exactly the speaker is gathering the azaleas unlike the previous versions. However, this version still captures the sadness and heartbreak felt by the speaker through this passage: „Then go crushing with your parting steps my humble offerings of flowers.“ In this version the speaker doesn’t seem to want to know why the other person is leaving whereas in the previous translations it always seemed to be sure to know that the speaker itself must have been the problem. This version, it seems like the speaker wants to give the other person something to take with them on the way „offerings“. The speaker is not just laying out the way to let the other person go, they seem to actively be offering support on the way out.
Brother Anthony describes this last translation like this: „For most western readers, though, the tone surely needs to be made sharper and less exotic.“
„I suppose you’d love to see me dancing somewhere out ahead of you, scattering azaleas in your path, perhaps?“ Again there is no mention of the region where the speaker is collecting those azaleas unlike in the versions sticking closer to the wording of the original text, however this time, we get more of an imagery of how the speaker is strewing/scattering the flowers in the other persons path out of the speakers life. „Squashing those poor flowers underfoot“ shows again how the person leaving doesn’t pay attention to the speakers efforts. On the contrary, the person prances along.
This translation, like the fifth translation has less of a sad feeling to it: „you think I’ll mind? I won’t you know.“ Phrasing the poem like this, makes it feel more like the speaker is actually inviting the person to leave.
„I’d suppose you’d love to see me“ The speaker is clearly hurt by the other persons decision to leave but again in a heartbroken yet angry and spiteful way.
„The best way to understand how a text works, I argue, is to change it; to play around with it in some way (large or small), and then to try... “ 3
Having examined seven different versions of Kim So-wŏl’s „Azaleas“, we were able to gain a deep understanding of the text. We can see how each version gives a different insight on the translators perspective of the poem and the mindset of the speaker. This is by no means a bad thing, however it is something to keep in mind when looking at a translation. Not everyone can understand the original and compare it to the translation since most of the time, if someone is looking at a translation of something it is because they are unable to speak the language of the original version.
But if translation is deformance and not a recreation but a reinterpretation of the poem, isn’t something lost along the way? Should we in turn, disregard these translations as an option to understand the poem? Should Brother Anthony not have made use of the freedom of translating the poem in a way that he thinks suits the original or the way the original made him feel?
„By one definition of the term, “deformation” suggests nothing more than the basic textual maneuvers by which form gives way to form – the “de” functioning not as a private, but as relatively straightforward signifier of change. But any reading that undertakes such changes (as all reading must) remains threatened with the possibility that deformation signals loss, corruption, and illegitimacy. Even now, in our poststructuralist age, we speak of “faithfulness” to a text, of “flawed” or “misguided” readings, but any marking of a text, any statement that is not a re-performance of a statement, must break faith with the ability of the text to mean and re-guide form into alternative intelligibilities.“ 4
In other words, anything that isn’t re-performance (as in exactly quoting the original), is changing the text and possibly changing the meaning of the text. In this way, anything that isn’t re-performance can be seen as deformance. In the same way, we don’t expect a summary to be the exact text it is summarizing, we shouldn’t expect a translation to give an exact version of the original. After all, if you are expecting an expectation and someone gives you the original but in quotation marks, that won’t be beneficial to what you are trying to achieve (which is probably being able to understand the words of them poem in your own language or in one that you can understand at least).
„The minute someone proposes to explain the meaning of a narrative – to speculate, conjecture, extrapolate, or shout abuse at it, whether in the privacy of one’s thought or in a critical journal – the narrative changes, because we are no longer able to read it without knowledge of the paratextual revolt.“ 5
Various translations offer various degrees of understanding and forces the reader to interact with the poem in different ways. The most interactive translation probably being the first one, as just by looking at it, it doesn’t make that much sense. As a result, as stated above, we as a reader are even more forced to interpret (a.k.a. deform) the poem even more ourselves.
„An alternative exercise to this, one which is sometimes done in Korea, is to collect a number of translations made over the years by more or less reputed translators, Korean and foreign, put them side by side, and smile knowingly as you list the ‚errors‘. I believe that this sport ought to be called „translator-bashing“. The immense difficulty (utter impossibility) of finding adequate „equivalents“ for Korean words and structures leaves everything we do wide open to challenge.“ – Brother Anthony 6
Instead of looking at the differences as ‚errors‘, they should be viewed simply as a different viewpoint. Imagine going up Namsan Tower and looking over Seoul and going up Lotte Tower and looking over Seoul or Bukag Skyway, Nakseon Park etc. The view changes but the city remains the same and there is no single right angle to look at the city of Seoul. Just like there is no single right way to look at „Azaleas“.
„In the end, the translator can only produce something that seems a fairly valid representation in another language of at least the surface sense of a Korean work and hope that readers in the outside world may hear some faint echo of beautiful tunes from a distant, tragically divided land.“ – Brother Anthony
If we don’t hold translations to the unattainable standard of reproducing a poem but as a reinterpretation and we don’t take them as written in stone and the version we’re looking at as the one and only valid „true“, „correct“ version, it opens it up to a much bigger room for interpretation. Looking at different translations too is another way to broaden your perspective. In this sense, we could also say that translators become poets themselves since we are looking at their works as a somewhat individual piece of art.
In the translations we looked at, we could see the speaker loathing himself, calling himself dumb, surrendering, sending the other person off, but also spiteful and stubborn. We almost get a full 180 in one of the translations, compared to the other ones. One translation is rhythmic while the another barely makes sense just reading it. Having read one version, we start to have expectation for another version of how we think the poem should be presented, which influences how we look at the next translation. Some translations hit home more than others. We might prefer one translation over another. However, all translations are valid interpretations of the poem. And just when we think, we got the meaning of the poem, we read another translation and are surprised at the different angle, the different feeling and as a result end up right where we started. We experience the poem as a new one again, gaining another perspective. That’s the whole beauty of the seven translations that were examined. Just like the view of Seoul is different from Namsan, from Lotte Tower or from a satellite from space, so is the view of „Azaleas“ different from one translation to another to the original. What’s important is, what the reader makes of it.
1. Stephen Ramsay, "Potential Readings" in Reading Machines: Toward An Algorithmic Criticism (Urbana, Chicago, and Springfield: University of Illinois Press, 2011), 33.
2. Stephen Ramsay, "Potential Readings" in Reading Machines: Toward An Algorithmic Criticism (Urbana, Chicago, and Springfield: University of Illinois Press, 2011), 48.
3. Stephen Ramsay, "Potential Readings" in Reading Machines: Toward An Algorithmic Criticism (Urbana, Chicago, and Springfield: University of Illinois Press, 2011), 32.
4. Stephen Ramsay, "Potential Readings" in Reading Machines: Toward An Algorithmic Criticism (Urbana, Chicago, and Springfield: University of Illinois Press, 2011), 56.
5. Stephen Ramsay, "Potential Readings" in Reading Machines: Toward An Algorithmic Criticism (Urbana, Chicago, and Springfield: University of Illinois Press, 2011), 41.
6. Brother Anthony (An Sonjae), "Translating Korean Poetry" in Modern Poetry in Translation Volume 13 (1998), http://anthony.sogang.ac.kr/Azaleas.htm (accessed May 13th, 2021).