Laureat Nagrody Kotarbińskiego o swoich zmaganiach z "Ulissesem"

Dr Maciej Świerkocki, a graduate and former lecturer at the University of Lodz, is the author of the latest, second in the history, and the first after half a century, Polish translation of James Joyce's "Ulysses". The editor Łukasz Kaczyński has conducted an interview about this titanic work. The text will be also published in "Kalejdoskop Kultury" [Kaleidoscope of Culture], of which our University is a co-initiator and partner (together with the Film School, the Academy of Fine Arts and the Museum of Art in Lodz).

Photo: Joanna Glodek / courtesy of the Puls Literatury Festival in Lodz

Sometimes I could not listen, I had to plug my ears, so as not to be fooled by the siren singing of the storyteller (a deaf translator is quite a rare creature, the history knows deaf composers, though) - Maciej Świerkocki

If we assume that James Joyce speaks all languages except for his own – that is, it is not known where in the novel he speaks from himself – then it happens so because "Ulysses" is directed against authorities (and authoritarianism), including against the author's authority. This is the democratism of "Ulysses". This is how Jerzy Jarniewicz, a poet, literary translator and lecturer at the University of Lodz, commented on the recent sketch by Michał Paweł Markowski about "Ulysses" in "Dwutygodnik". And what does it look like from the position of a translator of this novel: how has an author who, in a way, renounces his primacy, influenced your work? And how, compared to other novels and writing strategies of other authors whose works you have translated into Polish, is the "Ulysses"?

First of all, it should be noted that Markowski's opinion is neither original nor new, and therefore, he can only pretend to express it fully in his own voice. Critics who are reluctant to Joyce's work have long used similar arguments, in fact claiming that JJ is devoid of his own style, language, at least in Ulysses, where from their point of view, the author plays the role of a kind of parrot cheerfully imitating other people's voices. Other experts say, however, that the technical skill, i.e., the ability to speak with other people's voices, is the basic condition that enables a writer to practice his profession, so it is difficult to accuse him of it – and the polyphony of "Ulysses" does not result from the fact that its author suffers from dumbness, but because literature, as Joyce seems to understand and present it, is the tower of Babel, and he, like a haunted apostle, brings the Word to the Gentiles, "speaks languages" – and this is one of the things that the individual style, voice, stigma of the writer consists in. 

The road leading from the realistic, sometimes still strongly Ibsen-like "Dubliners", through the youthfully rebellious and much less linguistically stereotypical "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man", at times announcing the stylistic, lexical and metafictional revolution of "Ulysses", which in turn is something like a river, which later falls into the ocean of words "Finnegans Wake", made of almost all natural languages, is very expressive. It is hardly possible to find a writer of literature in the 20th century who would polish his own voice more carefully and consistently. At the time when "Ulysses" and "Finnegans Wake" were published, linguistically and stylistically, these novels could not be confused with any others.     

The fact that it is not known where Joyce in "Ulysses" speaks "from himself" (and as I understand it is about, for example, his views) is one of the consequences of such a multilingual form of expression. There is a concept of the so-called hidden narrator in literature, and Joyce is extremely skilful in implementing it – of course, thus, democratizing his novel, making it anti-authoritarian and, in his own way, ahead of, for example, J.L. Borges, who once proposed publishing literature anonymously – depriving it of the author at all, and thus, making his views no one’s. The narrator is obviously not the same as the author, and in a literary work we deal only with the narrator, with whom, however, it is impossible to chat over a coffee –  unlike the author, if they are still alive – or to apologize to them for unfair judgment.

In any case, I believe that Joyce's personal and, for the purposes of literature, more or less modified views are spoken in the novel by very different voices and characters, in different languages, and that it is very clever, because it was conceived in the Odyssean way. There may be eighteen narrators in "Ulysses" (as many as there are chapters), perhaps only one, but they express themselves in eighteen different ways, or perhaps the narrative (at least in some places) tells itself, as some scholars probably claim with some exaggeration. The author effectively hides behind his creation, a bit like God behind his, because he clearly does not want to be identified with a single voice or worldview – and this probably distinguished Joyce from most writers of his era. 

From my position, the position of a translator, such a trick did not change anything, because the author may have renounced the primacy, but I first translated not so much the author as the narrators of the following chapters and I followed them, I had to listen to them –  of course remembering that Joyce activates them –  and sometimes not to listen, plug my ears with wax so as not to be fooled by the siren singing of the storyteller (a deaf translator is quite a rare creature, the history knows deaf composers though). The multiplicity of voices, registers, styles and languages is undoubtedly one of the most serious translation challenges in "Ulysses", because in few prose works each chapter is written differently – although in the contemporary literature it is no longer a great novelty. Moreover, such a large multiplication of the mentioned elements is not necessary to give a translator a headache; for example, Conrad wrote virtually all of his novels in a uniform style and language, but so hellishly difficult that at times I preferred to translate Joyce.  

A translator is not allowed to do anything, but at the same time they can do everything – Maciej Świerkocki

I am thinking about the multitude of sources to which you must have had longer or permanent access while working on the text – the literature on Joyce and "Ulysses" has grown a lot since Maciej Słomczyński prepared his translation half a century ago. Did you perceive it as a burden because more eyes are now looking at you and will check the effect, or as a helpful tool that brightens the way? 

On the one hand, it was a burden – although not so much in the form of vigilant Argus eyes, but literally tens of kilograms or cubic meters of reading, which I had to go through – and on the other hand, of course, a simplification, because such a query and research resources later facilitated the translation work. The astronomical number of books and articles on "Ulysses" did not, however, fuel my fears of confronting the audience. I would fear it just as much, regardless of the number of "seal keepers" of Joyce and his opponents, so I simply tried to do my best, as if the only reader of the new translation would be myself.  

Which pages of these articles or books have you used more often?

You can probably guess it based on the "Łódź Ulissesa" – my "Ulysses Annotated" by Don Gifford and Robert Seidman has actually completely fallen apart, as has "The New Bloomsday Book" by Harry Blamires, as well as Polish translations of "The Odyssey". I have used many of the texts online, so I have not done much damage to them, but I actually do not have a single working copy of "Ulysses" itself in the original. I have used three of its editions and they are all falling apart, are covered with notes, stuck together, in a word: not usable. I'll have to get myself a fourth copy ... 

Did such a long, i.e., work lasting seven years on a specific text make you feel that you are starting to speak as Joyce? Or your own translation of Joyce? Does anything remain in a translator from the language of the translated writer? Does this language take over your language or way of speaking? I am asking a little naively, but for example in the poems of people that I know, I hear their way of speaking in "everyday life". Similarly, in some passages, paragraphs and dialogues of the new translation of Ulysses, I hear your voice. I would put forward a thesis that most – in the case of polymorphism of the language of this novel – in punctuation and intonation. However, I may be wrong.

Even if you are wrong, and I suppose not too much, it is certainly much more important that you think, because your question is valid and important. Sure, yes – sometimes I still talk (because I write much less often) like Joyce and like in my translation, usually instinctively. It probably always happens so when someone works for a long time and intensively on a text, not necessarily only in terms of translation. And yes, these influences probably work both ways, it is quite natural – in a translator or a writer there are traces of the language of other writers and translators, which are then used, consciously or subconsciously, in further literary work, because in my opinion literature is actually one great borrowing – we're all stealing something from each other here. Therefore, in translations, the voices of the translators are certainly heard alongside the voices of the authors. It seems to me that there is no way or the slightest need to forcibly get rid of them from translations, although we sometimes hear postulates that a translator should remain completely transparent, that they should not be visible at all. 

Fulfilling this request seems to me both unnecessary and impossible, because each translator is an individual and a personality, has their own voice, idiolect, style, education and so on, and finally their own, private concept of a given translation, different from others, therefore how then would they not be visible? A completely transparent translation would be machine-made, devoid of all emotions and individual features, devoid of its differentia specifica, and therefore, actually dead. But it is not about the fact, of course, that a translator says or was to say something other than the author, that they somehow deceive the author, and thus, the reader: after all, I am "imitating" Joyce with all my strength and convey his thought, language, form, content and so on. However, I do it using my – at the deepest level – language, form and thought, that is, in my own way and according to my own concept, interpretation, strategy, so I naturally also infringe the content.

Besides, I write in Polish, and yet Polish, like any language other than the original language, by its very essence sets in motion slightly different or additional associations, meanings, designations or connotations, so it always introduces differences to the translation, or even better, Derrida’s "différance" . As far as the punctuation of the new Ulysses is concerned, it is the result of the work of a translator and editor, so I am sure I can hear a bit of myself there, but the intonation, I hope, comes mainly from Joyce. With very few exceptions, I would not dare to emphasize intonationally something that, in my opinion, Joyce did not emphasize. I can be heard in idiomatics, in puns, in vocabulary much more frequently than in intonation.  

By the way, there is an edition of "Ulysses" in which the editor has deliberately supplemented punctuation marks wherever he thought they should have been placed in accordance with the accepted rules for the use of punctuation marks in English. Such a step may be considered a weird one, but I find it an interesting attempt at a new, specific interpretation of "Ulysses".    

In translations, the voices of the translators can be certainly heard in addition to the voices of the authors. It seems to me that there is no way or the slightest need to forcibly get rid of them from translations, although we sometimes hear postulates that a translator should remain transparent - Maciej Świerkocki

Researchers of literature, the lives of specific writers, often travel to places associated with them, to places related to literary works. You too have made many trips in the footsteps of Joyce – to Trieste, Paris, Zurich, Dublin, to Székesfehérvár in Hungary, where the father of the Bloom from the novel came from. What are these journeys for you? What did they give you? 

For me they were, above all, a moral obligation towards myself and "Ulysses", and besides, they enabled me to get to know and see the background on which the novel was written, to explore its biographical and geographical context. I am not sure if such trips make it possible to write better, but knowing European cities close to Joyce, I certainly felt more at ease and more confident, mentioning them in "Łódź Ulissesa" or when translating the book. I must admit, however, that especially the visits to Zurich, and the stay at the writer's tomb in particular, brought with them something of a somewhat mystical experience, although I do not believe in an afterlife or the possibility of communicating with the dead. However, I believe in the law of conservation of energy, as well as in purely physical, cosmic, quantum energy – or what else can I call it: preserved in the world? – the energy of places and objects, even after many years, still available, driven by the imagination and emotions of human sensitivity, and therefore, in the possibility of extrasensory and non-rational communion with a person who was  in given places or touched given objects.

I would not like to sound like "Maciej - the fortune teller", because I am not him, but standing and sitting at the grave of a guy to whom I have devoted a part of my life, I felt moved, I started talking to him about it, just like I sometimes talk to my parents at the cemetery, i.e., honestly – even though I rather didn't get to like Joyce as a human – but without any illusions that someone would hear me or talk to me, for example, by giving me a sign. This type of behaviour is a simple psychological defensive mechanism, a confessional attempt at self-purification and redress, as well as an atavistic desire to maintain continuity of contact with tribal ancestors. And such a "conversation" was apparently necessary for me, for my mental hygiene, to justify myself to myself for the fact that I dared to touch literary sanctity, I have made an attempt to do something impossible (Joyce's Irish expert, Professor Fran O'Rourke, told me a few years ago: "You're attempting the impossible!"), and I have devoted seven years of my life to something that, if needed, then probably by a modest handful of people at most. 

And an additional bonus of these trips was the fact that I have met many interesting people, such as Fritz Senn, the director of the Zurich James Joyce Centre, or Erik Andersson, the Swedish translator of "Ulysses", not counting at least a dozen other outstanding translators from all over the world, from Ukraine through Slovenia, Spain, Germany or Greece to Argentina and South Korea, of course.    

I haven't developed my translation theory, and I am sure that, to the relief of many theorists, I do not intend to deal with it in the future - and if I did, it would most likely be the theory of exceptions. While working on "Ulysses" I have already found out clearly that on the literary level there is no such commandment in a "translator's decalogue" that I would not violate in translation, including the sixth - Maciej Świerkocki

When four years ago we spoke for the purpose of an interview in the monthly "Odra", you presented yourself as a translation practitioner, you distanced yourself from the theory and philosophy of translation, if anything, then Anna Wasilewska's translator's decalogue was to be closer to you. Have you acquired what could be called your own translation theory thanks to "Ulysses"? Have you verified the "commandments" you were faithful to before?  

I consider the theory and philosophy of translation, especially literary, to be extremely interesting disciplines that greatly enliven the contemporary humanities, so I distanced myself from them only as a practitioner, because they are probably less useful to a translator in direct work. Even an in-depth knowledge of literary theory will not make a good writer of someone without a talent, and a good knowledge of translation theory will not guarantee anyone a translation world championship. Set theory is practically already its practice, but translation, especially a literary one, is fortunately not mathematics, so here I am skeptical about all rules and principles, because they change over time, are relative and unstable – most of all in literature, most of them quite often can be or even are worth breaking. I do not trust categorical prohibitions and orders at all, especially in art.

Ania Wasilewska's Decalogue is a normative set of beliefs of an outstanding translator, but we all break it every day, probably as often as the Mosaic Law, although it is worth reading and sticking to where it can be done without prejudice to the translated text, i.e. without a sin. So no, I haven't developed my own translation theory, and for sure, to the relief of many theorists, I don't intend to deal with it in the future  – and even if I did, it would probably be the theory of exceptions. While working on "Ulysses", I have already found out clearly that there is no commandment on the literary level that I would not violate in my translation, including the sixth. By shedding light on the matter from a slightly different angle, one can thus jokingly say that a translator is not allowed to do anything, but can do everything. 

I am asking about your own translation theory, because the publication of the new "Ulysses" is accompanied by the aforementioned book "Łódź Ulissesa", which you were writing in parallel to Joyce's translation, and which is a detailed analysis of the structure of the novel, characters, events, but it also presents the translator's specific dilemmas, problems that you had to overcome. What would be the basic advice for those who, while observing the effects of your work, analyzing the decisions made, would like to deal with an author who is equally difficult from the linguistic or structural point of view, or who would just start to deal with the translation of belles-lettres?

The basic advice is that a translator is responsible for the translation and that they cannot be afraid of this responsibility, especially if they are competent.  It is not possible to translate well, that is to say beautifully, on one's knees, just as it is not possible to translate well, that is to say beautifully, from the position of someone who is on his knees before themselves, who knows everything better than the other translators or even the author, and who imposes his vision of the translation – and translators who more or less consciously have such an attitude, although they never admit it, are surprisingly common. 

In my opinion, therefore, a translator needs as much humility and modesty as they need boldness and courage. They should know their own worth, but also be able to learn modestly from others for the rest of their lives. Therefore, it is good to refer to other translations of a given work, if there are any, to use the literature of the subject, if the work has had time to get covered by it, and to use the advice of colleagues, not to be afraid of doubts, hesitations or verification of one's own opinions, to admit to mistakes and correct them if someone points them out to us, not treating them as disrespectful.

In addition, especially in the case of linguistically difficult and unconventional works, it is worth taking a risk, trying to be original, of course as much as possible in line with the spirit of the original. And remember that a literary translation is not a dictionary of correct Polish, that fictional heroes in translations should not speak all "like from a book". Although they are bookish, they should talk only the way author tells them to, as well as their education, gender, age, interests and all other factors to consider here. An example? If we read in a translation a statement of a little girl, sounding in the original: "When I was a little girl", and in Polish „Kiedy byłam małą dziewczynką”, the translation is of course both faithful and correct, but it would be more natural and authentic, "more beautiful", although less linguistically correct, if the form "When I was little…" was used. 

It is also worth training your hand, i.e., translating texts that are stylistically and  different i terms of genre, contemporary and historical. And also read a lot, spy on and eavesdrop on the work of other writers and translators, but ultimately rely on oneself. In this profession, you need patience, persistence, resistance to stress and criticism, the ability to work alone, creativity and many other qualities that are hard to learn, so at some point you have to answer yourself the question: Am I sure I am right for this? If we have a lot of doubts, it might be better to look for another job – there are so many other beautiful professions beginning with "t" ... 

Would you consider returning to the university to conduct a "case history" seminar now with this work behind you (I know that in 2011 you already conducted classes in the translation of "Ulysses" at the University), or do you want to throw yourself into another job, into a different author – if so, what exactly are you thinking about, which direction are you looking?

You are probably thinking about the history of translation – but of "Ulysses" or the universal one? It does not matter, however, because I will probably not come back to the university, maybe only occasionally as a guest, because sometimes I am still invited by various universities, such as recently by the University of Wrocław or Jagiellonian University. I am very happy about it, I liked and I still like students, I have good memories of my studies and work at the University of Lodz, but in my younger years I also worked a lot in private schools, gave tutoring and I think I have already exhausted my teaching endurance. Besides, I would not have time for any full-time job now – I have too many translation and writing classes, which include, among others, giving interviews, because in the age of the Internet and e-mail, answers are usually written by "spies", not the "intelligence agent" himself.

So I don't have to get involved in another job, I work all the time. There is too much to mention here when it comes to my plans, but aside from a few minor, albeit very good, titles, what I'm most absorbed about right now is Conrad's new translation of Nostrom, which will probably be published sometime in 2024. There is also one very outstanding, classic today, and almost unknown to us, novel of late modernism, the title of which, for various reasons, I do not want to mention at the moment, but which I have been sharpening my teeth for for many years and it seems that finally next year (2022) I will be able to get down to it. Previously, it was impossible, inter alia, because my publisher could not obtain publishing rights for it.  

There is probably a large group of readers, let's say generally, who are very used to Słomczyński's translation, perceive it as "their" translation, or those who do not like changes, they like what is known. Perhaps they will be reading your translation of "Ulysses" particularly critically and thoroughly. This is the case of all translators who "attack" "holiness." What can be told to them, what would You like to tell them? That each subsequent translation is in fact an extension of the Polish language? What is the essence of translation, in your opinion? 

Well... How can I like a translation that I have never read before ... In the case of such questions, I keep repeating that it is good when a reader can choose between the translations, that they can compare them and put them together. After all, this dialogue of books is the meaning of literature, and each new translation is an invitation to a conversation that enriches both sides. I respect all lovers of Słomczyński's translation, although of course I would very much like my translation to have its recipients and defenders. And to the readers for whom the first Polish translation of "Ulysses" is "theirs", I can only say that I understand it perfectly and that I admire the great work of my namesake, with whom I try to talk and discuss in my own translation, and not to argue. I am writing more extensively on this subject in „Łodź Ulissesa”, where I argue in some places with Słomczyński, but I also pay him a sincere, friendly homage. 

Every translation is or should be an extension of the Polish language. And the essence of translation, if a question asked this way can be answered in one word, seems to me to be a new reading of the original. We've talked about it indirectly before. In practice, it is always original as an interpretation of Słomczyński, Świerkocki, Lisiecka and so on, so as long as the books are translated by people, we will never get two the same versions of "Hamlet", "The Trial" or "The Good Soldier Švejk". So let the readers choose and interpret together with the translators. I am saying this when the new "Ulysses" with its "Łódź Ulissesa" tied to it has found its way to bookstores and almost immediately aroused great emotions. Both books hit Allegro after two days, and the first edition of the translation was exhausted after a week.

If a new translation of the classic can evoke such reactions today, and if someone seems to need it, then there is probably some hope for literature and thinking people for whom writing is a way of self-reflection, an artistic tool of cognition, self-discovery, as well as dialogue, rapprochement, understanding "beyond divisions", races, nations, age or gender.. It would follow that translations, also as full-fledged literary works, should unite, not divide, but in reality this is not the case. In any case, I feel as a debtor, not an antagonist of Słomczyński or his translation enthusiasts. 

 

The interview conducted by:: Łukasz Kaczyński, Kalejdoskop Kultury

Edit: Promotion Centre, UL