I got back some hours ago from my excursion to Aldeburgh.
The weather was extraordinarily mild for November, though there were heavy showers at times. I was practically the only soul on the long beach during a dry spell. Has everyone migrated to Snape?
I took part in Sasha Dugdale's translation workshop. My experience of translating *poetry* from a literal translation (since I do not speak the original Russian of our sample poem) was a near-novel one for me. Of course, those who know the original language can translate a poem with accuracy. But where does that leave the poetry itself? How much should we strive to recreate the poet's original intention with precision? How much should we aim to convey the way in which the poem reveals its magic to us?
I came away with a copy of mpt (modern poetry in translation), edited by Sasha. The issue (no.3 2013) ends with a fitting tribute to Seamus Heaney from David Constantine, in which Constantine reminds us that despite its personal origins, 'a poem is always also for someone else ...'