…so…

I hadn’t noticed what has happened to “so”. I thought it was so last year to diss “so”. I’d been encouraged by Heaney’s Beowulf, where he translates the initial, throat-clearing utterance “Hwæt” as the Irish idiomatic, yarn-commencing “So.” which obliterates all previous narrative and commands attention.

But here’s Iain Sinclair, in the LRB (link here), who’s always sharp in spotting the petty indignities suffered by language, describing the initial “So” as the “entry code” to a gentrified, socially-cleansed London.

And in Sinclair’s article I discover that Tom Raworth has died. He didn’t make the news in the way that Derek Walcott did, and it had passed me by. I have fond memories of Raworth’s readings at Essex in recent years. Poetry readings are often poorly-attended affairs, but for one, Raworth’s audience was swelled by a keen email sent to all in the department of Literature at the university. It was a simple instruction not to miss “the great (-est?) modernist poet, Tom Raworth”. The email was sent by the late Joe Allard, an infectious enthusiast for Icelandic literature, among other things, and a fixture in the literary and drinking life of the town of Wivenhoe. The entire email — a plug in under 30 words, including time and place — was arresting and compelling: as if to say, here is Modernism, returning to revivify the Brutalist architecture of the Essex campus. It lives today.

This is my first post on here in a while. I have been writing more formal pieces, and the free time I’ve had when I could be writing blogs has been spent reading instead. Reading for pleasure, I mean. No-one can argue with that excuse.

Translating Myth

Cover of Translating Myth, edited by Ben Pestell, Pietra Palazzolo and Leon BurnettTranslating Myth, a book I edited alongside Pietra Palazzolo and Leon Burnett has recently been published by Routledge/Legenda, in Legenda’s Studies in Comparative Literature series.

It collects fourteen essays on different aspects of myth and translation, from literary translation of Blakean mythopoeia to the cultural translation of Oedipus in Cameroon.

I’m very pleased with the finished result: it’s a handsomely produced volume with carefully-reproduced illustrations, and, most importantly, some excellent critical readings.

As an academic book, it is, lamentably, prohibitively expensive (even with the 20% discount), but I can unreservedly recommend that you order it for your local academic or public library. An e-book is also available.

Some more information (blurb, table of contents) is on the Essex Centre for Myth Studies site, and ordering information, a preview, and so on, on Routledge’s site.

These comments from the introduction (by Pietra and me) on Giuseppe Sofo’s chapter on the further translations of Derek Walcott’s Odyssey are indicative of the tenor of the book:

The reader is led through this recent journey of Odysseus, from English to Italian and from the Caribbean Sea back to the Mediterranean. At the end of this stage of its travels, the myth has changed while retaining its essence. It has survived the transaction between oral and written forms, just as it remains identifiable through translation across languages and cultures. Thus the process we describe at the start of this introduction, which Odysseus himself implicitly identified when hearing the song of Demodocus, is shown throughout this volume to be infinitely varied, generating vital and ever-renewing debate.