春琴抄 is a short story written by Junichiro Tanizaki. The Japanese of the story has a very special rhythmical quality to it. Tanizaki achieves this quality by removing punctuation marks from the text. As a result, the text becomes one long chain of words, reminiscent of Molly Bloom's soliloquy in Ulysses (although Tanizaki would not have been aware of the last chapter of that work.)
There is already one published English translation of 春琴抄, Portrait of Shunkin. The translation is good in many ways, in that the translator does a great job at capturing the Tanizaki-ness of the original Japanese into English - no easy feat. Yet, after reading the English translation, I was left with the feeling that there must be a different way of doing this!! The English prose is still too tame, too normal.
How to capture Tanizaki's prose, lacking punctuation and weaving together several style - this "weaving together" done always with an intention to achieve a specific comical effect - is a big question. For one thing, although both Molly Bloom and the narrator of 春琴抄 rarely use punctuation signs, the form of the two works are so different that the comparison quickly breaks down. 春琴抄 is a narrated story, while Molly Bloom is just talking to herself.
Leaving aside the big question of what the overall style of the English translation of 春琴抄 ought to look like, I am worried more specifically with the problem of how to translate the title of this story.
The problem is a general one which pertains to all English translations of Japanese literature. What is this problem? To begin with, take the name 春琴. It is read "shun" in 春琴抄. Therefore, English translators would translate this name as "Shunkin." However, this would only be equivalent to the Japanese text しゅんきん or シュンキン, but not 春琴. Why? Because 春 and 琴 both are meaningful idiograms which trigger specific associations. More specifically, 春 means "spring" as well as (especially in the context of Tanizaki's story) "eros" and "youth." 琴 means "koto," a Japanese string instrument. Yet, the association is not really meant to cohere into one big lump of meaning such as "erotic koto" or "young koto." Rather, the characters create an atmosphere. Hence, the Japanese reader, upon reading the name "Shunkin," immediately associates the character with eroticism, with the koto, with youth (but a very erotic kind of youth - again, difficult to name it in a few English words), and, of course, spring with everything which comes with spring - flowers, birds, the Japanese gardens, the warm wind, the sweet scent in the air, the clear riverwater, etc.
The task of the English translator, then, is ideally to trigger all these associations in the English translation of the name 春琴. This is why merely representing the sound is far from ideal. That is, "Shunkin" is not wrong but not the best either. There must be a better way to capture the atmosphere created by this name.
One radical attempt at such an ideal translation was recently made by two translators on Asymptote.
http://www.asymptotejournal.com/special-feature/tsubouchi-nenten-river-horse-haiku/
As an experimental translation of these particular haiku pieces, this method is very interesting and, simply, beautiful.
However, Tanizaki's work is not a haiku - it is a story. The word "Shunkin" will be repeated dozens of times throughout the text. Hence, the English translation of that name must also fit into a few characters. I cannot copy and paste a jpeg image every time Shunkin appears.
Yet, the Asymptote piece reminds translators just how difficult it is to translate Japanese literature into English, and I found it very helpful just to meditate on the above linked work for a while to take in the enormity of the task.
Now, one strategy would be to put together English words which trigger similar associations, and craft a name. The crudest of this would be something like "Spring-Harp." The challenge here is twofold. First, the associations must correspond pretty well with the original 春琴. Second, the sound also needs to express that feeling which the sound "Shun-Kin" evokes in the Japanese reader. In particular, the sound "Kin" is associated with the coldness of a steel. In fact, "Kin" almost reminds the Japanese reader of the sound made by a koto in a silent, calm room. The English translation needs to keep this feeling too.
What, then, would be a good candidate name for 春琴 in English? No idea.
