Translating as rebelling against one's own language(?):
What I understand Eco to mean by the above assertion is this: As a translator, one is both expected and obligated to consider the act of translation, in part, as a fellowship--even though this interpersonal relationship is not (strictly) mandated by a set of codified "rules," as it were. The translator should remain consciously aware of the voice which produced the source text; be constantly and consistently engaged in conversation with its owner, respectfully presenting your (re)iterated utterances and the habitus of their lingual origin(s). But, in doing so, the translator also ought, to use Eco's words, "never
enhance the [original] author's vocabulary, even when tempted to do so" (46). That, I would argue, gets more at the crux of native lingual rebellion. As Eco delineates in this article, the translator may take liberties with the source text--and, perhaps, these liberties refurbish the original as a much more aesthetically appealing and tasteful piece; however, in taking such liberties, the translator actually (re)produces an entirely new piece of art--one that is now molecularly distinct from the original. So what does this mean for the translator? Again, to emulate Eco: "the translator must not waste too much time trying to avoid gaining something, because when translating, one is not so much likely to gain as to lose something" (47). That is, the translator, throughout his/her fellowship with the original author's voice/text, will find that in serving the source text--by embracing and paying homage to the untranslated language with all its foreign flora and fauna--readily allows the translator resignation (be it "melancholy" or relief) to the trivial 'losses' that come with transliteration.
And that's all I have to say about that. Sydney out.
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