I’d like to ask a rude question. Why do people translate Chinese verse into English rhyme?
Please stop!
Burton Watson called faithfulness to the original and literary merit in the translation the Two Noble Truths for translators. By both of those criteria, translating into rhymed English is a bad idea.
There are only two reasons to read Chinese verse in English translation.
1) To be able to understand the original better.
2) To read literature in English.
Neither purpose is served by a translation into rhymed doggerel– which is all these translations are, no matter how technically accomplished; I have not yet met with an exception.
Oh! I forgot one!
3) For the translator to show off that he or she can rhyme in English
or, to give the translator the benefit of the doubt
4) for the translator to show the “musicality” of the original poem
Translation into English rhyme is a terrible idea for a simple reason. In Chinese, it is easy to rhyme. In English, it is very hard. Therefore, when someone (almost always a non-native speaker) is translating a poem into English rhyme, the English meaning has to be twisted, often out of all recognition. The result is inevitably doggerel, very much on the lines of “The Tay Bridge Disaster,” by “the world’s worst poet.”
To produce any other result, the translator would have to combine perfect translation into a non-native language (already questionable) with the ability to write beautiful rhyming poetry in English. To say the least, this is a rare skill among even literary native speakers. It’s no accident that Chinese poetry got no attention or respect in English until Arthur Waley published his beautiful, free-verse translations. To rhyme in English, a Chinese poem must be warped and deformed.
Also, of course, contemporary English-speaking poets rarely use rhyme. So on top of producing a bad translation and bad poetry, rhyme also makes a modern translation sound dustily old-fashioned.
There is little, if any, difference between “poetry” like 
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
–William Topaz McGonagall (1825-1902), “The Tay Bridge Disaster” (1880)
and these examples from books published all too recently by Chinese-to-English translators.
If more distant views are what you desire
You simply climb up a storey higher.
(1990) –Xu Yuanchong
or to continue the tower theme
Rather than break faith, you declared you’d die.
Who knew I’d live alone in a tower high?
(1984) –Xu Yuanchong
Alas, poor 杜甫, I knew him well–before he was translated
As ever are hills and rills while the Kingdom crumbles,
When springtime comes over the Capital the grass scrambles….
For three months the beacon fires soar and burn the skies.
A family letter is worth ten thousand gold in price.
1981 –Wu Juntao
Not simply “ten thousand in gold”– it has to rhyme with skice!
The nation split, as e’er mounts and rivers remain.
In spring, the city is o’ergrown with grass and trees.
Current events have drawn forth my tears on flowers to rain;
And birds stir my parting pain to spoil my heart’s ease.
For full three months flames of war have kept on burning;
Home letters are as dear as ten thousand guineas.
Hard scratching has made my hoary hairs thinner turning.
No longer can they hold my hairpins as I please.
(2005!) –Wang Yushu. (Compare with fifty more translations of this famous poem by Du Fu, here)
OMG! THEY DON’T EVEN SCAN.
Current affairs are entailing distress and fears.
The sight of flowers is enough to bring up my tears.
–Xu Zhongjie
AKA the first time you have ever read “current affairs” and “entailing” in a “poem.”**
In times so hard, the flowers brim with tears indeed;
No kin in company, the hearts of birds do bleed.
–Zhang Xueqing
“Indeed” is a sure sign of trying too hard for a rhyme.
Hating separation, I shake with fright,
even when I hear birds sing with all their might.
(2001) –Zhang Bingxing
“All their might” is another one.
Abed, I see a silver light,
I wonder if it’s frost aground.
Looking up, I find the moon bright,
Bowing, in homesickness I’m drowned.
(Xu Yuanzhong)
There’s no drowning in this poem. Come to think of it, there’s no ground, either. And the poet is not bowing, which is this:
The bluebottles buzzing in the air
settle on the fence o’er there.
(1994) –Wang Rongpei and Ren Xiuhua
“Bluebottles” and “o’er” in a single “poem”: wow.
Advice from an English-language online arts journal, Empty Mirror
What a scene is in the north found!
A thousand li of the earth is ice-clad aground.
(1993) –Gu Zhengkun
The syntax here makes my head feel dizzy. Not even Victorian; it’s unique to this kind of non-native rhyming “translation.”
In the south red bean shrubs grow,
In spring abundant seeds they bear.
Gather them more, please, you know
They are the very symbol of love and care.
–Gu Zhengkun
Yes, gather them more! (<—This is not English)
From Advice to the Poets (1760), by Aaron Hill
I have discovered that some prominent current Chinese translators of poetry believe that rhyming in English shows us benighted barbarians the beautiful sounds of Chinese poetry, which we would not grasp by simply reading the Chinese original and an English translation. This is apparently the reason they persist in this folly. Of course, this being China, no one tells them that they are writing doggerel. Instead they are referred to in Chinese comparative literature studies as authorities, and given credit for transferring the “musicality” or “phonological beauty” of Chinese into English! Um, with such lines as these:
Your thirteen central girders, which seem to my eye
Strong enough all windy storms to defy.
Oops! That was William McGonagall, the “world’s worst poet.” I meant to cite
They overturn the dish and tray,
dancing in a capering way
or
I sing and the Moon lingers to hear my song;
My shadow’s a mess while I dance along.
These rhymes are bad poetry. They don’t scan; the English is unnatural; and as translations, they’re neither useful nor literary.
These “scholars” of “translation”* are seriously misleading the young Chinese academics and translators who see them getting so much praise (by non-English-speakers) for their horrible English “poetry.” An entire generation thinks this is not only an acceptable way to translate classical Chinese poetry, but something to aspire to. Yet the only modern audience for this sort of translation is people who either don’t read or like poetry, or don’t speak English.
It would be foolish to be against rhymes in poetry. Any well-known country singer or rapper can rhyme in English better, more naturally, and more affectingly than these Chinese scholars.
I have been inspired to finish this essay with my own doggerel, which I made up just now.
If into English you do translate
a native speaker your text must rate.
If further rhyming then tempts your heart
you and translation as friends should part.
*Xu has even won a major translation award!*** The mind boggles. Of course, it could have been for his translations into Chinese. Let’s hope so. He also translates into French but I’ve been scared to look.
**I found another one.
*** [Update. I discovered that only one native English-speaker was on the panel that gave Xu this award. This explains a lot. I’d like to know what that person thought.]
“Translations are like mistresses; they can be beautiful or faithful but not both.”
H.A. Giles: “Translations may be moonlight and water while the originals are sunlight and wine.”
Or, in the case of Xu Yuanchong and his ilk, neither beautiful nor faithful. More like the clown at the circus pretending to be Marilyn Monroe.
Yes, you said it! I cannot agree with you more! I am a Chinese translator of Chinese poetry into English, and recently I have developed my translation idea of no rhyme, but fluent and expressive English words and phrasers. Thank you for your great idea, which is quite enlightening to most Chinese translators. You are welcome to contact me for more exchange. Thank you!
How to translate the meaning and rhythm of Chinese poetry on the premise of being faithful to the original and literary merit is undoubtedly a problem that must be solved in the process of “going out” of Chinese culture. The article clearly states that “Chinese translators: don’t use rhyme in English!”, and make it clear to us why.
First of all, why do people use rhyme in English? For the translator to show off that he or she can rhyme in English, or, to give the translator the benefit of the doubt. For the translator to show the “musicality” of the original poem.
Secondly, why is this translation not good? Because English and Chinese language have different environment and grammar. In Chinese, it is easy to rhyme. In English, it is very hard. In this way, the translated Chinese poetry is of no distinction and loses its original value. The author gave many funny examples to illustrate.
Chinese poetry translation is indeed very difficult. We should learn from our predecessors, learn English and Chinese better, translate better and spread Chinese culture better.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment. There are in fact good translations from other languages into English rhyme. But the translators are without exception native-speaker poets themselves.
What would a Chinese poetry-lover think of an English-speaker translating Shakespeare into Chinese rhyme to catch Shakespeare’s “musicality”? The chances of this being successful in literary terms are infinitesimal. And yet this is what Xu arrogantly and foolishly tries to do. His grotesquely farcical versions of beautiful Chinese poems have only succeeded in destroying any prestige these poems might have acquired in English with a good translation. I hope future generations of translators will not attempt to follow his lead into this abyss of irrelevance.
Dear Zhizhong,
Thank you so much for your kind comment. I think in general people should translate only into their native language, or one they speak as well as a native (especially true in literature, as opposed to nonfiction). However, it is a good thing to have more translations in general. I would love to read yours.
There is something in what you say, some Chinese translators rhyme for rhyme’s sake. They also tried to make the artistic conception in Chinese poetry appear in English translation which is also very neat and balanced, but they may neglect that the native Englsih speaker may not understand the translation. And some translations may have ignored the traditional rules of English poetry. And although Xu Yuanchong’s translation is somewhat controversial, he breaks the rules, has a style of his own and is still a great translator.
I’m afraid that the problems with Xu’s translations have nothing to do with “the native English speaker may not understand his translation” nor that they “may have ignored the traditional rules of English poetry” nor that he “breaks the rules.’
No, the problem with his translations is that they are execrable, appalling, childish doggerel in English, comparable to something uneducated people or young teenagers write when trying to look smart. They are not useful as translations because they do not explain the meaning of the words, and they are not useful as literature because they do not express the feeling of the poems. They are just plain bad translations and you will not find *any* English native speakers who love Chinese poetry who think they are good in any way. No, Xu is a laughingstock to these people. I am mystified that Chinese people think he is a good translator.
Xu’s rhymed-doggerel translations remind me of the famous quotation from Samuel Johnson (1709–1784) about a woman preaching. “Sir, a woman’s preaching is like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.”
He understands English well (not as well as he thinks, sadly, since he thinks he masters it enough to translate into rhyme. Nope) and apparently has an excellent grasp on Chinese poetry. However, Xu is certainly NOT a “great translator” — unless you think that a translator’s audience should be speakers of the original language!
I think it is generations of poverty and political turmoil (and isolation) that have degraded many Chinese university teachers of my generation. Many of them are, IMHO, not as knowledgeable as I expected them to be, and many ‘scholars’ are out of make money due to the realities of living in a rapidly developing country. Such charlatans abound even in some traditionally Chinese areas of ‘study’ (such as Chinese classics and ‘traditional culture’; the famous late Buddhist ‘Master’ Nan Huaijin was one such sham into whose trap I have fallen; Zeng Shiqiang from Taiwan was annoter, even more appalling specimen). Not many are researching seriously, and even those with a conscience are faced with the lack of proper resources and as a result their scholarship is not up-to-date. Not to mention the moral looseness of some of our present-day educators. This is why, unfortunately, many Chinese parents are sending their children abroad, where they will have to work extra hard, learning in another language. My attitude towards such chaos is generally one of tolerance and patient hopefulness, thinking that things will get better one day. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for this country.
Hi Ms. Sullivan,
I have long been following your comments on Xu Yuanchong, etc., and revisiting your website on and off. I agree with your (and Brian Holton’s) point about the dangers of non-native speakers translating Chinese verse into English rhyme. Unfortunately, I have engaged in this folly myself for quite a few years as an undergraduate, and did not wake up until my English improved as a graduate student at a Western university. I think that the main issue with us non-natives is that we tend to equate the command of a large vocabulary with fully mastery of the English language. Unfortunately, this is a gross mistake, and not until recently did I realize just how far I still have to go in learning my second language (despite how far I’ve come all these years). I have passed your web page on to a few Chinese college teachers of English. Most of them were put off by your ‘bluntness’ (i.e., not engaging in circumlocution) and did not take your advice. In my opinion, it is their insular environment and the want of ‘real’ works of translation on the Chinese book market that have caused the ignorance of so many Chinese students (and teachers!). There has been one professor, Hunter (who commented above), who vocally criticized Xu Yuanchong, citing comments like yours. Unfortunately, his opinion was met with the severest criticism on the Internet. This shows just how hopeless the public can be (not with Chinese poetry, but with the translations). Anyhow, I’ve given up ‘educating’ those around me about Xu and his ilk. These ‘master translators’ are considered Gods in China because of the people’s long-thwarted (though justified, I think) hope of getting heard internationally.