Author Hank Heifetz’s sparkling translation of Kumarasambhavam brings to life the heady eroticism and sumptuous imagery of the original. He tells Shrabasti Mallik what inspired him to translate the greatest long poem in classical Sanskrit
How did the works of Kalidasa attract your attentionIJ
I consider myself primarily a creative writer, in prose and poetry but hope that I am also a more than competent scholar. I’ve done a number of things in my life, explored various cultures that fascinated me, lived in countries that interested me. I was in contact with the people, ideas and a living culture that emotionally and intellectually influenced me. The two countries that most drew my attention came to be India and latin America. I’m very good at learning languages. This art I acquired on my own and found that it is very difficult to process classical Indian languages. And because of my knowledge of latin (and some ancient Greek), I often noticed that what I could make out of a Sanskrit poem was far more interesting than a scholarly but for the most part poorly written (often in Victorian jargon) translation. In the 1980s, after a number of years living essentially as a freelance writer, I got a chance to return to formal study and learn Sanskrit at the University of California in Berkeley. I took a PhD in the study of ancient India and specifically Sanskrit and Tamil traditions. Once I entered that field of study, my attention was naturally drawn to Kalidasa, the foremost Sanskrit poet, some of whose works I had previously read in translations that were scholarly but very poorly written.
Please share the experience of translating Kumarasambhavam from Sanskrit to English.
There is a preliminary consideration necessary for any literary translation. And by this, I mean that the work in the original language, whatever it may be is strong as a literary document — in rhythm and sound geared to emotional effects, in the way emotion and knowledge are communicated, in its impact upon the reader beyond mere source of information — and so becomes worth an attempt to produce poetry from poetry or impressive prose from impressive prose. First of all, you have to know what the original words mean and the context in which the work was produced so as to understand the particular usages and overtones of words and, at a more simplistic level, the meaning of references. Then the translation begins.
I always assert that the translator has to conceive of a kind of hierarchy in the original text. And act on it. By which I mean the following: What features of the original work matter most in terms of their effectIJ If rhythms and sonic effects are central (as they are in Kalidasa) you have to set their importance high on your hierarchical list of qualities worth bringing over into the receiving language. If a work depends more on, say, amazingly effective imagery (as in surrealist poems) creating effective translations (or transmutation) of such images are the translator’s central concern rather than more technical issues. In each case,the translator should be most concerned with what makes the original poem or prose effective. A few points on Kalidasa.
Sound: There are traditions in Sanskrit about certain patterns of sound being most effective for communicating certain emotional moods. It is rarely possible to produce a translation with exactly similar sonic patterns but one can often translate the emotional weight of certain passages.
Rhythm: Sanskrit poetic rhythms are (with some few exceptions) quantitative, depending on fixed patterns of long and short syllables while traditional English meter is qualitative, depending on stress. To try to reproduce Sanskrit meters exactly would get you nowhere but into very bad writing. But the rhythms are enormously important and I try to catch them by counting beats in the English and often using an approximation of the caesuras (yatis) in the longer lines to catch some of the lightness and/or weight of the original rhythms. For Kalidasa, there’s a change of meter in each sarga (stanza) as well as a change of meter in the final (or occasionally) final few stanzas of a sarga. In each sarga, I try to hear the melody and rise and fall of the meters (which in principle remind one of the sometimes complicated additive rhythms of classical Indian music.) These rhythmic changes are essential. Two of the most obvious is the rhythm that (I believe) is based on the natural rhythm of mourning (vigogini) and I’ve tried to create a similar feeling in the sarga of Rati (sexual desire) mourning the (temporary) annihilation of her husband Kama, the God of love. Similarly, for images of burgeoning nature and sensuality, Kalidasa uses the swaying, lightly dancing vasantatilaka and I have tried to catch that sensual movement in my renderings of such stanzas.
Process of repetition: When deciding on a rhythm in English or mulling the translation of a particularly impressive line, I recite it over and over in Sanskrit (or any other original language) till an English version close enough to the feeling of the original begins to take shape. It may require further refinement but basically I feel I have it and can proceed.
Idiom in general: It’s important to write in a modern idiom because it’s impossible to write (or feel) effectively in an outmoded form of speech which you would never use (it would sound laughable) to express your own emotions. Victorian jargon (or any contemporary reductive jargon) are useless for poetry.
How do you think the works of Kalidasa will influence the people of the 21st centuryIJ
I would hope that a wider dissemination of his work (in the original and in literarily effective translations) would spread the knowledge and benefits of a particularly important and pleasurable poet as widely as possible.
What fascinating thing about ancient Indian literature, you felt, deserved to be toldIJ
The power, daring and richness of the language which resembles the achievements of the more ornate latin writers like Virgil or classic Spanish like Gongora or lope de Vega.
How do you maintain the essence of the original text when you translate a work from the ancient Indian languagesIJ
Mere dictionary meaning (at least in Kalidasa) is no problem. Conveying emotion, vivid detail and rhythm (which is the basis of all truly effective writing) are the means through which one hopes to retain the essential.
You have already translated The Four Hundred Songs of War and Wisdom from classical Tamil to English. What made you delve into the classic Indian languagesIJ
Most of the work I’ve done from Tamil (two long books, a number of short poems, poetic consultant for one of Hart’s early and impressive books of translation from sangam poetry) were almost all in conjunction with the major Dravidianist George Hart and done after my translation of the Kumarasambhavam (of which the Penguin India edition is an updated version of the well-received American edition.) The process of my discovery of the riches of Tamil (I had read translations but had no entrance knowledge of the language) occurred during my PhD work with the gifted teacher, scholar and writer George Hart. The ancient Tamil and Sanskrit aesthetic traditions are different (as befits two very different languages) but complementary, with ancient Tamil poetry marked by far greater realism and images unique to individual poems and poets. And, of course, a very different rhythmic flow, full of short syllables rather like (but only in this matter) American speech.
What other works do you think need to be translated from the scripturesIJ
Ornate Sanskrit poetry (kavya) is of course not a scripture but thoroughly secular poetry written for the delight of kings. Even a great religiously-oriented writer whose writings interest me for content and brilliant stylistic passages (shankara) cannot really be characterised as scripture in the English sense of the word. As far as writing closer to scripture is concerned, I think poetically successful translations of some of the hymns of the Rig Veda are lacking. And in secular poetry (aside from more works by Kalidasa) we could do with better translations of many short poems, and, in Mahakavya (epic kavya) of Kalidasa’s Raghuvamsa. We need to pay fresh attention to the three other great kavya writers — Bharavi (Kiratarjuniyam) Magha (Sisupalavadham) and Sriharsa (Naishadhacaritam).
What is your observation about Kalidasa’s worksIJ
Fine poetry that leaves its marks on the ear and the senses and the rhythms of one’s life. Some writers one can respect but have no desire to meet. I would like to sit down and have a drink (preferably tequila or at least a Madras coffee) with Kalidasa.
Tell us something about your forthcoming book Sisupalavadha.
I will take some time time to finish the book.
