Dile Yansıyan Duygu: Bir Çeviri Tercihi, Bir Romanın Kaderi.Edebiyat
Selam! Bu günün konusu kısaca 'Katalitik İfadeler.' Çeviri, Metnin Ruhunu Nasıl Değiştirir? Gelin inceleyelim.
Saatler süren titiz bir çalışmanın ardından ortaya çıkan bu analizi sizlerle paylaşmaktan heyecan duyuyorum. Bu, sadece bir çeviri karşılaştırması değil; büyük edebiyatın duygusal ve felsefi Retorik Çekirdeği'nin, dilin karmaşık coğrafyasında nasıl hayatta kalma mücadelesi verdiğine dair kanıt temelli bir incelemedir.
Çoğumuz, okuduğumuz çevirinin yazarın orijinal sesini ne ölçüde taşıdığını merak ederiz. Bu çalışma, tam olarak bu kırılma noktalarına odaklanıyor.
10 İkonik Sahnede Ne İnceledik?
Çevirinin Ritim Mühendisliği: Tolstoy’un Anna Karenina'sında ölüm anının ritmi; çevirmenin bilinç akışını kesik kesik bir panik olarak mı, yoksa akıcı bir trajedi olarak mı aktardığı?
Felsefi Yükümlülük: Camus’nün Yabancı'sındaki "şefkatli kayıtsızlık" ifadesi, çevirideki bir kelime tercihiyle nasıl varoluşsal bir kavrama dönüşüyor?
Ahlaki Ağırlık: Hosseini’nin Uçurtma Avcısı'ndaki "Senin için, binlerce kez olsa bile" vaadinin, sadeleştirme uğruna ahlaki yükünü nasıl kaybettiği?
Sessizliğin Retoriği: Harper Lee’nin Bülbülü Öldürmek'teki mahkeme sahnesinde, Atticus’a yönelik ayağa kalkış eyleminin destansı onuru, sade bir çeviriyle nasıl sıradan bir harekete dönüşebilir?
Bu analizin metodolojisi, her bir eserdeki "Katalitik İfadeleri" merkeze alarak, çevirmenlerin bilinçli tercihinin eserin duygusal sonucunu nasıl değiştirdiğini örnek alıntılarla gösteriyor.
Eğer siz de okuduğunuz metinlerin ruhunu derinlemesine anlamaya çalışan, çevirinin bir sanat ve mühendislik olduğuna inanan bir okursanız, bu incelemeye davetlisiniz. Yorumlarınızla ve farklı çeviri gözlemlerinizle metni zenginleştirmeyi çok isterim.
Keyifli okumalar!
Çalışmamızın temelini oluşturan bu
"na hi verena verāni sammantīdha kudācanaṃ
averena ca sammanti esa dhammo sanantano"
Nefret, sağalmaz asla bu âlemde, nefretle
Çağlar ötesinden hikmettir: Yalnız seviyle
Weragoda Sarada Maha Thero, Angilizce konuşanlar için kaleme aldığı Dhammapada tefsirinde (Treasury of Truth, Illustrated Dhammapada), bu dizelere dair şunları söylemiş:
Those who attempt to conquer hatred by hatred are like warriors who take weapons to overcome others who bear arms. This does not end hatred, but gives it room to grow. But, ancient wisdom has advocated a different timeless strategy to overcome hatred. This eternal wisdom is to meet hatred with non-hatred. The method of trying to conquer hatred through hatred never succeeds in overcoming hatred. But, the method of overcoming hatred through non-hatred is eternally effective. That is why that method is described as eternal wisdom.
The principle revealed in this verse is clear. Quarrels can never come to an end by quarrelling. War can never end through further wars. Enmity never ends by returning enmity for enmity. Only by giving up anger, enmity, quarrelling and wars can these evils be stopped. It is through friendliness, forgiving and forgetting that enmity ceases.
*
Nefreti nefretle açmaya (fetih) yeltenenler, silah taşıyanları galebe çalmak için silahlanan savaşçılara benzer. Nefrete son veremez bu, büyümesine yol verir. Fakat kadim hikmet, farklı bir yöntem ve zaman üstü bir usul ile nefretin mağlup edilebileceğini savunmuştur. Bu daimi hikmet, nefreti nefretsizlikle (averena: Olumsuzluk ön eki a ve kin/nefret anlamındaki verena) karşılamaktır. Yaygın yöntem, yani nefretin nefretle fethi, asla mağlup edemez nefreti. Oysa öteki usul, nefretsizlikle nefretin üstesinden gelmek, ebediyen tesirlidir. Zaten bu nedenle, bu yöntem
“Kötü bir anıyı unutmanın en iyi yolu güzel bir tanesiyle değişmektir.”
No not the Princess
“What happened?” she asked.
The king couldn’t answer her. It filled him with shame. Hira, pitying him,
addressed Almira.
“Justan Seaver took the baby,” Hira said quickly.
Almira stared at her, her black eyes penetrating as she went eerily still.
Her lips slacked, she grasped her belly.
“What baby?”
“Almira,” the king whispered. “We’ll find her. He couldn’t have gotten
far. We have ships out on the coast, men combing the city—”
“WHAT BABY?” She stumbled back.
He reached to her, but she moaned and pulled away from all who came
near her.
“Cuzo, I’m sorry—” Sanaa tried, her voice unrecognizable.
But the Queen turned and shot down the hall towards her quarters. They
all rushed behind her.
The Mesedi and Black Knights overwhelmed the hallways as they
searched the castle, but Hira knew, deep in her gut, that it was too late.
Justan was smart. He would’ve planned, he would be where they least
expected. He’d out-thought them.
Hira didn’t know how Almira ran up the stairs, but her determination was
incomparable. When they reached the landing at the high quarters, all the
soldiers and guards were still posted before the chamber, their weapons
clean and their bodies relaxed.
“He couldn’t have. She’s safe!” Almira pushed the soldiers out as they
made way for her, as she shoved open the doors to the chambers.
Inside the chambers was a silent, macabre display of bodies. Two young
Red Guards were dead, one with a blade protruding from her back and
another with a split throat. None of them with weapons at hand. Someone
had calmly ambushed them. A maid laid out next to the antechamber door,
killed in a swift, gory manner.
A Queen than A Consort
Silence. A consort, a decorative queen with no military or political
power.
The men scrutinized her, but her eyes were on the king, on the little
smile that formed on his lips. He knew she would not take a consort.
Perhaps he assumed before they met, but now that he’d assessed her, he
knew she would not settle for a consort. If she had the strength of a man,
she would have ripped the heads off the griffins in her hands.
“What say you, my lady?” the king asked.
“No,” she said.
“No?” Hestian echoed. She ignored him.
“I said no, majesty. I will not be Queen Consort to you or any other
king, first or last of his name.”
He watched her neutrally as she turned to her father.
“We’re leaving,” she said.
In an instant, her father and Thebo stood from the table and Ley
Wallace balked. The clanking of armor sounded and above it all, Ley
Wallace spurred to action. He looked beseechingly at the king who
remained impassive, completely unconcerned with the disaster he caused.
“My lady! Negotiations are still on the table!” Ley Wallace pleaded.
“There are no negotiations. You insult me by assuming I want a pretty
title and a side job to keep me appeased, while the south and east hide with
their tails between their legs.”
The king sighed dramatically and dropped his feet from the table.
“Stay.”
Almira turned to him as if he’d lost his mind. He dared tell her to stay?
As one speaks to a dog? A pet?
“Oh, don’t look at me that way. Sheathe your talons, you dragon. My
lords, perhaps I can speak with her ladyship alone.”
Thebo made a noise of incredulity and stepped forward, but Almira
held her hand up as she looked at the king.
Nietzsche'nin Dostoyevski'yi övdüğü pasaj
44
The Criminal and What is Related to Him.—The criminal type is the type of the strong person under unfavourable conditions, a strong person made sick. He lacks a wilderness, a certain freer and more dangerous nature and form of existence, where all that is weapon and defence in the instinct of the strong person exists aright. His virtues are proscribed by society; the most vital drives he has brought with him immediately get caught up with the depressive emotions, with suspicion, fear, dishonour. But this is practically the recipe for physiological degeneration. Anyone who has to do what he can do best, what he would most like to do, in secret, with long periods of tension, caution, cunning, becomes anaemic; and because he only ever reaps danger, persecution, disastrous strokes of fate from his instincts, even his feelings turn against these instincts—he feels fatalistic towards them. It is society, our tame, mediocre, castrated society, that makes a natural person who comes from the mountains or from maritime adventures necessarily degenerate into a criminal. Or almost necessarily: for there are cases in which such a person showshimself to be stronger than society: Napoleon the Corsican is the most famous case. For the problem at issue here the testimony of Dostoevsky* is significant—Dostoevsky, the only psychologist, incidentally, from whom I had anything to learn: he was one of the most splendid strokes of luck in my life, even more than my discovery of Stendhal.* This profound person, who was right ten times over in his scant regard for the superficial Germans, had a very different experience of the Siberian convicts in whose midst he lived for a long time—nothing but hardened criminals for whom there was no way back to society left—to what he himself had
Ode on Melancholy
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,