subtitled: lost in translation

i have always been enchanted by "foreign" films with their subtitles- starting from the mid 80s, when doordarshan would telecast late night foreign films. of course, even the assamese or bengali or malayalam movies we watched on languorous sunday afternoons were subtitled in english. one is always left wondering when watching movies or reading books (especially poetry) in a foreign language, if one is missing something. traduttore, tradittore goes a saying in italian(translator, traitor). another wit quips "reading poetry in translation is like viewing a piece of embroidery from the backside".

but. but i have disported myself for hours watching rai, truffaut, tarkovsky and ozu; reading murakami, turgenev, rumi and kafka all in english or listening to thiagaraja or syama sastry in telugu, a language i can barely follow. i know i am missing something, probably a lot but it raises a more fundamental question concerning the relationship between art, the artist and the rasika. (hmm.. i was groping for an english word which can capture the perceiver/viewer/subject that is less cold and more involved and couldn't find one. rasika is one who enjoys the rasas). even in an abstract language like painting or sculpture, the viewer does not necessarily interpret the art form in the same way the artiste intended it to be and in some cases artistes are deliberately silent or better yet ambiguous about their intentions. resnais , for instance, refused to explain or interpret his movies; a famous writer quipped "god does not indulge in theology" when asked about his intentions behind an opus.

all of these thoughts came up as i was reading the introduction to aitken roshi's book a zen wave: basho's haiku and zen. haiku is a complex art form which is deceptively simple- there is the issue of the japanese language and its poetic conventions, its post-positions, cutting words and seasonal words. there is also the deeper issue of trying to convey the absolute in relative terms- convey infinity, eternity and paradoxically evanescence in seventeen syllables, describing an "ah!" moment. it is here that the introducer makes a leap from haiku to art itself. any art form is an attempt to express the absolute and the infinite in relative and finite terms. it is almost as if there is a new creation each time one reads a poem or watches a movie, something which the artiste may or may not have intended. that is why i can appreciate basho's classic-

furu ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

old pond!
frog jumps in
water of sound.

and the 2000 year old sangam era gem from kuruntokai attributed to cempulappeyanirar and translated by ak ramanujan as

what he said

what could my mother be to yours? 
what kin is my father to yours anyway? 
and how did you and I meet ever?
but in love our hearts have mingled
as red earth and pouring rain.

knowing fully well that i am missing something but does it matter?

notes: the last line of the poem is also the name of vikram chandra's bestseller (afaik there were no acknowledgments). this poem featured in the tube's poems on the underground project.

the pen-name of the poet cempulappeyanirar is a pun which translates to red earth and pouring rain. (the convention being she is henceforth known by this name)

a link to 30 different translations of basho's same frog haiku !!