NOTE ON THE TRANSLATION
----
Since our goals in translating the third
cantica
of Dante’s poem are not in substance different from those that animated our translation of the first and second, the reader is asked to consult the similar notices that precede our translations of
Inferno
(Doubleday 2000; Anchor 2002) and of
Purgatorio
(Doubleday 2003; Anchor 2004).
Paradiso
, however, presents some challenges different from those encountered in the first two
cantiche
. Needless to say, we have again attempted to give as accurate a sense of the poetry and meaning of the Italian text as the English language and our abilities allow. The language and style of this part of the poem are, in many respects, dramatically different from those to which the reader has become accustomed in the previous
cantiche
. As we suggested in the front matter for the second volume, “While surely we must acknowledge that
Inferno
and
Purgatorio
are very different poetic places, they nonetheless maintain some arrestingly similar elements. From the vantage point of
Paradiso
the second canticle looks much more like its predecessor than like its successor.” Indeed,
Paradiso
is not only unique within Dante’s oeuvre; it is simply unique. Theology set to music, as it were, it pushes its reader (not to mention its translators) to the limit.
A particular problem facing translators of the
Paradiso
involves one of its distinguishing features: neologisms, or words new to the Italian language and essentially invented by their creator. The current estimate of the number of neologisms in the poem runs to around ninety, with the great bulk of these appearing in
Paradiso
(see Ferrante [Ferr.1983.1], p. 131, n. 10). It seems appropriate that the requirements of expressing the higher realities of God’s realm involve linguistic novelties of the most radical kind. Some of these we have attempted to bring over into English, when Dante’s coinage seems so striking that
any
reader would have to pay astonishedattention to the violence done “standard Italian”; for example, the verb
intrearsi
(
Par
. XIII.57), literally “to inthree itself,” which Dante employs to speak of the Holy Spirit’s involvement with the other two Persons of the Trinity, and which we have translated with an English neologism, “the Love that is
intrined
with them.” Others we have not, especially when it seemed to us that his usage borders on the “ordinarily daring” language one associates with almost any poetic making, for example, the verb
ingigliarsi
(
Par
. XVIII.113), which literally means “to enlily itself,” but is fairly obviously meant to indicate what our translation suggests it does, i.e., “to make itself into a lily.” In other words, the first class of neologisms is the linguistic equivalent of self-consciously audacious metaphor, and, like it, is obviously intended to make a reader reel, while the second is closer to our normal expectations of heightened poetic language; it may surprise, but does not shock. It is, naturally, not exactly easy to make such distinctions. It is also true that the difficulty of bringing the effect of a neologism into a second language is another complicating factor. Sometimes Dante’s daring thrusts simply do not “feel right” in English. In short, the reader should be aware that our practice in this regard is various.
We are once again grateful to two friends born in Italy and born to Dante for their willingness to sample our translations and my footnotes with a knowing eye. Margherita Frankel, formerly a professor of Italian at New York University, was her usual careful and exacting self as she examined our materials. The same must be said of Simone Marchesi, who studied with me when he was a graduate student at Princeton and has now returned to the university to teach students how to read Dante in his own courses. We are pleased to express our continuing gratitude to them both. This translation has brought us into contact with
----
Since our goals in translating the third
cantica
of Dante’s poem are not in substance different from those that animated our translation of the first and second, the reader is asked to consult the similar notices that precede our translations of
Inferno
(Doubleday 2000; Anchor 2002) and of
Purgatorio
(Doubleday 2003; Anchor 2004).
Paradiso
, however, presents some challenges different from those encountered in the first two
cantiche
. Needless to say, we have again attempted to give as accurate a sense of the poetry and meaning of the Italian text as the English language and our abilities allow. The language and style of this part of the poem are, in many respects, dramatically different from those to which the reader has become accustomed in the previous
cantiche
. As we suggested in the front matter for the second volume, “While surely we must acknowledge that
Inferno
and
Purgatorio
are very different poetic places, they nonetheless maintain some arrestingly similar elements. From the vantage point of
Paradiso
the second canticle looks much more like its predecessor than like its successor.” Indeed,
Paradiso
is not only unique within Dante’s oeuvre; it is simply unique. Theology set to music, as it were, it pushes its reader (not to mention its translators) to the limit.
A particular problem facing translators of the
Paradiso
involves one of its distinguishing features: neologisms, or words new to the Italian language and essentially invented by their creator. The current estimate of the number of neologisms in the poem runs to around ninety, with the great bulk of these appearing in
Paradiso
(see Ferrante [Ferr.1983.1], p. 131, n. 10). It seems appropriate that the requirements of expressing the higher realities of God’s realm involve linguistic novelties of the most radical kind. Some of these we have attempted to bring over into English, when Dante’s coinage seems so striking that
any
reader would have to pay astonishedattention to the violence done “standard Italian”; for example, the verb
intrearsi
(
Par
. XIII.57), literally “to inthree itself,” which Dante employs to speak of the Holy Spirit’s involvement with the other two Persons of the Trinity, and which we have translated with an English neologism, “the Love that is
intrined
with them.” Others we have not, especially when it seemed to us that his usage borders on the “ordinarily daring” language one associates with almost any poetic making, for example, the verb
ingigliarsi
(
Par
. XVIII.113), which literally means “to enlily itself,” but is fairly obviously meant to indicate what our translation suggests it does, i.e., “to make itself into a lily.” In other words, the first class of neologisms is the linguistic equivalent of self-consciously audacious metaphor, and, like it, is obviously intended to make a reader reel, while the second is closer to our normal expectations of heightened poetic language; it may surprise, but does not shock. It is, naturally, not exactly easy to make such distinctions. It is also true that the difficulty of bringing the effect of a neologism into a second language is another complicating factor. Sometimes Dante’s daring thrusts simply do not “feel right” in English. In short, the reader should be aware that our practice in this regard is various.
We are once again grateful to two friends born in Italy and born to Dante for their willingness to sample our translations and my footnotes with a knowing eye. Margherita Frankel, formerly a professor of Italian at New York University, was her usual careful and exacting self as she examined our materials. The same must be said of Simone Marchesi, who studied with me when he was a graduate student at Princeton and has now returned to the university to teach students how to read Dante in his own courses. We are pleased to express our continuing gratitude to them both. This translation has brought us into contact with
Similar Books
