Afterword: The Death of the Translator.

George Szirtes saith:

The translator meets himself emerging from his lover’s bedroom. So much for fidelity, he thinks.

Je est un autre, said the translator. Try next door.


A poet and a translator walk into a bar. Give me a beer, says the poet. I suppose you’d better give him a beer, says the translator.

Via, bien sur, wood s lot; if you like the Szirtes, there’s more of it at the first link, and if you don’t, there’s more translation- and language-related material at the second link, and if you don’t like any of it, hang in there, another post will be along tomorrow.


  1. Szirtes sighted circling Sirius, dogging the star. Far out !

  2. Sûrely?

  3. I suppose after the death of the translator comes the grammarian’s funeral.

  4. Note “Oun” (οὖν) rhymed with “down” — there’s your good old-fashioned Anglo-Latin.

  5. Trond Engen says

    Or Anglo-Scots?

  6. Argh, of course I meant Anglo-Greek — I don’t know what I was thinking.


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