Bruce writes: > Not sure if some of the rocks were aimed at my cabin here in San Francisco Very possibly, Bruce, but you post with such vigor, such a manic disregard for the slow, bored, plodding reader that I can't help but admire you. > Intrigued by your reference to translators of Rilke. I assume you are > blasting them out of the water. Like so many limping swans. Walter Arndt has committed crimes in his translations, and it doesn't take more than a semester in German to see it. It's the larger spirit of the haiku I disagree with. Most translated poems do grave injustices to their originals, but a translated haiku is like the reanimated corpse of a beloved grandmother made to speak in grunts and moans. Or so I imagine. At least poems tranlsated from German to English remain in the same empire. The east and the west may be closer than ever before, but their roots still come out on different ends of the planet, and there's no easy transference of worldview or cultural saturation back and forth. The east isn't just other or unknown, because other and unkown always work in a dialogue with what's familiar. The east, relative to the west, is a different structure altogether, unknowable from the outside (here). Consider the difference between Zen, whatever it is, and poststructuralism. One is real, and the other is the intellectual construction of what's real turned inside out and dismantled. Deleuze and Guattari's _Anti-Oedipus_ is probably the closest thing we have to enlightenment in the west, and it sure doesn't look anything like monks and frogs and lakes. -- Matt Kozusko mkozusko@parallel.park.uga.edu