4.02.2007
Babel Poetry
My Dad sent me this experiment recently. He pasted Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" into the BabelFish language tool.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see my stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promise to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
He translated it from English to Japanese and back:
Think of that I have known someone's forest whether these are I.
That house is in the village, but;
He does not look at my stop here where that forest
observes at that it is full with the snow.
As for the horse where I am small
when the forest without the farmer it stops soon
between the lake which freezes,
evening strange that year is darkest must think.
He gives the vibration to the bell of that harness
in order to ask whether or not there is the mistake.
The only other things the extent of the thin layer
the easy wind of sound and like the cotton wool.
The forest is beautiful, is deep darkly,
but before I sleep, I sleep,
and before possessing mile which goes,
as for me the promise which is maintained and mile which goes.
To me, this one actually sounds a bit like my Outside the Box Poet poem that I generated through the Madlib Poem generator. It's strange but I like it. With a little tweaking, it could actually sound like a surrealist poem.
And finally English to Italian to French back to English:
Of which wood those I am I you think that I know.
Its put is in the village, in any event;
It will not see mien stops here
to look at its wood filling in on snow.
My small horse must think it strange to stop
without a firm neighbor
between wood and the lake frozen
the darker evening of the year.
It gives to his flange wiring a jolt
to ask whether it is to us a certain error.
Swept single other sound
of easy wind and rivet washer lanuginoso.
Wood are beautiful, dark and deep,
but I have the promise to maintain
and the miles to go initially that it sleeps
and miles with going initially which sleeps.
I remember reading someone's theory that if you translate from English through a series of certain different languages in a specific order and then back to English, that the "true meaning" will emerge. Well, it sure as heck must not be this order. This one starts to sound like Babel Rap, nonsense. Some interesting phrases emerge, but nothing resembling poetry. Or truth. Curious.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see my stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promise to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
He translated it from English to Japanese and back:
Think of that I have known someone's forest whether these are I.
That house is in the village, but;
He does not look at my stop here where that forest
observes at that it is full with the snow.
As for the horse where I am small
when the forest without the farmer it stops soon
between the lake which freezes,
evening strange that year is darkest must think.
He gives the vibration to the bell of that harness
in order to ask whether or not there is the mistake.
The only other things the extent of the thin layer
the easy wind of sound and like the cotton wool.
The forest is beautiful, is deep darkly,
but before I sleep, I sleep,
and before possessing mile which goes,
as for me the promise which is maintained and mile which goes.
To me, this one actually sounds a bit like my Outside the Box Poet poem that I generated through the Madlib Poem generator. It's strange but I like it. With a little tweaking, it could actually sound like a surrealist poem.
And finally English to Italian to French back to English:
Of which wood those I am I you think that I know.
Its put is in the village, in any event;
It will not see mien stops here
to look at its wood filling in on snow.
My small horse must think it strange to stop
without a firm neighbor
between wood and the lake frozen
the darker evening of the year.
It gives to his flange wiring a jolt
to ask whether it is to us a certain error.
Swept single other sound
of easy wind and rivet washer lanuginoso.
Wood are beautiful, dark and deep,
but I have the promise to maintain
and the miles to go initially that it sleeps
and miles with going initially which sleeps.
I remember reading someone's theory that if you translate from English through a series of certain different languages in a specific order and then back to English, that the "true meaning" will emerge. Well, it sure as heck must not be this order. This one starts to sound like Babel Rap, nonsense. Some interesting phrases emerge, but nothing resembling poetry. Or truth. Curious.
Comments:
Yep, those machine translators are okay for a word here or there, or just to get the gist of something, but they sure do mangle larger chunks of text pretty badly. If this experiment is anything to go by, I think human translators don't need to worry about their jobs just yet! :-)
As a teacher I use that kind of software oftne, but I always run it back and forth a couple of times to work out the kinks.
Angie
http://suncoastscribe.com/
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Angie
http://suncoastscribe.com/
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