Phillip Lundberg
This translation of Kafka has a dual purpose, for starters it intends to provide English readers with a better translation: that Kafka's prose should find a more fitting analogy in 'modern (American) English' whereby it should come to life to a greater degree, and that his underlying philosophy—and I say philosophy in the greater sense—thus, should be grasped more readily. The second purpose is to explore issues regarding translation per se: what is the proper role of the translator? and why are so many translations done so poorly? The five stories included in this book have been carefully selected to present Kafka's literary genius in its historical genesis: from Metamophosis (1912), Report to the Academy (1917), In the Penal Colony (1915), The Burrow (1923/24) - to Kafka's "last word" Josephine the Songstress or The Mouse Folk which was written shortly before Kafka's death in 1924.
This book also contains a short postscript on the art of translation that argues against the current modus operandi of translation theory, indeed, it goes so far as to quote from Kafka's diaries as well as from Schleiermacher and early Roman translators on the responsibility of the translator to capture the spirit of the work in an imaginative manner.
This is the second book published by Phillip Lundberg, the first was a translation of Plato: Tallyho ~ The Hunt for Virtue: Nine Dialogues by Plato - which was a translation from Friedrich Schleiermacher's German. Phillip Lundberg holds a master's degree in Philosophy and during his formative years studied both in Freiburg and Bochum in the country that then was known as West Germany. He is of the philosophical persuasion that there is a great deal of relevance to be found in acquiring a deeper understanding the classics of Western literature and that, indeed, it is paramount for humanity that this knowledge be reborn in translation that speaks to modern man. To know the way forward one needs a good grasp of the past. More information as well as photographs are available at the author's website:
http://www.home.earthlink.net/~ushaphil.
Josephine is the name of our songstress. Those who have never heard her sing simply haven't experienced the power of song. Everyone who hears her is pulled out of him or herself, transported, and this is yet more of a mystery since our race as a whole has no love for music. Peace and quiet {Stiller Frieden} are what we yearn for more than anything—our lives are hard—such is the music that, generally, we love above all others, we just don't have it in us after another long day of work in which we strive to do our best in dispensing with a thousand and one cares, there's just nothing left over with which we might pull ourselves to the distant heights, so far removed, where music comes alive. But we don't generally shed any tears over this, not once do we go so far as to lament our loss, it's just—at least this is my personal opinion on the subject—it's just a minor irrelevancy. There's a certain sort of sly cleverness that kicks in here, one, indeed, that we need terribly: we consider this as being our greatest asset and we use it to laugh off any and all criticism and to console ourselves about everything. Such is our way, such cleverness in all things practical; indeed, it kicks in even should there be some yearning—though there isn't—but if there were to be such a yearning for the sublime happiness {Glück} that music may, perhaps, deliver. Only Josephine makes an exception, she loves music and knows how to deliver its power, and she's the only one, when she's gone then music too will disappear—and who knows for how long—right out of the midst of our lives. I've thought about this quite often, essentially what is it about music,[i] how does it come alive and touch us so deeply.
[i] "wie es sich mit der Musik eigentlich verhält"
