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FINNEGANS WAKE: A Tentative Crossing in Portuguese, by Dirce Waltrick do Amarante

Atualizado: 16 de mar. de 2021

.FINNEGANS WAKE: A Tentative Crossing in Portuguese

Dirce Waltrick do Amarante

The letters grew barbs and rams’ horns. I watched them separate, each from the other, and jiggle up and down in a silly way. Then they associated themselves in fantastic, untranslatable shapes, like Arabic or Chinese.

Sylvia Plath[1]

For two decades, ever since I began my research for my master’s thesis at the Federal University of Santa Catarina, Brazil, I have been reading and re-reading FinnegansWake trying to cross its “wastobe land” (FW 62.11). I regard FinnegansWake as a territory with a highly complex geography and imagine its reader as a wanderer who must keep moving to encounter the menhirs thar will guide and help him on his journey through the book . Thus, I see my reading experience as a journey and, to speak about it, I will base my reading upon the Italian architect and scholar Francesco Careri’s concept of walkscapes [2]

I start by talking about reading, because without it there is no translation. As the Hungarian-Brazilian translator, editor and critic, Paulo Rónai, reminds us, translation requires an attentive reader, because it obliges us to carefully frame the meaning of each phrase, to investigate in detail the function of each word.[3] When it comes to Finnegans Wake, the careful framing of every phrase is an extremely difficult task because so many of Joyce’s words and phrases have multiple and, at times, opposite meanings. For example, let’s have a look at the words laughtears (FW 15.09 ) and funferall (FW 111.15 ). Paulo Rónai affirms that the word exists only inside the phrase, and its meaning depends on what other elements enter into the composition of the phrase. But in Finnegans Wake the words are mercurial and kaleidoscopic, so that they accept countless possible interpretations, and thus, countless translations.

My own work in translating Finnegans Wake was preceded by many others, works by artists who have made this singular journey not only by reading, but also by translating and adapting Finnegans Wake, among them the American artist John Cage, who created many works based on Finnegans Wake, and the Portuguese poet Ana Hatherly, who wrote 23 variations/poems over phrases, fragments and words from the Wake, published in the book Joyciana: Anaviva Plurilida.

In addition, when I began my translation of Finnegans Wake, a translation of the entire text by Donaldo Schüler had been published in Brazil in five volumes between 1999 and 2004. Much earlier, Haroldo and Augusto de Campos had already published Panaroma do Finnegans Wake, a poetic exploration of the book.[4] First published in 1962, the book by the de Campos brothers consists of the translation of a few fragments of the “poem” that reveals “magical moments”, as Augusto de Campos expressed it:

our objective was always to work upon and l polish some of the ‘magical moments’ of the book, and present to the public only those that in our opinion would offer, in Portuguese, a writing equivalent to the high-voltage invention and creativity of the original. A work of concentration. Under this rigorous criterion, what was being proposed as a goal was a fragmentary compact, but a compact made of privileged fragments, ‘epiphanies’ or luminous points – a fine-sieved selection that, even if it does not take account of all the steps of the narrative, could propitiate the reader to a deep dive into the Joycean ‘panaroma of the flowers of speech’, without losing or damaging craft and poeticity (21).

Influenced and inspired by the experiences mentioned above, and also by the theory of Francesco Careri, who affirms that spaces often present a nature that still has to be understood and filled with meanings, in 2014, almost twenty years after my first reading of Finnegans Wake, I returned to my walks through the book. In search for those “meanings,” many times I got lost in the reading. I always remembered Walter Benjamin, who said that to know how to orient oneself in a city doesn’t mean a lot. To get lost in a city, though, like someone gets lost in a forest, requires instruction,[5] a rule that I found in the vast bibliography on the Joycean poem in prose.

But, according to Careri, to get lost is also terrifying, because between us and the space there exists not only a a controlling relation to the domain, but also the possibility of that space dominating us . Hence the need to create and recreate reference points in that space. Careri affirms that if mankind during a period may have used the trails that the seasonal migrations of animals opened through the vegetation, it is probable that they themselves in a certain epoch started to open new trails. As a reader of Finnegans Wake, I used the trails left by other scholars and translators; they were my guides, experts who knew how to move through the twilight zone and work under contract, like the “coyotes” who guide illegal immigrants across the frontiers (9).

After several readings I began to perceive some recognizable signs of ever-increasing stability in the Joycean landscape. This way the multidimensional space of the book gradually transformed itself into a more ordered space with some reference points, menhirs constructed by Joyce himself, and others imagined or constructed by myself.

The common characteristic of these menhirs is that their presence, as Careri says, calls upon the attention of the wayfarer, communicating the presence of singular facts and giving him information about the surrounding terrains. I was guided by the names that indicate the members of the Earwicker family and by the names of those in dialogue with them. My other menhirs were the natural elements – river, mountain, cloud – since each of these elements represents one of the Earwickers: Anna Livia, HCE and Issy, respectively. Then I decided to cut through the book and create a new path by choosing fragments from all the chapters that, united, would form a narrative thread, one of the many that exist in Finnegans Wake. This cut, with my respective Portuguese translation – or rather a translation that emphasizes the Portuguese language, seeing that I also use other languages – was published in Brazil in 2018.[6] The 628 pages of the original book were condensed into 73 pages, an very difficult task n terms of what to cut and what to highlight, not to mention that such cutting is, in a way, incompatible with Joyce’s propensity to work with excess.[7] I’d like to add that because of the cut I made through the Joycean text, I sometimes had to change the punctuation of the original text, adding a period or a comma to a phrase where Joyce didn’t.

The Work in Progress: Translation

Let’s take a closer look at the Portuguese translation examining the following examples: “Hag Chivychas Eve, in prefall paradise peace by following his plough for rootles in the rere garden of mobhouse” (FW 30, 14/15/16). The garden could belong to a madhouse (“hospício”), or it could be understood as a beer garden (mug house).[8] Joyce’s “mobhouse” could be read as house of the people, the mafia or the rabble. Given all these possible interpretations, my solution for translating “mobhouse” into Portuguese was “hauspício”, a word composed of the German word “haus” and “auspício,” or “an omen,” whether good or bad. Still, “hauspício” sounds just like “hospício” (“madhouse”).

The word “mobhouse” has several meanings in English, and so has its Portuguese counterpart.

Donaldo Schüler translated “mobhouse” as “casa dos loucos” (madhouse), and didn’t attempt to create a neologism or a portmanteu word. In this particular case the translation doesn’t explore the ambiguity of Joyce’s word.

Another example [FW 62, 11/12]. “The wastobe land, a lottuse land, a luctuous land, emeraldilluim.” The original brings out the alliterations on L. Being unable to maintain the alliterations in Portuguese, I opted for another poetic resource, rhymes ending with “-ada”: “A terra dessoulada, uma terra alucinada, uma terra enlutada, esmeraldíle.” “Dessoulada” is without a soul, something that approaches the “wastobe”, since there could be no being without a soul. “Lottuse” would have something to do with the lotus that seduces the mariners with a kind of hallucination in Homer, and is here transformed into “alucinada” (mentally deranged). “Luctuous” (mournful) was translated as. “enlutada” (in mourning) “Emeraldilluim”, suggestive of the emerald, idyllic iisland, was translate as “esmeraldíle”, reminding of the emerald isle, Ireland, but the word sounds just as strange in Portuguese, “ile” (island) being a French word.

Donaldo Schüler translated the same phrase as ”A terra desolada, a terra do lotus, a terra do luto emerald-illion. Thus he maintained the alliteration in “a terra do lotus, a terra do luto”. “A terra desolada” is the Portuguese title of T.S. Eliot’s poem, “The Waste Land”.

Illion would suggest the Greek word for Troy, and thus the Iliad, as if we were in the Irish Iliad.

Brazilian translator, Paulo Henriques Britto, author of A tradução literária, in a dialogue with Roland Barthes’ theory of “the death of the author,” examines more closely the questioning of the presupposition that there is a meaning in the original to which the translator should be true. The argument is that it is impossible to get access to the unique meaning of the original text, even if there is in fact an original text, seeing that texts allow multiple readings, nor can you get access to the author’s intentions in writing the text – the author could be moved by unconscious impulses, and therefore he himself may not know his intention. Thus, the very idea of fidelity to the original falls to the ground; there is no stable meaning in the original to be true to … .[9] Finnegans Wake carries this textual instability to the limits, and, being a plurilingual book, it destabilizes the reader’s experience. In chapter VIII, for example, we read the following phrase: “the birthday gifts they dreamt they gabe her […]” (FW 209, 28). A German-speaking person would detect a “poison” in the word “gifts” (“Gift”, plural “Gifte”), in addition to the English “present/gift.” Changing “present” to “poison,” influences the phrases that follow: they gain a totally opposite and even ironic meaning: after all, it is really difficult to know if it is, indeed, a present to receive “a cough and a rattle and wildrose cheeks for poor Piccolina Petite MacFarlane” (FW 210, 9,10). Moreover, “gabe” could also be read as a German word: “gab”, vb., past tense of “geben”, to give; Gabe, noun: gift / present, alms.

In my book Para ler Finnegans Wake de James Joyce[10], where I translate chapter VIII in its entirety , I didn’t succeed in maintaining the possible ambiguity of the word “gifts” in the translation, I translated it as “presentes”, still I translated “gabe” as “donsdados”, a portmanteau word formed from “don” (gift in English and Gabe in German) and “dado” (given) and the sound approaches the word “doados” (donated): “os presentes de aniversário com os quais eles sonharam foram donsdados por ela...”

Schüler translated the same phrase in the following manner: “deram-lhes os presentes sonhados”. Schüler seems to have condensed the phrase. And the presents are given to them by themselves.

The process of translating presented multiple problems; indeed, to work with losses and gains, or more losses than gains, is the reality that confronts the translator of Finnegans Wake. My idea of translation is well captured in a catchphrase from the Wake: by translating “immerges a mirage in a merror” (FW 310, 24) as “emerge numa miragem espelho”,[11] I emphasized the fact that “immerge” means “imergir” (“to immerse”), not “emergir” (“to emerge”) . Translation always makes something new emerge from the text and brings to light aspects of interpretation, for we cannot translate without interpreting. To translate Finnegans Wake means working with interpretations. Choosing one interpretation and making it emerge, we often end up obscuring others. Translation also makes the text emerge as a mirage, because the original text is and is not there.

The short story “The Lady in the Looking-Glass: A Reflection”[12], by Virginia Woolf, could be read as a reflection upon the work of translating, for if we consider the translation as the image of the text reflected in a mirror, we can in a certain way compare the reader of a translated text to the narrator of the story in which, “From the depths of the sofa [...] one could see reflected in the Italian glass not only the marble-topped table opposite, but a stretch of the garden beyond. One could see a long grass path leading between banks of tall flowers until, slicing off an angle, the gold rim cut it off”. One question arises from this excerpt of Woolfean fiction: Would the translated text also be framed with a golden rim so that something always escapes it and the reader doesn’t know what lies beyond the bend? Here I refer primarily to creative texts, since I ask myself whether the translation could take account of all the images in the original text. Will that which lies beyond the bend always remain an enigma for the reader of the translation?

If it’s an enigma, I could affirm that it contains advantages that the translator should exploit. In my mind, it wouldn’t do for the translator to reveal the mystery, for in doing so, he would initiate his own tragedy, just as Oedipus initiated his. The “amputated” image (the enigma) could allow the reader to imagine and create his own fiction. That is what the narrator in Woolf’s story does. When the character Isabella Tyson disappears, “sliced off by the gilt rim of the looking-glass”, he supposes she went “presumably into the lower garden to pick flowers; or as it seemed more natural to suppose, to pick something light and fantastic and leafy and trailing [...]”.(85) The translation should instigate the reader, not give him the solution to an image that perhaps doesn’t even exist in the original, since a fictional text generally contains innumerable imagetic possibilities.

In the translation of Finnegans Wake, “a poem in prose,” the idea of the mirage is even more evident. Incidentally, it is widely believed that it is impossible to translate poetry. For example, Robert Frost, as cited by Paulo Henriques Britto, was of the opinion that poetry was something that got lost in translation; but to Britto, “it is possible to translate poetry, but in reality all translations are failures; poetry cannot (or should not) be properly translated, but recreated, or imitated, or paraphrased, or ‘transpoetized’”[13]. Britto’s idea on the translation of poetry echoes Haroldo de Campos’ concept of “transcreation”, a term applied to creative translation of texts that result in “a parallel creation, autonomous, however “reciprocative”. The more difficulties the text presents, the more “recreatable” it is, the more seductive as an open possibility for recreation”[14].

In my own translation process, I treated Finnegans Wake as, indeed, a poem, since its sonority and rhythm are just as important as its content. Joyce plays with words, creates neologisms and portmanteaux. I tried to preserve these characteristics and they could only be maintained by recreating them in Portuguese. For example, I translated “epistolear” (FW 38, 22) – epistle plus ear – as “epistolírio” (or in English – epistolily) (Amarante 35), thus transferring Joyce’s hearing to the eyes and the nose that smells the lily. Joyce writes “that gossiple so delivered in his epistolear”. In my translation, “que as fofocas assim entregues no seu epistolírio”. If the gossiple in the original reached the ears by way of epistles, in my translation it reaches the lilies by way of epistles. Ironically, gossip, gospel, “gossiple”, in my translation smells like flowers.

Donaldo Schüler uses the word “epistolário”, usual in Portuguese, meaning an anthology, a collection of epistles, para “epistolear”.

Another example: I translated “O here here how” (FW 4, 11) – “here” sounds just like “hear”, or “escutar” in Portuguese – as “O is cute is cute como…”(Amarante 21), relying upon a happy coincidence, that when the English “is cute” (in Portuguese - “é uma gracinha”, or “s/he is a cutie/sweetie”) is read out aloud, it sounds like the Portuguese word “escute”, meaning “listen”. As is well known, Joyce recommended that his book be read aloud. What changes in Joyce’s phrase when we render “here here” as “is cute is cute” is the tone of the whole phrase, which “is cute” makes, in my view, more ironic: “O here here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationist ...” (FW 4, 11/12). If we change “O here here” to “O is cute is cute how […]” it seems like the sentence was being told to a child… I could be wrong.

The same sentence was translated by Schüler as “Oh, como cá cá […]”. In Portuguese “Cá” means here.

According to Umberto Eco, translating Joyce is an utterly particular case of radical re-elaboration[15]. Eco reaches this conclusion after having analyzed translations of parts of Finnegans Wake in which Joyce himself took part. He points out that in the French and Italian translations in which Joyce participated, the author re-established the fundamental principle that rules Finnegans Wake, the principle of the “pun”, of the “mot-valise”, and didn’t hesitate to rewrite, to radically reconceive the text itself. My translation of fragments of Finnegans Wake took into account not only Eco’s considerations but also those of Haroldo de Campos and Paulo Henriques Britto, so that I, too, promoted radical re-elaborations like the ones already mentioned, as did others that I will cite subsequently.

The fourth chapter of Finnegans Wake that speaks of the death of H.C.E. and his pompous funeral, commences with the following sentence: “As the lion in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his Nile [...]” (FW 75, 1/2). In this complex phrase, the word “teargarten” is of interest: it can be read as a “garden of tears’” if we think in English, or as Tiergarten, zoological garden, if we think in German. I translated it as “jazigológico” (Amarante 49) because its sonority reminds one of “jardim zoológico”, so my translation leans towards the German language alluded to by Joyce. But “jazigo” means “sepulchre” in Portuguese, which connotes the funeral and tears, and thus I get closer to the meaning that Joyce’s word also carries.

Some words can be difficult to translate because they may carry the reader’s affectivity. For me, this was the case with “lovesoftfun” (FW 607, 16) that I translated as “mundodiversimenso” (Amarante 157). My translation is closer to how the word sounds when read aloud, “lots of fun”, which in Portuguese is “muito divertimento”. These two words are the basis of my portmanteau, “mundodiversimenso”, that sounds like “muito divertimento”, and where actually three words can be identified: “mundo” (world), “diverso” (diverse) and “imenso” (huge). Its semantic range diverges from the Joycean word, which combines “love”, “soft” and “fun”. How does the phrase come out in Portuguese? The “soft love and fun at the wake” of Finnegan is transformed into a “world diverse and immense at the Revealing” (“wake” in Port. is “velório”, which resonates with “revelar”, meaning “reveal” of Finnegan. The “diverse and immense world” can be seen as the readers of Joyce’s book, who represent all nations and languages and idioms that Joyce included in his plurilingual text.

Donaldo Schüler translated “lovesoftfun” as “ delícias o amor” (delights the love), two quite common words in the Portuguese language. There are cases where my translation makes use of the English words used by Joyce, for example, “guessmasque” (FW 603, 3), that I translated as “máscara de guess” (Amarante 157), because “guess” sounds like “gas” in Portuguese, and by maintaining the word in English, I created a mixture of languages that is recurrent in the book.

Schüler translated the same word as “máscara de conjeturas” (conjecturemask).

There are moments, however, where I created neologisms that don’t exist in the original. This happens, for example, in the phrase, “The original document was in what is known as Hanno O’Nonhanno’s unbrookable script, that is to say, it showed no signs of punctuation of any sort” (FW 123, 32/33), translated as “O Dokommento original estava no que é conhecido como o inquebrável script de Hanno O’ Nonhanno, isso queer dizer, que não mostrava nenhum signal de punctuation dimaneira ninhouma” (Amarante 63). In the original text, the phrase is written in a relatively clear English, almost without any neologisms/portmanteaux. However, it is accompanied by other phrases that present neologisms and words in different languages that end up destabilizing Joyce’s apparently clear phrase quoted above. Take it out of this context, as I did in Finnegans Wake (por um fio), and it loses its potential instability. Therefore, I incorporated neologisms that don’t exist in the original phrase: “document” was transformed into “Dokomment”’ that would allude to the German noun Dokument (keeping in mind the fact that German nouns always begin with a capital letter), and the German verb “kommen” (to come). Finally, “Dokument” evokes both the Portuguese and the English word “document”. I kept the English word “punctutation”, because it is similar to the Portuguese “pontuação”. Joyce’s phrase “that is to say” became in my translation “isso queer dizer” (where the standard phrase would be “isso quer dizer”). “Quer” (from the verb “querer”, to want) is visually similar to “queer” in English where it resonates with much richer semantic range. The phrase “... of any sort” (in standard Portuguese, “de maneira nenhuma”), was translated into Portuguese as “dimaneira ninhouma”. In this phrase I created two neologisms: “dimaneira” for “de maneira”, that may echo the French word “dimanche”, and “ninhouma” for “nenhuma”, that incorporates the words “ninho” (nest) and “uma” (one), remembering that the “original document” – the letter – was “brooded on” by a hen and could lie in a “nest” built on a heap of garbage. This way I tried to evoke the instability that the reading of the original phrase provides to readers of the whole text, an instability that would otherwise be absent from my abbreviated text.

Schüler makes use of a few neologisms like “cognocia” (conhecer plus cognição) for “known” , “mestrava” (mestre plus mostrava) for “showed”; and “pantuação” for “punctuation”.

But an important question arises: to what degree does a “radical re-elaboration” modify the character of the original text?

According to Alberto Manguel, even though a text changes when it moves from one language to another, it remains in essence the same. In other words, a text can acquire different identities in different idioms, a process in which each constituent part is discarded and substituted with something else: vocabulary, syntax, grammar, music, as well as historical and emotional characteristics. Manguel asks himself: But how can these ever-shifting identities maintain themselves as one unique identity? The writer believes that this is the great mystery and cites an ancient philosophical enigma that asks if a person who has had every part of his body substituted by artificial organs and limbs continues being the same person. In which of our members resides our identity? The same thought could apply to a literary text or a poem. In which element of the poem resides the poem? In this sense: what degree of identity with the original can a translation claim?[16]

In the specific case of Finnegans Wake, wouldn’t its translation, as a “radical re-elaboration”, in a certain sense be a “disguise” that, in Manguel’s words, allows the text to communicate with those outside its circle, like the simple, rural clothing worn by the caliph Harun al-Rashid allowed him to mix with common persons of the people? Or would this translation be a usurpation like the one perpetrated by the servant girl in the tale of Falada, the talking horse, where she took the place of her mistress and unduly married the prince?[17]

I believe that translation, at least my own, as judged by what I’ve presented above, is a case of manipulation as seen by Cyril Aslanov, who uses the term in a sense that is “if not positive, at least not necessarily negative, the sense you find, for example, in terms like ‘compounding pharmacy’ or, closer to modern categories, ‘genetical manipulation’. So the manipulative translator finds himself in a linguistic laboratory located in the no-man’s-land between the source-language and the target-text[18], a place where the public cannot penetrate. Aslanov concludes that translators are “obliged to invent subterfuges not to remain for too long in that underground where day and night are hard to distinguish and the fatigue sometimes provokes confusion between the languages”.[19] In this case, “the felix culpa of the translator is almost inevitable when the pragmatic and extralinguistic dimension permits that the message be received in the best possible conditions”.[20]

The truth is, as Aslanov affirms, that the translator always exists in this nebulous space, in other words, “between the imperative of absolute fidelity that characterizes translations of religious or juridical texts and the search for rhetorical and poetical effects [...]”[21], that in the case of Finnegans Wake are fundamental.

According to the scholar, there’s a freedom connected to the translating work, for “even when the translator is at the limit imposed by deontology, there are so many options, so many roads (however winding) on the trajectory leading from one language to another, that often the problem of the translator is just the indecision in front of too many different options.” Thus even the most literal translation possible leaves a margin of creativity to the translator.[22]

Indeed, as Dominique Nédellec says, citing Brice Matthieussent, to be a good translator you need to be a language acrobat, to be flexible in the handling of words. Embarrassing situations that demand a bit of agility always arise.[23] On the other hand, reminds us Nédellec, these acrobatics could cause the translator to be seen as a bluff, an impostor, a chameleon, a fox or a scape-goat.[24] Thus the translator finds himself on a tightrope, especially the translator of Finnegans Wake.

I conclude with Paul Rónai, for whom the teaching of translation can only start from concrete examples and should have as an aim, above all, to free the mind of the translator and maintain it in a state of alertness so that it can remember precedents and, if such is the case, invent new solutions. These problems get even more complicated when the text to be translated is of a literary character. Then the translator should apply his technical knowledge to achieve effects of art and provoke aesthetic emotions.[25]


Amarante, Dirce. Para ler Finnegans Wake de James Joyce. São Paulo: Iluminuras: 2009.

Aslanov, Cyril. A tradução como manipulação. Translated by Casa Guilherme de Almeida. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2015.

Benjamin, Walter. Rua de mão única: obras escolhidas. Volume II. Translated by Rubens Rodrigues Torres Filho and José Carlos Martins Barbosa. São Paulo: Editora Brasiliense, 2000.

Britto, Paulo Henriques. A tradução literária. Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira, 2012.

Burges, Anthony. A Shorter Finnegans Wake. New York: Viking Press, 1967.

Campos, Haroldo de. Da transcriação poética e semiótica da operação tradutora. Belo Horizonte: FALE/UFMG, 2011.

Campos, Augusto de and Campos, Haroldo de. Panaroma do Finnegans Wake. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2001, p. 21.

Careri, Francesco. Walkscapes: o caminhar como prática estética. Translated by Frederico Bonaldo. São Paulo: Editorial G. Gili, 2013.

Eco, Umberto. Quase a mesma coisa. Translated by Eliana Aguiar. Rio de Janeiro: Record, 2007.

Joyce, James. Finnegans Wake (por um fio). Org. and Trans.: Dirce Waltrick do Amarante. São Paulo. Iluminuras: 2018.

______________. Finnegans Wake/Finnicius Revém. Translated by Donaldo Schüler. Porto Alegre: Ateliê Editorial, 1999. v. 1. Cap.1.

______________. Finnegans Wake/Finnicius Revém. Translated by Donaldo Schüler. Porto Alegre: Ateliê Editorial, 2000. v. 2. Cap. 2-4.

______________. Finnegans Wake/Finnicius Revém. Translated by Donaldo Schüler. Porto Alegre: Ateliê Editorial, 2001. v. 3.Cap. 5-8.

______________. Finnegans Wake/Finnicius Revém. Translated by Donaldo Schüler. Porto Alegre: Ateliê Editorial, 2002. v. 4. Cap. 9-12.

______________. Finnegans Wake/Finnicius Revém. Translated by Donaldo Schüler. Porto Alegre: Ateliê Editorial, 2003.v. 5. Cap. 13-17.

Manguel, Alberto. Uma história natural da curiosidade. Translated by Paulo Geiger. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras, 2016.

Nédellec, Dominique. Tradutores, funâmbulos e outros nefelibatas. Translated by Fernando Scheibe. Florianópolis: Editora Cultura e Barbária, 2015.

Ronái, Paulo. A tradução vivida. Rio de Janeiro: José Oympio, 2012.

Dirce Waltrick do Amarante, professor of Post-Graduate Translation Studies at the Federal University of Santa Catarina. On Joyce’s work she has published Para ler Finnegans Wake de James Joyce and James Joyce e seus tradutores. She has translated Os gatos de Copenhague, O gato e o diabo and Finnegans Wake (por um fio). Co-organized with Sérgio Medeiros De santos e sábios (translations of essays by James Joyce). Co-translated with Sérgio Medeiros Cartas a Nora.

[1] Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar. Plath’s narrator comments on her reading of Finnegans Wake. [2]See Francesco Careri. Walkscapes: o caminhar como prática estética (São Paulo: Editorial G. Gili, 2013) [3] See Paulo Rónai, A tradução vivida (Rio de Janeiro: José Olímpio, 2012), 37 (my translation in all Rónai). [4]See Augusto de Campos e Haroldo de Campos. Panaroma do Finnegans Wake (São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2001, 21. [5] Walter Benjamin. Rua de mão única: obras escolhidas. Volume II. São Paulo: Editora Brasiliense, 2000, p. 73 (my translation). [6] Joyce: Finnegans Wake (por um fio). Ed. and Trans. Dirce Waltrick do Amarante (São Paulo: lluminuras, 2018). [7] Anthony Burgess, who published a condensed version of the book in 1967 by reducing it to a third of its original size, also found the process of cutting down painful and difficult. See Anthony Burges, A Shorter Finnegans Wake (New York: Viking Press, 1967). [8] Glosses of Finnegans Wake. Available at <>. Accessed on May 29, 2018 [9] See Paulo Henriques Britto. A tradução literária (Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira, 2012), my translation. [10] This sentence was not included in Finnegans Wake (por um fio). [11] James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (por um fio), 111. [12] [13] Quoted in Britto, op. cit., p. 119, my translation. [14] Haroldo de Campos. Da transcriação poética e semiótica da operação tradutora (Belo Horizonte: FALE/UFMG, 2011), p. 34 (my translation). [15] Umberto Eco, Quase a mesma coisa. Translated by Eliana Aguiar. (Rio de Janeiro: Record, 2007), 358. [16], Manguel, op. cit., p. 96, my translation. [17], Manguel, op. cit., p. 96. my translation. [18] Cyril Aslanov. A tradução como manipulação (São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2015), p. 16, my translation. [19] ASLANOV op. cit., p. 15. [20] ASLANOV op. cit., p. 17. [21] ASLANOV op. cit., p.16. [22] ASLANOV op. cit., p.16. [23] Dominique Nédellec Tradutores, funâmbulos e outros nefelibatas. Trans. from the French by Fernando Scheibe (Florianópolis: Editora Cultura e Barbária, 2015), p. 11. [24] NÉDELLEC op. cit., p. 11. [25] RÓNAI, op. cit., p. 23.

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