Who Were the Sea Peoples?

I am reading Jhumpa Lahiri's dual-language book, In Other Words , and once again find myself getting angry with the translator. (Ann Goldstein in this case.) Consider: * Lahiri's husband finds an ad for an Italian teacher "per strada, nel nostro quartiere a Brooklyn." Goldstein renders this, "in our neighborhood, in Brooklyn." What happened to the "strada" (street) here? Lahiri clearly intends to convey that her husband found the notice on the street in their neighborhood. For whatever reason, Goldstein finds that bit of information gratuitous, and simply cuts it out, as though she were the editor of the book, instead of its translator. (It probably is not coincidental that her full time job is as an editor!) * Lahiri creates a metaphor for her uncovering new Italian words to learn: "ogni giorno entro in un bosco con un cestino in mano." Goldstein translates this: "every day I go into the woods carrying a basket." But La...

Google Translate can (or it least can make a decent effort to) detect your "From" language when you do a translation. So you can find choose "Detect" as the "From" option and "English" as the "To" option, and see what it can make of some random bit of text from off of the Internet. I typed in some Welsh from my doctoral diploma, and the thing immediately detected it was Welsh, and got the translation largely correct. Not bad. But what would really impress me is if Google Translate could detect the "To" language: I type in a bit of English, and it figures out which of the world's 6000 languages I want it translated to.

Solo e pensoso i più deserti campi vo misurando a passi tardi e lenti, e gl'occhi porto per fuggir intenti dove vestigio human l'arena stampi. Altro schermo non trovo che mi scampi dal manifesto accorger de le genti, perché ne gl'atti d'allegrezza spenti di fuor si legge com' io dentr'avampi. Sì ch'io mi cred' homai che monti e piagge e fiumi e selve sappian di che tempre sia la mia vita, ch'è celata altrui, ma pur sì aspre vie né si selvagge cercar non so, ch'Amor non venga sempre ragionando con meco, et io con lui. My translation: Alone and thoughtful, the deserted fields I measure with steps tardy and slow And with my eyes I scan, intent to flee Wherever vestiges of humanity mark the scene I find no other route to escape From the oppressive attention of people; Because in my acts, spent of joy, From outside one can read how inside I blaze Yes I believe that now the mountains and shores And rivers and woods know of w...