Translation is entirely mysterious. Increasingly I have felt that the art of writing is itself translating, or more like translating than it is like anything else. What is the other text, the original? I have no answer. I suppose it is the source, the deep sea where ideas swim, and one catches them in nets of words and swings them shining into the boat. . . where in this metaphor they die and get canned and eaten in sandwiches.
Normally our season is seven weeks in the Drama Theatre and four weeks in the Opera Theater.