On Dante Alighieri's 'Paradiso,' a new translation by Mary Jo Bang | Metaglossia: The Translation World | Scoop.it

On Dante Alighieri’s ‘Paradiso,’ a new translation by Mary Jo Bang
Matthew NisinsonNovember 20, 2025


Mary Jo Bang’s translation of Dante Allighieri’s Paradiso by Copper Canyon Press, 2025 displays the enduring power of this classic work of Western literature. For such an old text, a contemporary reader might be surprised by Paradiso’s continuing relevance. Dante wrote at a time of intense political strife characterized by war, institutional corruption, and civil conflict. Dante’s Paradiso, imagining a better world through the lens of divine love, was written by a man exiled from his beloved home city, and worried that the powerful were destroying his beloved  homeland. While Dante’s specific 14th century conflicts may not always resonate, his efforts to conceive a better world built on sincere goodness resonate—when we think earnestly about what makes a good person, it helps us to be better. Paradiso is a rich text to explore, but foremost, it’s a beautiful poem, written by a skillful poet and thinker, conveyed in translation by Mary Jo Bang, another excellent poet, with a rich appreciation for Dante’s work and a persuasive belief in Dante’s continued relevance.


Translating a book like Paradiso, enshrined in many literary canons, is different from producing the first English translation of contemporary writing. In the notes, Bang lists 15 different prior translations of Paradiso into English, from as long ago as 1819 to as recent as 2008. Retranslations necessarily react to and build upon the translations that came before them, the position the source text occupies in our culture, and the difference between contemporary and original audiences. The translator has to convey the source material to a new audience in a manner worthy of source and audience. Translation is not a perfect one-to-one correspondence of source language and translated text. Translation is art. Sawako Nakayasu conveys the nature of this art in her long poem Say Translation Is Art, Ugly Duckling Presse 2020. Translations can take many forms and approaches, Bang’s approach calls to mind Nakayasu’s passage:


Say what is the largest unit of translation, say poem, say
book, say all the books, say everything they ever wrote,
say everything they never wrote, have yet to write, say
the transit between everything they ever wrote, or say
something larger, more vast.


Bang demonstrates a deep appreciation for the contradictions and balancings of translation, consistent with Dante’s focus on approachability for the reader. Bang’s knowledge of Dante guides and enriches her translation. As she explains in her note on the translation, Dante deliberately chose not to use Latin, the poetic language of his era. Latin “would overpower whatever was being said and make it seem cold and remote.” Instead, Dante chose to use “the language that everyone learns effortlessly as a child because he wanted as many people as possible to read his poem—even women, he said. Thirdly, he wanted the intimacy, familiarity, and warmth that are innate in the language with which one speaks to family and friends.” Bang’s translation honors Dante’s goal to support a broad readership, while her detailed notes convey the depth of scholarship and understanding that position her to do so. In form, Bang reflects Dante’s complex rhyme scheme, terza rima, with a three line free verse stanza that reflects the structure without contorting the English language into an awkward rhyme scheme that flows more naturally in Dante’s Italian. 


Bang’s notes appear at the end of each canto, but the reader need not turn to them to appreciate the poem. If one turns to the notes, they enrich the experience of the text. Bang is transparent about her process and choices as translator, and committed to making available the broader context for readers interested in how Dante’s religious, literary, and historical references, plus his life and contemporaries, suffuse the text. For example, in Canto VI, Justinian tells Dante about the divine eagle from its origins as symbol of ancient Rome to its current role as papal standard. Through this eagle symbol the legitimacy of divine and worldly institutions extend backwards and forwards in time, reinforcing each other. But Justinian warns it is unrightfully used and opposed by factions in Dante’s Italy:


And you know what it did, from the wronged


Sabine women to the grief of Lucretia, defeating


The nearby nations over the reign of seven kings.


You know what it did when it was carried


By illustrious Romans against Brennus, against


Pyrrhus, and other principalities and districts,


After which Torquatus and Quinctus, called Curly


Locks for his wet-mop hair, and the Decii and Fabii


Acquired fame—gladly, I’ll keep it with mine—


Justinian’s Roman history continues to Dante’s present, with Bang’s endnotes to Canto VI providing context on each historical figure and event referenced. Having completed his litany, Justinian contrasts the noble past with the present’s unworthy factions:


Now you can judge for yourself the offenses


Of those same people I’ve accused above,


Which have caused all your suffering.


One group pits the gold-fleur-de-lis


Against the official symbol, the other usurps it


For their party—it’s hard to know which is worse.


(from Canto VI)


Dante, through Justinian, calls out Italian factions for how their focus on worldly honor and fame lead them astray from the true path, weakeningThe Holy Roman Empire and the Church, and harming the people who depend on these institutions. 


For all he moralizes about others’ sins, Dante errs too. He may write about saints but he isn’t one himself. His struggles with the ethical quandaries forced on him by the attempt to portray heaven have allowed generations of readers to find value wrestling with the text. One need not share Dante’s Catholicism, or Christianity, to benefit from his effort. The unfairness that so many people are excluded from heaven merely because they lived in circumstances where they could not know about Christianity, by distance or time, troubled Dante. This subject recurs throughout Paradiso, and while Dante does not resolve the issue clearly, he approaches the subject from a sincere depth of care. And for all that Dante accepts that belief in Christ is essential to get to heaven (See e.g., Canto XIX vv103-105), Paradiso nonetheless includes a significant number of preChristian figures among heaven’s residents. As Bang points out in her endnote to Dante’s lines about Ripheus the Trojan’s inclusion in heaven, Dante’s “implication is that, through his righteousness, Ripheus must have intuited God’s grace and trusted that He would provide a means for his salvation.” It struck me as a potentially heretical notion for Dante that a person’s goodness is sufficient, even without Christianity. And poor Virgil, stuck in Limbo!


Bang writes that translating Dante “helps me to see the world from a new and much more empathetic perspective.” Conveying some of her motivation moving in line with his.


Consider, Reader, if what’s beginning here


Didn’t go any further, how you’d be left


With an anguished craving to know more,


And you’ll appreciate for yourself how much


I wanted to find out about their situation


As soon as they appeared before my eyes.


(from Canto V)


This passage describes fictional Dante’s motive to learn more. Bang in her notes points out that some scholars say that, by this direct address to the reader, Dante “heightens the empathic relationship between reader and text.” This relationship, and the passage’s impact, is further heightened because it describes the authorial Dante’s intention in writing The Divine Comedy. By speaking directly to the reader, Dante invites us to collaborate in this project. Bang’s translation, notes, and introduction continue this ongoing collaboration. The reader is asked to meaningfully engage with Dante’s successes and failures, not passively accept his conclusions.


One flaw that stood out to me, and Bang, was Dante’s struggle with the concept of predestination, characterized both by the religious doctrinal question (Bang’s focus), and Dante’s historical approach. It’s an easy trap to see one’s present as the natural and necessary end goal of all that came before it. In Paradiso Dante interprets past events by how they connect and justify his present. For example, in the passage from Canto VI, cited above, Dante’s Justinian explains Roman history and castigates the factional conflicts of Dante’s Italy. A modern reader will be accustomed to a version of Roman history that treats a succession of global hegemonies as a natural process, falling into a similar trap.


As a contemporary, Jewish reader, I was struck when Dante, speaking of the crucifixion in Canto VII, says “That one death suited God and the Sanhedrin; / With it, the earth shook and Heaven opened.” With the crucifixion as crux of Dante’s history, all that came before was always leading to it and an inevitable Jewish culpability. In her note to these lines, Bang connects this scene to Inferno and Dante’s encounter with “Caiaphas, the Roman-appointed priest who chaired the Sanhedrin (Jewish Council), explaining that Caiaphas argued that if Jesus were perceived as a Jewish political threat by the Romans, all the Jews might suffer and, therefore, it was ‘expedient, for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not’ (John 11:50).”


But, Bang continues “However Dante or the Gospels might frame the Crucifixion, Christ was a victim of anti-Jewish violence by Roman Gentiles (non-Jews). The New Testament’s persistence in placing the blame for Christ’s death on the Jews has given rise to centuries of anti-Semitism.” This lapse is easier for Dante to fall into because he already established the Roman Empire as precursor to, and legitimizer for, the Church’s authority. Dante’s Roman Empire cannot simultaneously play the role of villain of the crucifixion. Dante’s error, blaming an imperial power’s actions on the members of a minority group involved, and conflating specific politically powerful people with their entire ethnic group, are common. By connecting the dots and criticizing the conclusion, Bang shows her strength as translator.


It’s challenging to approach a work of this scale. Helpfully, Bang’s introduction acts as paratextual “ladder”— a summarizing prose poem positioning the reader as the Dante of Paradiso. This interpretative scaffolding previews the poem’s ethical problems and formal pressures, and characterizes Bang’s interpretation. The impact is to strengthen Paradiso’s poetry and story, not “spoil” it, as might occur with a text focused on narrative surprise. Disclosure here intensifies, rather than diminishes, the experience of discovery. Bang begins:


“You’re finally nearing the end of the Holy Highway that leads to gladness and joy. This after so many beginnings. It was six days ago that you found yourself in a dark forest, lost and ready to give up. The roman poet Virgil arrived, and the two of you traveled through Hell’s nine circles and up Mount Purgatory’s seven terraces to arrive here, where you are now, standing next to Beatrice, Bice, your childhood love.”


Bang does not hide behind impartial distance, but allows her personality and perspective to come through. She subtly incorporates language from more contemporary sources—showing in the notes how she conveys Dante with nods to Beyoncé, Emily Dickinson, Bob Dylan, Madeleine L’Engle, Whitney Houston, Charles Mingus, The Simpsons, and Jethro Tull, among others. In the first stanza of Canto VIII Bang translates:


The world, when in peril, used to believe, beauty


Queen Venus, moving through the third epicycle,


Radiated love that was crazy and deranged,


This phrasing “crazy and deranged” derives from Beyonce’s lyrics in Crazy in Love. Similarly in Canto XIX she translates “Oh earthly creatures! Oh, minds as thick as a brick!” borrowing from Jethro Tull’s album, Thick as a Brick.


Bang delights in Dante’s use of the rhetorical device hysteron proteron, “a figure of speech in which the last comes first”, noting Dante’s uses of the device in Paradiso. In the first use,  Canto II,  Dante describes with wonder the speed of his arrival with Beatrice in the first celestial layer of heaven, the moon, “In maybe as much time as an arrow lands, / Flies, and the notch lets go of the bow—”. Bang explains that the device  is “used to represent the near simultaneity with which these events take place.” In other notes, Bang links the hysteron proteron to Bob Dylan, and to a Balliol College, Oxford dining club that reversed the order of courses in a meal, and even, per a letter from Graham Greene, hosted an entire “backwards day”, beginning the morning with formal dress and a game of bridge.


Bang’s endnotes often explain the depth of Dante’s meaning and references and how this understanding guided her choices in translation.


Hosanna, Holy Lord of Hosts,


Overlighting with thy brightness


The blessed fires of these kingdoms.


(from Canto VII)


Bang explains, among other things, that she chose “overlighting” to convey Dante’s coinage of a “Latinate neologism, superillustrans”, departing from “double lighting”, used by many other translators of Dante. “Overlighting” because the Latin super means “over” or “above”, and Dante’s Italian separates this from the image of a double light a few lines later. Bang doesn’t call it out, but “overlighting” also produces a more elegant poetic line in English.


Bang’s insight into Dante’s holy guide, Beatrice strengthens the poem. Few readers would be surprised to learn that portraying Beatrice as Dante’s intellectual and spiritual superior and guide has upset certain readers since Dante’s time. Bang sees that Dante chose to portray Beatrice with tremendous respect, not as damsel in distress, but as committed savior, descended from heaven  to instigate his salvation (an interesting parallel descent, perhaps another reason Beatrice upsets some). As Bang explains in her Purgatorio (also excerpted here), Beatrice “is glorious, with a candor that results from a clarity of thought. What looks like heartlessness, or arrogance, is the awareness that if she shows Dante mercy, she’ll jeopardize the outcome. She’s not about to fail. Not Beatrice.”


A translator’s biases can unintentionally influence their work. In another’s hands Beatrice could read as foolish, hyperbolic, or mere mouthpiece for Dante. Bang shows her as a powerful, noble mind, dedicated to doing the right thing, unwilling to soften the truth if it risks her responsibility to her pupil. We see this posture of firm, loving correction even in her first words to Dante in Canto I, telling him they have arrived in heaven:


And began: “You get all mixed up by sticking


With a figment of your imagination, so you don’t


See what you would see if you shook it off.


You’re not, as you believe, on earth.


In truth, lightning escaping its natural place


Never raced so fast as you back to yours.”
At the end, Beatrice and Bang accomplish their missions, Dante journeys through heaven, beholds god, and is returned to share his experience with the rest of us, The Divine Comedy—stark warnings about the consequences of our selfishness and cruelty, promise that if we are good to each other, we will be rewarded. Paradiso is the pinnacle of that argument. Dante died soon after finishing it."


https://therumpus.net/2025/11/20/on-dante-alighieris-paradiso-a-new-translation-by-mary-jo-bang/
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