My cousin, a music producer, told me: sure it’s possible to polish a turd. First you bake it, then lacquer it.

I reflect on these words as I attempt to language polish the output of Google translate. I wonder what subtle principles of linguistics and aesthetics — principles of which we as sentient language speakers are only dimly aware — are being violated by this technological triumph. By what gossamer threads is poetic sensibility suspended, that Google translate can so crassly demolish it? And why, oh why, is it so hard to figure out the intended sense?

Or, as Google translate would have it:

I reflect on these words that I try to Polish language of the release of Google Translate. I wonder what are the subtle principles of linguistics and aesthetics – principles which we, the speakers of the language sensitive are only vaguely aware – are violated by this triumph of technology. As the son of the Virgin is a poetic sensibility suspended, that Google can translate roughly to demolish it? And why, oh why is it so difficult to understand the meaning?

The trouble is: that’s not too bad. I had to run it backwards and forwards through French to mangle it this much. And it is precisely the fact that it is not too bad that makes it so dreadfully dangerous. It’s fine — brilliant — for translating functional language; so why not jettison all those parts of language that are not functional?