Splash No. 236 - Translation
Translation
Looking back at the last few books I’ve read, I noticed that I’ve read a few Japanese novels recently, such as Moshi Moshi by Banana Yoshimoto and Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami. I enjoy the way that Japanese literature reads — it seems to move at a different pace, sometimes with sentences moving in a quick, matter-of-fact way. Or at least I think so. I wonder if this literature actually sounds like this or whether this is just the most common style translators have chosen to represent this work. I know nothing about Japanese and most literature by Japanese authors was written in Japanese and translated by somebody. But who are those somebodies? Moshi Moshi was nominated for an award for “Best Translated Book” but you can barely see the translator’s name on the cove, Strange Weather in Tokyo doesn’t even have the translator’s name on the cover.
What would these works be to me without the work of the translator? An indecipherable set characters I could never understand, beyond my comprehension and completely inaccessible. In poetry, translation is often seen as an artistic act, nearly a collaboration in the recreation of a work. Direct translations of poetry lose the essence of the work because the specific eccentricities of a given language are a direct part of the experience of a poem. I remember reading Pablo Neruda’s “Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche” in Spanish class with the English translation right next to it, as literal as could be. Even though I knew next to nothing about poetry, I was certain of one thing — the English translation couldn’t hold a candle to the original.
Despite the fact that Hindi was my first language, I’m no longer fluent and can no longer read it. There’s a theory in linguistics called linguistic relativity, which suggests that the languages we speak and use can strongly influence the way that we think and has strong ties to culture. I wonder if the ways that I would perceive my homeland and my culture would be different if I understood the language better — perhaps some things would make more sense and the culture I live in would make less sense.
Currently, I must face the fact that my entire perception and interpretation of my family’s culture must come through a translation. I watch Hindi movies with English subtitles, and only some of the jokes make sense to me, the rest rendered unfunny or incomprehensible by the language difference. When I’ve tried to read translated Punjabi poetry, I can’t help but wonder — is this what the poetry said, or simply the words of the translator?
But maybe that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe the translator’s knowledge of another language has transformed their brain enough to let them see the world anew. Maybe every new word of Punjabi slowly filled their brain until they dreamed in it and they could hear a dhol and see the mustard fields in their sleep. Maybe they can offer me a glimpse into a world that I’ve never known, tearing down the boundaries that separate by creating brand new.
Thank goodness for the translators. The world would be a lot smaller without them.
Drops of the Week
PLAYLIST - Rostam: 2022 Favorites - been shuffling Rostam's top songs of 2022
ARTICLE - "Translation and the Family of Things" by Crystal Hana Kim - article about the personal experience of translating someone you love's poetry
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Bonne journée,
Nikhil