Higanbana, or spider lilies, photo found at pixabay.com
It’s been a long while since I’ve written for the blog, and my apologies to those who were interested and thought I just wandered away. Yes, I am still studying Portuguese. Yes, my Portuguese has improved thanks to the continued support and effort of people I’ve met along the way, especially Kel.
A few months ago, my heart decided not to play fairly, and I spent a lot of time getting better. For those who may not recall, I have what basically amounts to a heart that decides to skip about and beat as it pleases now and then. It took time, but I’m well. While recovering, I’ve been focused a lot on teaching and writing a book. I hope those who’ve read the blog thus far are doing well, and it’s good to be thinking about saving up for Brazil again as well as focusing on Portuguese again, too.
Because I’m working with second language speakers, I hear sometimes that our intended meanings behind our words is “lost in translation”. Some words and ideas don’t translate well at all between languages since they’re based on the collected experiences a community or nation of people might share culturally. Once in a while I do meet up with a Portuguese word or idea that makes absolutely no sense to my English speaking brain; it’s as though all I know and all I could know is entirely cut off from me, and suddenly nothing on the pages in front of me makes sense in the least. A few of my students have made similar comments to me about English when they encounter a phrase or expression that’s confusing. Last week, a 14 year old (Hello, Mateo!) who is determined to study and do well learning English in school said to me, “Tara, I think crazy people made English.” He was having a particularly difficult time understanding why we use “into” and “in to”. He finally said to me, “Google says it’s the same.” I began to wonder just how many of our conversations were copied and pasted into Google after that.
This brings me to my post today, and my thoughts about how much we need and how grateful I am there are human translators in this world. We still need you all. There is no substitute for a human being who is tied to his or her history, culture, and language in a way that a computer generated translation never can be. Not that translation programs are never useful. On the contrary, it can be quite helpful when you’re searching high and low for unknown words while you have little or no access to foreign language dictionaries. Still, it’s not a substitute for a human being, especially when a person can do his or her own translation. An author’s thoughts and stories convey sadness, anger, happiness, beauty, hate, love, experience, wisdom, and so much more. That said, I know a few students who’ve been using the translator to help them figure out what they’re reading, but today, I want to show some of my students exactly why doing their own research and translation is important. Sometimes the words need a human thought or two, especially when working with poetry. Kel and I have been having a poetry exchange for a while now; I suspect, in part, he was hoping I'd be a bit less lazy as a student by using poetry to help me improve my vocabulary and written skills when I'd write in Portuguese. He's used the poems to improve his interpreting skills at the same time, making our project quite helpful!
The first example is written by Kelison Araújo. His work was originally in Portuguese, his native language.
Eu acho que estive dormindo.
Apenas me lembro do lôbrego, da luz da manhã, o calor, do suor.
Parece um oceano soturno.
Em uma margem eu adormeço; na outra, eu desperto.
As *Higanbanas florescem em um lugar escondido.
Acho que eu estive lá, mas não consigo recordar depois de acordar.
*Higanbana is a Japanese word for a flower that is translated as spider lilies in English. Traditionally used as funeral flowers in Japan, the lilies are bright red and particularly striking when planted in great numbers. They grow in autumn where it’s wet. Oddly, they seem to thrive on neglect, making spider lilies one of the few plants I am able to keep alive.
Kel’s main interest in learning language is translating as a career. He has a real love of word origin and how history and culture tie all of us to our languages. I’m not sure I’d have his patience for finding the precise words as he does, but he’s said to me translators have to keep an author’s intentions in mind. In this case, the author himself rewrote the poem in English. His work requires little to no editing on my part.
I think I've been sleeping.
I only remember the darkness,
the morning light, heat, the sweat.
It feels like a gloomy sea.
At one bank I fall asleep; at the other I wake.
The Higanbana bloom in a hidden place.
I think I've been there, but I can't recall after waking.
Google Translation, coped and pasted as it was written by the program.
I think I was asleep.
Just remember the murky, the morning light, heat, sweat.
It looks like a grim ocean.
In a margin I fall asleep; in the other, I awake.
The Higanbanas bloom in a hidden place.
I think I've been there, but I cannot remember after waking up.
The second example was written by me in my native language first and then translated to Portuguese.
“Beyond Sleep”
Walking the edge of a dreamed landscape; my breath catches,
hanging like the grey mist at the black crags in Faraway.
One word, two words, three words…
The *higanbana stretch before me, endless, and once I knew
their other name. It’s lost at the boundary of this country.
The words again, darling and sleep and another, but in this
place words are sibylline, as diaphanous as gossamer.
One word, two words, three words…
This crimson sea, a reminder of mortality, and twice I spoke
the name I knew. “Come with me,” I want to say.
Substance shaping your voice in the wilds, and in the gloaming
my musings are drawn to the stony harshness of my Faraway.
One word, two words, three words…
Hushed murmur urging my return to Faraway, “Shhhh, sleep.”
The blooms caress my bare leg, and I wish you were here.
I’ve translated my own work the best I can in order to practice Portuguese. As always, credit goes to Kelison for his edits and insights into the language. Without his help and efforts, my Portuguese writing often goes awry. It’s been a good exercise for both of us; I learned a lot of new words and interesting points about grammar. You’d have to ask him, but I suspect Kel learned writers are terribly cranky when you change their punctuation.
Andando na beira de uma paisagem de um sonho; minha respiração pega,
pairando como a névoa cinza nos rochedos negros em Longínquo.
Uma palavra, duas palavras, três palavras…
As flores Higanbana estendem se na minha frente, infindáveis, e uma vez,
eu sabia o outro nome delas. Está perdido na fronteira deste país.
As palavras novamente, querida e sono e outro; mas neste lugar
as palavras são sibilinas, tão diáfanas quanto seda.
Uma palavra, duas palavras, três palavras…
Esse mar carmesim é lembrete para mortalidade, e duas vezes,
eu disse o nome que eu sabia. “Venha comigo,” eu quero dizer.
Substância molda a sua voz em o lugar selvagem, e no crepúsculo
minha voz está desenhada na aspereza das pedras da minha Longínquo.
Uma palavra, duas palavras, três palavras…
Silencioso murmúrio urgindo meu retorno à Longínquo, “Shhhh, dorme.”
As flores acariciam minha perna nua, e eu desejo que você estivesse aqui.
This is the Google translation to Portuguese of the poem I wrote, copied and pasted directly from the translator with the program’s punctuation.
"Além do sono"
Andando à beira de uma paisagem sonhada; meus capturas respiração,
pendurado como a névoa cinza nas escarpas negras em Faraway.
Uma palavra, duas palavras, três palavras ...
O * trecho higanbana antes de mim, sem fim, e uma vez que eu sabia
seu outro nome. Ele perdeu na fronteira deste país.
As palavras de novo, querida e sono e outro, mas neste
palavras estabelecimento são sibilina, como diáfana como gossamer.
Uma palavra, duas palavras, três palavras ...
Este mar carmesim, um lembrete da mortalidade, e duas vezes falei
o nome que eu sabia. "Vem comigo", eu quero dizer.
Substância moldar a sua voz nos ermos, e no crepúsculo
minhas reflexões são atraídos para a dureza de pedra da minha Distante.
Uma palavra, duas palavras, três palavras ...
murmúrio abafado pedindo meu retorno ao Faraway, "Shhhh, o sono."
As flores acariciar minha perna nua, e eu queria que você estivesse aqui.
It was interesting to see what Google translated correctly, but at least for now, humans really are necessary for translation. As much as computer translation programs have helped people, understanding the literary devices an author chooses plus the emotional content of a piece is a task for humans.
