Showing posts with label translation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label translation. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

FINDING YOUR TRIBE: Dispatches from ALTA 2014


A brief report for the ALTA blog about the American Literary Translators’ Association’s annual conference held at the Milwaukee Hilton last November. It was a brilliant brilliant conference, a lot of learning, meeting tons of really kind and generous people and a ridiculous amount of fun. So I had different ideas for this post. It was going to be a funny piece, starting with my noting that even though the nice man at reception offered to put me in a room with a view, the view was not a view, it was only a view of a view. It was also going to be a longish piece, in which I detailed all the ways in which really talented and established translators took the time to get to know you and make you feel welcomed at ALTA, a part of ALTA.

For instances. A man stopped me just as I getting into the lobby and said, excuse me but are you the Tibetan translator? He was Jonathan Chaves, and later I found that he was there to receive the Lucien Stryk Award for best translations into English of book length texts of Asian poetry or Zen Buddhism. A really warm-hearted professor (and translator, but that’s a given) who was my table mate at a dinner where I flung manners to the wind and recklessly (alright, fine, greedily) filled my plate with tiny dessert pastries, said to me, I’ll follow your career. Just one of the loveliest things anyone has ever said to me.

In the end though, sadly, that was not the piece I wrote. Instead I wrote this short undercooked piece.

FINDING YOUR TRIBE: Dispatches from ALTA 2014

The greatest corpus of literature in Tibetan, the Kangyur and Tengyur, are short-form titles for “The Translated Teachings of the Buddha” and “The Translated Commentaries.” The ‘gyur,’ sewn inseparably into the ‘ka’ and ‘ten’, the Teaching and the Commentaries, explicitly marks the translated. Tibetans cannot talk about the canon without calling it “the translated canon.”
For comparison, imagine always referring to the Bible as “the Translated Bible.” But for Tibetans, the fact that these thousands of texts were translations from the Sanskrit, the original liturgical language of the Indian subcontinent and the Latin of Asia, was in fact what gave them legitimacy.

Translation was the great legitimizer. The translators—Drokmi the Translator, Marpa the Translator, Rinchen Zangpo the Great Translator (Marpa Lotsawa, Drokmi Lotsawa, Lochen Rinchen Zangpo)—have always been heroic figures. Scholars in the most classical sense, they were also great adventurers and travellers. The word “Lotsawa” derives from the Sanskrit “locchava” for one who opens the eyes of the world.

And sure, the image of translators has drifted to a more mundane level in the Tibetan public estimation since the time of those great figurers, but translation is still seen as a noble endeavor. There are still people about whom you might use the word “Lotsawa” without irony. For myself, it’s the humble “yigyurwa” I am trying to earn.

All of which is to say that for me being at ALTA 2014 was like being in a roomful of rock stars. Here was Marian Schwartz, translator of Tolstoy! Susan Bernofsky, translator of Kafka! I listened to the poet Mani Rao recite from her translation of Kalidasa, the great 5th century Indian poet and playwright, in a haze of delight and supreme surprise at seeing Mani Rao recite Kalidasa!

The thing was, even among such luminaries, you seem to belong somehow, by an alchemy of collective kindness and generosity of spirit by ALTA members that marked that entire conference. Older and established translators were genuinely supportive and welcoming to us newcomers, seeking us out to talk to us, sharing their knowledge and experience and inducting us into this family of literary translators.

As Alice Guthrie, my fellow Fellow (yes, the six of us Fellows did spend the entire conference calling each other our “fellow Fellows” and laughing our heads off and no, we don’t get out much) said, “It’s like finding your tribe.”

It was like finding my tribe.


https://literarytranslators.wordpress.com/2015/04/27/finding-your-tribe-dispatches-from-alta-2014-from-fellow-tenzin-dickie/

Monday, October 20, 2014

Translating 'The First Howl'

I thought I would write a small post about the process of translating the Wolf Band's song The First Howl. Yes I realize this will be interesting to exactly no one. Perhaps a year down the line, I'll look at this post again and be interested and that'll be something. Also if I was going to write a process-of-translation blog post, maybe it should have been about something else, a longer work that I wrestled with, like that poem by Ngarma which I think is my favorite piece of translation. But no, maybe this song/poem is better, because shorter is more manageable and because I made a few different choices that are perhaps illustrative.

ངུ་སྐད་ཐེངས་དང་པོ། 

ཟླ་བ་ཡང་མར་ལ་འགྲིབ། 
དགུན་དུས་མཚན་ལྗོངས་འཁྱག་རླུང་འུར་འུར། 
སྙིང་རེ་རྗེ། 
བཀྲེས་སྐོམ་གྱིས་མནར་བའི་ང་རང་ཚོ། 
གང་ལ་འགྲོ། གང་ལ་འགྲོ། 
ཨ་མ་ཡིས་སྔ་མོ་སྔ་མོ་ཞིག་ལ། 
ཨ་སྔོན་དབྱིངས་ནས་འབྲུ་དྲུག་བབས་མྱོང་ཟེར། 
བདེན་ན་ཐང་། 
གནམ་ལ་སྐྱབས་བཅོལ་བའི་ང་རང་ཚོ། 
གང་ལ་འགྲོ གང་ལ་འགྲོ 
ཟས་གོས་ཀྱི་བྲན་གཡོག་ང་ཚོ་སྙིང་རེ་རྗེ།
ཁ་བ་བཞིན་ཞུ་ལ་ཉེ། 
པོ་ཏ་ལའི་གསེར་ཏོག་གི་ཁ་མདོག་འགྱུར་ལ་ཉེ། 
གསལ་བཤད་ཀྱི་འབྲི་ཀློག་དང་། 
སྤྱང་ཀིའི་ང་རོ་ཁྲོད་། 
ང་ཚོ་ལངས་ནས་འགྲོ མཆོངས་ནས་འགྲོ 

The following is an earlier draft. It's still pretty finished.

The First Howl (earlier draft)

Even the moon wanes and dims
The wind blows over this winter landscape of night
Such a pity
We who are tortured by hunger and thirst
Where do we go where do we go
A long time ago Mother said
Grains fell down from the sky
Maybe so
We who take refuge in the sky
Where do we go where do we go
We who are slaves to food and clothes
The snow is about to melt
The golden spire atop the Potala is about change colors
With the sounds of the letters
And the cries of the wolves
Let us rise let us pounce

The First Howl (final draft)

Even the moon wanes and dims
The wind blows and howls over this winter's landscape of night
What a pity
We who are tortured by hunger and thirst
Where do we go
Where shall we go
A long time ago Mother said
Grains fell down from the sky
Maybe it was so
We who take refuge in the sky
Where do we go
Where shall we go
We who are slaves to food and clothes
Soon to dissolve like snow
The golden spire atop the Potala is about switch colors
With the sounds of the letters
And the cries of the wolves
Let us rise
Let us pounce

I had punctuation at first but it started to look a little rigid. There are some lines that run on, blend into each other: We who take refuge in the sky/ Where do we go where do we go/ We who are slaves to food and clothes. But it's a song and you could say all the lines run into each other, the entire section repeats itself and Tibetan punctuates differently anyway. So I removed the punctuation and freed the lines, so to speak.

The wind blows and howls to get close to the onomatopoeia of the wind roaring in Tibetan (འཁྱག་རླུང་འུར་འུར།) over this wintry landscape of night or winter landscape of night or rather, winter's landscape of night. Such a pity. What a pity. A pity. It's a pity. Tis a pity. (I know. Awful!) I finally decided 'what a pity' has a slightly more sardonic quality. Does it really? I have no idea. I liked the hard consonantal 'ta' of the what.

Where do we go? གང་ལ་འགྲོ གང་ལ་འགྲོ 
Where do we go? Or. Where shall we go? Why not either? It felt like a cheater's move because usually repetition is clearly meant to be so by the author and so you have to be faithful. But I felt like this was a liberty I could take- because the Tibetan could be 'do' as well as 'shall' and now the English refrain- it's still a refrain- carries the double meaning as well.

Now here I made a deeply embarrassing mistake and published it on Tibet Web Digest. ཁ་བ་བཞིན་ཞུ་ལ་ཉེ།  I literally didn't see the བཞིན་ and translated this as 'The snow is about to melt' instead of 'soon to melt/dissolve like snow'. A rookie mistake! Ugh.

པོ་ཏ་ལའི་གསེར་ཏོག་གི་ཁ་མདོག་འགྱུར་ལ་ཉེ། 
Hmm I was tempted to leave the 'sertok' in there, since 'spire' seems very steeply or churchy but then I figured maybe it's close enough. Changing colors felt too indefinite—change is an all-encompassing word. Switching colors, that's not much better honestly. About to-also ugly. And then I had to deal with གསལ་བཤད་ཀྱི་འབྲི་ཀློག་ - the reading and writing of the alphabet. Ugh. I suppose I took enormous liberty here, but 'the reading and writing of the alphabet' threatened to unbalance the poem. How to shape into poetry and still retain the meaning? The sounds and shapes of the alphabet? The sounding and shaping of the letters? I went with just 'the sounds of the letters' because you can hear that 'with the cries of the wolves', whereas the writing and shaping of the letters confused me a little. Ok, I was unfaithful.

Finally, I suppose technically, the wording goes: Let us rise and go, let us leap/jump/whatever gravity defying word of your choice/ and go. But for me, the doubling in English somehow dilutes the action rather than intensifying it, and anyway the act of going, of movement, is imminent (is pregnant hah) in rising and pouncing. ང་ཚོ་ལངས་ནས་འགྲོ མཆོངས་ནས་འགྲོ carries action in a way that 'rise and go' and 'pounce and go' doesn't. And I thought each line should have its own space. Let us rise. Let us pounce. As Lhadruk Tsering foresaw, a beautiful moment to leave the poem, at the moment the energy is just about to turn from potential to kinetic.