T GU TRRAANNSSL LI NI N GAULA L ISSUE 3 FALL 2013 TRANSLINGUAL.ORG
Photo by Eliza Jaeger
MEET THE STAFF: Winnie Yeung / Editor-in-Chief Abla Lamrani-Karim / Business Manager Hyeon-Seok Tom Yu / Managing Editor Lydia Kim / English / Layout / Graphics Editor David Elber / English Editor Morag McKenzie / English Editor Edward Oâ€™Brien / English Editor Jiya Pandya / English Editor Charmaine Lam / Chinese Editor Cyrus Jalai / French Editor Heather Tourgee / German Editor Joseph Heller / Portuguese Editor Alvaro Machucar / Spanish Editor Helena Havlaty / Promotion Director
TABLE OF CONTENTS SPANISH
Quería Volar / He Wanted to Fly Alvaro Machua p. 4 La Salida de Mi Amor / The Departure of My Love David Elber p. 6 Amapola / Poppy Celia Watson p. 7 Was es ist / What It Is Heather Tourgee p. 9 Home / Home Eliza Jaeger p. 10
동생에게 보내는 편지 /A Letter to my Brother Hyeon-Seok (Tom) Yu p. 11 ABC 에게 / Dear ABC Lydia Kim p. 13
三月的雪 / Nieve en Marzo/ Late March Snow Yashu Zhang p. 14
When I was a Little Girl Tangut Degfay p. 22
Two Generations, One Cup Chai Jiya Pandya p. 24 YIDDISH / PORTUGUESE
回憶中的你 / Memory of You Winnie Yeung p. 15
Something Levi Westerveld p. 16 Chanson De La Nuit / Song of the Night Edward O’Brien p. 19 Projet de loi : Qu’en penserait Voltaire / Project of the King: What We Think of Voltaire Cyrus Jalai p. 20
Mother Earth Joseph Heller p. 27
Photo by Evelin Tóth
ate, he thought about the good things in his day in order to relax. He suffered from stress and one of the exercises his therapist had given him was to reflect upon the day. It was supposed to promote relaxation and introspection. He found them rather tedious, but from time to time, they proved useful. After his dinner of introspection, he would go to bed, at half past nine. And he would dream, as he always did, of flying. He found a freedom where he flew, with fervor and without fear, through the skies. Skimming through the night sky, he felt cold air caressing his face and billowing through his pajama pants. His dreams were made of adventures which calmed his soul and freed his stress. His dreams were his only moments of uncontrollable bliss. He woke at the same time, resolutely supine. At seven, he tied his terry-cloth robe and strode towards the window. Looking out into the broken dawn, he wished only for wings. His sadness hindered him, and he was unable to shower, unable to dress, unable to locate his desire to leave the window. But leave the window he did, back to his bed he went, looking for the dreams which unleashed him. He dreamt he was in a giant hedge maze with green walls that rose so high that they kissed the sky. He dreamt there was no exit, no way out except for his own desire. He had one moment in which only one thing could overcome his mundane existence; he had to fly. And fly he did. His body rose up, touching and skimming the walls of shrubbery which has once encased him. Opening his eyes, he stared down at the labyrinth that he had once been a part of. It made a giant circle of intersecting and conjoining paths, none of them ever finding the outside of their container. Finally, he was out. He was flying calmly, freely, as though he did it everyday. Opening his eyes once again, he checked to see whether it was more than a dream. He checked to see whether his dream had become reality. Biting his tongue, he felt a piercing pain. He was alive, and he was flying! Through the clouds and stars and sky, he existed in freedom. Alas, all good things come to an end. He flew and he flew and he flew, but gravity won. With a smile on his face and freedom in his heart, he simply fell asleep.
HE WANTED TO FLY Alvaro Machua
He wanted to fly. More than anything in this world, he wanted to fly. Every morning, he woke at the same time. At exactly seven, he would tie his terry-cloth robe and stride towards the window. Looking out into the broken dawn, he wished for flight; he wished for wings. He longed only for the chance to explore the world from the skies and his inability to do so tortured him. And so every morning, he would stare at the world around him with nothing but masochism in his heart. His daily routine was always the same. A ten-minute shower to cleanse his longing, followed by fourteen minutes for dressing: he liked to chose his shirts based on the color of the sky. He would take his watch from the nightstand, his briefcase from the kitchen table and his jacket from the inside of the front door. He lived simply and efficiently, surviving only through his mundane existence, an existence like that of every other human At six forty five in the evening, he returned to his house. He hung his jacket on the inside of the front door, placed his briefcase on the kitchen table and laid his watch on the nightstand. He prepared a dinner which always could have tasted better and while he
Quería volar. Más que todo en este mundo, él quería volar. Todas las mañanas se despertaba a la misma hora. A las siete de la mañana, se ponía su bata de baño y miraba hacia la ventana. Mirando el amanecer, deseaba poder volar; juraba que con alas volaría a dar un paseo. Lo único que deseaba era la posibilidad de explorar el mundo desde los cielos, pero la tristeza del saber que no podría hacerlo en realidad, le atormentaba lo suficiente para dejarlo viendo afuera por la ventana con ojos de masoquista. Su rutina diaria era siempre la misma. Se duchaba siempre por diez minutos y se cambiaba sin muchos preámbulos en catorce minutos. Siempre elegía el color de sus camisas basado en el color del cielo. Cogía el reloj de la mesa de noche, su portafolio que dejaba en la mesa del comedor y su abrigo que se encontraba colgado por la puerta. Vivía de una forma simple y eficiente sobreviviendo su monótona existencia, una existencia como la de cualquier otros ser humano. Regresaba a su casa a las seis y cuarenta y cinco de la tarde. Colgaba su abrigo por la puerta, ponía su portafolio sobre la mesa del comedor y dejaba su reloj sobre su mesa de noche. Preparaba una cena que casi siempre dejaba mucho que desear y pensaba en las cosas buenas que hizo ese día para relajarse. El padecía de estrés y su terapeuta le daba ejercicios para relajación e introspección. No gustaba practicarlos, pero de vez en cuando eran muy efectivos cuando no muchas cosas buenas habían pasado durante el día. Se acostaba a dormir a las nueve y media, luego de una cena de introspección. Soñaba. Siempre soñaba. Que volaba por los cielos, sin miedo y con fervor. Sentía el frío viento acariciar su rostro dócilmente mientras los pantalones de su pijama bailaban con la rapidez de su vuelo. Sus sueños eran aventuras que calmaban su alma y lo liberan del estrés. Sus sueños eran los únicos momentos de felicidad incontrolable. El se despertaba todas las mañanas a las siete, se ponía su bata de baño y miraba hacia la ventana. Mirando el amanecer, deseaba poder volar. Pero la tristeza le removió la mirada hacia afuera. La tristeza no le permitió ducharse y tampoco vestirse, estupefacto, se quedó al lado de la ventana. En vez de ducharse hoy por diez minutos, decidió volver a dormir. Para poder así dormir y soñar.
Despues de todo soñar lo liberaba. Soñó que estaba en un laberinto enorme compuesto de arbustos y piedras preciosas. Estas paredes hermosas llegaban hasta besar el cielo. Soñó que no existía una salida trivial, que debía hacer algo para escapar que no era de todo ser humano, no existía una salida excepto su deseo. Tuvo un momento en el que pensó sólo una cosa cambiaría su monótona existencia; él debía volar. Y voló. Su cuerpo se elevó, rozando y acariciando las paredes de aquel laberinto que alguna vez lo había tenido prisionero. Abrió sus ojos y observo el laberinto en el cual había estado. Era un circulo gigante con intersecciones entre distintos caminos que no llevaban a ningún lado ya que el laberinto carecía de salidas. Por fin, había escapado. Volaba tranquilo y libremente como si fuera cosa de todos los días. Abrió sus ojos una vez más para comprobar si es que su sueño era más que un sueño. Quería verificar que su sueño se había vuelto su realidad. Se pinchó la lengua con los dientes y le dolió. Estaba vivo y estaba volando con las nubes y las estrellas. Lastimosamente, todo lo bueno no siempre termina en lo mejor. El voló, pero la gravedad ganó, y él con una sonrisa, simplemente durmió.
Photo by Eliza Jaeger
THE DEATH OF MY LOVE / LA SALIDA DE MI AMOR Spanish Translation
Tears fall into my hands Like the rain Pitter-pattering On the window of my heart.
Unas lágrimas caen en las manos Como la lluvia Golpeando, golpeando En la ventana de mi corazón.
Opened only once For your entrance But again It is closed.
Abierta sólo una vez Para tu entrada Pero de nuevo, Ahora cerrada está.
I captured the butterfly Only to let it go And to watch its flight Into the night.
Atrapé la mariposa Sólo para dejarla ir Y mirar su vuelo Hacia la noche.
How does the dawn die? The sun crossing the sky— Seen for the first time In your glance.
¿Cómo muere el albor? El sol atravesando-Visto por primera vez En tu mirada.
That which was No longer is. The joy of a dream Replaced by a void.
Lo que era Ya no es. La dicha de un sueño Desplazada por un hueco.
This nightmare Is too real. And I want to know, Have I woken up?
Esta pesadilla Es demasiado real. Y deseo saber ¿Ya desperté?
Are the drops from my eyes or from the clouds? Or a mixture of the two? A withering rose Is a forest, cleared away.
¿Son las gotas de mis ojos o las nubes? ¿O una mezcla de las dos? Una rosa marchita, Es un bosque, enjugado.
Photo by Evelin Tóth
POPPY / AMAPOLA Celia Watson
Spanish Translation Photo by Eliza Jaeger
Poppy Red lips and Green dress You grow in the forgotten earth of an unforgettable war.
Amapola Labios rojos y Vestido verde Creces en la tierra olvidada de una guerra inolvidable.
Poppy You dance with the wind You reflect the sun And you do not drink the death Under your body.
Amapola Bailas con el viento Reflejas el sol Y no bebes la muerte Debajo de tu cuerpo.
Poppy Silenced But with a voice of peace. We will not forget The sights that You have suffered over the years.
Amapola Silenciada Pero con una voz de paz. No olvidaremos las visiones que a través de los años te han hecho sufrir
Poppy Tell us the reasons For our actions With your ability To convert Death to beauty.
Photo by Evelin Tóth
Poppy Teach us serenity And show us the importance Of silence.
Amapola Dinos las razones de nuestras acciones con tu habilidad de convertir muerte en belleza. Amapola Enséñanos la serenidad Y muéstranos la importancia Del silencio.
WAS ES IST
WHAT IT IS
Original poem in German by Erich Fried
Translated to English by
Es ist Unsinn sagt die Vernunft Es ist was es ist sagt die Liebe
It is nonsense says reason It is what it is says love
Es ist Unglück sagt die Berechnung Es ist nichts als Schmerz sagt die Angst Es ist aussichtslos sagt die Einsicht Es ist was es ist sagt die Liebe
It is misfortune says the calculation It is nothing but pain says fear It is hopeless says insight It is what it is says love
Es ist lächerlich sagt der Stolz Es ist leichtsinning sagt die Vorsicht Es ist unmöglich sagt die Erfahrung Es ist was es ist sagt die Liebe
It is ridiculous says pride It is stupid says caution It is impossible says experience It is what it is says love
Photo by Cyrus Jalai
Woher kommst du? He asks. Why are you here? Fragt sie. Since I grew a different me, it’s always been the same answer… Weißt du, es ist kompliziert. Complicated…you could say that. But I’ve always known where my home is. Oder vielleicht doch nicht? Where am I now? Fragt mein Gehirn. Home. Oder vielleicht doch nicht? Zu Hause. Such a simple concept. Mein Gehirn weiß es…eigentlich. But my heart has its own struggles. I don’t belong. Oder vielleicht doch? Überall. Or nowhere? So much to leave behind every time. Aber dann komm ich wieder zurück. Both worlds wait patiently For me to return. Oder vielleicht doch nicht? Nothing stays the same. Aber irgendwie bleibt doch alles gleich. So where are you home? Zu Hause Bin ich eigentlich Überall. Or nowhere?
Photo by Eliza Jaeger
A LETTER TO MY BROTHER Expectations of Others Finding what you truly enjoy
Hyeon-Seok (Tom) Yu
I believe that one of the best ways to become free from others’ expectations is to find what you wholeheartedly enjoy. Of all the people I have met so far, those who were largely concerned with others’ views did not really know what they liked to do. Then, you may ask, how can you find what you enjoy doing? I may be wrong, but in my personal opinion, experience is the answer. Being exposed to a variety of academic fields and gaining experience by participating in different activities enables you to discover what you find interesting and what makes your heart race. One important thing to remember is that what you are good at and what you enjoy may not correspond. I would recommend that you choose the latter for the sake of your happiness in the future, but as you may have assumed, the best thing is to find something that you both enjoy and excel at. Consider our father. He majored in economics because he was good at mathematics, but he ended up becoming a journalist specializing in military affairs. While it may sound banal, if you take a look around society, the best and most successful people are always the ones who are obsessed with their jobs. If they did not have such an unusual level of passion, they would not have been able to excel as much as they have. I apologize in advance if you think that I am expecting a high school freshman to know so much. Five years ago I remember being nervous and anxious about uncertainty that fogged up the road ahead. I would like to assure you that everything will be just fine in the end if you continue to try hard and to live a busy life as you do now. New Bloomfield must be getting pretty chilly too! Make sure you wear gloves when you are raking leaves and shoveling snow. I wish you happy days accompanied by smiles and good thoughts.
Time really does fly. I simply cannot believe that it has been two months since I left Washington. After coming back to school, I originally planned on writing to you every other week, but due to overwhelming school works and events, I guess this will be the first one since August. Just as I have done with previous letters, I will write you about what has been occupying my mind lately. Unfortunately, I am not sure whether you will be able to understand what I am telling you simply by reading about it. With that said, I still believe in a difference between knowing and not knowing, so I will write about expectations of others and about a way to find what you truly enjoy. Whether you agree with what I say or not is of course up to you. One of the questions that always comes up in a conversation with under/upperclassmen and friends is plans for after college. “I do not know” may be perceived as a half-hearted response, but if I go into too much detail, I may appear to be rambling, so I will simply state that although everything is up in the air, I would like to work in a public policy sector. Now that I am a sophomore in college, I may be feeling a higher necessity to seriously consider my post-college life. Reflecting on the path I have taken thus far, I have questioned myself as to whether or not decisions I have made were mainly the results of others’ expectations of me. For instance, deciding to study politics and economics may have been a way for me to meet the expectations of my friends, teachers, and especially our parents. I mean, for anyone, putting aside those expectations completely cannot be easy. However, could living a life trying to fit into the frame others have defined for you truly be considered to be living our lives? If you ever face a situation that resembles the example I mentioned, I hope you remember that you have the right to choose your own path in the end.
Love, Your elder brother
동생에게 보내는 편지
남들의 시선과 기대치 진심으로 좋아하는 것을 찾는다는 것
한 예와 같은 상황에 마주친다면 네 인생에서의 선택권은 결국 너 자신에게 있다는 사실을 잊지 않았으면 좋겠다. 남들의 시선과 기대치로부터 자유로워지는 가장 좋 은 방법이 내가 진심으로 좋아하는 것을 찾는 것이 아닐 까 생각된다. 형이 지금까지 만나본 사람들 중 남의 시선 을 굉장히 많이 의식하는 사람들은 거의 모두 자기들이 뭘 좋아하는지도 모르더구나. 그럼 넌 좋아하는 것을 어 떻게 찾아야 되냐고 묻겠지. 형이 생각하기엔 경험이 답 이다. 여러 분야의 학문을 접해보고 다양한 활동들을 경 험해봐야만 네가 어느 순간 심장이 빨리 뛰고 진심으로 흥 미를 느끼는지 발견할 수 있는 것 같아. 한가지 중요한 사 실은 네가 잘하는 일과 좋아하는 일이 다를 수도 있다는 거야. 둘 중 하나를 선택하라면 형은 미래를 위해서 후자 를 택하라고 권하겠지만, 물론 최선은 네가 잘하고 좋아 하는 일을 찾는 것이지. 아버지를 봐라. 수학을 잘하셔서 경제 전공을 하셨지만 결국엔 군사전문 기자가 되셨잖아. 진부하게 들릴지도 모르겠지만 사회의 모든 분야를 살펴 보면 최고의 실력자들은 자신의 일에 미쳐있는 사람들이 야. 자신들이 하는 일에 남다른 열정을 느끼지 않았다면 미칠 수도 없었겠지. 아직은 고등학교 1학년 밖에 되지 않은 네게 너무 많 은 것을 알길 기대한다고 생각할지도 모르겠구나. 5년 전 형도 가끔은 불확실한 미래 때문에 초조하고 불안했는데, 네가 지금처럼 열심히 노력하고 바쁘게 살아가면 아무 문 제 없을 거라고 장담한다. 뉴블룸필드도 이제 많이 추워 졌을 텐데 감기조심하고 낙엽 쓸고 제설할 때 장갑 꼭 끼 고. 항상 웃음과 좋은 생각이 가득한 하루하루를 보내길 기도한다.
동생에게 보내는 편지 현승이에게, 시간은 정말 아무도 기다려주지 않는 모양이다. 워싱 턴을 떠난 지 벌써 두 달이 지나고 버몬트에 다시 추운 겨 울이 다가오고 있다는 사실이 믿겨지지가 않는다 (별로 믿고 싶지도 않고). 원래 학교에 와서도 한 달에 두 번 정 도는 편지를 계속해서 쓰려고 했는데 학교 일들에 이리저 리 치이다 보니 8월 말 이후로 이번이 처음이구나. 지난 편지처럼 형이 요즘 많이 느끼고 와닿는 사항에 대해 쓰 려고 하는데 아무래도 형이 하는 얘기만 듣고서는 그렇게 쉽게 이해가 되지 않을 거야. 그래도 아는 것과 모르는 것 의 차이가 없지 않아 있을 거란 생각에 남들의 기대치와 진심으로 좋아하는 것을 찾는 방법에 대해 이야기해줄게. 물론 동의하든 말든 선택은 네 몫이고. 요즘 대학 후배, 선배, 친구들과 이야기를 해보면 하 나같이 꼭 나오는 질문 중 하나가 졸업하고 뭐하고 싶냐 는 질문이야. 아예 모른다고 하면 너무 성의 없는 것 같기 도 하고, 그렇다고 해서 너무 자세하게 말하면 잘난 척하 는 것처럼 보일까 봐 아직은 잘 모르고 바뀔 수도 있지만 정부 정책 관련 일을 생각해보고 있다고 답한다. 형이 이 제 대학교 2학년이 되어 대학 졸업 후에 대해 이젠 조금 더 진지하게 고민할 필요가 생겼다고 느껴서 그러는 건진 모르겠지만, 지금까지 내가 계속 남들의 시선을 의식하며 진로를 선택해오지 않았나 새삼 생각해보게 됐어. 예를 들어 지금 내가 정치와 경제를 공부하는 것도 친구들, 선 생님, 특히 부모님의 기대에 부응하기 위해 선택한 길인 가 하고 말이야. 솔직히 이런 기대치들을 다 무시하고 살 아간다는 것이 누구에게나 그리 쉬운 일은 아닐 거야. 하 지만 그렇다고 줏대 없이 남들이 그려놓은 틀에 우리 인생 을 맞춰서 살아가면 그게 정말 우리 인생일까? 형이 제시
Photo by Eliza Jaegar
UNTRANSLATABLE CONFESSION 번역할 수 없는 고백
Dear ABC, I miss you. That’s it. I could end my letter here and have my message delivered. But of course, those three words won’t make any sense to you. To you, they’re not three words; they’re simply an arrangement of strange looking characters of another language that you don’t understand. But your language does not have a translation for the phrase. What Koreans use as an equivalent of “I miss you”—보 고싶다—doesn’t quite convey this feeling. “보고싶다” means that I want to see you. In certain contexts, the addressees can conclude that the addressors want to see them because they no longer have a presence in the addressors’ lives. But in the end, the phrase itself is only an expression of desire: the desire of wanting to see the addressee. That desire can originate from different reasons. I can say “보고싶다” to a childhood friend I haven’t seen in a decade as an expression that I’m curious how she changed and grew up since I last saw her. I can say “보고싶다” to my mom, who recently had her hair cut, as an expression that I’m excited for her new look. But you’re not my childhood friend or my mom. I don’t want to see you for any of these reasons. I don’t want to see you because I’m curious or excited about how you’ve been. In fact, I don’t want to see you. I don’t think I’m ready to see you. I’m not ready to see how you’ve changed, or how you haven’t changed. The phrase focuses too much on you and your life, instead of the fact that you are missing from my life. What I want to say is a statement about my life. I just want to say the simple message “I miss you”—that I notice your absence in my life. I no longer wake up to your voice or complain about your annoying habits or eat your bad curry that I pretend to like or laugh at your stupid jokes or beam endlessly at your stupid half-innocent, half-arrogant smile. You don’t have a presence in my life anymore, and I’m conscious of it. That’s how my life has been. I’m not ready to make a statement of desire about whether or not I want to know more about yours. But this 400-word letter does not even begin to capture what three words can. Sincerely, XYZ
Korean Translation ABC 에게, I miss you. 내가 하고 싶은 말은 이게 다 입니다. 여기서 이 편지를 끝내도 내 뜻은 전달 될 것입니다. 그러나 이 세 단 어는 당신에게 아무 의미가 없습니다. 당신에게는 세 단어가 아닌 당신이 단순히 이해하지 못하는 이상한 언어 의 문자 배열로만 보일 테니까요. 하지만 당신의 언어로는 이 문장을 번역할 수 없습니다. 한국인들이 이 문장의 번역으로 흔히 사용하는 “보 고 싶다”와 같은 느낌을 전달하지 않습니다. 특정 상황에서 수신인이 보고 싶은 사람의 삶의 존재가 없기 때문 에 “I miss you”라는 말을 할 수 있습니다. 하지만 “보고 싶다”는 어디까지나 누군가가 보고 싶다는 바람 밖에 표 현하지 않습니다. 그 바람은 여러 가지 이유에서 기인 할 수 있습니다. 나는 소꿉친구에게 “보고 싶다”라고 말 할 수 있습니 다. 그 친구가 십여 년 동안 못 본 사이 얼마나 달라졌을지 궁금하니까요. 나는 엄마에게도 “보고 싶다”라고 말 할 수 있습니다. 최근에 머리를 자르신 엄마의 모습이 기대가 되니까요. 하지만 당신은 내 어린 시절 친구도, 나의 엄마도 아닙니다. 나는 호기심이라는 이유로도, 신이 난다는 이 유로도 당신을 보고 싶지 않습니다. 당신이 어떻게 변했는지, 또 어떻게 그대로인지 보고 싶은 마음이 없습니 다. “보고 싶다”라는 구절은 당신과 당신의 인생에만 초점을 두고, 당신이 없는 내 인생은 표현하지 않습니다. 내가 말하고 싶은 것은 내 인생에 대한 서술입니다. 난 그저 당신의 빈 공간이 느껴진다고 표현하기 위해 “I miss you” 라고 당신에게 말하고 싶습니다. 더 이상 당신의 목소리로 하루가 시작되지 않고, 당신의 짜증나는 버 릇에 투정부릴 수도 없고, 맛이 없어도 맛있게 먹어줄 당신의 카레도 없고, 당신의 멍청한 농담에 웃어 줄 수도 없고, 당신의 오만하고도 순진한 그 아름다운 미소를 끝없이 바라볼 수도 없습니다. 당신은 더 이상 내 인생에 존재하지 않으며, 나는 그 빈자리를 의식합니다. 이게 내 인생입니다. 내 인생에 대해 표현하고 싶었습니다. 나는 당신과 당신의 인생에 대해 더 알고 확언 은 아직 못하겠습니다. 하지만 이 400자 편지도 세 단어 안에 함축되어있는 의미를 전달하지 못하는 것 같아 아쉬울 뿐입니다. XYZ 올림
Photo by Cara Vazquez
From the withered branches outside the window Burst spongy white flowers overnight They float in pieces down from the sky Land on the pathway up to the chapel Quietly weaving a white aisle For a solitary stroller’s wedding
LATE MARCH SNOW
Unfolding toward the arrival of April
窗外的树杈 一夜间生出了蓬松的白花 干净的通向chapel的斜坡上 轻盈白花 稀疏落下 织出一条路 似是在送我出嫁
三月的雪 Spanish Translation
De las ramas fuera de la ventana las flores blancas esponjosas estallaron en la oscuridad Paseo cuesta arriba a la capilla Desde el cielo caen las flores con suavidad Bajo mis pies tejiendo una alfombra como el camino a la boda de una misma al principio de la primavera
Photo by Eliza Jaegar
NIEVE EN MARZO
MEMORY OF YOU / 回憶中的你 Photo by Eliza Jaegar
If fascinations will be extinguished If secrets will be deciphered If conversations will be eavesdropped Then let me find in the sea of consciousness An isolated island A small wooden house for you I will be an occasional visitor And only when I put on my headphones I’ll travel across the universe turn the door knob quietly and sit on the little wooden chair When the piano melody Begins playing softly at my ears I will sketch Your facial contours in your deepest sleep When that familiar pop song appears line by line Scenes of our encounter Under the moonlight we dance Among the high mountains we cross At the pub we talk Follow ups and downs of the rhythm One by one flashing across my mind And when our last note falls into the dark silence you walk out of the wooden door Accompanying the morning clouds All that’s left is me Beholding the blue sky and smile
如果暇想會被熄滅 如果文字會被戳破 如果對話會被竊聽 那麼就讓我在腦海深處 在一個與世隔絕的無名小島上 為你築起一間小木屋
我只會偶然探訪你 在鬧市中戴着聽筒時 穿越時空 靜悄悄轉開門把手 坐在屋中的小木椅裏 當鋼琴清脆的旋律 柔柔地在耳邊奏起時 我會悄悄地勾劃 你酣睡時的輪廓 當那熟悉的飲歌逐句浮現 月光下慢慢起舞 高山中穿越石丘 酒吧裏痛快暢談 情境隨着節拍的高低起伏 一幕幕的飛快地閃過
直至最後的音符投入黑暗的寂靜時 你伴着清晨的雲彩走出木門 剩下的 只是我 眼仰藍天 莞然而笑
PROGRESS WILL KILL US
Artwork & Writing By Levi Westerveld
The energetic retired Monsieur Pemendrant directed me and a few other tourists through the woods to the cave of Bernival. His grandfather discovered the cave in 1898. Inside, over a hundred paintings are estimated to be between 12, 000 and 15, 000 years old. When he was working as a farmer, he had a small garden where he grew vegetables he sold on the local markets and a few milking cows. He says problems between farmers were dealt with in the fields. In the old times, when the tractor had not yet replaced the horses to do the labor, farmers would have to work together during the busy harvest season. This made them very dependent on each other. He remembers the day when one of the farmers had an affair with the wife of his friend, another farmer. Because no one wanted to help out the farmer who had cheated on the other farmer’s wife, that farmer was forced to move out of the region and settle elsewhere.
Monsieur Jourdes and his wife have been married for 60 years now. She was 18 and he was 26 when they got engaged. He shows me the only photo of his youth that was taken during their wedding. They met at the Sunday mass, every time she would stand up to sing he would pull the chair away, to flirt he says laughing. But young people don’t know what they want nowadays he says. There are so many young couples that get married and then divorced a few years after. They are also against homosexual marriage but seem to think that they are too old to deal with that kind of politics and that those are problems we will have to figure out ourselves. Both of them still have a small garden in which they grow some vegetables. The chickens and ducks running around in the front yard are kept for festivities.
STORY 1 French Translation
L’énergique retraité Monsieur Pemendrant m’a guidéavec quelques autres touristes à travers ses bois jusqu’à la grotte de Bernifal. La grotte qui a été découverte en 1898 par son grand-père, cache un trésor historique. A l’intérieur se trouve plus d’une centaine de peintures et gravures préhistoriques estimées vieilles de 12 000 à 15 000 ans. Lorsqu’il était agriculteur il cultivait des légumes dans un petit jardin qu’il vendait ensuite sur les marchés locaux, il élevait aussi des vaches laitières. Il dit qu’avant les problèmes entre fermiers étaient traités dans les champs. Dans le temps, lorsque le tracteur n’avait pas encore remplacé les chevaux, les agriculteurs étaient obligés de travailler ensemble pendant la saison des récoltes, sans quoi c’était trop de travail. Cela les rendait très dépendants les uns des autres. Il se souvient du jour où l’un des agriculteurs s’est retrouvé au lit avec la femme de son ami, un autre agriculteur. Une fois que tout le monde l’ a su, personne ne voulait plus l’aider et il s’est vu contraint de quitter la région.
Monsieur Jourdes et son épouse sont mariés depuis soixante ans. Elle avait dix-huit ans et lui vingt-six quand ils se sont rencontrés pour la première fois. Il me montre la seule photo qu’il a de son enfance, on le voit avec sonépouse lors de son mariage. Ils se sont rencontrés à la messe du dimanche, chaque fois qu’elle se levait pour chanter il lui enlevait sa chaise, pour « draguer » dit-il en riant. Mais il est clair que les jeunes ne savent pas ce qu’ils veulent de nos jours, dit-il très sérieusement. Il y a tellement de jeunes couples qui se marient puis divorcent après quelques années seulement. Sa femme et lui sont également contre le mariage homosexuel, mais se jugent trop âgés pour s’engager dans ce genre de politique et disent que c’est un problème pour lequel ma génération va devoir trouver une solution. Tous les deux ont encore un petit jardin dans lequel poussent des légumes. Les poulets et les canards qui courent dans la basse-cour sont pour les jours de fête.
SONG OF THE NIGHT /
CHANSON DE LA NUIT Modeled after “Autumn Song” by Paul Verlaine En style de “Chanson D’automne” par Paul Verlaine
The night whistles And she tickles And she sings The wind is fresh Kisses my breath Dark hauntings
La nuit souffle Elle m’ouvre Elle chante Le vent est frais Et il me plaît Et me hante
The breeze will dance There is no chance It will rain The air is dry Empty the sky Starless reign
La brise danse Aucune chance De la pluie L’air est aride Le ciel est vide Cette nuit
I’m on the ground Nothing’s around But these dreams The evil skies Make me say lies I don’t mean
Rester par terre Rien à faire Que rêvesr Insidieux Les mauvais cieux Charbonnés
Photo by Cara Vazquez
PROJECT OF THE KING:
WHAT WE THINK OF VOLTAIRE
One day, the Ingenu found himself sitting at his breakfast table, while his wife, the beautiful Saint-Yves brought him the newspaper. (He was extremely happy and relieved that his beautiful wife had recovered from her bout of depression). When he saw the title of the paper’s headline article “Real combat, false ideals,” and having read the first blasphemous phrase, the Ingenu let slip his glass of orange juice, and let out a cry. Upon noting the surprise of her husband, the beautiful Saint-Yves looked at the newspaper and said with a tone of banality and indifference: ‘Oh, yes, I heard about this unfortunate news.” The Ingenu didn’t quite know what to day. He knew well the coldness of the world in which he lives. Ever since his adventures and imprisonment, the world appeared to him “too mean and too miserable,” and therefore, this new sadness couldn’t surprise him too much. “The things that occur in this country are entirely inexcusable. We should have the right to wear what want, and to say what we like”; the newspaper article in question addressed a new law which the government had recently adopted. It related to the question of burqas and niqabs. The French Parliament had decided to forbid its citizens to wear these clothes in the public space. The Ingenu’s frustration was evident in the redness of his complexion. He thought back to his own arrival in France, and how Mlle de Kerkabon had treated him. “But she was tolerant, herself!” supplied the beautiful Saint-Yves. It seemed, sadly, that the beautiful Saint-Yves had forgotten the majority of the morals which she had learned during her own adventures with her paramour. The psychologists believed that she had begun repressing all her memories associated with the awful Saint-Pouange (the name was never even mentioned in the house). She had henceforth become an ideal model for Mlle de Kerkabon. “I don’t deny that, but even so, she was so shocked by what I wore and by how I spoke. You could see it on her fact. She had such difficulty in accepting me the way I was. I was forced to be baptized. Do you remember? “ Thinking about the baptism and to the troubles which resulted made the Ingenu tremble. “Its true,” he continued, “that I grew accustomed to the idea of a new life, but think on it a moment. When they declared to me that I was to baptized, I said that ‘the proposition didn’t please me at all, and the law of the Hurons nevertheless applied to the land of the Bas-Bretons’”. It had only been at length that he had accepted the conversion. He recalled how he had then devoured the New Testament. Maybe such would be the case for these women, he asked himself. But then he considered all the trouble which grew out of his conversion. He had always been somewhat incapable of truly abandoning his original culture. He resolved therefore that these women would likewise be subjugated.
PROJET DE LOI:
QU’EN PENSERAIT VOLTAIRE
Photos by Cyrus Jalai Un jour, L’Ingénu se trouvait assis à sa table de petit déjeuner, lorsque sa femme, la belle Saint-Yves, lui a apporté le journal. (Il était très heureux et soulagé que sa belle femme ait recouvert de sa dépression.) Quand il a vu le titre de l’article « Vrai combat, idées fausses » sur la première page du journal, et qu’il a lu la première ligne blasphématoire, L’Ingénu a laissé tomber son verre de jus d’orange, et a crié à haute voix. En voyant la surprise de son mari, la belle Saint-Yves regardait le journal et disait d’une voix banale et indifférente: « Ah, si, j’ai entendu parler de cette nouvelle douloureuse. » L’Ingénu ne savait quoi dire. Il connaissait désormais les méchancetés du monde dans lequel il vivait. Depuis son aventure et son emprisonnement, le monde lui « par[ait] trop méchant et trop misérable » (91), et alors, cette nouvelle tristesse ne le surprenait pas trop. « C’est entièrement inexcusable les choses qui se passent dans ce pays. Je sais qu’en mon pays d’origine on ne ferait jamais cela. On avait le droit de porter ce qu’on voulait, et à faire ce qu’on voulait faire. » L’article décrivait une nouvelle loi que le gouvernement venait d’adopter. Il s’agissait de la question des burqas et des niqabs. Le Parlement français avait décidé d’interdire aux citoyens de porter ces vêtements dans l’espace public. La frustration de L’Ingénu se voyait sur son visage, qui était tout rouge. Il pensait à son arrivé en France, et à comment Mlle de Kerkabon l’avait traité. « Mais, elle était très tolérante! » supplia la belle Saint-Yves. Il semblait, tristement, que la belle Saint-Yves avait oubliée la majorité des morales qu’elle avait apprises pendant ses aventures en sauvant son amour. Les psychologistes croyaient que c’était parce qu’elle avait opprimé tous les souvenirs associés avec l’horrible SaintPouange (dont on ne murmurait pas le nom dans la maison). Elle était désormais un modèle parfait de Mlle de Kerkabon. « Je le jure, mais quand même, elle était très choquée par ce que je portais et comment je parlais. On le voyait sur son visage. Elle avait de la difficulté à m’accepter comme j’étais. Il fallait même que je me baptise ! Tu te rappelles de cela ? » Penser au baptême et aux troubles qui en résultaient faisait trembler L’Ingénu. « C’est vrai, » continuait L’Ingénu, « que je me suis accoutumé à l’idée d’une nouvelle vie, mais pensez-y un moment. Quand ils m’ont déclaré qu’ils désiraient me baptiser, j’ai dit que ‘la proposition ne me plaisait point de tout, et la loi des Hurons valait pour le moins la loi des Bas-Bretons’ » (50). C’était seulement au fur et à mesure qu’il avait accepté de se convertir. Il se rappelait comment il a dévoré le Nouvelle Testament. Peut-être que ces femmes auraient une même réaction au nouvelle loi, il se demandait. Ensuite, il considérait tous les troubles qui avaient été causé par sa conversion. Il avait été toujours incapable de réellement abandonner sa culture. Il résolu que ces femmes subjugués seraient comme lui aussi.
WHEN I WAS A LI When I was a little girl, I played with little stones Sitting in the field among the flowers, Singing with the birds and talking with the ants. I would gaze at the mountains rising before me; I would stare at the trees and the blowing wind; I would walk into the forest as I danced and sang; I would smell fresh air and play with flying leaves. I would feel mesmerized by the sound of raging rivers; I would enjoy the beauty of nature-The blue, the yellow, the red, the brown, The sparkling sunlight from morning to dusk. It was beautiful, it was serene, The natural gift, the purely green. When I was a little girl, I only knew the exotic side of mother earth-The plants, the insects, the animals, the birds; The beauty of nature, the goodness of humankind. No curiosity, no need for change; No want for desire, no room for greed. People lived as if nature was all that mattered; As if what nature offered was enough; As if honesty and kindness, caring and humbleness, Happiness and thankfulness were the ultimate principles. But nowâ€Ś I am no longer a little girl, I have grown. I no longer live at that place, so well known. I live in a villa, in a huge city, I go to school burning with curiosity About myself, others, and nature; About what exists and what does not; About what has been done and what must still come. I see not mountains but buildings, I smell not fresh air but poisoned gas, I see not animals but cars and humans, I hear few greetings and peaceful words. But alas, this is the change that we strived for day and night. We destroyed what existed and we invented what did not. While trees are gone, rivers have dried; Global warming and climate change are what remain. We quarrel over them crazed with stress. And so we have also changed to the extreme-Kindness and honesty, humbleness and peace vanish; We harm one another and yet we fight in the name of peace; We lie, we deceive, we take and we traumatize; We discriminate each other based on our differences. And as the sun rays begin to fade, when all is still, and all is silent, We even escape from our own shadow, lost in fear and agony. Weâ€™ve destroyed the tranquil nature, altering how life should be.
Photo by Tangut Degfay
TWO GENERATIONS, ONE CUP OF CHAI Hindi Translation
“Those were the days, when the soil of this land, Was lit with the memories of our martyrs. Nowadays there is no fire Not even a candle is lit.” “Because the flame of that candle reminds us of The ashes of war The displacement of people The rain of bullets And a divided nation.” “You don’t understand, child, Back in my time Owning the history of our country Was our responsibility And we upheld it with pride.” “But we aren’t far behind either. We call their martyrdom Independence Not bloodshed.” “But how can you belong to an India Whose every grain of sand Is embedded with that blood?” “Grandfather, there is more than blood In these grains of sand There is hope and peace And we will light that candle.”
A Conversation Between a Grandfather and His Grandson
Photo by Evelin T贸th
...עמאמ דרע MOTHER EARTH MAME ERD English and Portuguese Translations by Joseph Heller
Original Poem in Yiddish by Mani Leib (1917)
!רעזדנוא אמעמ ןופ סעמאמ,עמאמ דרע ןופ דיין טסורב טימ רעד עביל רעדלעזרעב םיקידצ ןוא סעמאכ,וטסרענ רעדניק — ,וטסרענ םיחצור ןוא עקילייה רעבלעק ... סאוו טערט ךיד טימ סיפ,אירבה יעדע .ןוא ןייד קלימ זיא ראפ ןעמעלא סיז
Mother Earth, our mother of mothers! From your breast with the same love You nourish children, the righteous, and brutes, You nourish murderers and the holy calf, — Each creation that walks upon you with feet... And your milk is, for all men, sweet. Mame erd, undzer mame fun mames! Fun dayn brust mit libe derzelber Nerstu kinder, tzdikim un chames, Nerstu roitzchim un haylike kelber, — Iede briah, vos tret dich mit fis... Un dayn milch iz far alemen zis.
Photo by Eliza Jaeger
TRANSLINGUAL BEATS & RHYMES: Closing Event of the 2013 Clifford Symposium ( September 24 - 28 ) “ Translation in a Global Community: Theory and Practice”
Photo by Jotiva Ho
SUMMER POETRY CONTEST WINNERS At this event, students recited their multilingual poems and translations of them. Students included those who won Translingual’s Summer Poetry Translation contest. After reciting their poems, students discussed their writing and translating experiences. With about 50 attendees, the event brought the four-day 2013 Clifford Symposium to an end. The following poems are written by those who won Translingual’s Summer Poetry Contest.
A rose is a rose
inmóvil devora luz se abre obscenamente roja es la detestable perfección de lo efímero infesta la poesía con su arcaico perfume
Motionless it devours light Obscenely red it opens It’s the detestable perfection Of the ephemeral It infests poetry With her archaic perfume
Unmoving, it devours the light unfolding itself into sinful scarlet. The unbearable perfection of the dying infests my poetry with its ancient perfume.
Original by Blanka Varela
Tranlsation by Maria Macaya
Tranlsation by Camille Kellogg
Lovesickness Red beans born far from here Their branches fall when spring arrives May you gather many in your arms And forget not my presence in your heart
Tranlsation by David Elber
lichtung manche meinen lechts und rinks kann man nicht velwechsern werch ein illtum
dilection some say light and reft can’t be snalred up hugery elloneous
Original by Ernst Jandl
Tranlsation by Anselm Coogan
Nvlli se dicit mulier mea nubere malle quam mihi, non si se Iuppiter ipse petat. dicit: sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, in uento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.
My woman says that she prefers to be married to no one other than me, not even if Jupiter himself should seek her. She says these things: but what a woman says to her desirous lover, one ought to write in the wind and rapid water.
Original by Gaius Valerius
Tranlsation by Catilin Morton 29
ÂŠ 2013 Translingual A Magazine of Middlebury College go/translingual Please send any comments, questions, and submissions to email@example.com Photo by Eliza Jaeger