Being one interested in languages, this month's focus on Reading the World has attracted my attention. When choosing a novel to read, I don't generally take much into consideration beyond whether or not the story seems interesting to me. That is to say, in terms of translated works, I rarely notice if the book I have chosen wasn't originally written in English. If I liked it, I might go back to find out something about the author and other work and have been surprised more than once to discover I had just read a book in translation.
When reading books by French authors, though, I usually try to find a copy of the original. I took classes in it through college, did study abroad in Grenoble, and have family living in a suburb of Paris. Although I'd never claim to be fluent (considering how often I find even my native English awkward), I can get by in French and reading it is the best way to keep up vocabulary when there's no one around for practice. Unfortunately, trolling the foreign language sections in the local bookstores reveals mainly Folio student editions of classic authors like Voltaire, Dumas, and Sartre.
I also studied Spanish in school and have had to use it for work, but my skills overall are crap despite its similarity to French. After four years of teaching elementary school in a Spanish-dominant neighborhood, I'm best at yelling at children in two languages to ensure delivery of a message to stop the bad behavior. I also know most of the dirty words used in both Mexico and the Dominican Republic because students love schooling the teacher. Imagine my total spinster surprise when a 10-year-old explained the double entendre of Daddy Yankee's "Gasolina" and the giggles when I exclaimed, "What do you mean it isn't about cars?"
Novels aside, what I absolutely love best in translation is poetry. If I can get my hands on a bilingual edition of a book of poems, regardless of the original language, I will buy it. Side-by-side translations are wonderful since you get a feel of both the poet's use of words (in the original) and the meaning of the poem (in translation). I own two bilingual editions of Charles Baudelaire's Les fleurs du mal, one is literal while the other is representational. Although I can read (and love) his work in French, referencing each very different side-by-side translation has helped me achieve a deeper appreciation of the symbolism, figurative language, and metaphors employed by a master of poetry.
Recently, I have been working my way through a bilingual edition of The Time Tree
Following is an excerpt from a poem in The Time Tree (NB: a cuoc bird is a crake):
"The Cuoc Birds Cry" by Huu ThinhThe clouds float off,
We stay behind,
The cuoc birds cry by the river docks.They cry because the traps are dangerous.
Weeds float on the water.
I silently call out the names
Of tables, chairs, old clothing,
And suddenly my youth returns,
Looking at me in confusion,
Kites decorated like tufts of hair on a child's head
More joyful than the source of joy.
Rice crisps ballooning in the market
Cover some of the sadness.
I sit and call out the names of cards from the tam cuc game:
Chariots, artillery, horses on distant roads.
Only the cries of the cuoc birds remain.Cuoc birds have been crying since before they were named.
My father mixed earth to pave the road.
From clay
He sculpted the kitchen god, a bowl.
The wine drinkers left one by one.
My father held up the bowl
As if holding a part of his life
Dried into clay.The cuoc birds cry in the far away fields.
