What does it mean if you raise your right thumb? That depends on where in the World you
happen to find yourself. In the Roman
arena, it would have denoted imperial clemency. But in Turkey, it might be interpreted
rather differently.
The confusions that arise
in non-verbal communication are compounded when we come to words themselves;
and never more so than with the issue of translation. A few examples will illustrate what I mean.
On a recent visit to our
house in France, we took British gifts to our French neighbours that included a
bottle of whisky (for which the French have a surprising palate). Madame, indicating her husband, said (in
French of course) what appeared to be,
“He particularly likes that stuff when he gets the cockroach.”
Consulting the dictionary
I always carry on such occasions (vocabulary – and colloquialisms especially –
being more of an issue than grammar: and, besides, my neighbour has four guns
and I’m wary of saying the wrong thing) I found that I hadn’t misheard. But the dictionary helpfully gave alternative
meanings: feeling depressed, having the
blues. Immediately, it all became
clear.
And there is the crux of
the problem. Had I been translating for
a non-French speaker, the literal phrase would have been baffling. To translate the meaning, I would have to
change the actual words into an English cultural equivalent.
Issues of this sort are the essence of Brian Friel’s wonderful play,
Translations. For any who don’t know it, it concerns the
mapping out of Ireland by the British in the 1830s, and the renaming of
places. The exercise runs into
difficulty when it encounters different ways of seeing the world. The British, for example, when thinking of
rivers speak of the ‘source’ and the ‘mouth’; whereas the Irish equivalents are
the ‘top’ and the ‘bottom’. Both make
equal sense in their own way. But when
translating from the Gaelic, which is it to be: Rivermouth or Riverbottom? (Given that in English river bottom would
mean the same as river bed.)
Since this is a
postmodern play, and set in Ireland, the issue is resolved by considerations of
power, rather than of language.
When missionaries took the Bible to the South-Sea Islanders, they
foundered with Isaiah 1:18: “though your sins be as scarlet, they
shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as
wool.” The scarlet and crimson were all
right; the problem was the snow, and the wool.
The solution: “white as the kernel of the coconut.”
For me, that works. Salvation is the issue, not climate.
Translating
Shakespeare’s’ “When icicles hang by the wall…”, though, would be a different
matter. Take away the icicles, and you
have lost the cold-weather point of the song.
There is a painting by Graham Sutherland of Christ and Mary
Magdalene: “Noli Me Tangere.” Most Brits would get the ‘Me’
bit, but not the rest. But looking at
the King James translation of John:
20 17 – “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father” – makes hardly
more sense. What on earth is Christ
getting at?
Baffled, I turned to a
commentary for help, and discovered the alternative reading of, ”You don’t have to cling on to me; I’m not
leaving yet.” Perfect sense, and warmly
human.
It may not be as strictly
accurate a rendering of the original words, but I know which translation I
prefer in terms of the meaning.
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