We are all mediators, translators.
quote by Jacques Derrida
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charity, caring, loving-kindness
Translators live a life
of great blessing, and of frustration:
they live uniquely in the mind
of the great ones they translate – and yet
are destined never fully to reveal this
in their native language, to their fellows,
countrymen and women;
must leave it to the reader, to restore to life.
We too, translators –
words into deeds, deeds into experience,
experience then taught in words…so -
charity, care, or loving-kindness?
maybe we are old, and we uncared for;
maybe we are young, and we uncared for..
but, caring care – this is so beautiful;
to receive; even just to watch; or best, to give…
and too good not to know…
so, we might follow that wonderful advice:
‘What you think you lack – give that! ’
and bestow all our ‘agape’, our ‘charitas’ –
the word which taxed - along with ‘faith’ and ‘hope’ -
the translators of the Bible…
that care that cares not to be care-worn…
we, to translate word to deed,
love, to loving-kindness;
love, to boundless care.
(for Mary N., too, who knows this)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The cultural contrast I saw between religions... Catholics have a lot of mediators, going through saints and Mary or whatever. Protestants in general say things to God directly.
quote by Robert Duvall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
quote by John Donne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Many of the Central Asians know Russian, and Ted Levin speaks it fluently. I speak Chinese, but Mongolian is completely different, so we had to have translators.
The biggest markets for my books outside the UK are France and Italy, and those are the two countries where I also have the closest personal relationships with my translators - I don't know whether that's a coincidence, or if there's something to be learned from it.
quote by Jonathan Coe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To His Worthy Friend Doctor Witty Upon His Translation Of The Popular Errors
Sit further, and make room for thine own fame,
Where just desert enrolles thy honour'd Name
The good Interpreter. Some in this task
Take of the Cypress vail, but leave a mask,
Changing the Latine, but do more obscure
That sence in English which was bright and pure.
So of Translators they are Authors grown,
For ill Translators make the Book their own.
Others do strive with words and forced phrase
To add such lustre, and so many rayes,
That but to make the Vessel shining, they
Much of the precious Metal rub away.
He is Translations thief that addeth more,
As much as he that taketh from the Store
Of the first Author. Here he maketh blots
That mends; and added beauties are but spots.
Caelia whose English doth more richly flow
Then Tagus, purer then dissolved snow,
And sweet as are her lips that speak it, she
Now learns the tongues of France and Italy;
But she is Caelia still: no other grace
But her own smiles commend that lovely face;
Her native beauty's not Italianated,
Nor her chast mind into the French translated:
Her thoughts are English, though her sparkling wit
With other Language doth them fitly fit.
Translators learn of her: but stay I slide
Down into Error with the Vulgar tide;
Women must not teach here: the Doctor doth
Stint them to Cawdles Almond-milk, and Broth.
Now I reform, and surely so will all
Whose happy Eyes on thy Translation fall,
I see the people hastning to thy Book,
Liking themselves the worse the more they look,
And so disliking, that they nothing see
Now worth the liking, but thy Book and thee.
And (if I Judgement have) I censure right;
For something guides my hand that I must write.
You have Translations statutes best fulfil'd.
That handling neither sully nor would guild
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Brow
Brow, row, bow, or, rob!
And like something in the soup of love;
But you have deceived the whole world with your works.
Rabboni,
Translators,
Retained!
But they will kiss each other;
And like the work of the social group around you,
But the juicy first kiss is still in your mind! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Writers rush in where publishers fear to tread and where translators fear to tread.
quote by Guillermo Cabrera Infante
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watch the game
In the great epic, Mahabarath,
Pandavas are good.
Gowraves are wicked.
Both suffer.
The good much more.
Krishn is wicked to Gowraves
And good to Pandavas
He never suffers.
Mediators have no stake.
By watching, one is not losing
19.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Wisdom of Toys
That worn, stuffed bear you hide -
have not quite thrown away
is more than your childhood
seen through rose-tinted time -
toys that speak,
toys that are talked to,
toys that simply listen
are the mediators between
the wisdom of the animal world
which shares with us, a heart
animals who live a blessed life
only in the present now,
and the wisdom that children bring
from the heaven that lies all about us
in our infancy, as the poet said;
toys are reflectors of our self
that remembered what's our self;
that remember what's our self.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Menace Of Mediation
Mediation is a monster when maliciously misused,
Devouring good but weak who are sadly confused.
If mediators have agendas or favor either side,
Their use in any negotiations must be disqualified.
In this maudlin world of misfits accusers often lie
To feather plaintiff pockets with what they can pry.
Truth never was their mantra and honesty a lost art.
Yet wins are easier aided by good but weak hearts.
When sacrificing truth to make risk “go away”
Risks will grow ever greater and society will pay
A higher price as evil becomes the alternative
As winning supplants right as the only way to live.
With just cause the strong will always state their case
Since squandering their chances will further deface
A legal maze where good but weak give up their say
Trying to avoid risk, but sadly aiding injustice today.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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New Garden
It has the harmony and similarities blooming in spirit
It is stronger than ever, not seen by the strangers
Dreams of long-awated patience initiated by peace and
truths
post-postmodernised by
informal education of survivor of the oppressed
ration of knowledge and wisdom is clearly built up through time
winner doesn't take all but there are no losers
only mediators of truth-scenario
Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
New Garden is born with the wing of change! Born with the wind of change!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
no one is trying to fly away
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Life-apart-world apart-road ApART
Who know?
The history of unexpected dawn.
RULE: BUT YOU MUST KEEP ON WATCHING MORALS AND
HUMANITY-INITIATED DIRECTIONS in the world of mis-directed illusions
Overwhelming the realities in the continuam of change
Starry-Eyed Guys (Revised)
I have constructed a bulwark of boxes
between the sun and I - even hung a
Harry Potter toga to stop its warm rays
from frying the poor translators therein
Must bribe my head-resident alien to
focus on translation, yogurt, chips and
coffee have no effect, therefore onto
artificially flavoured Twists,
I want success as an official in repeating
requests for money gifts received from
farmers petitioning the President with a
strong belief in legendary generosity
South African Presidents are seen as
wholeheartedly supporting a whole
continent but strangely and innocuously
not reported by denizens of the press
Infusing the dreams of these Senegalese
thinking nine thousand euros should be
in good cause enough for their new
farming visions for Africa -
I think it would have been wonderful if we
could send nine thousand euros to every
worth-while project in Africa starting with
these starry-eyed guys…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Joys Of Life (Revised)
Luxuriously caressed by camaraderie, Hanlie weaving
such threads of happy, bright-smile delight; June being
mischievously buoyant, Hermien devoted to conscien-
tious duty and an elfin interest in what is going on
while Mapula looks great
Ulrike an uplifting perfectionist determined to never hurt
anybody, making sure everyone is OK – finally, end of
day; while I complain about my incompetency Hanlie
is laughing; feeling inferior is one of the perks of the
job - she happily claims
As translators too often feel superior to scholars con-
fining themselves to academic posts; June reporting
a ‘healthy’ person happily donating blood on request
while her own was refused due to iron deficiency, we
recommend bed rest and medicine
Quoting Madame la Pompadour’s amazing strategy -
Hanlie an epitome of inner beauty, June doing thank-
less proofreading jobs – while I glow with inner
delight, wafting home in joyous surrender
to the joys of life…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Dance And Sing
It irks me terribly when someone upsets the natural rhythm
of my sentences when I write a translation, it is a given that
one should say ‘aesthetically pleasing’ as the rhythm is just
right; then grammar-conscious pedantic translators change
it to ‘pleasing aesthetically’
Their insistence on messing up the rhythm so the tongue
falters as lines run on drives me wild with frustration, then
they insist I should reread the unmusical text lacking all
beauty as jargon and grammar rules preclude all use of
galloping rhythm and metre
It feels like they are plunging a knife in my heart when they
destroy the music in words and lines; no need for rhymes
which are infantile, my only dream is speed - cascading
breathlessly until reaching a marvellous end, an
unexpected conclusion
Why do we have to live life in an assembly line of dead
words without the sound of music filling the ears; I accept
being Not Fully Functional if meeting that requirement
means dying inside – I am still too passionate, words
always dance and sing in my heart!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Good Carpenters
I mourn a dead friend, like myself, a good carpenter.
-Pablo Neruda about César Vallejo
I looked at the book.
'It will stand,' I thought.
Not a palace
built by a newspaper czar,
nor a mud hovel
that the sea will soften,
but a good house of words
near the sea
with everything plumb.
That is the most I can ask.
I have cut the wood myself
from my own forests,
I have sanded it smooth
with the grain.
I have left knotholes
for the muse to whistle through
-old siren that she is.
At least the roof does not leak.
& the fireplace is small
but it draws.
The wind whips the house
but it stands.
& the waves lick
the pilings
with their tongues
but at least they do not suck me
out to sea.
The sea is wordless
but it tries to talk to us.
We carpenters are also translators.
We build with sounds, with whispers & with wind.
We try to speak the language of the sea.
We want to build to last
yet change forever.
We want to be as endless as the sea.
& yet she mocks us
with her barnacle & rust stains;
she tells us what we build will also fall.
Our words are grains of sand,
our walls are wood,
our windowpanes are sprayed with solemn salt.
We whisper, as we build, 'Forever please,'
-by which we mean at least for thirty years.
poem by Erica Jong
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Just Imagine...............
Some of us look at the present state of this world
And wish things could be different
We imagine the way the world should be
We visualize and hypothesize - it is possible
Imagine the whole world speaking one language
Then, there will be no need for translators
Everybody will understand each other
no matter where they live on planet earth
One language will reduce racial discrimination
and facilitate movements across national borders
Just imagine the entire world using one currency
The need to convert dollars into yen will vanish
or ask – how many euros equals one renminbi
or wonder how many pesos equals one rupee
and speculate how many rands equal one riyal
All the folks in foreign exchange departments
will do something else in the financial market
apart from tracking the rise and fall of
money markets and its influence on stock markets
Just imagine the super rich taking more care
of the poor, the needy, and the unemployed
Then, the homeless will disappear from our roads
The beggars will vanish from our streets
An egalitarian society will be in the making
Just imagine free education at all levels
Then, everybody will be able to develop their
talents and natural endowments to the maximum
Scholars will not be burdened with heavy
student loans for the rest of their lives
They will think of better ways to improve the
society rather than think how to pay back loans
Do you feel all the above imaginations are mere dreams?
Who knows tomorrow! Some dreams have turned into reality
in our life-time. Please stay happy and be optimistic.
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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2010/02/02 Illegal Sensations
Most people delight in stomping out the
imagination, I work in a profession where
it is a crime to be an independent thinker
and dreaming is treason
I try to keep my imagination unfettered as
I don’t like being an automaton, my col-
leagues assure me it is a pain-free state
of existence, no passion, no desire
No feelings to interfere, just calm nirvana
in following rules and regulations and re-
fining rules through self-discipline, I fear
sliding gently into complacency
Scared of accepting everything thing as it
is, I love people unconditionally but seek
protection against dying inside, when I
see a spark in somebody else
I want to share in its warmth, there are so
few whose spontaneity is untouched, you
say I should become disciplined and join
the fray, stop speculation
Seek no alternatives to reality and accept
being a non-entity like all translators who
read dictionaries and follow guidelines
blindly, happy with scholarly ideas
When I tried that in my youth the pain in
my soul was unbearable, I would rather
embrace the pain of desire and passion
than grow cold, inured
A passionless being without original
thought, beautiful dreams, illegal
sensations and wild fantasies…
Unless you get paid to use your imagination,
you had better kill it, they say, it is a useless
commodity and only the best actors, writers
musicians and poets are allowed any
If you are unknown, unsung and middle-class,
you shall be hung if imagination interferes with
your doing your duty, once you are cast as
Cinderella, you are forbidden to dream
Susan Boyle is an exception that proves the rule,
I beg to differ, my ideal is to become a professional
dreamer and teach others to dream with me, and
I shall not give it up, I would rather die…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Earth Bound
Funk upon a time
In the days of vanglorious
The tri-dimensional houses of energy
released the original powers
to the translators of the interplanetary funk code
Funkin religion, funkin lesson
Key bearers, funkin to the East
Earth bound
[Professor X]
Mmmm
We are messengers, of Ra
Whispering the secrets of the ages
Vanglorious! This is protected
by the red, the black, and the green
with a KEY! SISSSSSY!
"It was nearly eleven, when I started to return.
The night was unexpectedly dark.
To me, walking out of the lighted passage of my cousin's house
it seemed indeed black."
[Brother J]
What is.. we are..
Dum-diddy-dum to the God's new drum
Devils run, here comes the sun
Brothers travel for ages
Scroll and stake from planet to planet
I take a ride on the cosmos
The utmost toast of my raft
Now mortals want a dose of the voice of key
with the bass of the great war chant
So now it's on to the garden at a million vibes a second
The pyramid tries to beckon
The sands of time, survive the flood
The bricks of blood, the house of the heart
on the tri-dimensional level
On to balance with the feather
Funkin lesson vibes to earth, from Ra on to Jeb
My verse it bled, bring chaos to order
The abyss to the earth to the waters
Vanglorious sound on the rain comin down
Verbalizer with scroll, earth bound
[Professor X]
I am, the blood of the pharoahes
The spear bearers, the elephant riders
The everlasting conquerors
I AM, the original power of blackness
The strength exampled, in our people as a whole
I am the voice of unearthly soil
Earth bound, by will of the Creator
[Brother J]
From amongst the stars, in
song performed by by X-Clan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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