Translation

isch will nich däutsch rigtich schrayben / müssen

i don wanna hafta rite jerman / korrektly

ay down wannna half too rayt propper / Jermen

Full poem and both translations here

The poem “Two Çayspoons of Şekir” by Bîşeng Ergin, alias Keça Filankes, explores ways in which language can both divide and unite a family, as a daughter becomes her mother’s linguistic and practical go-between amongst German, Kurdish, and Turkish. Crossed wires – language barriers, misunderstandings, and half-translations – intertwine with cherished family ties, the intimacy of pregnancy and the priceless heirloom of a mother tongue. Filankes shows us a space in between: the realm of the cultural intermediary.

It is only fitting that her German poem was the subject of a translation slam, a lively, interactive event that breaks the language barrier and exposes the inner workings of the translation process by giving the intermediaries a chance to speak for themselves. On International Translation Day 2021, the two translators, Jon Cho-Polizzi and Didem Uca, arrived with their independently completed English translations of the poem and each read their own versions before describing and discussing their choices as well as cultural and linguistic aspects of the original. During the reading and conversation moderated by David Gramling, the audience joined the discussion in the chat, and the event concluded with a live Q&A with the participants and SAND’s own Jake Schneider, who co-curated the event.

A collaboration between ALTA and SAND, sponsored by Wunderbar Together, and affiliated with the Tucson Humanities Festival at the University of Arizona in the US. The German poem in question originally appeared in the sold-out “Sprache” (language) issue of the journal Literarische Diverse.

Als mir meine Mutter ihren Körper lieh, / hatte sie 2 Herzen in sich, / teilte diese auf und gab mir eine Seele / und eine Sprache. / Noch bevor ich sprechen konnte, hatte / ich eine Muttersprache: / die Sprache meiner Mutter.

When my mother lent me her body, / she had 2 hearts inside, / split them apart and gave me a soul and a language. / Even before I could speak, I had / a mother tongue: / the language of my mother.

When my mother lent me her body / she had 2 hearts inside of her / she divided these and gave me one spirit / and one tongue. / Before I could ever speak, I / had a mother tongue: / the tongue of my mother.

Participants and Poet

Didem Uca (translator) is Assistant Professor of German Studies at Emory University. Her research focuses on post/migrant cultural production, with recent and forthcoming articles and translations in Seminar, TRANSIT, Monatshefte, and Die Unterrichtspraxis. She is co-editor of Jahrbuch Türkisch-Deutsche Studien and serves in leadership roles in WiG, DDGC, and the MLA.

Jon Cho-Polizzi (translator) is an educator and freelance literary translator. He studied Literature, History, and Translation Studies in Santa Cruz and Heidelberg, before receiving his PhD in German and Medieval Studies at UC Berkeley with a dissertation titled “A Different (German) Village: Writing Place through Migration.” He lives and works between Northern California and Berlin.

David Gramling (moderator) is a literary translator from Turkish and German. He is Professor of German Studies and Head of the Department of Central, Eastern, and Northern European Studies at the University of British Columbia. His books include The Invention of Monolingualism, The Invention of Multilingualism, and Linguistic. He is also the Translations Section editor for Transgender Studies Quarterly.

Bîşeng Ergin alias Keça Filankes (poet) holds degrees in International Relations/Peace and Conflict Studies, Sociology, and Political Science from Goethe University Frankfurt. Her parents fled from Turkey when she was a baby, and today as a Kurdish woman, political educator, and social justice activist, she dedicates her political life to fighting against discrimination, fascism, and war in solidarity with refugees and migrants. She writes poems and performs spoken word as part of Literally Peace, a transcultural German and Syrian collective.

Jake Schneider (co-curator) is a translator, literary organizer, and editor-in-chief of SAND. An NEA fellowship recipient, he has translated poetry, scholarship, and exhibitions from German, especially on Jewish and queer themes. He has also put on events around “untranslatability,” ekphrastic poetry, and collaborative text, and is now focusing on minoritized/non-national language literatures. He lives in Berlin.

Organizers, Sponsors, and Affiliated Festival

The American Literary Translators Association
Initiator, co-curator, and co-organizer as part of the ALTA44 annual conference

SAND
Co-curator and co-organizer

Wunderbar Together
Sponsor

Tucson Humanities Festival at the University of Arizona

Affiliated Festival

Original Publication

Keça Filankes’s poem was originally published in German under the title “Zwei Çaylöffel Şekir” in the “Sprache” (Language) issue of the journal Literarische Diverse.

Founded by Yasemin Altınay (she/her) in 2019, Literarische Diverse Verlag publishes magazines and books that promote equity in literature and defend the tradition of self-empowerment. The project puts Germany’s colorful realities on paper – forever legible, forever part of the whole – and gives preference to BIPoC and LGBTIQ* voices.

German-English Translation Slam Read More »

For the German-English Translation Slam on International Translation Day 2021, two translators, Jon Cho-Polizzi and Didem Uca, completed their own independent English translations of the same poem by Bîşeng Ergin, alias Keça Filankes, and discussed them live on Zoom. You can read all three versions of the text – the original German version and the two English translations – below. A replay of the event is available to watch for free on Crowdcast.

The translation slam was a collaboration between ALTA and SAND, sponsored by Wunderbar Together, and affiliated with the Tucson Humanities Festival at the University of Arizona in the US. The German poem in question originally appeared in the sold-out “Sprache” (language) issue of the journal Literarische Diverse.

Zwei
Çaylöffel
Şekir

Poetry by
Keça Filankes

1.

„isch will nich däutsch rigtich schrayben 
müsssen. ich willl imma nua klayn 
schrayben und one regeln wayl ia mich
trotsdem veaschdet. mayne schbrache
gehöat mia. isch bin di schbrache. ich 
bin nicht weniga däutsch wayl ich 
andas spreche unt schraybe. Ich binn di
deutsche schbrache. Si begind mit mia
unt endet mit mia“

2.

Lost in cultural translation ist,
wenn im Backbuch steht
zwei Teelöffel Zucker 
und ich 
zwei Çaylöffel Şekir
benutze
und mich
wundere, warum
mein Kuchen nicht süß genug ist. 

3.

Meine Muttersprache ist die Sprache, 
die meine Mutter sprach, als sie mich 
bekam
und in meiner Muttersprache,
also der Sprache, die meine Mutter
sprach, als sie mich bekam
heißt schwanger „ducani“: 
2-seelig. 
Als mir meine Mutter ihren Körper lieh,
hatte sie 2 Herzen in sich,
teilte diese auf und gab mir eine Seele
und eine Sprache. 
Noch bevor ich sprechen konnte, hatte
ich eine Muttersprache:
die Sprache meiner Mutter. 

4.

Ich lerne auf einer Sprache zu
sprechen.
Meine Muttersprache, die Sprache, die
meine Mutter sprach, als sie mich zur
Welt brachte, so wie ihre Mutter, also sie
sie zur Welt brachte

Ich lerne auf einer anderen Sprache zu
sprechen.
Deutsch, die Sprache, die meiner Mutter
fremd ist, als ich von ihr und meinem
Vater nach Deutschland geflüchtet wurde.
„Mama, ich will malen.“
Sie versteht nicht, was ich will.
„Mama, ich will malen.“
Sie versteht einfach nicht, was ich will.
„Mama, ich will malen.“
Sie ist verzweifelt, machtlos, wütend.
„Mama, ich will malen.“
Als meine Mutter mit ihren Händen
antwortet, weine ich. Sprache kann sehr
gewaltvoll sein.

Ich höre das Wort „Yabancı düşman“, es
ist nicht meine Muttersprache. Es ist
nicht die fremde Sprache Deutsch. Es
ist die Sprache, die wir nur verstehen
wollen, wenn wir uns schützen müssen.
Yabancı düşman heißt Ausländerfeinde
auf Türkisch.

Deutsch ist ihr auch nach Jahren noch
fremd.
Nicht nur neue Wörter, auch neue Dinge
muss sie lernen.
Ich frage meine Mutter:
„Wo ist das Geodreieck von Büşra?“
Sie versteht nicht, was ich will.
„Es war gerade doch noch hier.“
Sie versteht einfach nicht, was ich will.
„Büşra hat es hier vergessen.“
Sie ist überfordert, nervös, verunsichert.
Alle schauen sie an.
Ich fordere meine Schwester auf, ihres zu
holen.
Als meine Mutter ihres sieht, weiß sie, wo
Büşra’s Geodreieck ist.

Meine Muttersprache ist unsere
Verbindung,
dort wo Deutsch neue Wörter schafft.
Dort, wo Deutschland neue Wörter schafft.
„Hier, nimm diese 5 Mark, geh zum Kiosk.
Kauf mir eine Telefonkarte.“
Was ist eine Telefonkarte?
„Ich brauche die, um in die Heimat
anzurufen.“
Und wo ist diese Karte?
„Frag einfach den Mann im Kiosk nach der
Karte, wo die Banane drauf ist.“
Und was ist, wenn es keine gibt?
„Doch, doch. Es gibt dort diese Karten. Die
Anderen kaufen sie auch dort. Ich muss
deine Tante anrufen.“

Meine Mutter bringt in Deutschland mehr
Kinder zur Welt. Sie bekommen eine
Muttersprache in einem fremden Land.
Sie bekommen eine große Schwester, die
noch eine andere Sprache kann.
„Mach mir einen Termin für diese Woche.
Warum geht das nicht? Sag, dass es
dringend ist. Sag, dass ich das letzte Mal
zwei Stunden gewartet habe. Frag sie,
ob es nachmittags geht. Ich habe kleine
Kinder.”
„Frag den Arzt, was ich machen kann,
damit es ein Junge wird.“
Ich bin höflich und höre dem Arzt
geduldig zu. „Was sagt er denn? Was sagt
er?“
„Frag den Arzt, ob er schon weiß, was es
sein wird. Ist es ein Junge?”
Ich bin ungeduldig. So viele Fragen, so
viele Antworten. So wenig Worte.
„Ich habe Schmerzen da unten und es
juckt mich so, woran liegt das.“

Ich schäme mich. Ich habe Angst.
Ich lüge.
„Frag ihn, ob er sicher ist, dass es ein
Mädchen ist.“
Ich bin genervt. Ich lasse Wörter weg.
„Ist alles normal beim Baby? Warum
hustet deine kleine Schwester so?”
Ich will, dass sie aufhört, mich zu
unterbrechen.
Ich will, dass sie aufhört, weiter Fragen
zu stellen.

Ich besuche meine Eltern, als ich schon
studiere. 
Ich skype mit einer Freundin in Peru und 
trinke aus einer Flasche. 
„Warum trinkst du denn Pepsi light?“
Ich schmunzele. Meine Mutter
verwechselt sowas oft. 
Pepsi light. Eistee ohne Zucker. Wurst mit
Schweinefleisch. 
Sie kann nicht lesen, antworte ich. 

Mit jedem Kind ein kurz anhaltender Elan,
lesen zu lernen. 
Aber auf welcher Sprache denn?
Ich kann jetzt auf 5 Sprachen schreiben
Meine Mutter kann es auf keiner
Sie ist Analphabetin

Ich bin 23 Jahre alt und große Schwester
Meine Mutter ist wieder schwanger
Sie hat mit mir 6 Töchter, das 7. Kind wird
ein Sohn werden. 

Ich studiere an der Uni und lese sehr
komplizierte Text, auch auf Englisch
Meine Mutter kann nicht lesen, unsere
Namen kann sie, alle Telefonnummern 
weiß sie auswendig. 
Sie ist Hausfrau, war das immer, und
Mutter. Sie gab mir meine erste Sprache.

Two
Çayspoons
of Şekir

Translated by
Didem Uca

1.

“i don wanna hafta rite jerman
korrektly. i jus wannna all wayz rite
lowrkase an withowt roolz cuz u
understan mee n e way. my langwij
belongz too me. i am tha langwij. i am
no les jerman becuz i
speek an rite difrently. I amm tha
german langwij. It beginz wit mee
an endz wit mee.”

2.

Lost in cultural translation is
when the baking book says
two teaspoons of sugar
and I
use
two çayspoons of şekir
and then
wonder why
my cake is not sweet enough.

3.

My mother tongue is the language
my mother spoke when she
had me
and in my mother tongue,
that is, the language my mother
spoke when she had me,
pregnant is called “ducani”:
2-souled.
When my mother lent me her body,
she had 2 hearts inside,
split them apart and gave me a soul
and a language.
Even before I could speak, I had
a mother tongue:
the language of my mother.

4.

I learn to speak in one
language.
My mother tongue, the language
my mother spoke when she brought me
into this world, just as her mother when she
brought her into this world.
I learn to speak in another
language.
German, the language that is foreign to
my mother, when I was taken by her and my
father to Germany to seek refuge.
“Mama, I want to paint.”
She does not understand what I want.
“Mama, I want to paint.”
She simply does not understand what I want.
“Mama, I want to paint.”
She is desperate, powerless, irate.
“Mama, I want to paint.”
When my mother answers with
her hands, I cry. Language can be so
full of violence.

I hear the word “Yabancı düşman,” it
is not my mother tongue. It is
not the foreign language German. It
is the language that we are only supposed
to understand when we must protect ourselves.
Yabancı düşman means xenophobes
in Turkish.

Even after many years German is still
foreign to her.
Not just new words, she also has to learn
new things.
I ask my mother:
“Where is Büşra’s triangle ruler?”
She does not understand what I want.
“It was here just a second ago.”
She simply does not understand what I want.
“Büşra forgot it here.”
She is overwhelmed, anxious, bewildered.
Everyone is looking at her.
I ask my sister to go fetch
hers.
When my mother sees it, she knows where
Büşra’s triangle ruler is.

My mother tongue is our
connection,
there where German creates new words.
There, where Germany creates
new words.
“Here, take this 5 Mark bill, go to the kiosk.
Buy me a phone card.”
What’s a phone card?
“I need one in order to call
home.”
And where is this card?
“Just ask the man in the kiosk for the
card with the banana on it.”
And what if there aren’t any?
“They’re there. The cards will be there. That’s
where the others buy them. I have to
call your aunt.”

My mother brings more children into the world
in Germany. They are given a
mother tongue in a foreign land.
They are given a big sister who
can speak another language still.
“Make me an appointment for this week.
Why won’t that work? Say that it’s
urgent. Say that last time I
waited two hours. Ask them
if afternoons work. I have small
children.”
“Ask the doctor what I can do
so that it’s a boy.”
I am polite and listen to the doctor
patiently. “What is he saying now? What’s
he saying?”
“Ask the doctor if he already knows what it’s
going to be. Is it a boy?”
I am impatient. So many questions, so
many answers. So few words.
“I have pain down there and it
itches so much, why is that.”
I feel shame. I feel fear.
I lie.
“Ask him if he’s sure that it’s
a girl.”
I’m annoyed. I leave out words.
“Is everything with the baby normal? Why
is your sister coughing like that?”
I want her to quit
interrupting me.
I want her to quit carrying on
asking questions.
I visit my parents when I am already
in college.
I skype with a friend in Peru and
take a sip from a bottle.
“Why are you drinking Diet Pepsi?”
I smirk. My mother
often gets stuff like this mixed up.
Diet Pepsi. Sugar-free iced tea. Pork
sausage.
She can’t read, I respond.

With each child, a short-lived vigor
to learn how to read.
But in which language?
I can now write in 5 languages
My mother can in none
She is an illiterate

I am 23 years old and big sister
My mother is pregnant again
Including me she has 6 daughters, the 7th child will
be a son

I study at the university and read very
complicated texts, in English, too
My mother doesn’t know how to read, our
names, all the phone numbers
she knows by heart.
She is a housewife, always was, and
mother. She gave me my first language.

Two
Çayspoons
of Şekir

Translated by
Jon Cho-Polizzi

1.

“ay down wannna half too rayt propper
Jermen. i wannna all-waze jus rayt
smol en weef-owt rules bee-cuz yew kann unter-stan
mee en-ee-waze. may speach
bee-longs too mee. i yam da lang-wich. I
yam nott les Jermen bee-cuz i speek
en rayt di-friendly. I yam da
Jermen lang-wich. She bee-gens en
ands wiff mee.”

2.

Lost in cultural translation is
when the recipe says
two teaspoons of sugar
and i
use
two ҁayspoons of şekir
and then
wonder why
my cake’s not sweet enough.

3.

my mother tongue is the tongue
my mother spoke when she had
me
and in my mother tongue
that is the tongue my mother
spoke when she had me
“ducani” means pregnant:
with 2 souls.

When my mother lent me her body
she had 2 hearts inside of her
she divided these and gave me one spirit
and one tongue.
Before I could ever speak, I
had a mother tongue:
the tongue of my mother.

4.

I learn to speak a
language.
My mother tongue, the tongue my
mother spoke when she brought me into
the world, like her mother when she
brought her.

I learn to speak another
language.
German, a language foreign to
my mother when I had to flee with her and my
father to Germany.
“Mama, I want to draw.”
She doesn’t understand what I want.
“Mama, I want to draw.”
She just doesn’t understand what I want.
“Mama, I want to draw.”
She is desperate, powerless, enraged.
“Mama, I want to draw.”
When my mother answers with her
hands, I cry. Language can be
so violent.

I hear the word “Yabancı düşman,” it’s
not my mother tongue. It’s
not this foreign German language. It
is the language we should only
understand when we need to protect ourselves.
In Turkish, yabancı düşman means
xenophobes.

Even after years, German remains foreign
to her.
It’s not just new words, but also new things
she needs to learn.
I ask my mother:
“Where is Büşra’s triangle ruler?”
She doesn’t understand what I want.
“It was just here.”
She just doesn’t understand what I want.
“Büşra left it here.”
She’s overwhelmed, nervous, insecure.
Everyone stares at her.
I tell my sister to go get
hers.
When my mother sees it, she knows where
Büşra’s triangle ruler is.

My mother tongue is our
connection,
there where German makes new words.
There, where Germany makes new
words.
“Here, take these 5 marks and go to the kiosk.
Buy me a calling card.”
What is a calling card?
“I need it to call back
home.”
And where is this card?
“Just ask the man at the kiosk for the
card, the one with the banana on it.”
And what if they don’t have one?
“They will. They have these cards there. The
others buy them there, too. I need
to call your aunt.”

My mother brings more children into
the world in Germany. They receive a
mother tongue in a foreign land.
They get a big sister who
speaks another language, too.
“Make me an appointment for this week.
Why won’t that work? Say that
it’s urgent. Say last time I waited
for two hours. Ask them
if afternoons work. I have small
children.”
“Ask the doctor what to do so that
it will be a boy.”
I’m polite and listen to the doctor
patiently. “What did he just say? What did he
say?”
“Ask the doctor if he already knows what
it will be. Is it a boy?”
I am impatient. So many questions, so
many answers. So few words.
“It hurts down there and it
really itches, why is that?”

I am ashamed. I am afraid.
I lie.
“Ask him if he’s sure that
it’s a girl.”
I am annoyed. I leave out words.
“Is everything okay with the baby? Why
does your little sister always cough?”
I want her to stop
interrupting me.
I want her to stop asking
further questions.

I visit my parents while studying
at university.
I skype with a friend in Peru and
drink from a bottle.
“Why are you drinking Diet Pepsi?”
I smirk. My mother
often mixes up these things.
Diet Pepsi. Sugar-free iced tea. Sausage made from
pork.
I tell her she can’t read.

With every child, a little push
to learn to read.
But which language should it be?
I can now write in 5 languages
My mother can write none
She is illiterate

I’m 23 years old and a big sister
My mother is pregnant again
Including me she has 6 daughters, the 7th child will be
a son.

I’m studying at university and reading very
complex texts, in English, too
My mother cannot read, she knows
our name, she’s memorized the phone numbers
by heart.
She is a housewife, always was, and a
Mother. She gave me my first tongue.

Poet & Translators

Bîşeng Ergin alias Keça Filankes (poet) holds degrees in International Relations/Peace and Conflict Studies, Sociology, and Political Science from Goethe University Frankfurt. Her parents fled from Turkey when she was a baby, and today as a Kurdish woman, political educator, and social justice activist, she dedicates her political life to fighting against discrimination, fascism, and war in solidarity with refugees and migrants. She writes poems and performs spoken word as part of Literally Peace, a transcultural German and Syrian collective.

Didem Uca (translator) is Assistant Professor of German Studies at Emory University. Her research focuses on post/migrant cultural production, with recent and forthcoming articles and translations in Seminar, TRANSIT, Monatshefte, and Die Unterrichtspraxis. She is co-editor of Jahrbuch Türkisch-Deutsche Studien and serves in leadership roles in WiG, DDGC, and the MLA.

Jon Cho-Polizzi (translator) is an educator and freelance literary translator. He studied Literature, History, and Translation Studies in Santa Cruz and Heidelberg, before receiving his PhD in German and Medieval Studies at UC Berkeley with a dissertation titled “A Different (German) Village: Writing Place through Migration.” He lives and works between Northern California and Berlin.

Original Publication

Keça Filankes’s poem was originally published in German under the title “Zwei Çaylöffel Şekir” in the “Sprache” (Language) issue of the journal Literarische Diverse.

Founded by Yasemin Altınay (she/her) in 2019, Literarische Diverse Verlag publishes magazines and books that promote equity in literature and defend the tradition of self-empowerment. The project puts Germany’s colorful realities on paper – forever legible, forever part of the whole – and gives preference to BIPoC and LGBTIQ* voices.

Organizers, Sponsors, and Affiliated Festival

Initiator, co-curator, and co-organizer as part ALTA44

Co-curator and co-organizer 

Sponsor

Tucson Humanities Festival of the University of Arizona

One Poem, Two Translations Read More »

An Interview With B. Metzger Sampson of The Chicago Poetry Center

By Emily Bieniek

Body language is how I first understand translation, interpreting movements to carry certain meanings. It’s essential when a barrier exists between people – whether a child hasn’t learned to speak yet or two people who speak different languages interact. I’m always thinking of what my body is saying, how I am communicating my gender, how subtle details create huge signals.

I’ve found that life is translation. Existing in different spaces and communities forces one to develop ways to communicate between these constantly shifting environments, whether it be with people around us or our own internal thoughts. I’m often blending parts of my personality and practice, translating them into new ways for people to experience. I love to add a performative element to a poetry reading, specially curated for the audience to see how they interpret the combination of my actions and words.

I’ve talked about this with my friend and former boss, B. Metzger Sampson, on a few occasions, but never so formally. Sampson is the Executive Director of the Chicago Poetry Center, which runs two school poetry programs and curates a traveling reading series.

 

Tell me some stories about your experience with translation.
Knowing just a little bit of several languages has given me the opportunity to: create poetry out of mistranslation, create a bilingual issues of a literary journal (Arabic/English), build a dual language poetry residency for young people (Spanish/English). Knowing a little bit also allows me to make fantastic errors — once in Cairo I was looking for garbage bags and, in an attempt to cobble together a few words I thought I knew, asked the store clerk if they had any “yogurt purses.” Learning a second script/character set (to learn Arabic) was perhaps the single most humbling education experience of my life, it broke my brain open in a really wonderful way.

When I was running a literary magazine for the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (the gorgeous and now-defunct Dear Navigator) we published an issue of contemporary art and literature coming out of Cairo. The magazine was electronic, which allowed us a lot of freedom to support visual and literary work, and experimental electronic literature. Ironically though, what had been digital freedom became a sort of digital curse when we tried to program outside of our Western script — the site coding was not suited to Arabic, and truly everything went wonky. It took a wild amount of tests, fails, trial and error, to get that issue out. It eventually came out and looked stunning, which is very much thanks to friend of the magazine, artist and writer Amira Hanafi who essentially became our volunteer-tech-and-language-editor-at-large, as she can both code and read Arabic. It was also a very good lesson for me in how the internet (in 2011) was very much set up for my native language of English to thrive, which of course, I hadn’t yet bothered to notice, as it was set up for my convenience.

As you know, SAND is a German publication. What is your relationship with Germany and the language?
One of my names is German for “butcher.” I’ve had work shown in Germany, I’ve had German friends, and my family has roots in the French/German border area of Alsace-Lorraine (and as such, no one can decide if we’re German or French – obviously this is deeply important and I hope someone makes a final decision for us soon). Aside from a delightful layover at the Munich airport (great teacups!), I’ve not been to Germany and hope to rectify that as soon as possible.

Actually, my favorite translation story of all time has to do with my German name, a German Egyptian friend, a Cairene friend, and my time in Cairo. I was doing a project in Cairo and one extremely pleasant part of this was that I went out early in the morning to meet the Egyptian writer, Hamdy el-Gazzar, for a long walk through Cairo. We had our coffees and had just crossed the Nile when I received the most fantastically cryptic text from my friend Phillip that went something like “You are walking with a man with whom you share a name. Figure it out and come over for pancakes.” Hamdy and I started by listing off all our names, and none of them were “the same,” by our early standards. We tried everything, gave up, and insisted that Phillip tell us and make us pancakes. It turns out both Metzger and Gazzar mean butcher. (Surely Hamdy knew what his own name meant, but I did not, until that day, know the meaning of my own name.) It’s all thanks to Phillip’s fluency in Arabic, German, and English that I know what my own name means.

In what other ways do you experience translation? I find myself interpreting communication from others in the form of movement mostly. Is this the case for you?
I think almost everything is translation — certainly any use of language is translation, but also cognition, gender expression, fashion, art… it’s all translation. For me, in my daily use, my most common translations are actually between different communities. It’s a natural place for me to live because I seem to exist in a sort of in between realm.

I know that right when I was leaving the Chicago Poetry Center, you had just announced that next school year there would be Spanish-language poetry classes, which was super exciting to hear. How is the program going?
We’re hiring even more right now because the program is growing, I’m so happy to report. We’ve been building curriculum in collaboration — myself, our teaching artists, classroom teachers and curriculum designers in the schools – to make sure it’s super high quality for our young people.

All right, now tell me about some exciting things coming up for your organization.
We’re about to have poets read on a boat as it cruises down the Chicago river, right through our gorgeous skyline. I love this reading because not only does our audience get to look at sky and water and Chicago while poets do their thing, but everyone along the banks gets peppered with lyrical moments that they didn’t even know were about to magic up their evening. Everything is better with good poetry. After that we’ll have poets reading in the store where I buy all my tarot cards and artist-made banners of bones, so that should be fun. Next month our students from across Chicago will get to read at a big festival in Chicago’s iconic and central Millennium Park. And of course, we’re ramping up to the school year – every year we’re paying more poets to teach in schools and supporting more Chicago schools with poetry programming.

Read More »

In June 2019, at the invitation of the Latvian Literature Program, our Editor in Chief traveled to Riga, Latvia, to learn more about Latvian literature and meet some of the country’s writers and publishers (as well as some fellow publishers from Germany who were also on the trip). We also got to tour our own printing house, Jelgavas Tipogrāfija, in the nearby city of Jelgava.  As a result of this visit, we later published a poem by Alexander Semyon of the Orbita collective in SAND 20. Here are some highlights:

 

SAND Visits Latvia Read More »

Our Editor in Chief Jake Schneider was invited to speak on a panel about literary magazines at the 2019 Society of Authors Translators Association Symposium, an annual event held in London the day before the book fair, alongside Clare Pollard, editor of Modern Poetry in Translation (MPT). SAND has published translations from at least sixteen languages since our founding in 2009; MPT, a venerable institution of translated literature in the English-speaking world, has been at it for more than fifty years. Still, we were positive that our two publications’ unique sets of experiences could not possibly encompass the breadth of translation’s role in literary magazines.

To get a broader view, Jake reached out to the other magazine editors in the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP), of which SAND is a proud member, for their own experiences. Within hours, he received an outpouring of insights on how translations fit in to the world of literary journals, and why publishing them in that format is a great way to expose emerging translators and to build the reputations of talented authors whose work is still obscure or unknown in English.

Besides sharing some of their insights on the panel, we’ve decided to post a selection of them below, including comments from:

  • Jennifer Acker, editor-in-chief of The Common, which is devoted to “deepening our individual and collective sense of place”
  • Curtis Bauer, translation editor of The Common who also translates from Spanish himself
  • Dede Cummings, editor of the magazine The Hopper and publisher of Green Writers Press, both with a strong environmental focus
  • Ann Kjellberg, editor of the journal Little Star, but also the literary executor of Joseph Brodsky and a former contributing editor of the New York Review of Books
  • Mindy Kronenberg, editor of Oberon Poetry Magazine
  • Minna Zallman Proctor, editor of the quarterly The Literary Review (TLR), established in 1957

All of these publications eagerly accept translated submissions. The emails were sent to Jake privately and are posted here with the editors’ permission.

 

Why should a literary translator submit their work to literary journals?

Ann: Of course! Who could think otherwise? How else do you expect the awareness of an author and the eagerness to invest in and read their work, to spread beyond specialists in the language? If an author is already well-known in English, there is the necessity of making the case that you have something to offer beyond easily available existing translations.

Minna: Translators, especially emerging translators, don’t often think of submitting works in progress to journals because they are focused on book-length projects for book publishers. Changing that paradigm should really just take a nudge from journal editors – who should do a better job of opening their pages to translation, and reaching out to translators to solicit new work. And translators will certainly have an easier time proposing a book-length translation if parts of it have already appeared in literary magazines. The extra exposure provided by a magazine publication is great for an emerging translator given that the business of literary translation has such a strong word-of-mouth component to it.

Poets/poetry translators should definitely be looking at magazine publication from the start of their collaboration. Most of the poetry books that come out in the US are comprised of poems that have all already appeared in lit mags. That’s the model that’s already in place for poetry and so poetry in translation works similarly. Poetry translators should familiarize themselves with the poetry-literary magazine model so that they can use it effectively.

Curtis: It definitely helps people learn about the new voice in a new language. Take a look at Shearsman Books: their webpage more or less says that if you, as a translator, haven’t published a substantial portion of the book of poems in journals in the UK and US, they won’t even look at it. From a publisher’s perspective, individual publications indicate that there’s an interest in the work in literary circles, and that interest tends to lead to better sales.

 

Have you published excerpts of a translation project that was later published as a book?  Did the magazine publication help?

Dede: A few years ago, I received an email from a translator [Ellen Skowronski Polito] who wanted to know if I would write a letter on her behalf so she could enter for an [ASLE translation grant]. I wrote to say that we were very interested in her work translating the work of a Spanish poet, José Manuel Marrero Henríquez, and that if all went well, we would very much like to publish it. Jenna Gersie, the managing editor of our literary magazine, The Hopper, attended the ASLE convention in Detroit and the award was announced with the translator winning! We then made a firm offer to publish the actual book [Landscapes with Donkey]. The editorial process proved to be quite lengthy, but rewarding. One of our editors at Green Writers Press [Anna Mullen] has a knowledge of the Spanish language, so I signed her to work with the translator to make sure that every word rang true to the tone and meaning of the original.

Curtis: Yes, several. The reasons are obvious, as stated above, but there’s also the publicity aspect. One of the things I love about The Common (there are many) is that the journal publicizes the work that comes later: if I publish a poem there, and then a book comes out, I can tell the editors and they’re going to make that announcement in the journal and on their social media sites. The Common isn’t the only place that does this, but it’s one of the few that does it really well.

Ann: I have. […] It is hard to say how precisely this helps. A good source of evidence about this would be editors at publishing houses who publish a lot of translation. Book editors have told me on the whole that they wished they had time to read literary magazines more. We do struggle on our end with readership and distribution – on the other hand, of course, it helps the translator, when going to an editor, to be able to say that parts of this have been published in X, Y, and Z. As an editor myself, I am aware of magazines I appreciate, and I notice when they have given a writer or translator the thumbs up. I think one has to make a somewhat amorphous case that increasing the presence of an author in English is a drop-by-drop process and anything you can do to support this will help a book publisher to commit to your project and will help readers to respond to it. An unknown name in a foreign language is a hard sell, likewise a redundant translation. Literary magazines are your natural ally: they are looking for great work, and you are looking to be seen. Unlike many of their submitters, your writer is a known quantity in their original country and likely to deliver as a writer.

 

On magazines soliciting translations, and where they look for them.

Ann: When I find an author I like I try to find out if there is anything new on the way; I even try to put authors together with translators. I have reached out, for instance, to winners of the PEN and Sontag prizes for works in progress to see their manuscripts. 

Minna: Translators who have been hired by a publishing house to translate literary works are often not included in the serial rights process at all, so they have to leave publishing of excerpts to the publishing houses. The publishing houses that publish more translations are small and independent and often running on limited resources and are not good at getting early excerpts out to magazines (which have long lead times – if we wait for review copies to arrive we usually wouldn’t have time to consider and schedule an excerpt). And literary magazines often don’t have the resources to scour catalogues to look for excerpts. Literary book publishers and literary magazine publishers should work together, because translations – whose authors are often unknown abroad – need more exposure in the literary marketplace to get to readers. Translators can help in this process if they have connections to literary magazines and if the publishers are open to suggestions – even when they are not actually part of placing serial rights.

TLR tries to reach out to publishers for forthcoming work. We’ve found we have to do extra legwork on our end to get publishing houses to think of submitting to us. Again, it’s about forming relationships and keeping up with what people are working on. 

Of course the most important way to know about possible excerpts is through relationships with translators. If we hear from a translator about an interesting work in progress, we’ll approach their publisher to see if there’s something from it that might work in terms of length, and timing. We make a very deliberate effort to engage translation. To that end we have editors at TLR who are focused on soliciting and evaluating works in translation. We’ve definitely found that it’s not a genre of literature that just arrives in the slush pile; we have to reach out for it.

 

On rights to publish translations.

Minna: Most literary magazines are even more under-resourced than small presses and so most of us ask translators to only approach us with projects that they have the rights to – or projects in which they have the author’s permission already to send out for publication. If translators don’t have their permissions in order, most magazines won’t be able to publish. This is very different from how publishing translations work with a book publisher, because in all cases it is the responsibility of the book publisher to seek out and acquire translation publishing rights. Lit mags are the only publishing entity that asks translators to do that work. (Explaining this structure to a room full of seasoned translators can cause gasps of dismay and outrage.) But lit mags for the most part do not have the money or legal experience to deal with translation rights, so that’s how it is. It’s a good idea anyway for translators who are doing a translation for love (rather than under contract – where they don’t have the serial rights anyway) to know the situation with the rights so they don’t spend time on a project that’s already been promised elsewhere.

 

Do you edit translations?

Jennifer: We accept unsolicited translations, and we also commission translators to render works into English, especially for our Arabic portfolios. All pieces are thoroughly edited from an English-language point of view, and our editors work closely with the translators, and often the authors as well, to arrive at the best possible English-language version.  The collaboration can be somewhat unwieldy, given the multiple people reviewing and consulting, but we find we are still able to retain the author’s original voice and stylistic choices. 

Ann: I definitely edit. I usually feel that my suggestions are consistent with an extrapolatable underlying text, and I am counting on the translator to correct me if not; it is a back-and-forth process. In the case of a living author they often participate.

I have been grateful when translators and publishers from whom I am publishing translated work are willing to excerpt it in ways that purists might challenge (The author didn’t mean for it to end there!), in some rare cases even restructuring work. In the later case, one says, “adapted from” in an author’s note or a credit line. One would ordinarily only do this with a living author. I think that it helps to make the work available to an audience and shows the author in a beneficial light.  When translators are able to step back from what might call a dogmatic allegiance to the original, it can often create good opportunities for the work, in the right hands and under the right circumstances.

 

How do you handle edits if the original was already published in its current form, potentially in a language you can’t read?

Mindy: We recently included Korean translations and conferred with the scholar/translator when small inconsistencies were discovered within her own submissions (some of which had previously appeared in other publications). Rules for languages can vary (and dialect and time period can determine linguistic tradition). Admittedly, these were not “substantial,” but one has to try to check for accuracy so that the translation is true as possible to the original work.

Curtis: When editing translations, even when I don’t read the language – I’m thinking of an Israeli poet I published a few years ago (I don’t read Hebrew) – I listen to the English. If there’s a problem, I usually hear it when I read it out loud. In the case of the Israeli poet, I asked the translator about a few lines that I found problematic, how they were constructed in Hebrew and the choices she made in her translation. That evolved into a more focussed conversation about grammar and metaphor (the metaphor in the poem seemed odd, and I wondered if it was “odd” in the original, too; it wasn’t), and ultimately the translator resolved the “oddity” that I heard. I guess what I’m getting at here is that I read the poems and stories and consider their complexities and nuances in English first; if something catches my attention, I mark it as a point for a conversation about the text; that conversation usually leads to a conversation about translation choices and requires that we look at the source text and the translation.

 

Have you taken risks on a translated work that would be unlikely to be published as a book?

Ann: Certainly. I have often excerpted pieces that are strong on their own when I had reservations about the whole. In cases like that I think I am giving the translator a leg up! Publishing a book is a much bigger financial gamble than including a piece in a literary magazine, but seeing that some of a translation has been published before may help to give a book editor confidence, and suggest some ideas about how an editorial process might bring out the text’s strengths.

Curtis: Of course. I think that’s the only way that “unlikely to be published” piece will eventually find its way into book form; new authors and translators needs exposure. They have to start somewhere, and I’m willing to consider work that may never find its way into book form.

 

When publishing translations, do you focus on a particular language or region?

Jennifer: The Common publishes work in all genres with a strong sense of place. It has led us to include a wide variety of international works from more than 16 languages over the last 10 years. Recently, we have begun to highlight translated works in place-specific portfolios. For example, in fall 2018, we published a 100-page portfolio of works from Puerto Rico, the majority written in Spanish and translated into English, to mark one year after Hurricane Maria.  We have also developed a particular focus on translating and publishing contemporary Arabic fiction. For six years now, I have worked with prominent Jordanian writer Hisham Bustani to select, translate, edit and publish works from the Arab world. In 2016, we published TAJDEED (Renewal), entirely devoted to contemporary fiction from the Arab world, representing 26 writers from 15 countries. This momentum has continued so that we are publishing a special portfolio of works translated from Arabic every spring – in 2018, we published a portfolio from Jordan; and in 2019 we are just about to release our Syria portfolio in Issue 17.

We are currently putting together a call for submissions for Lusophone portfolio, works from and about the Lusosphere – Portuguese-speaking countries and their diaspora. We’ve found these portfolios not only allow us to publish a diverse array of writers, but help us find new readers. These issues are also very popular among teachers who use our The Common in the Classroom program.

 

Do you hold translations to a different standard than originals?

Curtis: I don’t think so. I hold both to a very high standard. 

Ann: No. I expect translations to hold up as a literary experience: they don’t get a pass because they are translations.

 

Do you have any other advice for translators submitting to magazines?

Ann: Only, please do it! It seems so valuable to me. Try to identify sections that are free-standing and give the editor a choice. Offer to provide more if they want. 

Curtis: Yes! Be open to a conversation with editors about multiple aspects of the work. I often encounter translators who are unwilling to engage in a conversation about polysemy. That’s one of the things I love most about translations, so I often ask translators to reconsider word choice and syntax.

Minna: Keep an eye out for literary magazines that publish work in translation and submit to the ones you like best. Tell the translators that TLR loves work in translation. 

Mindy: Think of it as a process of literary outreach, and discovery for readers.

 

A big thank you to Ruth Martin, who is co-chair of the Translators Association and translates from the German herself, for inviting us and for facilitating this discussion at the symposium. And thank you to all the editors for sharing their experiences and agreeing, after the fact, to us posting their illuminating comments on our website.

Why Translators Should Publish in Literary Journals (archive) Read More »

Since our founding in 2009, SAND has published work in translation from at least 18 languages. Although journals like ours eagerly await the arrival of translations in our submissions piles, many translators don’t think to submit to literary journals. This is despite journals being a great way to expose emerging translators and to build the reputations of talented authors whose work is still obscure or unknown in English.

Wanting to get other publishers’ take on the issue, translator and former SAND Editor in Chief Jake Schneider reached out to other magazine editors from the Society of Authors Translators Association Symposium and in the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP), of which SAND is a proud member. Within hours, he received an outpouring of insights, including comments from the following editors, all of whose publications eagerly accept translated submissions.

  • Jennifer Acker, editor-in-chief of The Common, which is devoted to “deepening our individual and collective sense of place”
  • Curtis Bauer, translation editor of The Common who also translates from Spanish himself
  • Dede Cummings, editor of the magazine The Hopper and publisher of Green Writers Press, both with a strong environmental focus
  • Ann Kjellberg, editor of the journal Little Star, but also the literary executor of Joseph Brodsky and a former contributing editor of the New York Review of Books
  • Mindy Kronenberg, editor of Oberon Poetry Magazine
  • Minna Zallman Proctor, editor of the quarterly The Literary Review (TLR), established in 1957

Should a literary translator submit their work to literary journals?

Ann: Of course! Who could think otherwise? How else do you expect the awareness of an author and the eagerness to invest in and read their work, to spread beyond specialists in the language? If an author is already well-known in English, there is the necessity of making the case that you have something to offer beyond easily available existing translations.

Minna: Translators, especially emerging translators, don’t often think of submitting works in progress to journals because they are focused on book-length projects for book publishers. Changing that paradigm should really just take a nudge from journal editors – who should do a better job of opening their pages to translation, and reaching out to translators to solicit new work. And translators will certainly have an easier time proposing a book-length translation if parts of it have already appeared in literary magazines. The extra exposure provided by a magazine publication is great for an emerging translator given that the business of literary translation has such a strong word-of-mouth component to it.

Poets/poetry translators should definitely be looking at magazine publication from the start of their collaboration. Most of the poetry books that come out in the US are comprised of poems that have all already appeared in lit mags. That’s the model that’s already in place for poetry and so poetry in translation works similarly. Poetry translators should familiarize themselves with the poetry-literary magazine model so that they can use it effectively.

Curtis: It definitely helps people learn about the new voice in a new language. Take a look at Shearsman Books: their webpage more or less says that if you, as a translator, haven’t published a substantial portion of the book of poems in journals in the UK and US, they won’t even look at it. From a publisher’s perspective, individual publications indicate that there’s an interest in the work in literary circles, and that interest tends to lead to better sales.

 

Have you published excerpts of a translation project that was later published as a book?  Did the magazine publication help?

Dede: A few years ago, I received an email from a translator [Ellen Skowronski Polito] who wanted to know if I would write a letter on her behalf so she could enter for an [ASLE translation grant]. I wrote to say that we were very interested in her work translating the work of a Spanish poet, José Manuel Marrero Henríquez, and that if all went well, we would very much like to publish it. Jenna Gersie, the managing editor of our literary magazine, The Hopper, attended the ASLE convention in Detroit and the award was announced with the translator winning! We then made a firm offer to publish the actual book [Landscapes with Donkey]. The editorial process proved to be quite lengthy, but rewarding. One of our editors at Green Writers Press [Anna Mullen] has a knowledge of the Spanish language, so I signed her to work with the translator to make sure that every word rang true to the tone and meaning of the original.

Curtis: Yes, several. The reasons are obvious, as stated above, but there’s also the publicity aspect. One of the things I love about The Common (there are many) is that the journal publicizes the work that comes later: if I publish a poem there, and then a book comes out, I can tell the editors and they’re going to make that announcement in the journal and on their social media sites. The Common isn’t the only place that does this, but it’s one of the few that does it really well.

Ann: I have. […] It is hard to say how precisely this helps. A good source of evidence about this would be editors at publishing houses who publish a lot of translation. Book editors have told me on the whole that they wished they had time to read literary magazines more. We do struggle on our end with readership and distribution – on the other hand, of course, it helps the translator, when going to an editor, to be able to say that parts of this have been published in X, Y, and Z. As an editor myself, I am aware of magazines I appreciate, and I notice when they have given a writer or translator the thumbs up. I think one has to make a somewhat amorphous case that increasing the presence of an author in English is a drop-by-drop process and anything you can do to support this will help a book publisher to commit to your project and will help readers to respond to it. An unknown name in a foreign language is a hard sell, likewise a redundant translation. Literary magazines are your natural ally: they are looking for great work, and you are looking to be seen. Unlike many of their submitters, your writer is a known quantity in their original country and likely to deliver as a writer.

 

On magazines soliciting translations, and where they look for them.

Ann: When I find an author I like I try to find out if there is anything new on the way; I even try to put authors together with translators. I have reached out, for instance, to winners of the PEN and Sontag prizes for works in progress to see their manuscripts. 

Minna: Translators who have been hired by a publishing house to translate literary works are often not included in the serial rights process at all, so they have to leave publishing of excerpts to the publishing houses. The publishing houses that publish more translations are small and independent and often running on limited resources and are not good at getting early excerpts out to magazines (which have long lead times – if we wait for review copies to arrive we usually wouldn’t have time to consider and schedule an excerpt). And literary magazines often don’t have the resources to scour catalogues to look for excerpts. Literary book publishers and literary magazine publishers should work together, because translations – whose authors are often unknown abroad – need more exposure in the literary marketplace to get to readers. Translators can help in this process if they have connections to literary magazines and if the publishers are open to suggestions – even when they are not actually part of placing serial rights.

TLR tries to reach out to publishers for forthcoming work. We’ve found we have to do extra legwork on our end to get publishing houses to think of submitting to us. Again, it’s about forming relationships and keeping up with what people are working on. 

Of course the most important way to know about possible excerpts is through relationships with translators. If we hear from a translator about an interesting work in progress, we’ll approach their publisher to see if there’s something from it that might work in terms of length, and timing. We make a very deliberate effort to engage translation. To that end we have editors at TLR who are focused on soliciting and evaluating works in translation. We’ve definitely found that it’s not a genre of literature that just arrives in the slush pile; we have to reach out for it.

 

On rights to publish translations.

Minna: Most literary magazines are even more under-resourced than small presses and so most of us ask translators to only approach us with projects that they have the rights to – or projects in which they have the author’s permission already to send out for publication. If translators don’t have their permissions in order, most magazines won’t be able to publish. This is very different from how publishing translations work with a book publisher, because in all cases it is the responsibility of the book publisher to seek out and acquire translation publishing rights. Lit mags are the only publishing entity that asks translators to do that work. (Explaining this structure to a room full of seasoned translators can cause gasps of dismay and outrage.) But lit mags for the most part do not have the money or legal experience to deal with translation rights, so that’s how it is. It’s a good idea anyway for translators who are doing a translation for love (rather than under contract – where they don’t have the serial rights anyway) to know the situation with the rights so they don’t spend time on a project that’s already been promised elsewhere.

 

Do you edit translations?

Jennifer: We accept unsolicited translations, and we also commission translators to render works into English, especially for our Arabic portfolios. All pieces are thoroughly edited from an English-language point of view, and our editors work closely with the translators, and often the authors as well, to arrive at the best possible English-language version.  The collaboration can be somewhat unwieldy, given the multiple people reviewing and consulting, but we find we are still able to retain the author’s original voice and stylistic choices. 

Ann: I definitely edit. I usually feel that my suggestions are consistent with an extrapolatable underlying text, and I am counting on the translator to correct me if not; it is a back-and-forth process. In the case of a living author they often participate.

I have been grateful when translators and publishers from whom I am publishing translated work are willing to excerpt it in ways that purists might challenge (The author didn’t mean for it to end there!), in some rare cases even restructuring work. In the later case, one says, “adapted from” in an author’s note or a credit line. One would ordinarily only do this with a living author. I think that it helps to make the work available to an audience and shows the author in a beneficial light.  When translators are able to step back from what might call a dogmatic allegiance to the original, it can often create good opportunities for the work, in the right hands and under the right circumstances.

 

How do you handle edits if the original was already published in its current form, potentially in a language you can’t read?

Mindy: We recently included Korean translations and conferred with the scholar/translator when small inconsistencies were discovered within her own submissions (some of which had previously appeared in other publications). Rules for languages can vary (and dialect and time period can determine linguistic tradition). Admittedly, these were not “substantial,” but one has to try to check for accuracy so that the translation is true as possible to the original work.

Curtis: When editing translations, even when I don’t read the language – I’m thinking of an Israeli poet I published a few years ago (I don’t read Hebrew) – I listen to the English. If there’s a problem, I usually hear it when I read it out loud. In the case of the Israeli poet, I asked the translator about a few lines that I found problematic, how they were constructed in Hebrew and the choices she made in her translation. That evolved into a more focussed conversation about grammar and metaphor (the metaphor in the poem seemed odd, and I wondered if it was “odd” in the original, too; it wasn’t), and ultimately the translator resolved the “oddity” that I heard. I guess what I’m getting at here is that I read the poems and stories and consider their complexities and nuances in English first; if something catches my attention, I mark it as a point for a conversation about the text; that conversation usually leads to a conversation about translation choices and requires that we look at the source text and the translation.

 

Have you taken risks on a translated work that would be unlikely to be published as a book?

Ann: Certainly. I have often excerpted pieces that are strong on their own when I had reservations about the whole. In cases like that I think I am giving the translator a leg up! Publishing a book is a much bigger financial gamble than including a piece in a literary magazine, but seeing that some of a translation has been published before may help to give a book editor confidence, and suggest some ideas about how an editorial process might bring out the text’s strengths.

Curtis: Of course. I think that’s the only way that “unlikely to be published” piece will eventually find its way into book form; new authors and translators needs exposure. They have to start somewhere, and I’m willing to consider work that may never find its way into book form.

 

When publishing translations, do you focus on a particular language or region?

Jennifer: The Common publishes work in all genres with a strong sense of place. It has led us to include a wide variety of international works from more than 16 languages over the last 10 years. Recently, we have begun to highlight translated works in place-specific portfolios. For example, in fall 2018, we published a 100-page portfolio of works from Puerto Rico, the majority written in Spanish and translated into English, to mark one year after Hurricane Maria.  We have also developed a particular focus on translating and publishing contemporary Arabic fiction. For six years now, I have worked with prominent Jordanian writer Hisham Bustani to select, translate, edit and publish works from the Arab world. In 2016, we published TAJDEED (Renewal), entirely devoted to contemporary fiction from the Arab world, representing 26 writers from 15 countries. This momentum has continued so that we are publishing a special portfolio of works translated from Arabic every spring – in 2018, we published a portfolio from Jordan; and in 2019 we are just about to release our Syria portfolio in Issue 17.

We are currently putting together a call for submissions for Lusophone portfolio, works from and about the Lusosphere – Portuguese-speaking countries and their diaspora. We’ve found these portfolios not only allow us to publish a diverse array of writers, but help us find new readers. These issues are also very popular among teachers who use our The Common in the Classroom program.

 

Do you hold translations to a different standard than originals?

Curtis: I don’t think so. I hold both to a very high standard. 

Ann: No. I expect translations to hold up as a literary experience: they don’t get a pass because they are translations.

 

Do you have any other advice for translators submitting to magazines?

Ann: Only, please do it! It seems so valuable to me. Try to identify sections that are free-standing and give the editor a choice. Offer to provide more if they want. 

Curtis: Yes! Be open to a conversation with editors about multiple aspects of the work. I often encounter translators who are unwilling to engage in a conversation about polysemy. That’s one of the things I love most about translations, so I often ask translators to reconsider word choice and syntax.

Minna: Keep an eye out for literary magazines that publish work in translation and submit to the ones you like best. Tell the translators that TLR loves work in translation. 

Mindy: Think of it as a process of literary outreach, and discovery for readers.

 

Some of the comments above were made as part of a panel about literary magazines at the 2019 Society of Authors Translators Association Symposium. A big thank you to Ruth Martin, who is co-chair of the Translators Association and translates from the German herself, for inviting us and for facilitating this discussion at the symposium. And thank you to all the editors for sharing their experiences and agreeing, after the fact, to us posting their illuminating comments on our website. This article originally appeared on our website in 2019 and has been edited and shortened in its current form.

Why Translators Should Publish in Literary Journals Read More »

Printed Tongues: On Running a Bilingual Print Publication in Remote, Northern Iceland

by KT Browne, Editor of ICEVIEW magazine

Whoever said that print was dead was so, so wrong. I remember hearing this somewhere, sometime ago and thinking my god – how could it be? To say that I was discouraged when I heard this would be an understatement; I was crushed. I knew then that I wanted to work in publishing, but I wasn’t quite sure how, and I definitely didn’t know how I’d be able to do so if print, as someone somewhere claimed, was dead.

Or perhaps “dead” wasn’t exactly the term that was used. It might have been more like “on the way out” or “digitized.” Whatever the case, it was enough to drive me forward because, well, what else is the fear of failure supposed to do?

ICEVIEW Magazine is a proud print publication of creative writing and visual art based out of northern Iceland. It began in 2015 and has been published annually since then. Our goal has been twofold: to bridge the communication gap between locals and visitors of Iceland, and to examine artmaking and creativity in the context of travel. The former, as it turns out, quickly became the framework through which each volume developed, and we learned that cultivating the cultural importance of language—especially smaller ones like Icelandic—is as crucial as publishing the work itself. Each volume of ICEVIEW is published in both English and Icelandic, and this bilingual platform has allowed its audience to expand exponentially.

Of course, being based in a non-English-speaking country and publishing half in English does pose its challenges. We are always faced with the question of who we’d like our audience to be and the possibility that we might be, on some level, “disregarding” the Icelandic tongue by not publishing solely in Icelandic. But to that I say Nei! Most Icelanders know that their rapidly growing and diversifying society is a huge asset, and that part of this growth involves the acceptance of multiple languages as part of the fabric of society. Yet all that being said, having all our English content translated into Icelandic and vice versa is something we’re proud of and one of the cornerstones of our mission. To be able to give a short story or a poem another life by bringing it into another language is a unique opportunity. Thankfully, ICEVIEW’s bilingualism has only been met with positive feedback in Iceland. Here, in a country where literature is so historically revered, everyone seems really thrilled that Icelandic is being preserved and creative writing is being presented to a wider, English-speaking audience.

Beyond language, community-building is an extremely important part of what we do, but being based where we are presents another set of challenges altogether. For those who have not been to the north of Iceland, I will do you a favor and summarize it for you—it’s remote! Towns and villages are extremely small and family-oriented, which makes building an urban-style community of like-minded people a bit more difficult, especially when language barriers come into play. For this reason, building a digital, international community has been crucial for ICEVIEW’s success, and is, I would imagine, crucial for any independent magazine. It is, of course, also incredibly lovely to discover similar literary publications around the world to connect with—like SAND.

Still, fostering our local community is essential, too. We would not be able to function, for instance, without the generous support of a local cultural organization in Northwest Iceland that invests in small-scale arts and culture initiatives and cultivates the creative life of the region. We are long-time collaborators with a local artist residency, NES, whose team was crucial to getting the ball rolling on our outreach. We also have a good relationship with Iceland’s bookstore chain, Penninn Eymundsson, who sells our issues around the country much to our unending delight.

So from where I’m standing, print isn’t dead. Far from it. It is alive and thriving and so long as I continue to receive emails from the odd traveler passing through Keflavík Airport—I happened upon the latest issue of ICEVIEW on my stopover to Paris, or Brussels, or Malta and just wanted to reach out—I will rest easy and dream of freshly printed paper slipping between the fingers of someone somewhere across an ocean.

Profiles in Transnational Publishing: ICEVIEW Read More »

A Harrowing Journey in Translation: Wolfgang Bauer’s Crossing the Sea

by Sarah Pybus

I’m sure most translators remember their first book project, and the literary side of my translation career certainly got off to a great and memorable start. A couple of years after translating Crossing the Sea, a work of non-fiction by Wolfgang Bauer (And Other Stories), I revisited the book for Sheffield’s Migration Matters festival. Copies of the book were given away throughout the city and people were encouraged to come along to the central library for a discussion group with myself and Stefan Tobler, the book’s publisher and editor. Participants would have the opportunity to ask questions about the translation process, share their thoughts on the book, and discuss the wider issue of the refugee crisis. Rereading the book to refresh my memory, I looked back on my whirlwind introduction to literary translation.

Crossing the Sea is about Syrian refugees, a constantly evolving topic that required the book to be published as quickly as possible. As Stefan Tobler explains: “We jumped at the chance to publish Crossing the Sea because in spite of the many news stories about Syrian refugees, we hadn’t read anything like it that lets readers go beyond the headlines and truly get to know some individuals and their stories.”

And so I was faced with the prospect of translating a 27,000-word book in one month. Before going freelance I had spent more than five years as an in-house translator, and it wasn’t unusual for me and my colleagues to be asked to translate a similar word count in much less than a month. In addition, this was a book of journalism (something I had often translated) so I didn’t feel as daunted as I might have. My overriding feeling was one of excitement at the opportunity to translate my first book, particularly one on such an important and emotional subject.

In fact, the short turnaround time worked well with the subject matter. In the book, journalist Wolfgang Bauer and photographer Stanislav Krupař disguise themselves as refugees and travel with a group of Syrians as they attempt to get to Europe. As Wolfgang says in this interview on Spuren.de, “I resolved to join them on their journey because I saw that many of the friends I made in Syria a long time ago were coming to Europe. I felt connected to their suffering, their hope – such human hope – to escape the war. And I wanted to share that experience with them, no matter what happened.” Over the course of the book, this experience includes being shot at, imprisoned, kidnapped, and nearly drowning.

I hadn’t had a chance to read the whole book before taking on the project, and would set myself a minimum word count to complete each day. Often I would find myself working for longer, unable to finish for the day when I was so desperate to find out what happened next. I had often seen news reports accompanied by images of people in boats, but this translation provided a deeper insight rarely seen in general media outlets. I would never have envisioned a group of refugees being kidnapped by another band of people smugglers; why would this happen, and how on earth would the situation be resolved? At times, the events unfolding on my computer screen would leave me in tears or force me to go out for a walk to clear my head. The project may have been emotionally intense at times, but immersing myself in that intensity helped me to tell the story.

Attending the reading group at the Migration Matters festival, I was delighted with the feedback. The reading experience had been as intense and immersive as the translation process. Many participants expressed their hope that copies of the book might find their way to world leaders, because, as one reader put it, “The stories are harrowing, but also awe-inspiring, with what these people have gone through to get a better life for them and their families. This makes the book impossible to put down and grips you from start to end”. There is something very special about encouraging people to explore topical issues in more detail and to imagine what it must be like to endure such terrible events. I am so glad that I was entrusted with this task.

Sarah Pybus [@PybusTrans] is a translator of literary and non-literary texts from German. In 2015 she was awarded first place in the GINT Non-Fiction Translation Competition.

 

Read more about Wolfgang Bauer’s undercover journey in this article from Newsweek. You can purchase Sarah Pybus’s translation of the book here.

A Harrowing Journey in Translation Read More »

SAND Goes to Vietnam

by Jake Schneider, Editor in Chief

Most of the writing SAND publishes is unsolicited, and we’re often amazed at the many places in the world from which our contributors find us, joining the Berlin community in our journal’s pages. Now, for the first time, we’re excited to travel in the other direction and meet some of our farthest contributors in person on their home turf.

My trip with SAND Poetry Editor Greg Nissan to Ă-Festival 2017 in Hanoi and Saigon came out of one of these artistic relationships, as I’ll explain. The festival is bringing together more like-minded independent journals and presses with poets, translators, organizers, and publishers from across Asia and the wider world. We’ll be taking part in five days of readings, discussions, book fairs, and workshops in both cities.

Our original connection to the festival was the poem “a parade” by Nhã Thuyên, translated by Kaitlin Rees, which appeared last year in Issue 14. You can read it here.

The poem’s author and translator are part of a tightknit independent literary scene in the Vietnamese capital, and they co-run a publishing house, AJAR Press, which prints a bilingual Vietnamese-English magazine as well as poetry collections in both languages. AJAR Press is also one of the hosts of Ă-Festival, and we were delighted when they invited us to participate in the second edition.

We first thought of flying to Hanoi when we saw a video from last year’s inaugural edition of Ă-Festival and realized that two of our other past contributors, Tammy Ho Lai-Ming from Hong Kong and B.B.P. Hosmillo from the Philippines, were also there. That made a total of four contributors attending the same poetry festival more than eight thousand kilometers away, and it also made the world smaller than we thought.

Besides admiring Nhã Thuyên’s richly textured and cyclical poem, we were struck by Kaitlin Rees’s approach to translating its trickiest elements. The biggest challenge there was the Vietnamese language’s intricate system of personal pronouns, which are poorly matched by the neutrality of English’s I, you, or we. When we asked Kaitlin to compile a glossary of these pronouns to accompany her translation, the glossary (“notes on a parade”) became a poem of its own.

Kaitlin’s encounter with the uncanny specificities of language reminded me of an event I organized in 2015 called “Untranslatable.” Back then, I asked nine Berlin-based literary translators for texts that they considered in some way “untranslatable,” and they sent in everything from Oulipo experiments to Flemish sound poetry to punning riddles by Walter Benjamin. Then the translators swapped texts and had a month to wrestle with them before performing the “impossible” translations at our event, which took place, appropriately enough, on a Friday the 13th.

At Ă-Festival 2017, in addition to participating in a reading and a panel, Greg and I will be holding a follow-up “Translating the Untranslatable” workshop, this time featuring even more languages we don’t personally speak. In small groups, the participating poets and translators will attempt in two hours what the last group accomplished in a month – to take supposedly untranslatable texts apart and put them back together in a new home: Vietnam.

These unexpected chances to build community across continents are part of what excites us about running a truly international journal.

Travel funded by the Berlin Senate Department for Culture and Europe.

Vietnam: Translation Read More »