After my last post, I thought something less pensive might be in order.

I wonder how many translators might ever enjoy a tipple whilst working.

Of course I’m referring to those ”freelancers” amongst us who work from the comfort of their homes, not from some enclosed coffin-like “workplace” under the stern guidance of the latest project manager.

Some believe we toil away in our pajamas, imbibing pots full of caffeine, juggling work with endless whining complaints or feckless cat fights on the various Portals. Not I. Full makeup, fetching dress, Manolos if I could ever afford them.

Let me be the first to publicly admit that, yes, I have, on occasion, enjoyed some liquid pleasure while hard at work. I’m not speaking of the tossing back of a few shots of Jameson [which I reserve for bedtime], but rather leisurely sipping a moderately priced yet respectable Cabernet Sauvignon.

It was a number of years ago when I would occasionally, but regularly, be confronted with 3000 words of intellectually demanding literary work. The deadline, self-imposed but necessary, was “5 minutes ago.”

It was not a timeframe with which I would ever be comfortable, given the nature and import of the work involved. I had been translating the gentleman in question, almost every day, for years. And, as anyone who has done such work will understand, I had come to know him. How he thought, what his referents were, his history and his words.

It was, in fact, a kind of osmosis, a necessary merging of two minds.

And, for me, the slow sipping of a bit of Everyday Red seemed to help that process, a small homage to the right side of my brain, a recognition that translation, like most that is good in the world, is not all Logos.

Cocktail Hour

“…We seem to live mainly in order to see how we live, and this habit brings on what might be called the externalizing of knowledge; with every new manual there is less need for its internal, visceral presence…To say this is also to say that the age of ready reference is one in which knowledge inevitably declines into information. The master of so much packaged stuff has less need to grasp context or meaning than his forebears: he can always look it up…”

I ran across the above passage [Jacques Barzun, The Culture We Deserve] the other day while reading one of my most favorite authors and it reminded me why he never fails to satisfy. These words manage to summarize, explain, explore deeply and broadly and make me understand an issue which is a constant source of irritation and despair.

At the Great Big Translation Portal one of the most popular features is an area for translators to seek guidance from their cohorts on prickly terms and phrases. Often the questions come from non-native translators of the language in question or from neophytes simply out of their depth. But what always manages to shock me is that the preferred method for arriving at a suggestion is the endless googling of the phrase/term and presenting such “citations” as proper response. As if the mere fact that the translation has actually appeared somewhere on the interwebs confers its respectability and suitability without even a whit of thought given to “context or meaning.”

My irritation at this process generally manifests itself in rants about how people don’t read any more, the educational system clearly sucks, the humanities are no longer being taught, civilization is in decline and, of course, people are bloody idiots.

All true enough, of course, and, as regards my particular peeve, merely being exacerbated by what Barzun describes as the Alexandrianism of our times, one of whose characteristics is a proliferation of reference books and the consequences thereof.

Yes, perspective helps, at least for a few moments.

miroleando

“…And so here we are lookingatandreadingeachother (which comes from the verb "mirolear," the action of jointly looking, in reciprocity, mutually)…”

A line from one of my favorite translations. One of the subjects of the piece was the vagaries and finer points of electronic communication, and his metaphor was little paper boats cast, with much trepidation and love, down the river. Yes, exactly how we feel about our translations. And posts and mail and most any other attempt to…mirolear.

The work in question was written by a gentleman who has often been described as “the best living writer in Latin America.” A bit of a hyperbole, I believe, although, given the extraordinarily prolific nature of his work [I have translated literally hundreds, perhaps even a thousand, of them], once upon a time he certainly enjoyed moments of brilliance, wit and even whimsy.

Random rants

A note to certain translation agencies, and we know you know who you are:

Play nice.

Seriously.

You never know when you might, truly, need the services of a particular translator again. Or when a particular translator might post all sorts of thinly veiled references to you and/or your agency all over the interwebs, even, and often, copies of your uncivil, illiterate emails.

While most of my interactions with agencies have been most pleasant, I have seen enough of the other to know how prevalent such bad behavior can be.

Pay.

Promptly, as agreed and…fairly.

And, speaking of fair:

There’s another one of those terribly insular, self-congratulatory threads going on over at the Lesser Portal wherein the Big Boys and Girls are asserting that it’s only the “unprofessional”, incompetent translators who whinge about plummeting rates and shady agencies. These are the translators who assert that they always demand, and receive, at least 15 cents/word, and they have more work than they could handle in a lifetime. Whilst apparently spending more than half their waking hours hanging out at said Portal.

Whatevs, as we say over at my favourite virtual bar [CAVEAT: not for the faint of heart or those without the sensibilities of a difficult 13-year old]. Let’s just assume that the Big Boys and Girls have simply reached the point where they now actually believe they really are those grandiose avatars they so merrily confabulated.

Oddly enough, those Boys and Girls also tend to engage in vicious, humiliating and irrelevant catfights that more than reveal the extent of their various pathologies.

In the real world, real jobs are being posted for 3 cents/word, and agencies are contacting me offering 4 cents [a princely sum, they suggest, and owing to my 12+ years experience, sterling references and the fact that they’re hoping I might really be a thoroughly certifiable idiot].

In the real world, rates are plummeting, and we all know why.