Gained In Translation

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Inevitably, when we are talking about translation, an old chestnut comes bouncing along to divert all discussion into a well-worn rut. Lost in translation. The phrase implies that we, as translators, have missed the bus, caught the wrong train, backed a hobbled horse. Fine, you say. If you want me to join you in that rut; here I come.

You’re right. There is no equivalent in any language for the German word waldeinsamkeit, or the Portuguese word saudade, or the Danish word hyggelig or the French word flâneur. And yes, you’re right again. I do throw up my hands helplessly over proverbs and dialect; over culture-specific kitchen utensils, endearments and cuss words. Do you want me to go on? Or may I tell you instead why we return to this work again and again, despite one-word, one-phrase losses which incidentally, add up to no more than tiny gaps in the volumes of feelings and ideas that we transport with loving care and great success from one language to another? We don’t do it for fame, for there is none. Or for money, of which there is even less. We do it because we think translation is one of the worthiest forms of literature that human beings have engaged in since the birth of language.