I am moving my blog to my website, amaliagladhart.com. I hope you'll visit there to read new posts. I won't delete this blog until I'm sure everything's running smoothly, but I have imported all ¿Se enseña aquí? posts to the new blog.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
We spent the third weekend in January at the coast, an extended family tradition--long walks, seafood, puzzles, wine. Walks remembered and compared; stones retrieved from tide pools, examined, mulled, returned-- dropped gently, perhaps, or absentmindedly; or flung full-armed into the further surf, that pitcher's arc none of us ever truly mastered. Remembered others' beach traditions (blue glass planted for future harvest, after it might be polished by a winter's waves) and thought about collecting, noticing-- why we bother, what it means.
From Detours (Burnside Review Press):
If you throw blue glass into a field, it disappears like a stone in water.
Waiting, if the edges are sharp, for the unsuspecting foot. If it's beach
glass, already closer to a pebble than to the bottle scrap it was, it
settles unnoticed between roots, slipped by a mower blade, perhaps,
months later, or left alone, a single rock that isn't, where you think
it's not. But if you hold it to your eye, you can't see through--it's not
a lens, only a piece of old glass someone picked up, on an island in
Maine, say, on vacation, or inadvertently with the treads of a shoe, or
somewhere in between: seen inadvertently, then saved.
I'll be reading from Detours at the third annual Wine and Word Celebration at Winter's Hill Vineyard on February 16. The tasting room is open 11-5; we'll have readings and word tastings on the hour, starting at noon. Also participating are Karen McPherson, Micaiah Evans, Cole Danehower, Eric Lindstrom, Jim Gullo, and Pedro García-Caro. Books, wine, and good company!
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
There generally isn't a lot of ice where I live now. Enough to skid out in the dark, but not much to photograph--or to describe, since black ice seems to demand an absence of description. It's an unseeable hazard, or a cold mirage, flip side to the illusory oasis all those cartoon desert stragglers seem to see.
Grainy, soft, unremarkable, curious, not-quite-transparent, nowhere close to spring pictures.
What if the water were still moving underneath? pictures.
Look at the rocks people have thrown to test the ice pictures.
How soon do you think it's going to get dark and does ice hold shadow as well as it holds light? pictures.
Even invisible ice demands description pictures.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Doesn't look quite real, does it? But it is, this clerodendron growing beside my parents' driveway. I don't know a lot about plants, though I look the names up often--for translations, for poems, for no good reason. Wikipedia tells me clerodendron's common names include "glorybower," "bagflower," and "bleeding-heart," which don't seem real, either. Seem, at least, insufficient.
Here in the northwest, it's still green in the winter, and gray. We have two flowers blooming in the garden, both bright pink. The bergenia seems to be having its best December ever, tall and emphatically belled. And up on the slope, a rhododendron my uncle propagated years ago has two precocious (or deluded) blooms. I wonder what it will do in the spring, or if it gets really cold. Last winter's wet snow pulled the flowering currants right out of the ground, though I propped them up and cut them back and they seemed to survive the indignity.
I don't know if any of this is what I'm supposed to be noticing, what I need to notice. Some days it's enough just to list, and name, and reconsider. Those blue fruits in their hot pink skirting: robin's egg or midnight? Ocean or sky? December into January: a little of both.
Wishing all good noticing--good reading and writing--in 2013!
Thursday, November 15, 2012
--tidbits picked up in translating Beyond the Islands (Alicia Yánez Cossío) and Trafalgar (Angélica Gorodischer)--
Some days, translation is like a treasure hunt, a sanctioned scavenge after curious words and unfamiliar allusions. (Happily, I'm a fan of dictionaries and reference books; my dictionary stand is a prized possession.) When the project's finished, some of those definitions and associations slip back out of mind and beyond memory, but others linger. These details may already have been known to many of you, but they were new to me.
|Riddle or rest?|
- Aerugo is another word for verdigris (a green or bluish patina formed on copper, brass, or bronze surfaces exposed to the atmosphere for long periods of time).
- A tero is a Southern lapwing, a loud-voiced bird common in South America.
- Rosario's Oroño Boulevard is indeed lined with "cold, serious, heavy houses, with grilles but without gardens, maybe at the most a tile patio paved like the sidewalk" -- and also with palm trees, Sphinx benches, and Sunday strollers.
- José de Villamil, born in New Orleans in 1788, later became an advocate for Ecuadorian independence and was the first governor of the Galápagos islands.
- Baby's breath is also called gypsophila.
- A pair of embracing skeletons, found in an 8000-year-old burial site on the Santa Elena Peninsula (Ecuador), have been called the pre-ceramic Adam and Eve or Los Amantes de Sumpa.
- Newell's Old Boys (one of Rosario's soccer teams--early team of Lionel Messi) can also be spelled Ñuls.
- Aguamala is a word for jellyfish (not nasty water).
- Opuntia is a prickly pear.
- Cheviot is a fine, wool fabric. Also a breed of sheep.
- And Trafalgar is not only a the name of a battle, and--in Gorodischer's stories--a proper name, but the title of a Bee Gees song.
I'm getting ready to start a new project. I wonder what I'll learn this time around?
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The word of the day (happy result of a dictionary detour) is:
1. the willful distortion or depreciation of the original meaning of a word.
2. a person who willfully distorts the meaning of a word.
Note the deliberation: verbicide is a sin of commission. This isn't malapropism, mistaken identity, well-meaning thought getting out ahead of vocabulary. Destructive of language, destructive of meaning, verbicide might be a form of lying. A cause of loss, occasion for mourning, for fury.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Lisa Carter, in a recent post on her blog Intralingo, offers 3 Reasons to Review Galleys and Proofs. One of these is learning from the editor. The copyeditor for Trafalgar didn't make too many big changes, but there were several pointed questions (third cup of coffee? two pages ago, he ordered his fifth) I was glad to resolve. Not to mention a slew of commas I should have put in to begin with.
It's hard to read the same text again, and again, and still imagine one is reading with fresh eyes. But some months had passed since I'd last looked at the manuscript, and by forcing myself to read slowly, as if I didn't yet know the stories, I caught a number of errors (an excess letter here, an omitted " there) that I would have hated to see in the final, printed book.
And, though this might seem to contradict that "fresh eyes" aspiration, this time around I also found it was fun to revisit the translation process, to remember conversations about particular points, questions I'd had, discarded solutions. I was lucky enough to meet with the author regularly while I was in Rosario, working on the translation. Reviewing the proofs was like a mini mental visit.
Finally, at a couple of points, there were still translation issues to be wrestled with, in particular a paragraph in which I found I'd omitted the verb. I read it a couple of times before I saw what was missing. The passage didn't quite make sense, but was that because I had mistranslated it, or because something odd was happening in the original? One of the challenges in translation is the need to convey the points at which the author is experimenting or playing with the source language. Maybe there was never a verb to lose. . .
But there was. And, once I'd retrieved it, it wasn't immediately clear how to incorporate that verb into the English sentence, a long catalog that needed to accumulate and pile up and intermingle without too much interruption. Appropriately enough, the chapter in question is titled "Mr. Chaos."
I came up with a satisfactory solution. I think. If I reread the proofs again tomorrow, there might be other things I'd want to change. But that's the case with any writing, translation no more nor less than fiction or poetry or criticism. That last-ditch chance at correction is another reason to read proofs: it's not quite as scary (though also not as thrilling) as opening the cover of the published book. There's still time.
Thanks to Small Beer Press for including this translator in the process and giving me the chance to go over the manuscript one more time.