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| Photograph by Ronald Hoeben |
1. How did you come to be a translator?
I grew up in a monolingual family and
environment, but I read a lot and quite a few of the books I read were translations,
and I remember seeing that as something mysterious and wonderful. Being able to
read a book in one language and rewrite it in another struck me as very cool,
even if I only had the flimsiest grasp of what a skill like that might involve.
As a young adult I was interested in
writing and also travelled a lot, so when I picked up a smattering of a couple
of languages, it was natural for me to try to experiment with translation,
producing a naive version of a French chanson for instance, in collaboration
with a French friend I met at a backpackers’ hostel in Taiwan.
Later still I learnt German and Dutch to a
reasonable level and moved to the Netherlands where, shocked by my sudden
ability to open my mouth and have something other than English come out of it,
I realised that I could put my childish fantasy into practice and make a living
out of it at the same time, which was good, because I really wasn’t getting
anywhere as a casual labourer.
That was just over twenty years ago and
since then I’ve translated millions of words, gradually increasing the literary
component of my output until now, when I’m in the luxurious position of being
able to more or less choose which authors and books I translate.
2. You've won numerous awards for your translation work. What do you think are the key qualities that a good translator needs?
If I can narrow this to the qualities a
good literary translator needs: first and foremost, a passion for literature
and excellent writing skills in your native language, which you must translate
into. Then you have to have a deep understanding of the language you’re
translating from, so that you know just what you’re trying to reproduce. And of
course languages and cultures are such complex things that even after decades
of intensive involvement they still surprise you and you still make mistakes,
so that’s an ongoing process that never ends.
Once you’ve satisfied these prerequisites
and start on an actual translation, you need to be patient, perfectionistic and
slightly obsessive. You can’t afford to clock-watch. And while obsessing about
the details, you have to maintain sight of the whole and how it works as a
piece of literature in English, because that is the touchstone, the criterion
that must always be satisfied.
3. Your body of work covers everything from
poetry to serious works of literature and also children's books. Do you have a
favourite genre and do you find you approach the process differently depending
on the genre?
I like the variation, so generally my
favourite genre is the one I haven’t translated for the longest. At the moment,
that would be plays, I suppose, but the jobs I’ve got lined up next are novels.
My approach is always more or less the
same. I start at the beginning and work through to the end, one draft at a
time. The genre then affects the way the process evolves. With poetry, for
instance, you can fly through a first draft and get a whole book done in a week
or two. But you know that you are going to have to go through it again and
again, maybe dozens of times, and think about some problems for hours or days,
maybe coming up with the solution when you’re lying in bed in the middle of the
night or pushing a trolley down an aisle in a supermarket. Nonfiction books or
novels, on the other hand, take much longer per draft and are much more likely
to present problems of specific settings or environments that require library
visits, internet research and background reading in an attempt to master the
terminology or the tone.
4. In children's books, and poetry, where
there are often very few words and each one counts, you can also have added
complications such as rhyme and rhythm. How do you go about accommodating this
in your translation?
I try to put everything into the
translation, but as I said before, the touchstone is that it has to work in
English. Unfortunately it’s generally only possible to translate a rhyming,
metrical poem as a rhyming, metrical poem with all of the content intact by
doing violence to the English language or resorting to tired nineteenth-century
poetic clichés like inversion of the grammatical structure or adding all kinds
of pointless words to pad your lines. Producing doggerel in other words, and
that can’t be the goal of literary translation.
If you want your translated poems to be fresh and exciting in English, something has to give from a translation point of view, and it’s up to the translator to decide which facet of the original is least important in each case. Generally with ‘serious’ poetry for adults, the content and meaning are sacrosanct and rhyme is the area where you have the most leeway, but with light verse or children’s poetry, where so much of the fun comes from the strict rhythm and regular, full rhyme, you’re often better off taking liberties with the content. Not with the essence of the poem, but with the details. Often it really doesn’t matter if the animal they see at the zoo is a crocodile or an elephant. And it’s usually the case that the original poet was clearly guided by the sound of the words, so if you let yourself be guided by your ear as well, you’re actually translating in the spirit of the original.
If you want your translated poems to be fresh and exciting in English, something has to give from a translation point of view, and it’s up to the translator to decide which facet of the original is least important in each case. Generally with ‘serious’ poetry for adults, the content and meaning are sacrosanct and rhyme is the area where you have the most leeway, but with light verse or children’s poetry, where so much of the fun comes from the strict rhythm and regular, full rhyme, you’re often better off taking liberties with the content. Not with the essence of the poem, but with the details. Often it really doesn’t matter if the animal they see at the zoo is a crocodile or an elephant. And it’s usually the case that the original poet was clearly guided by the sound of the words, so if you let yourself be guided by your ear as well, you’re actually translating in the spirit of the original.
Illustrations
can be a complication here, of course, and that’s something you need to pay
careful attention to as well. My most important children’s poetry translation so
far has been a collection of the work of the undisputed queen of Dutch children’s
literature, the fabulous Annie M.G. Schmidt, and in that case I was fortunate
that it was a new edition appearing simultaneously in English and Dutch, with
new illustrations that were designed to fit both original and translation.
5. You're also an author. Do you find
it difficult returning to write in your own 'voice' when you spend so much of
your time channelling other writers' styles as you translate their work?
It’s hard to say. I suspect not, but I
haven’t written any fiction for a few years now, so I don’t know if this is
going to be a problem. In fact I’m just about to embark on a short writing
break, so this is something I’m likely to find out sooner rather than later. I
think a far greater problem is the confrontation with the blank page, something
that a translator never has to contend with, and the reason I don’t see
translators as 'writers' in their own right. 'Voice' and 'style' are a
translator’s specialities and translation hones these skills in ways that
should, if anything, be beneficial when writing.
6. To what extent, if at all, do you
tend to consult or liaise with the authors of the works you translate?
Dutch and Flemish writers generally have
very good English, and with living authors I usually write to them with
questions I can’t resolve myself: things like specific local knowledge,
ambiguities in the text or dialect words that the native speakers I know don’t understand
either. I also raise the issue of any mistakes that slipped past the original editor
and how best to resolve them in the translation. With a typical novel these
things might come to a total of ten to twenty questions. After I’ve
incorporated the answers into the translation and produced a final draft, I
offer it to the author to read so they can make suggestions or ask any
questions they might have. Some authors like to meet for a couple of hours to
discuss the translation, others just glance at it and say, 'Great.'
Poets
in general want to look at the translations more closely and I often have long
discussions with them. I’m happy to do that and as long as I maintain artistic
control it can only improve the quality of the translation. I explain why I
have taken certain liberties and the poets explain which aspects are most important
to them and most crucial to reproduce. The danger is that poet might want to
see more direct parallels between their original and the translation, something
that usually results in stilted, literal translation, which in turn is
something that makes a native speaker cringe but sounds fine to a non-native. As
a translator you need to be patient, stick to your guns and explain things
carefully, realising that translation can be a traumatic experience for a poet
or author and that even the silliest comment or most cack-eared suggestion can
indicate an underlying weakness in the translation.
7. What particularly appealed to you about
the story of Maia and What Matters?
Maia and What Matters is moving and funny
and deals with important issues like aging and illness in a way that manages to
be both childlike and heartening, accepting yet empowering. I’d already been in
discussion with Book Island about some other projects and I was very taken by
their daring and ambitious approach to publishing and translation, and the way
they link the Dutch-speaking world with New Zealand and Australia, so that was
another reason for me to jump at the chance to work with them on this book.
It’s actually the first picture book I’ve done that’s made it through to
publication, but it’s definitely a genre I appreciate and it’s a privilege to
be a part of making something so beautiful.
It’s impossible to separate the story from Kaatje
Vermeire’s gorgeous illustrations, which are crucial to the book’s impact and
depth, but if I look at the writing from a more technical point of view the
most striking element — which was immediately the most difficult thing to
render in translation — is Tine Mortier’s control over the pacing, the way she
alternates between poetic description and colloquial interjections to build up
a sense of character and scene. That’s very well done and a fine balance;
surprising and original without being confusing or cluttered. I love the way
she manages to convey it all so powerfully without having to spell things out.
Maia and What Matters is available now; Book Island; ISBN 9780987669667; $28.00 RRP.
Visit the Book Island website and Facebook page for more information.
You can find out more about Maia and What Matters by visiting the following websites participating in the Meet Maia Blog Tour:
Beattie’s Book Blog (NZ)
Launch of the Blog Tour
Booksellers New Zealand
Guest blog by Emily Duizend from Story Island about the Story Bridge project
The Caker’s Blog (NZ)
Launch of the Baking and Writing Competition (restricted to New Zealand)
My Book Corner (AU/UK)
Book review and giveaway
Tuesday 12th November
Playing By The Book (UK)
Interview with the illustrator, Kaatje Vermeire, and giveaway
Stephanie Owen Reeder (AU)
Book review
Wednesday 13th November
Wellington Kids’ Blog (NZ)
Interview with the author, Tine Mortier
Munch Cooking (NZ)
www.munchcooking.com
Book review and giveaway
My Little Bookcase (AU)
Book review and giveaway
Thursday 14th November
Bee's Bookish Blog (NZ)
Feature: The Missing - books for difficult times
Kids' Book Review (AU) (that's us!)
Interview with the translator, David Colmer, and giveaway
Friday 15th November
Around the Bookshops (NZ)
Book review
Gobblefunked
Book review and giveaway
Buzz Words (AU)
Interview with the publisher, Greet Pauwelijn, and giveaway
