Image from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alps
The Prose
The Prose
My class had the incredible opportunity to work on an excerpt from a living author, who later visited our class and with whom we discussed his work. It was an extraordinary experience - talking with an artist about his work and comparing our interpretations, clarifying issues, getting a glimpse at his thought process. We translated an excerpt from Erwin Uhrmann's "I am the Future," or " Ich bin die Zukunft." Below you will find the original excerpt in German, my translation of that excerpt and my reflections on the translation process of this text. I have also included a link to Erwin Uhrmann's website at the bottom of this page.
The Excerpt
Am Anfang der Sonnenzeit waren um die Wasserstelle die Moospolster noch feucht. Darauf ruhte er ganze Nachmittage. Wenn er das Gewicht verlagerte, hörte er das Moos unter sich quatschende Geräusche machen. Er kühlte aus, sein ganzer Körper wurde langsam kalt, zuerst die Füße, dann die Knie, die Schultern und der Rücken, dann kroch die Kühle nach vorn, über den Nabel strahlte sie aus bis in Hände und Gesicht. In dieser Kälte spürte er Gänsehaut und manchmal besah er seinen Körper in diesem einzigen Zustand, den er als richtig angenehm beschreiben konnte. Er sah seine Beine, seinen Bauch, sah die Hände. An diesen Nachmittagen, wenn er sich wohlfühlte und nackt im Moos dahindöste, war er ganz allein und für sich; ohne dass ihn eine Fantasie quälte, wünschte er sich, jemand oder etwas Außerirdisches käme und nähme ihn mit, auf einen anderen Planeten, wo jede Fläche glatt und kalt war wie ein Opal. Je länger die Sonnenzeit dauerte, desto weniger Schatten gab es um die Wasserstelle. Das Moos trocknete aus und wurde kratzig.Was der Sonne ausgesetzt war, wurde rau und strohig. Der Wald, die Lichtungen, das Berghaus. Von den Schindeln schienen sich Fäden zu ziehen, Gräser und Unterholz kräuselten sich.
Leitner hatte, nachdem er die Nachricht von Mali erhalten hatte, Vorkehrungen getroffen. Er hatte das Haus gesäubert, in der Küche Lebensmittel vorbereitet und alle seine Sachen in sein altes Zimmer geräumt. Seine Rehberger-Skulptur ließ er stehen. Notfalls, meinte er, könnte er sagen, das sei schon da gewesen, habe ein Künstler mit Namen Rehberger vergessen. Damals, vor ein paar Jahren, ein großer Name. Dora Kortschacher, würde er sagen, habe sich gewünscht, dass dieses Kunstwerk gut erhalten bleibe, weil es ihr der Künstler gewidmet habe und es sie an eine angenehme Zeit erinnere. Sein Zimmer versperrte er. Ebenso den Raum, hinter dem sich die Grube befand. Beide Schlüssel legte er unter ein Dielenbrett neben dem Kamin. Er versorgte vor Sonnenaufgang die Tiere und verschanzte sich dann hinter einem Fenster im Berghaus. Kurz war er eingenickt und hatte von Hanna geträumt. Sie stand auf einem Dachgiebel und winkte ihm. Als er näher kam, schnitt sie Grimassen. Sie konnte ihr Gesicht in die Länge ziehen, ihre Konturen verwischen, es zu einer rotierenden Kugel machen. Er ging auf sie zu und beobachtete sie, als er bemerkte, dass das Wesen auf dem Dachgiebel nicht Hanna war. Plötzlich stand das Wesen vor ihm. Es veränderte wieder und wieder sein Gesicht. Er spürte den kühlen Hauch, der aus dem Mund des Wesens kam. Es sprach auf Lateinisch und ein Grollen mischte sich in seine Stimme, ein Donnern, ein Herzschlag. Es klopfte an der Tür.
Excerpt from pages 109-110, Ich bin die Zukunft, Erwin Uhrmann. © Limbus Verlag Innsbruck 2014
Am Anfang der Sonnenzeit waren um die Wasserstelle die Moospolster noch feucht. Darauf ruhte er ganze Nachmittage. Wenn er das Gewicht verlagerte, hörte er das Moos unter sich quatschende Geräusche machen. Er kühlte aus, sein ganzer Körper wurde langsam kalt, zuerst die Füße, dann die Knie, die Schultern und der Rücken, dann kroch die Kühle nach vorn, über den Nabel strahlte sie aus bis in Hände und Gesicht. In dieser Kälte spürte er Gänsehaut und manchmal besah er seinen Körper in diesem einzigen Zustand, den er als richtig angenehm beschreiben konnte. Er sah seine Beine, seinen Bauch, sah die Hände. An diesen Nachmittagen, wenn er sich wohlfühlte und nackt im Moos dahindöste, war er ganz allein und für sich; ohne dass ihn eine Fantasie quälte, wünschte er sich, jemand oder etwas Außerirdisches käme und nähme ihn mit, auf einen anderen Planeten, wo jede Fläche glatt und kalt war wie ein Opal. Je länger die Sonnenzeit dauerte, desto weniger Schatten gab es um die Wasserstelle. Das Moos trocknete aus und wurde kratzig.Was der Sonne ausgesetzt war, wurde rau und strohig. Der Wald, die Lichtungen, das Berghaus. Von den Schindeln schienen sich Fäden zu ziehen, Gräser und Unterholz kräuselten sich.
Leitner hatte, nachdem er die Nachricht von Mali erhalten hatte, Vorkehrungen getroffen. Er hatte das Haus gesäubert, in der Küche Lebensmittel vorbereitet und alle seine Sachen in sein altes Zimmer geräumt. Seine Rehberger-Skulptur ließ er stehen. Notfalls, meinte er, könnte er sagen, das sei schon da gewesen, habe ein Künstler mit Namen Rehberger vergessen. Damals, vor ein paar Jahren, ein großer Name. Dora Kortschacher, würde er sagen, habe sich gewünscht, dass dieses Kunstwerk gut erhalten bleibe, weil es ihr der Künstler gewidmet habe und es sie an eine angenehme Zeit erinnere. Sein Zimmer versperrte er. Ebenso den Raum, hinter dem sich die Grube befand. Beide Schlüssel legte er unter ein Dielenbrett neben dem Kamin. Er versorgte vor Sonnenaufgang die Tiere und verschanzte sich dann hinter einem Fenster im Berghaus. Kurz war er eingenickt und hatte von Hanna geträumt. Sie stand auf einem Dachgiebel und winkte ihm. Als er näher kam, schnitt sie Grimassen. Sie konnte ihr Gesicht in die Länge ziehen, ihre Konturen verwischen, es zu einer rotierenden Kugel machen. Er ging auf sie zu und beobachtete sie, als er bemerkte, dass das Wesen auf dem Dachgiebel nicht Hanna war. Plötzlich stand das Wesen vor ihm. Es veränderte wieder und wieder sein Gesicht. Er spürte den kühlen Hauch, der aus dem Mund des Wesens kam. Es sprach auf Lateinisch und ein Grollen mischte sich in seine Stimme, ein Donnern, ein Herzschlag. Es klopfte an der Tür.
Excerpt from pages 109-110, Ich bin die Zukunft, Erwin Uhrmann. © Limbus Verlag Innsbruck 2014
My Translation
At the beginning of the season of sun the moss around the watering hole was still damp. He would rest for whole afternoons there. When he shifted his weight he heard the moss make squelching noises beneath him. He cooled down, his whole body slowly becoming cold, first the feet, then the knees, the shoulders and the back, then the coolness crept forward, radiating over the navel to hands and face. He felt goosebumps in this cold, and sometimes he would examine his body in this, the sole condition that he could describe as truly pleasant. He saw his legs, his belly, saw his hands. On these afternoons, when he felt happy and dozed naked in the moss, he was completely alone and independent; without a fantasy tormenting him, he would wish that someone or something extraterrestrial would come and bring him to another planet, where every surface was smooth and cold like an opal. The longer the season of sun lasted, the less shade around the watering hole there was. The moss dried out and became scratchy. What was exposed to the sun became raw and straw-like. The woods, the clearings, the house. Threads seemed to extend from the shingles, grass and undergrowth crinkled up.
After receiving Mali's message, Leitner had taken precautions. He had cleaned the house, had prepared food in the kitchen, and had cleared all his things into his old room. His Rehberger sculpture he left standing. If necessary, he could say that it had been there before, that an artist named Rehberger had forgotten it. A big name back then, a few years ago. Dora Kortschacher, he would say, had wished that this artwork remain well-preserved, as the artist had dedicated it to her and it reminded her of a pleasant time. He locked his room. Likewise the room behind which the Hollow hid. He placed both keys under the floorboard next to the fireplace. He took care of the animals before sunrise and then entrenched himself behind a window in the house. He quickly nodded off and dreamed of Hanna. She stood on a gable and waved at him. As he came closer she grimaced. She could blur her contours, elongate her face, form it into a rotating ball. He was approaching her and observing her, when he noticed that the figure on the gable wasn’t Hanna. Suddenly the figure was standing before him. It changed its face again and again. He felt the cool breath that came from its mouth. It spoke in Latin and a rumbling mixed itself in with the voice, a thunder, a heartbeat. There was a knock on the door.
At the beginning of the season of sun the moss around the watering hole was still damp. He would rest for whole afternoons there. When he shifted his weight he heard the moss make squelching noises beneath him. He cooled down, his whole body slowly becoming cold, first the feet, then the knees, the shoulders and the back, then the coolness crept forward, radiating over the navel to hands and face. He felt goosebumps in this cold, and sometimes he would examine his body in this, the sole condition that he could describe as truly pleasant. He saw his legs, his belly, saw his hands. On these afternoons, when he felt happy and dozed naked in the moss, he was completely alone and independent; without a fantasy tormenting him, he would wish that someone or something extraterrestrial would come and bring him to another planet, where every surface was smooth and cold like an opal. The longer the season of sun lasted, the less shade around the watering hole there was. The moss dried out and became scratchy. What was exposed to the sun became raw and straw-like. The woods, the clearings, the house. Threads seemed to extend from the shingles, grass and undergrowth crinkled up.
After receiving Mali's message, Leitner had taken precautions. He had cleaned the house, had prepared food in the kitchen, and had cleared all his things into his old room. His Rehberger sculpture he left standing. If necessary, he could say that it had been there before, that an artist named Rehberger had forgotten it. A big name back then, a few years ago. Dora Kortschacher, he would say, had wished that this artwork remain well-preserved, as the artist had dedicated it to her and it reminded her of a pleasant time. He locked his room. Likewise the room behind which the Hollow hid. He placed both keys under the floorboard next to the fireplace. He took care of the animals before sunrise and then entrenched himself behind a window in the house. He quickly nodded off and dreamed of Hanna. She stood on a gable and waved at him. As he came closer she grimaced. She could blur her contours, elongate her face, form it into a rotating ball. He was approaching her and observing her, when he noticed that the figure on the gable wasn’t Hanna. Suddenly the figure was standing before him. It changed its face again and again. He felt the cool breath that came from its mouth. It spoke in Latin and a rumbling mixed itself in with the voice, a thunder, a heartbeat. There was a knock on the door.
My Reflection
This was a translation process very different from the two previous processes. Not only did we have the author with which to talk to, but it was a different kind of text from the other two. It was more art than information - which is the category that the article and tourism texts fell into. We were also translating this as a group, as we planned on presenting one group translation to the author. These three components of the process (an available author, an art form, and intense collaboration) led to a thought-provoking and interesting experience. I felt myself more of an artist, creating an interesting exhibition. The amount of detailed analysis which was required to make a good translation was fascinating. Other works that I only know through translation - Anna Karenina, the poetry of Rumi , the Bible - were seen through a new lens as I came to better understand the subjective and varied possibilities of the art of translation.
Because this is a novel, and therefore an art-form, my approach to the audience was very different than it was with the other two texts. In fact, I ignored the audience. A novel is geared towards anyone who reads. And it was much more important to me stay incredibly close to the original German. The author chooses a specific word, structure and flow to his writing, which enhances the experience of a novel. I can't alter or change that very much for sake of clarification or anything else. The closest I came to considering the audience was by leaving certain things ambiguous. A fascinating thing about prose, is that there can be multiple interpretations of one thing, some of which may be different than what the author intended. In order to accomplish that through translation, I wanted the audience to have the closest experience possible to reading the original German, which is near impossible. I hesitated to bring only my interpretation of the text to the translation, which would have only taken away from the novel. While of the translation cannot avoid being the subjective view of the translator, I did feel it was possible to understand varying interpretations of the original text. While I don't have any examples of this here, it was something that I can explain more with the poetry translation.
My translation would not be what it was without the discussion with my classmates. As a group, we analyzed the original German, discussed which specific word choice would best work in the English translation, and how to alter the structure of the translated text if that was needed. Such a discussion forced me to see differing view points on certain areas of the novel and to broaden my choice of words and phrases. This collaborative process was the most important and enjoyable process of this translation process. I can not imagine what it would be like to translate a work of art without it.
The discussion with the author was just as interesting as with my classmates, albeit different. While we didn't go as in-depth and analytical, the author was able to clarify a few things for us. Through talking with him, we not only had a better understanding of the whole novel, but understood his process of writing and his intention must better, which is always useful in translation. This was an added bonus, as it is not always possible to meet with the author of a text you are translating.
I chose this excerpt not only because I preffer it to my translation of the other sections, but because it has examples of the things I mention above. Throughout the text, I had to figure out what certain words and phrases could be in the translated text, without loosing some of their mystery or feeling from the German. For example, what did "Sonnenzeit" mean? Or how could I best describe "die Grube?" After much discussion with my classmates and looking at the novel as a whole, I came to decision "season of sun" and "Hollow." I also intensely analyzed my choice of articles in a specific sentence. In the sentence "Er kühlte aus, sein ganzer Körper wurde langsam kalt, zuerst die Füße, dann die Knie, die Schultern und der Rücken..." I had to choose between using the definitive "the" article for the feet, knees, etc. or the possessive "his" article. While using the possessive article with body-parts is much more common in English, the definitive article adds a certain odd, detached air. After much deliberation, I decided to choose the definitive article in this sentence, as such a strange and detached feeling fit with the mood of the novel and this section. Uhrmann also switched to the possessive article when describing the same body-parts in a following sentence, and I did not want to loose that transition in my translation. While this might seem like a very in-depth analysis to the text for some, such attention to detail was needed throughout the text. Otherwise, how will you remain faithful to what the author intended?
With such analysis and decisions to be made, this translation test was fascinating and absorbing. It seems rather simple and flat to go back to translating non-literary texts now.
This was a translation process very different from the two previous processes. Not only did we have the author with which to talk to, but it was a different kind of text from the other two. It was more art than information - which is the category that the article and tourism texts fell into. We were also translating this as a group, as we planned on presenting one group translation to the author. These three components of the process (an available author, an art form, and intense collaboration) led to a thought-provoking and interesting experience. I felt myself more of an artist, creating an interesting exhibition. The amount of detailed analysis which was required to make a good translation was fascinating. Other works that I only know through translation - Anna Karenina, the poetry of Rumi , the Bible - were seen through a new lens as I came to better understand the subjective and varied possibilities of the art of translation.
Because this is a novel, and therefore an art-form, my approach to the audience was very different than it was with the other two texts. In fact, I ignored the audience. A novel is geared towards anyone who reads. And it was much more important to me stay incredibly close to the original German. The author chooses a specific word, structure and flow to his writing, which enhances the experience of a novel. I can't alter or change that very much for sake of clarification or anything else. The closest I came to considering the audience was by leaving certain things ambiguous. A fascinating thing about prose, is that there can be multiple interpretations of one thing, some of which may be different than what the author intended. In order to accomplish that through translation, I wanted the audience to have the closest experience possible to reading the original German, which is near impossible. I hesitated to bring only my interpretation of the text to the translation, which would have only taken away from the novel. While of the translation cannot avoid being the subjective view of the translator, I did feel it was possible to understand varying interpretations of the original text. While I don't have any examples of this here, it was something that I can explain more with the poetry translation.
My translation would not be what it was without the discussion with my classmates. As a group, we analyzed the original German, discussed which specific word choice would best work in the English translation, and how to alter the structure of the translated text if that was needed. Such a discussion forced me to see differing view points on certain areas of the novel and to broaden my choice of words and phrases. This collaborative process was the most important and enjoyable process of this translation process. I can not imagine what it would be like to translate a work of art without it.
The discussion with the author was just as interesting as with my classmates, albeit different. While we didn't go as in-depth and analytical, the author was able to clarify a few things for us. Through talking with him, we not only had a better understanding of the whole novel, but understood his process of writing and his intention must better, which is always useful in translation. This was an added bonus, as it is not always possible to meet with the author of a text you are translating.
I chose this excerpt not only because I preffer it to my translation of the other sections, but because it has examples of the things I mention above. Throughout the text, I had to figure out what certain words and phrases could be in the translated text, without loosing some of their mystery or feeling from the German. For example, what did "Sonnenzeit" mean? Or how could I best describe "die Grube?" After much discussion with my classmates and looking at the novel as a whole, I came to decision "season of sun" and "Hollow." I also intensely analyzed my choice of articles in a specific sentence. In the sentence "Er kühlte aus, sein ganzer Körper wurde langsam kalt, zuerst die Füße, dann die Knie, die Schultern und der Rücken..." I had to choose between using the definitive "the" article for the feet, knees, etc. or the possessive "his" article. While using the possessive article with body-parts is much more common in English, the definitive article adds a certain odd, detached air. After much deliberation, I decided to choose the definitive article in this sentence, as such a strange and detached feeling fit with the mood of the novel and this section. Uhrmann also switched to the possessive article when describing the same body-parts in a following sentence, and I did not want to loose that transition in my translation. While this might seem like a very in-depth analysis to the text for some, such attention to detail was needed throughout the text. Otherwise, how will you remain faithful to what the author intended?
With such analysis and decisions to be made, this translation test was fascinating and absorbing. It seems rather simple and flat to go back to translating non-literary texts now.
A link to Erwinn Uhrmanns website: http://www.erwinuhrmann.com/