Support to Literary Translation Projects 2018
STATUS DEADLINE CALL REFERENCE OPEN 23/05/2018 - 12:00 (CET, Brussels time)EACEA/13/2018
2018 call for proposals EACEA 13/2018 for 'Support to Literary translations projects'
Date of publication: 27/03/2018
Deadline for submitting: 23/05/2018 at 12:00 noon (midday Brussels time)
If I was a civil engineer, would you still ask...?
I received today another application from someone wanting to work with me, as a translator. As a professional translator. Delivering work to actual clients. Earning money.
The email, a variation of many other I receive daily, reads as follow:
"Hi, my name is T., I currently live in .... , and I'm interested in working as a translator at your website. I don't have much experience (besides translating my own artwork and some school based projects), but I'm really looking forward to an opportunity to practice my English and French, and obtain some experience as well. As a consequence to my lack of experience, I don't really have a price established yet, but I hope that we can figure that out. Finally I hope to get a response soon, thank you for your time!"
It's to the point , in a good enough English and polite, 3 things that are not always true in such emails.
Still, it rubs me the wrong way.
Let's do an exercise and change some words to what they'd mean if my business was civil engineering:
"Hi, my name is T., I currently live in .... , and I'm interested in working as a CIVIL ENGINEER AT YOUR WORKSITE. I don't have much experience BUILDING BRIDGES (besides BUILDING THINGS WITH LEGO AND SOME SCHOOL CONSTRUCTIONS WITH KAPLA AND CARDBOARD), but I'm really looking forward to an opportunity to practice my SKILLS AT MIXING CEMENT AND TRYING WAYS TO STAPLE BRICK, CEMENT AND IRON, and obtain some experience AT PUTTING TOGETHER A BRIDGE FOR TRUCKS AND CARS TO CROSS THAT RIVER WITHOUT PROPER TRAINING FOR IT, WITHOUT INSURANCE OR BUSINESS COSTS. As a consequence to my lack of experience AND LACK OF PROPER TRAINING AND LACK OF INVESTMENT IN THIS PROFESSION, I don't really have ANY IDEA HOW TO BUDGET MY EXPENSES, THE MATERIAL I NEED TO BUY AND THE VALUE OF MY WORK, but I hope that YOU CAN TELL ME ALL YOUR TRADE SECRETS SO I CAN GO AND ASK LESS AND GET YOUR CLIENTS. Finally I hope to get a response soon AS I NEED MONEY ASAP AND THIS IS SUCH AN EASY JOB, thank you for THE TIME YOU ARE GOING TO SPEND MENTORING ME FOR FREE WHILE STILL DOING YOUR OWN JOB!"
The saddest part of this misconception about what it takes to be a translator or an interpreter, is that it is commonly thought that anyone who speaks languages can do it. That it's easy. That there are only some business tricks to it and no training or true talent is needed. That it's really not that hard.
It is so commonly though that not one of those candidates sees the absurd of their requests, and it's not entirely their fault (besides the fact that some are profoundly clueless of the working world regardless of the area) when official professional sites, like employment agencies, offer advices on how to "make some money translating from home if you are unemployed and know a bit of X or Y language".
So, dear wannabe translator or interpreter, do yourself a favor, go get some training, there are plenty universities and professional workshops for specialisation, go read testimonies of seasoned professionals, get into chat groups to get a grasp of the profession.
Look for a (properly compensated) mentor, get some work done, deal with unhappy clients, get some praises for a work well done, get turned down 20 times before managing to get that contract you wanted, spend a few nights working to meet deadlines, struggle to get your payments on your bank account to pay your bills and rejoice when that huge invoice is paid in full before term... and then, then yes, come and see me.
I'll be happy to coach you further and work alongside on real projects with real clients earning you the money you'll deserve.
Welcome the this wonderful profession.
A very interesting reflexion on authorship of translation in literature.
An Author Asks: Why should a translator get royalties when the story is mine?
By Lisa Carter, Feb 6, 2015 Intralingo Inc.
A reader recently commented on my post 10 Truths on Royalties and Literary Translation, from way back in 2012. I wanted to raise this issue in a new post, rather than leaving it buried deep in the archives because it’s a hugely important topic.
Here is what author Alexandra Martins wrote to ask:
Hello, Lisa. I found this article, precisely when I was searching the net for the reason why would a translator get any rights to an author’s literary work.
I understand that translating something requires creativity and skills in writing. I understand that, and I think that a good translator should be well paid for his/her work. But only once.
I’m Portuguese and I wrote a novel. I created the story, wrote it down, put it on paper. I invented the story, the caracters, the action, everything. I and only I. It’s my work, it belongs to me, and nobody else. When I published it, anyone who bought it was actually being licensed to read my work. The only thing they bought was the paper and the ink. The paper and the ink belongs to them. The story is still mine. If a publisher was interested in publishing my novel and put it on sale in bookstores and other markets, I would not sell my story, I would only license it. Because, gess what? It’s my story. Nobody else’s. The publisher’s job would be simply to get the paper and the ink, so readers can read my story.
So please, help me understand: why should a translator (from Portuguese to English, for example) get royalties from a work that belongs to me? I understand translations are not easy, but all they are doing is translating words into another language. Telling my story in another language. MY story. Not theirs.
As for the creativity necessary to make he story appeal to English readers, isn’t it part of the job? I mean, if you don’t like doing that, look for another job. But having a share on a story, in whatever language, a story that you did not have a part in creating, I think it is very unfair.
Two readers (who are translators) shared their thoughts with Alexandra:
What an interesting point of view. Ages ago I wrote about why translation is creative. While it doesn’t answer your question directly, it might give you an idea of an answer. Hint: there is not one “correct” way to translate anything, especially in literature. So the translator creates something based on an original idea that is not his or hers. It is a heavily creative process. So the reader of the translation is given the licence to read the translation, just like the reader of the original is being licensed to read the original. [Emphasis mine.]
‘There is not one ‘correct’ way to translate anything, especially in literature.’ @keycheck_t9n
Translating literature is a process that takes just as much creativity and skill as writing the original does in the first place. As the author, the idea of the story is obviously yours. But once it has been translated, every word of the translation is the result of my hard work. So the translation is my baby just as the story is yours.
Having a novel translated is an opportunity that opens up a market and audience that the author could not previously reach. This would not have much of an impact on sales of the original text, which is entirely the author’s. A 1-3% royalty is not much, especially as the amount of effort and creativity this kind of translation requires is comparable to that required for creative writing in the first place. The author would still get much more, on top of the sales they already get from sales in the original language.
If anything, I would argue that a translator should receive equal royalties to the author on the translated version. Sadly the world is not ready for that idea yet, though. People still seem to think that because translators make everything look simple and pretty, they’re not having breakdowns behind the scenes going “Argh this word equivalent is not really equivalent at all! How can I express this without destroying everything!?”. Just as authors have breakdowns over things like “Argh this character is supposed to _____, but no matter how I write this it doesn’t work!”. Just because you love the work doesn’t mean you don’t pull your hair out over it… [Emphasis mine.]
I then happened upon this piece by Daniel Hahn, an eminent literary translator, on Words Without Borders. The article is about reviewing translations and how the translator should be credited, but the crux of Hahn’s argument is closely related to this topic. Here’s what he says:
So what makes me crazy is when the reviewer praises something that I did and gives the impression that I’m not there. By all means compliment the author on the tightness of the plotting, on the deftness of the characterization, and ignore me—they’re supported by my work, of course, but marginally. But a reviewer who thinks he can praise the rhythm, the texture, the beauty of the prose, the warmth and wit of the voice, without acknowledging who’s responsible—as though those things in an author’s original simply reappear automatically after the mechanics of translation have been applied to a text—that’s a reviewer who simply has no understanding of what translation is. There’s a reason the copyright in my translations belongs to me and not the original author. The plot and the ideas and the themes aren’t mine, but the words are, all of them, and the way they all fit together, too. And if that’s what you’re reviewing, I want credit. (Or, for that matter, criticism.)[Emphasis mine.]
As you might be able to tell from the added emphasis in the quotes above, I couldn’t agree more with what each of these translators has said. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see Alexandra’s point. It’s hard to understand all that goes into a literary translation unless you have been involved in the process, as a translator or as an author whose work has been translated. It is a complex process, not simply taking one word and giving it an equivalent in another language.
Translation is a complex process, not simply exchanging one word for another. @intralingo
In December last year, British art critic, novelist, paint and post John Berger had this to say in an article in the Guardian:
The conventional view of what [literary translation] involves proposes that the translator or translators study the words on one page in one language and then render them into another language on another page. This involves a so-called word-for-word translation, and then an adaptation to respect and incorporate the linguistic tradition and rules of the second language, and finally another working-over to recreate the equivalent of the “voice” of the original text. Many — perhaps most — translations follow this procedure and the results are worthy, but second-rate.
‘True translation demands a return to the pre-verbal.’ – John Berger
Why? Because true translation is not a binary affair between two languages but a triangular affair. The third point of the triangle being what lay behind the words of the original text before it was written. True translation demands a return to the pre-verbal. One reads and rereads the words of the original text in order to penetrate through them to reach, to touch, the vision or experience that prompted them. One then gathers up what one has found there and takes this quivering almost wordless “thing” and places it behind the language it needs to be translated into. And now the principal task is to persuade the host language to take in and welcome the “thing” that is waiting to be articulated.
Wow. Well put.
What I’d like to emphasize to Alexandra — and all authors — is that literary translators are not trying to take anything away from the writer. Quite the contrary, we’re hugely respectful of their work. We want to take nothing away, add nothing, yet convey every little last thing. A literary translator attempts to portray every single nuance of writing style, plot and character development in another language, for another culture. And that is precisely what makes our work so very challenging.
Translators are not martyrs. We do this for ourselves, too. @intralingo
We go to these great lengths in translation, often for very little money up front, because we believe in the work, in the author, and we want to share both with a wider audience. Our work is about giving, offering a new work to a new world, expanding the author’s circle of readers, influence and, ultimately, income. But we are not martyrs, we do this for ourselves, too. We expect to earn a decent income and a certain amount of recognition for our efforts.
If you consider that royalties granted to a translator generally range from 1-3% when the book is published traditionally or up to about 25% when the work is self-published, it’s clear we’re not trying to usurp the author’s due. The author will always earn as much and usually much more than the translator. We understand the weighting, recognize that even in another language the translation is ultimately the author’s work. But without us, without our skill, insight and participation, there will be no work in another language, so it’s only fair that recognition should go both ways.
La tienda de #palabrasolvidadas
What happens when a word is not used anymore?
Does it just disappear into the deep ends of a dictionary or does it come back from time to time to remind us of tastes gone by?
To avoid their death, this Spanish group of word's lovers decided to create this virtual "Shop of forgotten words" where anyone can "shop" for a word for the symbolic price of a share on any social network.
It's as amazing as it sounds. It makes one wish that other language lovers in other countries would do the same.
Have a look at their beautiful website and their funny videos.
LISA FELEPCHUK - FEB 13
If, instead of calling your significant other or child by their first name, you substitute an endearing pet name–honey, babe, pumpkin, sweet pea or the like–chances are you’re improving your bond without even realizing it. Because cutesy nicknames create intimacy between two humans. Research tells us that couples who use pet names report feeling more satisfied within their relationship than couples that don’t.
And, as you may have guessed, it’s not just North Americans who use these endearing words to describe their most favourite humans. Cultures all around the world use similarly charming and silly phrases and words the same way English speakers do. However, when pet names are translated from their native tongue into another language, they don’t always sound so sweet. In fact, some sound downright insulting.
Language learning app Babbel rounded up a handful of adorable pet names from Italy, Germany, Japan and beyond; we’re not suggesting you use them though, as translating them directly may not go over so well with your SO this Valentine’s Day (or any day). Here are 12 international pet names that get lost in translation.
MICROBINO MIO – ITALIANLike most Italian words, microbino mio rolls off the tongue. It sounds beautiful and sexy and cute all at once when said out loud, but the direct translation is “my little microbe,” so might be best saved for a science buff and not a germaphobe.
SPATZ – GERMANThe German word spatz translates to “sparrow,” which is actually quite a lovely pet name, but the way it sounds when pronounced in English is so similar to our word “spat.” It feels dirty, and not in a sexy, meet-me-in-the-bedroom-in-five kind of way.
CHANG NOI – THAIIn Thailand, chang noi is the way to call someone a “little elephant,” which is probably cuter than calling them a big elephant. But these massive mammals aren’t as celebrated in English culture as the are in Southeast Asia, so it loses some of its importance and appeal.
SÖTNOS – SWEDISHNobody wants to be told they have a pig nose…in English at least. In Sweden, however, the Swedish term sötnos, which means “sweet snout,” is often used as a term of endearment.
MON PETIT CHOU – FRENCHFoods that are cute and/or sweet often make good pet names: sugar, pumpkin, honey. Not so adorable: a head of cabbage. But in French, mon petit chou literally means “my little cabbage.” Even more adorbs: chou chou, which can be used for short.
MON SAUCISSON – FRENCHAnother French food nickname that shouldn’t be translated? Mon saucisson, which means “my little sausage.” If you don’t want to hear, “Are you calling me fat!?” accusations, avoid naming your bae this one.
DROPJE – DUTCHDropje (pronounced “drop-key”) is a traditional Dutch black licorice candy that only the locals seem to enjoy. It makes sense, then, that the word dropje is also used as a form of endearment, even though it directly translates to “little licorice candy.” If you’re going to use it, make sure the intended recipient actually likes black licorice.
MEDIA NARANJA – SPANISHIf you consider your partner your other half, then they’re your media naranja. Sort of. The direct translation of this Spanish pet name literally means “half an orange,” as in your lover is the other half to your orange. Cute, right?
PATATINA – ITALIANPotatoes are delicious, but would you want be referred to as a round and bulbous root vegetable? Maybe not. Patatina translates to “little potato” and definitely sounds more playful in Italian.
PUS – NORWEGIANPus is the way Norwegians say “kitten,” but again, our English meaning of pus makes one think of an infected sore. And there’s nothing less attractive than calling someone a word reminiscent of an oozing scab. However, the pronunciation in Norwegian puts emphasis on the “u,” so when said properly, it sounds more like our English word, “puss.” Meow!
TAMAGO GATA NO KAO – JAPANESEProbably one of the most bizarre translations is Japan’s pet name, tamago gata no kao. In English, it literally means an egg with eyes. But, wait–in Japanese culture, oval-shaped faces are prized, so an egg-shaped face is a compliment, but it sounds completely strange in English.
MURU – FINNISHMuru is short, sweet and fun to say. But when translated from Finnish to English, it loses a lot of its charm, as it means breadcrumb. Delicious, yes, but “breadcrumb” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as muru.