My daughters have been the inspiration behind my desire to translate works between English and Arabic. Before they were born, I began filling their bedroom library with new and old books. I wanted their bookshelves to be stocked with titles that represented their heritage, but I struggled to find English translations of Egyptian children’s stories. After exhausting presses in the US, I felt assured that I would find what I was looking for during one of our extended stays in Cairo. Instead, I found myself walking empty-handed along the Nile Corniche after leaving the main bookstore of a well-known press. In the cool afternoon air, I whispered a quiet promise to translate the stories I was searching for. Despite my love of literature, I had never seen myself as someone with tales to tell, but throughout my life and career I have been committed to helping others share their stories through photography, public events, and the written word.
I see translation as an extension of this commitment, a way of reaching across languages and cultures to connect people and stories with one another. For families like mine, who share multicultural pasts, translation serves as a bridge between all those who have contributed to who we are – a way of acknowledging where different pieces of ourselves originate and reside. While reliable translation can feel like an impossible task, I ultimately see it as a gift born from curiosity and nurtured with love. It's an act of desire, an acknowledgment that others have written works we yearn to read. It results in a collaborative reimagining between authors, translators, and readers that requires dynamic responses and countless experimental drafts. The joy is found in the collaboration, the process of reading something created by another person and being so deeply moved by their work that you want to share it with those for whom it’s inaccessible. The struggle is finding places where two disparate languages and communities meet.
Arabic and English are languages deeply tied to my identity. As a Muslim, Arabic drifts from my tongue in daily prayer, remembrance, and supplication. On the other hand, Egyptian Arabic is familial; it’s my children’s legacy and a connection to my husband, his family, and our Cairene home. It’s proof of my ability to learn and adapt. It’s growth. My relationship to Arabic is closely tied to my relationship with Egypt – a tender one built on love. English is the language of my ancestors, and their colonizers. It is the quiet narration I hear in my thoughts and the alphabet my fingers innately shape. Both languages drive my work and remind me of the plurality of experiences, views, and truths that exist in our world.
I was fortunate to have the opportunity to translate three works by recipients of Hayden’s Ferry Review’s Indigenous Poets Prize. These translations are meant to reach Arabic speakers, especially those who have wondered about the lives of the Indigenous people of North America. While they’ve been rewritten into Egyptian Arabic, Arabic speakers in the MENA regions (Middle East and North Africa) will understand most of the colloquialisms and references; Arabic speakers in diaspora may not find these translations as relevant.
As an American-Egyptian, I am frequently asked about the lives of the Indigenous people of North America because access to translated works by Indigenous authors and literature that provides an accurate description of First Nations’ histories or modern realities is extremely limited. I selected these poems to provide some context and highlight the similarities in experiences of North America’s Indigenous peoples and those in North Africa, the Levant, and the Arabian Peninsula. The people in these regions understand the implications of indigeneity and the struggles surrounding violence and identity formation in a world forever altered by colonialism. While Egyptians, and many others in the MENA regions, were previously colonized they regained their freedom and land ownership; for First Nations people, they are still living in the shadow of colonial powers. In the Muslim American community there is often a disconnect between immigrants who have felt the pain of colonization and recognition that their migration supports colonial systems in places like the US and Canada.
To show how I created the translation in Arabic, I will share some excerpts from my translation drafts of “When Her Body is a Battleground” by Kimberly Blaeser. I begin with the original text from the poem in English and Obijwe in parentheses. Then I add the Arabic translation above it. Directly below this translation I include its transliteration in English to help with quick meter checks. Finally, in quotations I add the literal or static retranslation from Arabic into English.
,عندما النساء يكونون مبعثرات في الترع مثل الغزلان
ain-dama el-nisaa’ ya-koonoon merr-mai-yeen fi el-terrah mithl el-ghizlan
“When women are tossed in the canals like deer”
(When ikwewag litter ditches like deer)
This process helped me maintain focus on the changes that had been made. I was able to look at various elements and notice any alterations I felt might be needed in future drafts. Since I was working with a dynamic translation, my goal was to maintain the feel of the poem rather than the literal meanings of words. However, having the original English and the retranslated English provided the opportunity to see how closely the translation remained to the original text.
Originally, I aspired to bring the audience to tribal lands, but quickly realized this would be difficult. Exact references did not exist or provide context that would connect the reader to the emotional meaning of the poems. In the following lines I chose to relocate the translation to Egypt:
Inademod – ribbons on our skirt a keening.
Soon funeral casserole becomes habit—
macaroni-corn-hamburger fix in cold basements.
The first line references a traditional Anishinaabe dress, but “ribbons” translates as “bows” which neither describes the details of these dresses or upholds their value as a culturally significant item of clothing. I decided to translate it in a way that describes a traditional Egyptian dress or galabeya with embroidery. Linguistically it is not an exact translation, but it provides the connection between women and culturally relevant dress. Similarly, the casserole ingredients described in the third line are not commonly served together in Egypt. In the translation, I decided to list the ingredients of fattah, a dish commonly served at an Egyptian funeral, instead. The translated version would read, “rice - bread - meat fix in cold basements.”
In relocating these poems from tribal lands in the Central and Western United States to Egypt, I felt a renewed sense of our connectedness as people. While our individual experiences vary, the emotions we feel are similar. These poems express feelings of fear, shame, frustration, and longing. They acknowledge the history and repercussions of colonialism and imperialism and serve as an invitation to recognize an unresolved violation in our collective past.
About the Translator
Alyssa Elaskari, is completing her M.A. in English. She also holds an M.Ed. in TESOL. She is an educator, advocate, and writing workshop host. She is currently an intern at Thousand Languages Project, translating poetry into Arabic and creating special projects and events that connect her local community in Florida to the work being done at ASU. She is a mother, photographer, and baker who loves to help others find joy in reading and writing their stories. (updated 2024)
Translations
"When Her Body is a Battleground" by Kimberly Blaeser (Arabic)
"Brown" by Raine Huelskamp (Arabic)
"I Am From" by Acacia Armstrong (Arabic)
With grateful acknowledgement to Arabic language reviewers: Amany Shalaby, Aya Elbanna, and Khaled Elaskari.