Translating is not like any other type of writing I have done in my life. When I write essays, it comes from a place of intense concentration, where I stitch together carefully researched information for a critical audience; when I write poetry, it wells up from emotion, turning away from an audience and looking inwards for words that flow with no control. Translating is not quite like either. At first, it seems like an interpretation will emerge naturally, as easily as describing my English-language world in a Spanish-language monologue—until I realize that I’m hitting roadblocks everywhere and adding footnotes. Translation means stepping in the author’s shoes while holding onto my own pen; it means evaluating my interpretation, researching the context of every turn of phrase, and turning to advisors to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.
I chose two poems that made me feel like I could connect to the authors on first reading: “Ama” by Samyak Shertok, which recounts family wisdom and warnings, and “she left me on the new moon” by Joy Tabernacle-KMT, which trudges through heavy grief to wonder about a late grandmother’s fate. Both works try to live up to a female relative’s standards but cannot avoid their grief.
When translating from English to Spanish, I found that each language had its own creative flair. For example, in English, a writer can combine two words to create a new, abstract image. In “Ama,” Shertok writes of “moth petals,” which might be a petal or a wing depending on the reader’s imagination. However, in Spanish, these two concepts remain distinct: pétalos de polillas, which translates to petals of the moth, implies belonging. Shertok’s original phrase, “to prevent your eyes from becoming moth petals,'' becomes, “to prevent your eyes from becoming the petals of the moths.” A clearer image forms in my mind: moth wings have patterns that resemble eyes. The imagery of the poem changes. As a translator, I get to paint a new picture using the author’s vision.
Another element that changes between English and Spanish is the conception of time. In “she left me on a new moon,” “the dawn and the evening” do not quite pair, but I felt that I had to make a pair in Spanish to impart the colors of a partially-sunny sky. I couldn’t think of a word that quite meant “evening;” there was only before dark and after dark but not quite a word for the descending dark. I could change “the dawn and the evening” to “the dawn and the dusk,” but they don’t pair so neatly in Spanish. Ultimately, I settled on “the sunrise and the sunset” to preserve the image of the rising and falling sun.
One feature of Spanish that I loved to play with was how gender is attached to every noun. I tried to reflect on how alive Spanish is by changing the nature of a word. For example, in “Ama,” “wild honey” became la miel salvajera (feminine), while “wildfire” became el fuego salvajero, (masculine). The many regional varieties of Spanish allowed me to play with less common adjectives while reflecting the liveliness of a language that changes from city to city. Additionally, I was able to give wildness and divinity both masculine and feminine properties; still in “Ama,” the street dog, or el perro callejero (masculine), became a god, or una deidad (feminine). Of course, this is based on my own interpretation of divinity, showing how the translator’s beliefs color the poet’s picture.
About the Translator
Bertha Mia Bazbaz is an undergraduate student at Arizona State University pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Justice Studies and a minor in Spanish. She is originally from Dallas, Texas, where her Mexican-American background inspired her curiosity for translation and bilingual literature. (updated 2023)
Translations
“Ama” by Samyak Shertok (Spanish)
“she left me on a new moon” by Joy Tabernacle-KMT (Spanish)
With grateful acknowledgment to Spanish language reviewers: Thomas Shalloe & Belén Agustina Sánchez