As I translate into Diné, I'm struck with how incredibly sparse and subjective information can be. It can be argued that there are no right or wrong ways of writing in the Diné language. For me, documented dictionaries often conflicted with one another. The oldest dictionary I acquired dates back to 1958 and fewer than a handful have been created since. Nonetheless, that made the entire experience unique as I navigated outside Diné Bizaad and connected with translators of other languages. I saw a communal response to the act of translation regardless of which language we were individually tackling.
Diné speakers tend to adjust the syntax and the structure of Diné Bizaad to fit into the English context. To read the Diné language, it is important to understand the translator’s or writer’s demonym. Diné Bizaad retains its complexities through the origins of the speaker’s geography. A speaker of a certain region may have different inflections and descriptions of a place or thing because of their surrounding areas. For example, I could describe a tree branch as atsʼáozʼaʼ” which translates to “it sticks out” and another Diné speaker would say, “tsin bigaan” which means “the tree’s arm.” This is not exact in which specific location as there are studies currently in progress regarding this. Both are correct but each speaker’s language is in relation to their geographical region. Understanding this can help a non-Diné or beginning speaker start to shape the language in their own way and see how expressive in nature the language is.
In my first translation, I wanted to reverse the structure of “Once a Wife, Always a Mother” by Wendy Thompson. Given that Diné Bizaad often places the verb before the noun, I imagined the structure would serve a better purpose, emphasizing the noun this way. However, the reversal of the lines found the poem’s language to be “unorganized.” “Doo yinist’eesda’” took the place of “I was a wife.” The rough translation for “Doo yinist’eesda’” was “Does not cook.” This reversal was not as strong. There was no ownership in placing that piece of information first which was important for the poem.
Speaking with my father, he pointed out that “Couldn't” was the key word in Thompson’s piece. “Ak’oondí” became the “Couldn’t” in this regard. Without “Ak’oondí,” the poem would read, “I was someone’s woman who does not cook.” This would mean the speaker of the poem is inferring that she is not capable of cooking, whereas “couldn’t” means she can but not to the degree of satisfaction she's expected in the designated role of wife. It was obstacles like this that made the journey challenging. As you read the poem, “Ak’oondí” appears only once at the beginning. This is how fluid Diné Bizaad can be. No two blocks in the construction of this language are the same, however, there is always a unique way to construct a sentence.
The act of translation asks the speaker to shape and remold, to use the environment as a foundation for constructing the language. How do you describe the ground beneath your feet or the sensations between your fingers? What does it feel like without using the words in English readily available? How can you make a new word or phrase with the English language to describe a feeling or sensation? Diné Bizaad relies on this and in translation, you are asked to experience Thompson’s poetry in an entirely different way.
About the Translator
Chris Hoshnic is Diné Filmmaker and Poet from Sweetwater, Arizona. He is currently earning his B.A. in English at Arizona State University. In 2013, he graduated with an Associates in Video Production at Glendale Community College. Hoshnic has been a 2022 Emerging Diné Writers’ Institute (EDWI) Fellow, 2023 Screenwriting Fellow with the Native American Media Alliance’s Writers Seminar and is a 2023 Poetry & the Senses Fellow.