I was born and raised in Venezuela, with a diverse heritage spanning Spanish, Colombian, and Venezuelan indigenous roots. I spent most of my life in my hometown of Maracaibo, Venezuela, where I resided until the age of thirty-five. Consequently, Spanish comes to me entirely naturally. English has been integral to my life since early childhood; I began studying it from kindergarten through university in Venezuela. I also pursued two translation courses in Maracaibo during my university years, alongside attending numerous English classes at private academies. Upon arriving in the United States, I found my spoken English to be rudimentary, despite a good comprehension of written material. Learning to speak English in its cultural context signified a considerable cultural adjustment. I grappled with understanding the subtleties associated with the language. Consequently, I enrolled in English as a Second Language courses several years ago. This marked the beginning of my journey to practice spoken English in public settings, with the aim of internalizing the norms of how native English speakers engage in fluent conversations.
Gaining insight into how native English speakers’ articulate events and communicate in everyday scenarios not only facilitated my adjustment to the cultural transition but also deepened my understanding of the works I am presently translating. This encompasses a total of thirteen pieces totaling fifty-four pages of poetry and prose, including Jennifer Wortman's story “Snake in the House.” This endeavor has fostered a profound appreciation for the intricacies of idiomatic expressions and the subtle nuances of literary work that can prove challenging to capture in translation. It has underscored the importance of preserving cultural authenticity while ensuring accurate conveyance of the message. Additionally, my immersion in both Venezuelan and American cultures has provided me with a unique perspective on the interplay between language and identity. This outlook has enriched my approach to translation, enabling me not only to convey the literal meaning of the text but also to preserve the cultural nuances embedded within it. Considering my background and experiences, I approach the translation of "Snakes in the House" with a profound sense of responsibility and dedication. I am committed to delivering a translation that not only honors the author's original intent but also resonates with Spanish-speaking readers, capturing the essence and emotion woven into the narrative. This work stands as a testament to my passion for bridging linguistic and cultural divides, and I am eager to embark on this journey of linguistic transformation.
In Jennifer Wortman's poignant narrative, "Snake in the House," the exploration of grief and its profound impact on familial relationships is artfully depicted. At the outset, I held the belief that the emotions associated with loss were universally experienced. However, my extensive sojourn in a foreign land illuminated the stark reality that each culture possesses its own intricate tapestry of coping mechanisms. This revelation fundamentally altered my approach to translating a story on the topic of an absent and deceased father, urging me to delve beyond the surface of words and embrace the underlying cultural nuances that shape their meaning.
Upon my initial encounter with the text, I made a deliberate choice to abstain from immediate mental translation. Instead, I immersed myself in the intricate layers of Wortman's narrative, striving to inhabit the author's perspective. This approach, I surmised, would pave the way for a more authentic and faithful rendition of the work. As I traversed through the narrative landscape, I encountered a particular phrase that posed a unique challenge: "She rolled her sixth-grader eyes." The literal translation, "Ella puso los ojos en blanco como si fuera una niña de sexto grado," appeared disjointed and perplexing in the context of native Spanish expression. It was evident that a direct, verbatim conversion would not capture the essence of the phrase.
This particularly caught my attention not only because these compound nouns do not exist in Spanish, but also because it describes the semi-fractured mother-daughter relationship since the father's death. It also reveals the sense of independence and rebellion that preteens and teenagers develop, leaving a subtle message in which the daughter considers that she can do something that does not necessarily require her mother's approval. It also shows us how dynamics after the death of a loved one can be confusing within a family unit. I experienced something similar after my father's death, as in my eagerness to help with household chores like paying the bills, doing groceries, and buying the newspaper; it led to a struggle between my mom and me. She needed assistance with these tasks, but at the same time, she expected my dad to do them, so I had to repeatedly let her know that temporarily, I would be "in charge" of the house while we figured out who would take on what in the coming months. And yes, I did roll my eyes at her several times.
Ultimately, I arrived at two viable options: "ella volteó sus ojos" and "ella volteó sus ojos de preadolescente." After consulting with a diverse panel of native Spanish speakers, the former emerged as the preferred choice due to its seamless integration within the linguistic and cultural framework. This decision exemplifies the meticulous care with which I approach every facet of the translation process, striving to convey not only the literal meaning, but also the cultural subtext that imbues Wortman's narrative with its distinctive resonance. Having weathered the storm of personal loss, having bid farewell to my father, I am intimately acquainted with the transformative power of grief. It has altered the very fabric of my family dynamics, bestowing upon me a profound empathy that informs my translation endeavors. This intimate understanding serves as a beacon, guiding me through the labyrinth of emotions woven into "Snake in the House," ensuring that the translated work resonates with the same raw authenticity that defines the original.
Another piece I translated was "The Interpreter" by Alexis Stratton. In this piece, Julia, the main character, not only finds herself in a bicultural and multilingual environment but also battles with her own self-acceptance as a gay person. Despite this, she marries Eduardo, who amid his insecurities about not understanding if Julia loves him or not, also does not understand the bicultural context to which Julia belongs. All these insecurities and Julia's occasional emotional absence (even when physically present) lead Eduardo to believe that Julia is being unfaithful. She assures him that she is faithful, and yet she reaches a point where she tells him that even though she is faithful and loves him, there is an old feeling haunting her. That is when he says, "Draw the lines, help me to see." This translates literally to Spanish as "dibuja las líneas, ayúdame a ver." However, this might not necessarily be understood as it is in Spanish. Conversations with my reviewers led us to two possible translation scenarios: "ayúdame a conectar los puntos para entender” (help me connect the dots to understand) or "por favor aclaramelo y ayúdame a entender” (please clarify and help me understand it)." In the end, we concluded that the best option was "por favor aclaramelo y ayúdame a entender." Although the original sentence does not contain the word "please," we decided to include it because Eduardo's tone was more conciliatory than anything else. This story resonated deeply with me because I also found myself like Julia, struggling with my own sexuality and being in relationships where I was always questioned, yet I did not understand what was happening. The phrase "please clarify that and help me see or understand" has profound significance and not only aims to reveal someone's sexuality but can also help others (and the individual themselves) understand all the underlying issues in a relationship and comprehend others' behavior. I was also once asked to "draw the lines," which, besides causing the breakup of my heterosexual relationship, led me to understand myself and led me to explore what I like to call "my genuine sexuality, my true self." Drawing the lines, or being forced to draw the lines, led me to be the person I am today.
Inspired by Alberto Rios' wise counsel, a three-fold strategy became the cornerstone of my translation approach. Each step was carefully calibrated to unearth the intricate layers of meaning embedded in the source text. The first aspect involved a meticulous dissection of the linguistic elements at play, delving into the multifaceted meanings of a phrase or word. This required a deep dive into the nuances of both the source and target languages, seeking not just direct equivalents but also accounting for cultural, contextual, and idiomatic variations. This phase demanded a fusion of scholarly rigor with creative intuition, ensuring that the translation resonated with the same depth and resonance as the original. Engaging in discourse with fellow native speakers constituted the second vital pillar of this strategy. It was a collaborative endeavor, marked by spirited discussions and exchanges of ideas. This dialogic approach served as a litmus test for the effectiveness of the translation, allowing for a collective exploration of potential interpretations and offering invaluable insights into the linguistic preferences and cultural sensibilities of the target audience. Through this ongoing conversation, the translation was refined, polished, and elevated to a level of linguistic excellence that would seamlessly integrate into the cultural fabric of the reader. The third element, providing the translation process a gestation period, was a practice in patience and discernment. It recognized that the act of translation was not a hasty endeavor, but rather an evolving, organic process. Allowing the translated work to marinate over time permitted a more nuanced and mature interpretation to emerge. It afforded me the distance necessary to revisit the text with fresh eyes, discerning subtleties and fine-tuning nuances that might have been overlooked in the initial stages.
This three-fold strategy outlined in this translation approach has yielded notable results. First, a meticulous dissection of linguistic elements involved a thorough exploration of the intricate layers of meaning in both source and target languages, incorporating cultural and idiomatic variations. This ensured a translation that not only mirrored the original's depth but also resonated authentically. The second aspect, engaging in discourse with fellow native speakers, fostered a collaborative refinement process, allowing for spirited discussions and insights into linguistic preferences and cultural sensibilities. This collective exploration enhanced the translation's effectiveness and cultural integration. Lastly, providing the translation process a gestation period demonstrated patience and discernment, leading to a more nuanced and mature interpretation. This holistic strategy has produced translations that are not only linguistically accurate but also culturally rich, refined through collaboration, and matured over time, exemplifying a commitment to precision and artistry in the translation process.
About the Translator
Fabian Diaz, hailing from Venezuela, is a senior student at Arizona State University, dedicated to earning a Spanish degree. Fluent in both Spanish and English, Fabian serves as an intern at TLP, specializing in the translation and editing of various literary genres, including nonfiction, fiction, and poetry, from English to Spanish. During his leisure hours, he enjoys hiking, traveling, experimenting with new recipes, and indulging in music.
Translations
"The Comet" by Rick Bass (Spanish)
"Fever" by Norman Dubie (Spanish)
"French Postales" by Alberto Ríos (Spanish)
"A God for My Mother" by Summer Wrobel (Spanish)
"A Graven Space" by Melissa Pritchard (Spanish)
"The Interpreter" by Alexis Stratton" (Spanish)
"How Emmet Lost His Balance" by Hugh Sheehy (Spanish)
"Moon Tempest" by JD Scott (Spanish)
"Oppenheimer Leaves His Family for Work Again, Los Alamos, 1945" by Catherine Sasanov (Spanish)
"Reflections in Brass" by Ashton Lynn Marie Goodman introduced by Melissa Pritchard (Spanish)
"The Saints of Negativity" by Norman Dubie (Spanish)
"Self-Portrait as Minotaur" by Jacqueline Balderrama (Spanish)
"Snake in the House" by Jennifer Wortman (Spanish)
With grateful acknowledgment to Spanish language reviewers: Fabiana Isabel Diaz Chacin, Alejandra Flores, Raul Gomez, Edna Gonzalez, Isabel Haas