Lost in Translation

What's lost in translation isn't always just the literal meaning of a word. What's lost can be more the significance, the history, and the culture that makes the word what it is. Words have a beginning, a time when they came into being just like everything else. They also have a history; words tell a story, and have their own identity. Words hold power, truth; they can be twisted and turned around to have one meaning compared to another. They can be used to praise, hurt, comfort, or annoy. Words hold an endless amount of possibility in just a matter of letters strung together. In one language, a word or phrase can hold one meaning, then an entirely different one in another. So what happens when you try to translate a word from one language to another? Do you lose part of that history or meaning? Or do you lose the word itself?

Reading "Translations," its been interesting to see how the original names were changed. I'd seen the two different Irish names on signs before, but never knew how they came to be that way. Reading about Owen translating, either literally or by sound, the names of different places was an interesting experience. I had never imagined that the names would be changed into what they sounded like. But I also think that you do lose part of the original Irish name when translating it into English. You lose the soul of the word almost, the essence of it. Because what it has been for years gives it its own history, a unique past that can't be captured when you change the name. In Italy, for example, saying Firenze brings about a different connotation than just Florence. Firenze has history and a culture unique to the city itself. Florence brings about more of a touristy connotation. Reading the play, I feel that the same could be said with the Anglican names in Ireland.

Shakespeare's lines from "Romeo and Juliet" give a prime example of the English point of view on this when he says, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

Dancing with the Power of the Wind

Dancing with the Power of the Wind. That's what comes to my mind when I read the last passage in "Power." I get an image of Omishto feeling powerful in her self, her decision to go to the old people at Kili, to choose her own life path, and knowing the power that is the wind and her people, while holding them inside of her. Kind of a rambling sentence of all the power images entering my mind, but to me, that's also what the wind is- an intense mix of all that makes up the world and that is making up Omishto at the end of the novel. She has found a new power in herself and has started a new life with the elders. To me, the dance with the new, pure white fan is almost as if Omishto is being reborn. She has gone through experiences she probably never imagined throughout the book, and in the end has come out of it a new person. She is no longer a student, living in her mother's household, taking beatings and being chased after by Herm. Omishto has come out of it all a new person. She has made her own decisions and is confident in them with the end of the book. "it was the old people who saved us" (224), and its the old people she goes to.

Oni. Omishto. "It is a breathing, ceaseless God, a power known and watched over by the panther people. It passes through us, breathed and spoken and immortal. It is what brings us to life" (178). Oni is what saves Omishto and brings her to become who she does at the end of "Power." The dance in the wind with the fan, creating her own wind, shows her own power and her new breath of life through this Oni. She has chosen to become one of the panther people, accept this Oni entirely, and let the power into her as well. Omishto dances to signify her new power. The fan shows her new life/wind/rebirth she is creating all at once with the acceptance of this power, and ultimately her finality in her decision.

The Panther

When I usually think of panthers, the image that comes to mind is often

of Bagheera, the panther character in Disney's The Jungle Book.

Bagheera is wise, protective, respected, and caring-a typical Disney character.

The Panther in Power is seen in a similar light, but not as typically Disney. Here, the

Panther is an animal of utmost respect and value.

Omishto and her family are Taiga Indians of the Panther Clan.

The traditional view of the Panther here is of greatness, awe, fear, and love.

When Ama shoots the panther, she tells Omishto to not let anyone know of it

being sick-it holds that much importance to the people of their clan

that to see it sick is unbearable, painful, and devastating. The Panther,

in their eyes, is much like Mowgli sees Bagheera-a powerful figure, one

to be respected and revered. Omishto doesn't understand why Ama doesn't

want her to tell anyone that the panther she shot was sick, even though it would

help in finding her innocent. When she goes to the Kili Swamp to meet with

the old people, Omishto finally understands how her tribe's elders view the panther,

and the effect of knowing it was sick would have on them. The Panther is not

only the name of these people, it is who they are, and who they have always been.

If the Panther was sick and dying, so is the Panther Clan. Once Omishto realizes

the intense connection her clan really has with the panther, she comes of age

a bit, grows more mature in her understanding of the world and what happened

after the hurricane when she and Ama went out in the woods.

The Power of Nature

In the novel Power, the descriptions of nature are almost spellbinding. The world Hogan describes seems magical, hidden, and wondrous. She captures the essence of a place in her words, using "oni" for wind instead of wind as we know it for one. When we use the word "wind," something is lost from the translation of "oni." She makes you feel as if you're being pulled into another world through the use of "oni" and her description of nature.

There is one place in the world that's had the same effect on me as I feel Omishto has when she's in her boat on the water. When I'm on the beach or walking among the trees on Hilton Head Island, my favorite place in the world, I almost feel like I've entered another universe. The ocean breeze, the waves crashing on the shore, the smell of the salt water, and the overall atmosphere of the island makes me feel like nowhere else has before. I love everything about that island-especially the nature. I feel more at home standing on the beach there than I do sometimes even in my own room. It's almost as if I become a part of the island when I go, but when I leave its worse. I feel as if I leave part of my soul, a piece of my heart behind every time I depart. But it also makes going back even better.

Lucy and Peggy

The relationship between Lucy and Peggy is curious. When trying to think of a word to describe it, somehow curious came into mind. As Lucy says, "We had nothing in common except that we felt at ease in each other's company. From the moment we met we had recognized in each other the same restlessness, the same dissatisfaction with our surroundings, the same skin-doesn't-fit-ness. That was as far as it went"(145). And that is as far as it goes. Peggy is a person Lucy can relate to in this new world, but also remains very different from, and Lucy is the same for Peggy. Neither have met anyone like the other; they make one another curious, as their relationship is. Lucy doesn't rely on Peggy for much besides being a distraction-she's fun, outgoing, different, lives in a world completely unlike her own. They are complete opposites: everything Lucy likes or does is opposite in Peggy. They intrigue each other, provide companionship, and provides Lucy with someone her age to talk to, even if they come from different worlds.

Lucy's relationship with Peggy is good and bad in my mind. Peggy opens Lucy up to new and different experiences in America than those she has with Lewis, Mariah, and the children, but not all are ones she likes. She gives Lucy someone to hang out with and go out with, and try to make sense of her life and her past. Peggy lives with her parents and hates it; Lucy often tells of her mother but her relationship with her mother is different than Peggy's with her parents, who hate anyone not from or affiliated with Ireland. Lucy's relationship with Peggy is good because she does have a different mindset and opens her up to different experiences as she ha with Lewis and Mariah. But the negative aspects are present too. Peggy smokes marijuana and brings Lucy to a party where she meets Paul, the "pervert." Peggy doesn't like reading, children, or her family, who don't have a power over her like Lucy's family does. Lucy's family has so much of a hold over her she can't seem to not think about them quite often. The differences between Peggy and Lucy stand out from the beginning, and don't have much of an effect until the end.

The relationship between Lucy and Peggy, good and bad, seems like a rite of passage, a vital part of adolescence. To have that one friend our guardian figure, parent or Mariah in this case, doesn't exactly approve of, but you keep around anyways. They add a certain spice to life, open you up to new experiences, and help you figure out who you are and want to be. In my experience, who they are is who you don't want to be, and I think the same happens with Lucy.

Lucy and Language

While reading the first section of Jamaica Kincaid's Lucy i began to notice two themes:the first that the main character, who i'm assuming to be named Lucy, is never actually called Lucy, and the second, she is never fully understood. What I'm sure of about the narrator is that she is a teenage girl brought from her home to a new world- new to her in every sense of the word. The weather and season of winter is new; the house she is in; the people she's living with; the room she sleeps in; some of the clothes she wears; the location; the country; the train she rides on; the children she watches. Everything in the world she is living in is new. She doesn't understand winter, or why Mariah is anxious for spring and going to her childhood home. The language used in describing these things to her are not words she knows or concepts she's learned about. 

Language takes another form in Lucy's life-the language she uses. It's different from how the family she is with speaks, and her ideas don't come across as clearly as she assumes they do. There is a language/cultural barrier present which has yet to be broken down. Lucy thinks by telling Lewis and Mariah about a dream she has they will understand it as her accepting them and having them as a big part of her life, but they don't see it that way. The maid doesn't like her for how she talks either. Language is used as one major barrier between her and this new world she's in, and inhibits her understanding of it.

Displacement and Belonging

This past week I had an experience of someone I know feeling displaced when she was with two of her longest and best friends. One of my close "Rome" friends, we'll call her A (she goes to SMC, I just met her on the Rome program), came to me upset about an issue of essentially, displacement. She was feeling left out and somewhat abandoned by her two friends, B and C, for a few reasons, the main one being that they both now attend Notre Dame and not Saint Mary's. One of them transferred at the beginning of this year, and the other one went to Rome with us, and transferred at semester. Seems like a lot going on, but its essential girl drama-I'm sure most of you can keep up :) A was upset because she has been trying to keep close with B and C, and has been succeeding for most of the semester until now. A has been working to keep these friendships because she has known B since the beginning of high school and C since the beginning of her time at SMC, and they were Rome roommates. But now, A feels B and C have been changing their plans and saying they were invited to more exclusive events and parties by their new "friends"-since they're ND girls and not SMC ones. To A, and it would to me too if I had that happen, it hurt A LOT. A feels betrayed, forgotten about, and unloved by two of her best friends, and in a way displaced I think. She doesn't know how this happened or why, especially since these are supposed to be her friends. A bigger issue here is that all three of them have been aligning themselves with stereotypes it seems: A is the SMC girl vs. B and C, the ND girls. How did three friends who were so close get stuck in such a situation?

This situation also led me to make some connections to Woolf's relation of how she wasn't allowed into the library or chapel alone at Oxbridge since she was a woman. A isn't invited to these parties since she's a SMC girl, not an ND one like B and C. 

Displacement can have many meanings, as we discussed at the start of Othello and asked What is displacement? For A, it's feeling out of place with two of her best friends. Often our location and surroundings can change us, affect us, and how we identify ourselves can too. Rome changed me and many of the other girls I was there with. For me, it wasn't anything like a complete personality change, but smaller, yet significant, changes. It seems to be happening once again with B and C attending ND and not SMC. A is noticing a change in who they are, and it hurts when she's not doing the changing too. Place changes us. Displacement can happen even with two of our best friends. 

Universality of "O" and Shakespeare

Watching the film "O" over the last class periods, and our discussions on other Shakespeare plays being made into modern movies, I started to really think about one of the questions raised in class: do these films suggest Shakespeare to be universal? Shakespeare's works have been enjoyed on the stage and screen, in reading their texts, and turned into operas since the time they were written. They continue to be studied in a wide range of classes from one generation to the next, and continue to have an affect. His lines rhyme and flow, tell timeless stories of love, hate, war, families, traditions, and kings and queens of times past. His characters are wild and free, tame and uptight, villains and the most gentle of beauties. His works are read and reenacted, interpreted and referenced all around the world, either inspiring other works or being rewritten to fit the modern times such as in "O." Shakespeare has had so great an effect on the theatrical, literary, scholarly, historical, and humanistic worlds of our time, so how can he not be universal? His name is recognized by scholars across the globe, and his genius cannot be replicated. He was a mind of his own whose stories still apply today. All you had to do with "Taming of the Shrew" was make the father a successful doctor, have the mother leave the family years before, the younger daughter Bianca the high school sophomore sweetie, and older sister Kat the school well, bitch, who spoke her mind and didn't care what others thought of her, and you have a Box Office hit with "Ten Things I Hate About You." There's even a character who loves Shakespeare so much she can identify the most random lines from it. There's even a movie about Shakespeare and his own life, mostly fictional I'd guess but still had enough to win an oscar.

The effect Shakespeare has had on the modern world is unlike any other writer's that I've been able to see. Sure, movies by authors such as Jane Austen and Nicholas Sparks get made into movies like I mentioned in my other post, but nothing like the countless ways Shakespeare's have. If his plays aren't being performed on stages, they're either being made into movies themselves or turned into adaptions like "O" or "She's the Man." Taken all that he's had an effect on, I'd say Shakespeare is pretty universal.

Does the story ever stay the same?

In our class discussions about appropriations, adaptations, and interpretations, I started to think about other books that have been turned into movies, and what is lost and added on in the process. As corny and girly as it may be, two of my favorite books and movies are Notebook and Pride and Prejudice. I love the books themselves, and read them first, but seeing the movies seemed to only complete the experience-in some ways. Being a movie, not all the details and good lines were included, but in both of these examples, the movie stayed very close to the text. There was something fulfilling in seeing these movies for the first time though, and in every time I watch them after since, yes, I do own both of them, and yes, they are presently in my dorm room. And yes, my roommate and I, being the English major freaks we are, watched Pride and Prejudice about two weeks ago. But what makes these books and movies so great is the emotion that they arise in you, the feelings of connection even if you have no reason to feel connected to them at all. There's something in them that the author has captured, some essence that makes them so perfect, and somehow, the director has managed to portray that on film. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's awesome. It makes the books and the movie both so much better. So whether they are appropriations, interpretations, or adaptions, these two books and movies definitely capture some kind of magic.

Family Ties

As I sat in the family room of my brother's off campus house tonight, eating dinner with him, my cousin, and three of his seven housemates, my mind wandered and oddly enough, made some connections to Othello and the family relationships that are present there. Desdemona goes against her father's ways and elopes with Othello, a man of different status and race. I also thought about this section of our class's theme: displacement. I started thinking about this when I thought that I don't know if I could give up everything I know, my family, and my life. It was hard leaving and going to Rome for three months, away from my family. It was hardest to leave the people I was with tonight, which is probably why I started making connections to Othello. I've been separated from my brother before, but never for three months. A senior at ND, Kevin has ran Cross Country and Track the past three and a half years. Due to the time commitment, he was only able to go abroad during the summer between his sophomore and junior years, and for six weeks. Not three months. But anytime he and I were separated for more than a week, I had my cousin Michael around to hang out with, and be like my surrogate brother. But not this fall. This fall, Michael headed off to Dayton for his freshman year, and Kevin came back to South Bend for his senior year. And I had a month of being home without the two of them, feeling out of place almost every second. I felt displaced at home, still with my  parents and sisters, but without Kevin and Michael. Making it worse, every time I visited my brother, my best friend, Tara, and  my cousin, Elizabeth, at ND and SMC, I left feeling as if i was leaving the one place I felt at home, complete. Being apart from Elizabeth was hard too, but not as hard as the others since I went the first eighteen years of my life seeing her twice a year. But not being able to talk to her fifty billion times a day (literally-you should see the amount of texts we send each other each day) was going to be a challenge. So going away felt as if I was out of place-not where I was meant to be. Rome grew on me, and the feeling out of place left some. But coming back to SMC and ND, i've felt more back in place, back to where I feel I should be. Therefore, Desdemona leaving her life, her family, and everything took a lot more than  I could have done. She must have loved Othello more than the life she knew, and went with him. Maybe she didn't feel displaced when she was with him, like I do when I'm with my family.

Interrupted Life

After watching the film "Girl, Interrupted," I started to wonder what I would do if I my life were interrupted in the way that Susanna Kason's was, or in any way. In everyday life, we have plenty of small "interruptions", distractions. A text message, an email, a friend saying hi as you walk past them in the hallway or around campus, a roommate walking into your room, a phone call from home, your favorite TV show of the moment, a work out, a practice, a meal. Life in our modern world is full of mini interruptions, and we deal with them as if they aren't any major consequence-because they aren't. We take part in these interruptions, not seeing them as life-changing or greatly altering in any way, just a bit of added 'spice' to our day. We take part and move forward with our lives. But what if we were interrupted in more than just a tiny way? What if instead of the interruption being a quick conversation with a girl you run into on your way to class, the interruption is much larger and more life-altering? What would we do if our lives were dramatically changed in a few minutes, and without our consent like Susanna's mother and doctor putting her into the cab to Claymoore? What would we do if a year of our life as we knew it was taken away?

Personally, I can't even begin to fathom this thought. A year of my life completely different from what I know it as isn't an everyday thought. But watching Susanna Kason's experience, I wondered what I would do. Not if I attempted suicide, but if for whatever reason, I was relocated for a year to a place housing girls with varying issues and illnesses. Would I be able to adapt and accept them, to be friends with them when I knew I wasn't supposed to be there? I can only imagine having to deal with this separation, where you're being placed in a different mental world rather than just physically.

Coming to college and studying abroad have placed me in different situations with a different physical location, but not so much a mental one. I have been forced to get to know girls I previously never knew existed, to learn about myself and those around me, and to see what their lives are like, because most often, they're very different from mine. But like Susanna Kason realized in the end, just because they're different from you are doesn't make them less of people or friends. I was forced to open myself to girls in Rome, and came back with 40 new best friends. They saw me through good and bad, as did the girls at Claymoore saw with Susanna. I thought at times I would never get through, but those were the times I realized how amazing the people around me actually were. Nothing like being placed in an institution like Claymoore, and my life wasn't interrupted like hers was, but it definitely was a part of my life I'll never forget.

To get back to what I'd do if my life were interrupted for a year, I still can't even imagine. I can only hope that if it happened, I'd be able to find friends as good as the ones Susanna Kason did.

Second Take

Reading "The Yellow Wallpaper" for the second time in my career here at Saint Mary's, I was struck by a few things. First off is the differences and similarities of the two classes that I've read it in. Humanistic Studies is, as Professor Williamson-Ambrose said on the first day of class, an interdisciplinary field. To me, that makes it about making connections from one topic to another, or in this case, from one class to another. I first read this text in my 109W English course first semester last year. Two of the novels we read in that class were Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre and Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, two texts referenced in our previous assignment by Virginia Woolf. Reading "The Yellow Wallpaper" made me further connect these two classes in my mind, and notice how Humanistic Studies does cross set up boundaries. In my English course last fall, we focused mostly on the texts themselves, with some background information on the author. In Hust., however, we look into what is going on in the time period these works have been written in- how these outer forces effect what is being written, why its being written, and so on. Two very different courses, but with certain elements present in each that make them even more effective. 

The second thing that I noticed in reading "The Yellow Wallpaper" again was the details that I forgot about from my previous reading. I remembered certain details such as the narrator's husband John treating her as a child, the narrator hating the wallpaper then, in the end, having an extreme connection to it, but my mind let slip the parts about the rings in the walls, bars on the windows, the nailed down bed, the line around the room, and the areas of paper ripped off or torn at. Funny how my mind would retain the lesser "evil," "normal" details compared to these. Maybe it was an unconscious protective mechanism since normally I don't try to remember details of those sort, or I just didn't find them all that important. Reading them again made me feel disturbed almost, and brought back memories of feeling the same way when I first read it. The narrator's reaction to these details was also one that made me uneasy. How could she assume that these would be elements of a nursery or boys' school? And why doesn't she connect that the house must have been empty for a number of years, had legal trouble, and be so far away from the town for a reason? She might be depressed, but wouldn't these details stand out as being abnormal? 

In reading this, the flaws in the "Rest" cure stand out to me right away, and its no wonder that the women following it went crazier rather than improving. If you shut me up in a room with crazy wallpaper, by myself, all day, every day, and in the summer, I think I'd get a little loony too.

"A very queer, composite being thus emerges. Imaginatively she is of the highest importance; practically she is completely insignificant. She pervades poetry from cover to cover; she is all but absent from history. She dominates the lives of kings and conquerors in fiction; in fact she was the slave of any boy whose parents forced a ring upon her finger. Some of the most inspired words, some of the most profound thoughts in literature fall from her lips; in real life she could hardly read, could scarcely spell, and was the property of her husband" (Woolf 43-44). 

This passage from Woolf's A Room of One's Own and the examples she gave from novels such as Pride and Prejudice (one of my all-time favorities) and Jane Eyre (another good one) made me realize the struggles of the female writer throughout history even more, and of the female character. Being an aspiring writer myself, I wonder how writers such as Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte went against their times, and the fights they fought to get their works read, and later published. Even to write such works was an endeavor for these women, which makes their achievements even more remarkable. If I couldn't write, I'm not sure what I would do sometimes. For me, writing is my escape-my portal to another realm almost when I'm having a bad day, or need to sort my thoughts. Writing is how I can openly express my thoughts and know that most often, they'll come out a little less scattered than they are in my head. Putting words on paper, or typing onto a screen lets me figure out my emotions, my most random ideas become organized, and world seems to right itself. Its like an artist taking their first strokes on a blank canvas: they may have an image in their head, but sometimes it takes time and patience for it to make it onto the space. Even as I write now I can notice areas of this blog post I'd go back and edit, but since this is the "blogging world" I'm going to let my thoughts roam free. 

This passage also made me (once again) realize the differences in the world or reality compared to the world of fiction. The woman in literature is often celebrated, cared for, worried over, etc. But in history, the woman was often in the background, an afterthought almost to the lists of men who fill our history books. This is a tragedy almost, but a victory for the women who do manage to "interrupt" the lists and lists of men and have their name among them. For example, Queen Elizabeth I. She ruled without a king, against many who wanted her dead, and in a time when women were thought unfit to rule. Her own father didn't want her alive, holding out through his numerous wives for a son, who ended up dying young. But she managed to advance her kingdom and country in ways her predecessors had been unable to, and is still studied today for ruling in a time of such change, growth, and conflict. Like her, Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte fought against society to deliver the heroines Woolf talks about, the Elizabeth Bennett's and Jane Eyre's of the world who can inspire us all. Women and writing have always been a powerful pair, and when they are able to come out of the darkness of absence, the domination inside shines through.

My Writing Metaphor

Writing for me is like teaching the five-to-eight-year-old kids I coach on my pool’s summer swim team how to swim breaststroke.  A few kids have the natural talent to be able to do the “in, out, and around” movement that goes along with bending their knees and awkwardly pointing their feet at an outward angle; other kids try over and over, going through the motions in the pool, while sitting down on the deck, and even with me attempting to move their legs for them, but still never quite catch on. In the end, I know I can get most of them to have, at least, a legal stroke, but it takes time, patience, and more often than not, a lot of tries.

Teaching breaststroke seems almost instinctive to me; as a kid, I was a natural at it.  In junior year of high school, oddly enough the same time when my swimming career ended due to becoming sick, I realized my inherent talent for writing. Just as swimming breaststroke came easy to me, the more I wrote, the more I realized writing did as well.  My English teacher that year commented on this to me one day as I received my third ‘A’ in a row on one of his papers. He told me that he tried, but couldn’t find a reason to give me a grade any lower. He also recommended I apply to be in one of the two advanced English courses offered senior year, AP English and Creative Writing. I took the Creative Writing course senior year, where my love of the “craft” only grew.

Writing may be a natural gift of mine, but that doesn’t always mean it comes easy. Often, my final products, like most writers, come after many attempts and many drafts. I never like what I first put onto paper or type out. Mostly, the work I hand in has been worked and reworked. And then worked again. Dillard spoke about how the image in her mind never actually makes it onto the page. It is warped and changed to the point it is barely recognizable. I think this happens with many writers, and is part of the overall process. At least I know I’m not alone in that respect. But as I coach my kids into swimming breaststroke, I can coach a good, or at least respectable, piece of writing onto a page.