"Language is More Than What We Say"
In his piece “Translating Translation: Finding the Beginning” through a series of short stories integrated with novice linguistic knowledge, Alberto Albaro Rios discusses translation. He eloquently portrays to the reader the complicated act of translation and how much can be lost if you only translate words, “Language is more than what we say -- it’s also how we say it, and whether or not we even understand what we are saying...Maybe that’s exactly what keeps a computer or a book from doing the job.”
Rios begins the piece by explaining that not only do different languages sound different, with different words, different letters, and different pronunciations, when an individual speaks a different language they physically speak in a different way as well. As an example, Rios stated that “English has tenser vowels than, for example Spanish” (Rios, 506). Rios is fascinated by the physicality of language, fascinated by the idea that “words aren’t simply what they mean -- they are also physical acts” (Rios, 506). When learning a new language, mastering the physicality is a clumsy process. Rios metaphorically compares this process to putting on binoculars. Binoculars are physically clumsy, “but once put to the eyes a new world in that moment opens up to us” (Rios, 506).
Rios then detailed a personal story regarding the learning process of mastering a new language, from when he was a toddler and his family was decorating a new house. His mother, who was attempting to learn Spanish at the time, told the Spanish speaking painters that she wanted the kitchen to be “limon,” yellow was her intent. “But when we came back the next day, the kitchen was painted bright green, like a small jungle” (Rios, 506). Mexican limones, the same type that I saw in Costa Rica, are bright green, almost identical to a lime (fun fact: they look almost identical to a lime on the outside, but the inside is a lively orange and sweet to the taste). Rios’ family left the wall the vibrant green for eight years as “a reminder to us all that there was a great deal to learn in the world” (Rios, 506). Additionally, I perceived the wall’s significant tenure as “limon” as a constant reminder to be present in the moment -- being present, life experience can often be a better teacher than a textbook.
Rios then began to address the concept of “manners.” He remembered when a man, who only spoke Spanish, was apprehended while illegally crossing the border from Mexico to the United States in Douglas, Arizona. He was put into a cell in the back of a small jail where there was a miscommunication among the staff. As a result, the man was left there for three days before being found by a janitor. Rios explained that the man never spoke up while in the cell because “He had manners” (Rios, 507). Additionally, Rios implied other reasons why the man was unable to speak up including, the language barrier, possible physical distance between himself and employees at the jail -- if they didn’t know he was there they must not have been able to physically see him, and another reason, fear, fear of being punished, as he was already in jail.
This story led Rios toward another type of “translation” -- the act of attempting to understand what others want you to do, “We try to do what other people want” (Rios, 507). “That search for understanding is often itself a search for, and an act of, translation as well” (Rios, 507). Working at an Eloy, Arizona high school through an Artists in the Schools residency program, Rios interacted with students from various backgrounds. During a Thursday class, an act of translation occurred that seems to still haunt Rios. The class was comprised primarily of children of migrant workers and the majority of those who appeared least attentive Cholos. Before delving into the story, Rios further details the Cholo student’s typical dress, “Chino pants, black belt, thick black shoes, two T-shirts -- a regular one over a thin-strapped one -- and a hair net” (Rios, 507).
My brain couldn’t comprehend the series of letters that my eyes had delivered. I read the sentence twice more. “What?” I thought to myself, “A hair net?” I read the sentence again. “A hair net?” Like the one Olivia, a lost friend from high school, had to wear during her shifts at Chick-fil-a? I read the sentence again. I’ve never worn a hairnet. I was lucky enough to work as a lifeguard during high school. “A hair net.” That’s definitely the words. My eyes were not wrong. “A hair net. To school.”
To my luck, Rios knows his audience; he spent the next paragraph explaining the significance and purpose of the hair net. “There were many reasons for a hair net” (Rios, 507). The older brothers of the high school boys in Rios’ class often worked in fast food restaurants -- like Olivia -- and were required to wear them at their jobs. Additionally, Rios stated that “A net, it was a show of attitude -- you took your net off when the important things happened. School was not that” (Rios, 507).
On this Thursday, Rios remembers one of the seemingly unattentive boys in the back getting up, “Starting walking his walk to the front, ostensibly to sharpen a pencil, but he kind of hung around me at the desk” (Rios, 508). The young man and Rios exchanged “Hellos.”
Then, the boy asked, “You really like this poetry shit?”
“Yes,” Rios replied.
The likely hair-netted boy followed with, “So, how many fights you had?” -- which Rios defined as “The very best thing I could have hoped for” (Rios, 508). Rios interpreted this as the young man’s attempt “To understand, to make a bridge, to make sense for himself” (Rios, 508). The answer Rios gave to the question didn’t matter; the decision by the boy in the back to get up and ask the question gave him an answer, a sense of understanding.
Language is more than what our words mean, Rios explained, “Language is the attempt to understand as much as the understanding itself. It is the how as much as the what, form as much as content, intent as much as words. These are the lateral muscles and physical directions of language that translation often fails to use” (Rios, 508).
Rios begins the piece by explaining that not only do different languages sound different, with different words, different letters, and different pronunciations, when an individual speaks a different language they physically speak in a different way as well. As an example, Rios stated that “English has tenser vowels than, for example Spanish” (Rios, 506). Rios is fascinated by the physicality of language, fascinated by the idea that “words aren’t simply what they mean -- they are also physical acts” (Rios, 506). When learning a new language, mastering the physicality is a clumsy process. Rios metaphorically compares this process to putting on binoculars. Binoculars are physically clumsy, “but once put to the eyes a new world in that moment opens up to us” (Rios, 506).
Rios then detailed a personal story regarding the learning process of mastering a new language, from when he was a toddler and his family was decorating a new house. His mother, who was attempting to learn Spanish at the time, told the Spanish speaking painters that she wanted the kitchen to be “limon,” yellow was her intent. “But when we came back the next day, the kitchen was painted bright green, like a small jungle” (Rios, 506). Mexican limones, the same type that I saw in Costa Rica, are bright green, almost identical to a lime (fun fact: they look almost identical to a lime on the outside, but the inside is a lively orange and sweet to the taste). Rios’ family left the wall the vibrant green for eight years as “a reminder to us all that there was a great deal to learn in the world” (Rios, 506). Additionally, I perceived the wall’s significant tenure as “limon” as a constant reminder to be present in the moment -- being present, life experience can often be a better teacher than a textbook.
Rios then began to address the concept of “manners.” He remembered when a man, who only spoke Spanish, was apprehended while illegally crossing the border from Mexico to the United States in Douglas, Arizona. He was put into a cell in the back of a small jail where there was a miscommunication among the staff. As a result, the man was left there for three days before being found by a janitor. Rios explained that the man never spoke up while in the cell because “He had manners” (Rios, 507). Additionally, Rios implied other reasons why the man was unable to speak up including, the language barrier, possible physical distance between himself and employees at the jail -- if they didn’t know he was there they must not have been able to physically see him, and another reason, fear, fear of being punished, as he was already in jail.
This story led Rios toward another type of “translation” -- the act of attempting to understand what others want you to do, “We try to do what other people want” (Rios, 507). “That search for understanding is often itself a search for, and an act of, translation as well” (Rios, 507). Working at an Eloy, Arizona high school through an Artists in the Schools residency program, Rios interacted with students from various backgrounds. During a Thursday class, an act of translation occurred that seems to still haunt Rios. The class was comprised primarily of children of migrant workers and the majority of those who appeared least attentive Cholos. Before delving into the story, Rios further details the Cholo student’s typical dress, “Chino pants, black belt, thick black shoes, two T-shirts -- a regular one over a thin-strapped one -- and a hair net” (Rios, 507).
My brain couldn’t comprehend the series of letters that my eyes had delivered. I read the sentence twice more. “What?” I thought to myself, “A hair net?” I read the sentence again. “A hair net?” Like the one Olivia, a lost friend from high school, had to wear during her shifts at Chick-fil-a? I read the sentence again. I’ve never worn a hairnet. I was lucky enough to work as a lifeguard during high school. “A hair net.” That’s definitely the words. My eyes were not wrong. “A hair net. To school.”
To my luck, Rios knows his audience; he spent the next paragraph explaining the significance and purpose of the hair net. “There were many reasons for a hair net” (Rios, 507). The older brothers of the high school boys in Rios’ class often worked in fast food restaurants -- like Olivia -- and were required to wear them at their jobs. Additionally, Rios stated that “A net, it was a show of attitude -- you took your net off when the important things happened. School was not that” (Rios, 507).
On this Thursday, Rios remembers one of the seemingly unattentive boys in the back getting up, “Starting walking his walk to the front, ostensibly to sharpen a pencil, but he kind of hung around me at the desk” (Rios, 508). The young man and Rios exchanged “Hellos.”
Then, the boy asked, “You really like this poetry shit?”
“Yes,” Rios replied.
The likely hair-netted boy followed with, “So, how many fights you had?” -- which Rios defined as “The very best thing I could have hoped for” (Rios, 508). Rios interpreted this as the young man’s attempt “To understand, to make a bridge, to make sense for himself” (Rios, 508). The answer Rios gave to the question didn’t matter; the decision by the boy in the back to get up and ask the question gave him an answer, a sense of understanding.
Language is more than what our words mean, Rios explained, “Language is the attempt to understand as much as the understanding itself. It is the how as much as the what, form as much as content, intent as much as words. These are the lateral muscles and physical directions of language that translation often fails to use” (Rios, 508).
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