Poetry. More almost than ever.

Literary translation has a certain sneaky way of cornering us translators.

Translating the text (the content) into another language is only part of the job —we also have to preserve the author’s voice and stylistic choices.

The author used his/her magic wand to create the original, and now it’s our turn to wave ours so the translation can move, provoke, inform, make readers think, stir up nostalgia or awareness... or just (just!) tell the story the way the original does.

Or almost.

Because our job is almost always an “almost” (just like Umberto Eco’s book “Saying Almost the Same”, my translation Bible).

When it comes to poetry, the challenge gets even trickier. Suddenly, our color palette gets smaller.

Sometimes it’s about the rhythm/the music of words, but mostly it’s rhyme, of course.

I do  not simply need the Spanish equivalent of “nostalgic” —I need something that rhymes with... let’s say, “impreciso,” which is already in Spanish. one or two lines above, looking at me, challenging me.

You rarely nail it on the first try, the line often requires reconstruction (“I’m gonna move you, “impreciso”), and at times, it comes at the expense of meaning. Ouch.

While the standard output for translators averages around 2,000 words per day, this does not apply to literary translation. And in the case of poetry, timelines need to be totally different —as does the pricing (forgive the pragmatism... but you know me. You know my advocacy).

Just to give you an idea: the children’s adaptation of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night’s Dream” —by Lois Burdett and published by QWILL Media & Education— had about 4,000 words. Did I deliver in two days, then? No.

It took me seven months just to get close to Burdett’s rhyming couplets.

Poetry —whether we enjoy it as readers in our native language or in translation— poses a unique and formidable challenge when it comes to translating it.

Over days, weeks, even months, we carry words that feel stuck in our… souls/throats/minds/hearts/brains.

Sometimes we approve potential candidates —consolation prize words— hoping for that elusive epiphany. Sometimes the epiphany never comes. But when the magic does happen… oh. That’s when beauty is born.

I want to share a few bits from a story-poem I translated for Albert Whitman, aimed at Spanish-speaking children in the U.S.

This year, I had the honor of translating three books for them. Triple debut.
This poem, Brock, Rock and the Savings Rock, was written by Sheila Bair, an American former government official who was the Chair of the U.S. Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) from 2006 to 2011. It was a huge and beautiful challenge. Just like poetry.

Aurora Matilde Humarán 

Note: The original and the translation aren’t available in Argentina, but if you're in the U.S. and want to get a copy, you can send an email to orders@albertwhitman.com