Under Mongolian Blue Sky

Mongolian Poetry in Translation: Theory and Revolutions

September 13, 2007, 5:00 PM
Room 305, Building No.5 NUM

Mongolian Poetry in Translation: Theory and Revolutions

Lisa Fink is a poet, translator and American Fulbright scholar in Mongolia translating contemporary Mongolian poetry into English. At the same time, she is studying the Mongolian language at the National University of Mongolia and conducting a survey across the country of
changes in Mongolian poetry since the democratic transition. She will discuss the craft and theory of literary translation as it relates to contemporary Mongolian poetry, with examples from major Mongolian modern poets, and the shifts that have occurred in Mongolian poetry since 1991.

This lecture is part of the American Center of Mongolian Studies' Fall 2007 Speaker Series.

When the lights go down in the city

I'm back in Ulaanbaatar and ambivalent. My time here is coming to an end, yet I have many things left to do.

Translator Simon Wickham-Smith was recently named editor of the Kegan Paul Library of Mongolian Literature. Soon you will be able to find on their website several volumes of poetry and prose that he has translated from Mongolian. We are to do a book of translations together to include the "modernists" as opposed to the "traditionalists," which predominate in most of the work  that Wickham-Smith, at the behest of the Mongolian Academy of Culture and Poetry, has produced thus far.

Don't forget to check out the recently posted photos in the "Countryside" gallery of the car wreck and Tavan Bogd!

Letter from Olgii

Hello, you. I'm now in Olgii city of Bayan-Olgii ("Rich-Cradle") province after much ado. It is the western most province of Mongolia and 90% Muslim Kazakh. Mongolian is their second language, so that puts us in the same boat. Being here is like being in a new country all over again. The people are lovely, but very surprised to see me here and alone.

Olgii is a small town replete with concrete, nestled among the Altai mountains and sprawling along the luscious Hovd river. I've come to collect poems, meet poets and to see the tallest mountain in Mongolia, the Altai's Tavan Bogd (Five Holy). Yesterday I met with the main Kazakh poet, also the director of the Bayan-Olgii branch of the Union of Mongolian Writers, R. Suragan, that I had meant to meet with in Bayan-Olgii and we had a good talk. He told me I must see Tavan Bogd and write poems while I'm there. Thus I leave for the mountain tomorrow after lunch with warm clothes, food, a national park permit and a border permit as the mountain lies on the borders of Mongolia, Russia and China.

I also realized, though I should have known before, that all the poems the poets here write are in the Kazakh language, one that I don't know. While I go to Tavan Bogd, Suragan is going to collect the poems that have been translated into Mongolian so I can read them. Then, I may translate two or three of the poems into English for him. I don't know how that will work since I'm translating from Mongolian and not the original language but I will do it because I've heard he's a really great poet and I'm interested in what he's writing.

Actually, today I found an anthology with three of his poems in it at the province library where I had to 1) pay 100 togrog per book just to look at them, 2) leave the library while the librarians went out to lunch, and 3) wait outside the library for 45 minutes when the librarians returned late from lunch. Suragan knows Mongolian very well and I hope he'll be able to comment on the quality of the Kazakh-to-Mongolian translations.

It's fantastic how everyone here knows the name of their country's poets and how they hold them in such esteem. I was in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of Bayan-Olgii and said I was going to meet Suragan and all the people knew who he is. Once I mention that I too am a poet, they softly exhale, "Oh," and look at me a little differently.

Now for the "much ado" and "the middle of nowhere in the countryside" to which referred earlier. Well, I had a new experience in Mongolia on my way to Olgii from Hovd: a car accident. At about 10 PM on Monday night the Russian jeep (a "жаран ес" for those of you who know what that is) I was riding in with one young Kazakh driver went off the road and landed upside down in a dry river bed. Actually we were about halfway down into the river bed when the car first stopped. I opened my door to try to get out at the driver's suggestion and then we flipped over. My door was open so I scuttled out quickly.

We both walked away physically unscathed. I felt strangely calm; however, the driver was freaking out because he was a student, only 22 year old, and it was his parent's jeep. Let's just say I could relate to what he was going through from past experience.

It was dark so I suggested we set up my tent, try to sleep and go look for help in the morning light. I hardly slept, but at some point Boldoo, the driver, went off to find help before I woke up. Thus when I awoke he was gone and I went about packing up the camp, taking pictures of the accident scene (which I'll post when I get back to UB) and eating some breakfast. Boldoo returned on a motorcycle with another Kazakh man and said more were coming.

Eventually about 12 more Kazakh men came, righted the jeep with another jeep and got it started again. Since the jeep I originally left Hovd in was now a mess (no windshield, no passenger side door, etc.) I rode with some other folks to their camp and Boldoo arranged for a couple of them to take me on to Olgii so he could return to his parent's home in Hovd.

The Kazakh people were very, very nice, especially when they found out what had happened, and had me drink a lot of Kazakh tea, eat homemade cheese and bread and hold their eagle. (Kazakhs are eagle hunters and are very proud of their birds.) After stopping at many, many homes along the way and after many, many bowls of tea, two Kazakh men of my age, though seeming much older, eventually ferried me to Olgii and helped me find a place to stay when we discovered that all the hotels were full.

Currently, I'm staying with a Kazakh family that is going to host me while I'm in Bayan-Olgii through the American Center for Mongolian Studies, and my work continues.

I Am Not Merely Human

Thus far I've spent my evenings in Hovd translating additional poems by poet L. Olziitogs. I post here one of my favorites from her book The Practice of Loneliness (Ганцаардлын Дасгал / Gantsaardaliin Dasgal) in its original and first draft English versions.

***

Уулыг хараад би уул гэдгээ мэддэг
Униар мананг ажаад үүл гэдгээ мэдэрдэг
Бороо шивэрсний дараа өвс гэдгээ сэрдэг
Богширгоны жиргээ эхэлмэгц өглөө гэдгээ санадаг

Би хүн л биш

Од дүрэлзэхийн цагт харанхүй гэдгээ мэддэг
Охид нимгэлээд эхэлмэгц хавар гэдгээ санадаг
Ертөнцийн хүн бүрээс гагц хүсэл л үнэртэхэд
Ерөөс амгалан зүрх минь загасных болохыг ойлгодог

Би хүн л биш

Өнгө өнгийн тэнгэр дор аугаа их ХООСОН,
Өнөөдрөөс эхлээд би, зөвхөн...

***

I look at a mountain and know that I am mountain
I observe mist and perceive that I am cloud
After rain sprinkles I sense that I am grass
As soon as the sparrow's twittering begins, I remember
      that I am morning

I am not merely human

When a star flares up I know that I am darkness
As soon as girls shed their thick winter clothes, I remember
      that I am spring
When I smell only longing from every person in the universe
My ever more tranquil heart understands that it is a fish's

I am not merely human

Under a multi-colored sky the immense VOID,
From today on I, only…

© Lisa Fink, 16 August 2007

Offline... in Hovd and Bayan-Ölgii

It's a shame I haven't been able to post more about my work in Hovsgol. I have been working on it offline and I still plan to back-post several items. However, I'm now off on my next (and last) Fulbright-related trip to the countryside. I leave this evening to head over land to Hovd and Bayan-Ölgii aimags to meet writers and poets and study the landscape while I translate and write. I'll be back in the city around September 3.  Until then, go easy.

Enriching Global Cultural Perspectives

“At the beginning of the essay, Keya Majumdar lays out her purpose as ‘primarily to trace the translational theories with regard to post-modern times.’ In her arguments, she draws our attention to some analogous relationships between hermeneutical constructions and translatory “experiences” and then goes ahead to demonstrate how, in the modern context, translation and translational theory transverse the territories of nation, person, culture, in more ways than one, to reach and enrich the global cultural perspective.”

    –Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee, re: “Appropriating the ‘Others’: Some Challenges of Translation and its Theories” by Keya Majumdar in the editor’s notes, p. 6, Indian Literature 234, Jul-Aug 2006 Vol L No 4

My good friend Tirthankar Mukherjee, English editor of the UB Post, gave me a copy of this journal for one specific poem, but I've found the whole issue particularly stimulating. It focuses on new translations of poetry from Oriya which are decidedly unexpected and beautiful.

I digress. I bold that particular passage of the above quote because I hope that is part of the reason why I am in Mongolia.

I have been, finally, reading literary critic Edward Said's Orientalism, at  the suggestion of poet Sun Yung Shin, and consequently Writing Diaspora: Tactics of Intervention in Contemporary Cultural Studies by Rey Chow because I am concerned, as I'm sure other thinking people are, that as a result of the privileges I have as white person I may somehow taint this work. I must consider with rigorous honesty how is it that I personally have been able to make my way to Mongolia to do this work.

I also must believe that mindfulness and the work I have done and continue to do spiritually and emotionally will in part allow me to avoid committing the crimes of Orientalism. I cannot speak for Mongolians. I don't want to speak for Mongolians. But I do want to make Mongolian poetry accessible to more readers.

There are some theorists that write that a translator should only translate into their native languages, never out of it. I must admit that most of the translations I have read by Mongolians from Mongolian into English force me to concur. That being so, as a native English speaker, learning the Mongolian language well and then translating Mongolian poetry into English is a service I can provide to readers of English and the Mongolian poets with whom I work. And, ultimately, the work of translating Mongolian poetry into English is, for me, about being of service to others.

Poetry in particular is apt to "transverse the territories of nation, person, culture" and "enrich the global cultural perspective." I wrote as much in my application to the Fulbright Foundation and my time in Mongolia, where people speak and sing in poems, has only confirmed that belief.

There was a time when people believed that poetry could change the world. I still think this is true.

Found In Translation

Two of my poems, along with a photo of me and some background information, have been translated into Mongolian and published in the daily Өнөөдөр (onoodor: today) newspaper here in Ulaanbaatar. The poet G. Ayurzana, one of the poets I'm translating, did the translations. It's all in Mongolian, so unless you know the Mongolian language you're out of luck!

It's been pretty cool to have Mongolians coming up to me to tell me they've read two of my poems in Mongolian. Most people tell me that they enjoyed reading the poems. One person, a metal sculptor that I admire, told me that he thought they were аймаар хэзүү (aimaar hedzoo: frighteningly hard). Currently, my dear friend and fellow poet and translator Degi is taking a close look at the translations and originals in order to give me her breakdown of their quality. Either way, it's pretty exciting for me.

Is It Love?

Not for me.

Maybe for you.

These goats drove me crazy during my three-week stay in Hovsgol aimag, the most beautiful of all Mongolia's provinces in my opinion. I spent the time writing, translating, studying Mongolian, hiking and observing. These darling goats loved the grass around the ger I inhabited by myself and came to visit every late afternoon.

Hovsgol is a large province, so let me narrow it down a bit for you. In Hovsgol is one of the largest freshwater lakes in Mongolia, aptly named Hovsgol Lake. This lake is shaped a bit like an upside-down teardrop, and at its base is the small town of Hatgal, populated by about 3000 people. The family from whom I rented my ger had a small house and grocery shop in Hatgal where part of the family lived and worked.

The other part moved with the herds in the hills to the west of Hatgal. While I was there, the family was at their summer camp, a one-room log cabin near a small stream in a valley surrounded by forest and wildflower-covered meadows. I resided in one of the two gers that they leave open in summer for the occasional traveler, usually French since their youngest son speaks that language, for whom the aforementioned son leads horse treks from the summer camp to the lake 30 km or so away.

Being a poor artist, I didn't go on any horse treks, but I hiked around a lot. However I didn't bring my camera on any of my hikes, so unfortunately I was unable to attempt to capture the stunning masses of colorful mountain flowers.

I filled every page of blank paper I had with words.

I felt the unceasing steppe winds.

I saw yaks for the first time and helped rassle their young at milking time.

I also lived without running water and electricity, and thus lit my own cooking and heating fires and gathering wood and water on a daily basis.

Oh, there's so much more to tell, but it's lunchtime and a girl's gotta eat! I'm going to have a gyro from the Kola and Kebab joint around the corner. It's not the Juicy Lucy and jo jos I crave, but it'll have to do.

White Blossoms

It is now summer, even if not according to the stars. There are white and pink blossoms in the thick air.  The wind blows the heat and sand into one's face. Black flies are omnipresent.

I discussed "being other" with my colleague Simon Wickham-Smith, translator of Danzanravjaa (see Perfect Qualities) and the founder of CCALT: Center for Central Asian Literatures in Translation, who is in Mongolia for about six weeks. We decided that a good way to describe Mongolians is with the word "hard". There is no "excuse me" to be heard when someone is trying to get by. They just shove you. Of course to foreigners this feels like a breach of one's personal space, but it's perfectly acceptable in Mongolia; to be honest, I've adjusted to it.

Finally, there is the question of how to order names. I am of the opinion that it is important to retain the order of Mongolian names: father's name first with the genitive, or possessive, noun-case suffix followed by the given name. For example, Ganbatiin (or G.) Delgermaa (aka, my dear friend Degi). Simon has taken to reversing the order to fit the West's habit: Delgermaa Ganbat. What do you think?

Selling Oneself

Twice last week and more since I've seen old men and women sitting one short benches on the sidewalk with a scale in front of them. One can weigh oneself for a hundred togrog (approximately $0.09), and people do pay to use the scale. Mongolians must always find a way to make money off their assets if they want to survive.