Under Mongolian Blue Sky

This Is the End

My grant period as a Fulbright Fellow has come to an end. Now I'm a Fulbright alumna. Despite that, I know I've only just taken a few strides down this new road of literary translation. Nothing feels finished–that's a good thing, for me–and I have a vision for the future.

I've been spending some time with another literary translator who is in Mongolia on holiday for a week from Korea. Stephen Epstein was raised in Boston but has spent fourteen years living in New Zealand as a professor at Victoria University of Wellington. The last seven of these years he has lived between New Zealand and Korea. It has been great to pick his brain on some practical issues of literary translation, particularly because the Korean language bears some important similarities to Mongolian in sentence structure and because he has a lot more experience with literary translation that I do.

Stephen primarily translates short stories and novels. In Korea, he's involved with the Korea Literature Translation Institute, which, among many other activities, offers fellowships to translators of Korean literature who work in a variety of languages. His translation of Yang Gui-ja's Mosun (Contradictions) was recently published as part of the Cornell University's Cornell East Asia Series.

I leave Mongolia in one week's time. Consequently, I am in the process of preparing to re-enter American society. Stephen and I had a good talk about this as he was in the US after a four-year absence to visit his parents this past summer. We considered the aspects of contemporary American culture that are so disheartening: the media, the emptiness of our culture of consumption, the blatant hypocrisy, our unfortunate blackened image across the globe, etc. Though I have more pride than ever in my homeland, that land's liabilities are ever more clear to me now.

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!

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

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.

What is Winter?

Last week I had an illuminating conversation with an American teacher here named George Economides. He has lived in Mongolia for five years. The first three he spent as a Peace Corps volunteer. Now he teaches at the American School of Ulaanbaatar and volunteers for Friends of Mongolia. We were talking about Mongolia's seasons and how to accurately translate хавар, өвөл, etc. (spring, winter, etc.) into English.

You see, the seasons as we know them do not exist in Mongolia. Using his words, we might describe winter with the following words and phrase: dry, sunny, beautiful skies. This is not generally how I think of winter. Likewise, spring in Mongolia is cold, brown, windy and dusty. That's not what I see when I envision spring. So how to translate a poem about winter into English?

In some places they refer to rainy and dry seasons. Perhaps this is a better way to translate Mongolian seasons because хавар (khawar) doesn't equate to what we know of spring. Perhaps we could call it the dusty, windy season.

Then again, maybe this only means that we ought to expand our definition of spring. We could be rigid and define the seasons on a scale of time by the stars: spring is March 21-June 21; summer is June 22-September 21, etc. Or we accept that spring can be different things at different times and still employ use of the word spring.

In this poem the point is to know that winter is dreary and spring is something we look forward to, though it sometimes may seem as if spring will never come:

Өмнөх зам бодолд дарагдан атирна.
Үнэн сэтгэлээсээ инээх минь цөөрнө.
Хүйтэн агаарт цойлох
«Хавар айсүй» гэсэн гэнэн итгэлийнхээ араас
Хүүхэд шиг инээтсэглэвч,

Тэр инээд биш, шоочхон мушийлт
Тэнгэрийн эгдүүг хүргэнэ.
Улам өвөл…

++++

[English interlinear]

Ömnökh zam bodold daragdang atirn.
Üneng setgeleesee ineekh min tsöörn.
Khüiteng agaart tsoilokh
“Khawar aisüi” reseng reneng itgeliinkhee araas
Khüükhed shig ineetseglewch

Ter ineed bish, shoochkhong mushiilt
Tengeriing egdüüg khürgen.
Ulam öwöl…

++++

The path ahead is weighted down and wrinkled
        in thought.
Laughter from my true soul diminishes.
Even though I follow my naïve hope,
“Spring’s coming,” that flies up into the cold air
And smile like a child

That is not laughter, but a mocking smirk
That stimulates heaven’s irritation.
More winter…

Excerpt from “Намраас намар, өвлөөс өвөл ургана” (Fall grows from fall, winter from winter) by G. Ayurzana; translation from Mongolian by Lisa Fink, 2006

George would assert that spring is more difficult than winter, especially for folks in the countryside. However, this poem implies the opposite. Of course the poet lives in UB and has for at least fifteen years. Perhaps he has forgotten that for herders winter is a season they sadly leave behind as they face the wind, dust and cold of spring.

Flowers of Death

I'm finally getting some tangible results for all the language study I've been doing. I have several poems at different stages of translation by poet and novelist G. Ayurzana. The one closest to finished is "Үхлийн Цэцэгс" (Ükhliing Tsetsegc), or "Flowers of Death." Ayur, short for Ayurzana, is a very interesting poet. His themes are very divergent from traditional Mongolian poems, which are centered in the landscape of Mongolia, the nation itself and its greatness. His recurring themes include death, desire, dreams and lost love. Suitable for winter, yes?

Ayur's poems continue to surprise me and deeply question some of my own cultural assumptions. They are also, as most Mongolian poems, rooted in a sense of place, which is one of the characteristics that first drew me to Mongolian poetry.

Үс сэрвэлзэх ч салхин үгүй талд
Үнэр, өнгөгүй түмэн цэцэг найгана.
Үл мэдэгхэн санаа алдахын цуурайг
Үүрдийн тайвшрал, мөнхийн зүүд залгана.

Excerpt from "Үхлийн Цэцэгс" by Г. Аюурзана

My rough translation thus far:

On a steppe without even a wind that would move a hair
Thousands of flowers without scent or color sway.
The smallest sigh's echo
Is followed by eternal calm and an infinite dream.

Next, I will give the entire translation of the poem to several native speakers for their review.

P.S. I won't be publishing any of the poems in their entirety here as I hope to publish them in literary magazines in the U.S. in the coming months. However, I will have audio of the Mongolian versions up soon. Don't forget to check back!