I live in a large city and have the opportunity to attend regular poetry readings held at various cafés or coffee shop-bookstores on different nights of the week. Reading poetry (often my own) at these free-speech sessions has been a way of expressing myself as well as learning about other people. It is amazing how each individual reader and/or writer expresses themselves with such clarity! In my mind, I have likened them to the different instrumental sections of a huge orchestra. Each has their own unique sound texture and a different scored part, yet somehow they play in the same symphony. They speak their journey through their articulated phrases, and the rest of us readers and listeners nod our heads as we each grasp and often relate to their indicated meanings.
Recently, a college student named Gonzalo (who hails from Brazil) stood up to read his work. The nature of his material was more subjective prose with philosophical overtones than it was the traditional poetry usually read by others. His foreign origins were obvious as his accent was lilting and smooth from years of speaking his native Spanish. However, he was also fluent in English, so he was able to accurately convey his deep ideas, which were both inspiring and thought provoking.
As a change of pace or mood, I have often read works in French or Italian and then translated them into English for the benefit of all in attendance. There is something about the "color" of another language which paints a picture in a certain way that is not always present in English, especially if the work is written in the author's first language. The listeners have enjoyed hearing the different sound textures of other languages but, in the end, usually want the meaning translated so they can enjoy the "full" symphony of the work and savor the author's intended point.
Gonzalo got up to read another of his works during the second round. He stated that it was in Spanish and that he would do his best to translate it into English as he read through it. I, along with several of the other listeners, asked him to read it first in Spanish and then read it again in translation. He was thrilled to do so. We all sat quietly listening to the melody of his language as his written work flowed around the room.
Having a background in several languages myself, I understood much of what Gonzalo read in Spanish. But it wasn't until he read the work again in English that I recognized how very mistaken I was about the deeper content and meaning he had intended. His words beckoned us as fellow humans to choose a path of life and live authentically in this journey which we call "life." He went on to say that "felicidad" (happiness) was fickle if you put all your energy into it, instead of putting it into the real moments that bring you life. It was quite a compelling and intriguing view from the angle that Gonzalo made his point. You see, I may have understood the Spanish words, having studied some, but I did not have the common ground to understand the entire symphony of Gonzalo's work. I would have missed out on who he was. I would not have been able to relate to or be stirred by his ideas. For his tremendous command of both languages, I am grateful.
Yesterday, the news/media related the story about a small Texas town who petitioned and was able to adopt Spanish as their official language. A "No English Allowed" policy. Since America doesn't have an official language and we have the "freedom" to be what we want, it was easy for this town to adopt this new rule. Basically, this town has become a country within a country, separate from the whole by a language barrier against the majority of people who live here. I was dismayed about this.
I understand and respect the need to hold onto cultural aspects, because they often help you glean who you are. The problem is, "culture" cannot be equated with "who" you are authentically. Having a common language was never about taking anything away from one culture, or not letting individual ethnicity blossom. Instead, it is about having a plateau or common ground from which to understand one another. When we can understand one another with clarity, we can make changes and grow together as people. It is this simple quality that can raise and effect peace among peoples. Merely translating words from one language to another isn't the same as savoring thoughts and ideas, and then relating them to each other in the realm of understanding from a common vantage point.
Even though I can speak and sing in Spanish, I reflect back to Gonzalo's poignantly written creations. Certain nuances and ideas simply cannot translate from one language to another. So merely studying and being familiar with his language couldn't give me the insight I needed. Since the language I think in, read in, and write in is English, I would have never grasped Gonzalo's intended thoughts by merely translating them. I would have missed much of the value of his experience had he not clarified his meaning in the room's common language. For this reason, today, I mourn the loss of all the 'Gonzalos' in that small Texas town. All the souls that we will never get to know because we cannot find a common place from which to hear their symphonies of ideas. Ideas to benefit not just that small town but for all of us sharing this country.
I think on Nuygen, another reader who is from China. She beautifully crafts a play of English words in her poetry that adds a whimsical quality that is quite unique. She carefully articulates her words through her accent, and her prose reveals a person who puts together words because of how they sound together as well as one with a deeply romantic soul. I sit back at my table at the coffee shop and look at the wide range of people from every ethnic group and many from other countries. I listen to the symphony of colorful sounds and words and enjoy the uniqueness of each reader. Each one, who is not their culture but is "who," authentically pours forth from one colorful, tuneful sentence to the next.