TRANSLATORS’ DIARY

On this page, we will occasionally note when we come across something particularly interesting or challenging during one of our workshop sessions, and record our observations here. These will not go into as much depth as our blog posts, which can be found here.

In today’s workshop, we engaged in an animated debate about the term “sofra.” When we looked it up in Turkish-English dictionaries, we found that “table” was the primary translation, closely followed by “dinner table.” One of the translators was not satisfied with the translation of “sofra” as “table,” pointing out that it fails to evoke the image of characters seated on the floor around a large tray. The translator argued that it is this tray, laden with platters, that truly constitutes a “sofra.” Another translator interjected, noting that the term “table” isn’t limited to furniture; it can also mean the food presented on a table. 

To provide a clearer context, let me share the original Turkish sentence and our preliminary translation so that you can better grasp the trajectory of our discussion: “On türlü yemeğin bir tepsi üzerinde hep birden dizildiği Şam usulü sofra …” ~ “A Damascus-style dinner served on the floor where ten different dishes were spread out over a large tray…” 

We know for a fact that there is no table, in the sense of furniture, in the room where the characters are dining; they are eating while seated on the floor. Yet, considering the sentence specifically describes a “Damascus-style sofra,” does it matter if the characters are eating on the floor or at a table when defining what constitutes a “Damascus-style sofra”? Does the way the food is eaten contribute to the overall experience? Or, as another translator suggested, is it the array of dishes and their arrangement on the tray that truly defines the Damascus-style dining experience? We could have continued this intriguing discussion for quite some time, but we decided to pause there and agreed to return to this sentence at the start of our next meeting. However, I am still left pondering the extent of my responsibility as a translator in shaping the readers’ imagination and how they visualize a scene in the story. 

~

The diary entry above dates back to when translators collaborated on translating Refik Halid Karay’s Stories of Exile (Gurbet Hikayeleri). Looking back, the questions raised and the discussions throughout the translation process itself serve as vital clues to the final translation. I regard the notes taken by translators during this process as crucial evidence, or more accurately, as a testament to the collaborative and dynamic journey of translating a literary work at a workshop. For those wondering about the version that made it into the book, here you go:

“She and I dined together at that house, which belonged to her dadı. A Damascus-style dinner with ten different dishes spread out over a large tray.” (“Interim Marriage, p. 90)

To discover the story and support Translation Attached, you can order your copy here.

➿

The workshop is a dynamic hub for engaging discussions, most of which revolve around words and their semantic plurality. One such word that has recently sparked intrigue among the collective is mermer. The English translation of mermer is marble; predictably, two of the group members translated mermer as marble. Immediately, the others challenged this seemingly obvious choice of word. Here is the Turkish sentence where mermer appears:

Artık bunların ne iltifatları ne de aşağılamaları etkiliyor beni. O durumlara karşı artık mermer gibiyim. (Fatma Aliye, Hayattan Sahneler)

Initially, we translated the sentence as “Don’t assume that their words, kind or harsh, affect me at all. I become like a marble in these situations.” What we overlooked here was that the connotation of the word marble does not align with its connotations in Turkish. In English, marble is used to complement somebody’s physical appearance. This meaning originates from the marble statues of impressive historical figures, such as Moses of Michelangelo. These statues often have an arresting physique that is part and parcel of their captivating aura. Conversely, in the Turkish sentence above, mermer is used metaphorically to imply a firm, unswerving, or steadfast attitude. In order to avoid potential misunderstandings, we replaced marble with stone, which accurately communicates the connotation inherent in the original word mermer. Our final translation reads:

“Don’t assume that their words, kind or harsh, affect me at all. I am like a stone now in those situations.”

➿

March 14th, 2023

by Nefise Kahraman

In Turkish, the term “limon küfü” is used to describe a peculiar colour that lies somewhere between blue and green on a colour scheme. As you may tell, there is plenty of room for interpretation and imagination in its translation into other languages. Unlike Turkish, its literal translation, lemon mold, has a repulsive connotation in English and does not necessarily evoke a colour. Once we established this divergence in the connotations between English and Turkish, we searched for a way to keep the word mold, but make sure it was about colour. Here is the Turkish sentence where the word appears:

Dışarıda, gece, limon küfü bir kadife kadar hoş, tüylü ve açık renkliydi. (Güneş, p.70)

Those familiar with Turkish will notice that “limon küfü” holds the key to the meaning of the sentence, as it defines not only a colour but also a texture. This is the result of our first attempt at translating the sentence:

Outside, the night was as pleasant, feathery and clear as a piece of velvet in the blue-green colour of mold that grows on lemons.

Dissatisfied with the outcome, we pondered potential ways to lighten up the sentence, as it looked crammed and read clunky. We agreed to keep mold as the definition of the texture and blue-green to make it clear that there was a specific reference to colour. In the meantime, we didn’t drop the word lemon and instead kept it in the sentence to indicate where the so-called mold grew. We also considered sentence structure as we worked through the options. In the end, a hyphen proved helpful in achieving an optimal translation. Here is the final version:

Outside, the night sky was like the blue-green mold that grows on lemons – bright, soft as a feather, and as pleasant as velvet.  (The Sun, p.83)