Go on… make a mistake!
Everyone’s had that embarrassing moment in a language class when the teacher asks a question and it’s followed by total silence. Nobody wants to answer; nobody wants to risk saying something wrong. You all look at the floor and hope someone else will say something, and pray the teacher won’t single you out. Because improvising in a new language can be a scary thing to do. You’re not sure whether what you’re saying makes sense or, worse, you manage to say it OK but then someone answers you in fluent, rapid speech and you look at them blankly, no idea what they said. It’s a vicious circle with language-learning: you don’t want to be the one to speak up and get something wrong, but if you don’t practice, you’ll never get better, and then you’ll make more mistakes.
But I think that the most fun part of learning a new language is the mistake making. When you confidently ask directions and, none the wiser after receiving them, randomly stride out in one direction, pretending you know perfectly which way to go, only to be called back by your guide who explains, in greatly simplified terms and with more gestures, that he was telling you to go to the right, not the left. It’s embarrassing, you feel like an idiot, but it is quite funny afterwards, and, perhaps more importantly, you remember ‘right’ and ‘left’ next time you ask.
I’ve always thought that people who learn languages can be broadly divided into two groups: those who learn set phrases perfectly and by heart, and never deviate from them; and those who improvise on what they know, having the courage to get things wrong along the way. I’ve always admired the determination of people in the second group, partly because when they speak they have more of a chance of conveying things they actually want to say, rather than, say, pretending to enjoy the hobbies that all beginners are made to learn. I never really mean it when I say ‘I like playing cards in my spare time’, but it’s a safe option and I know I can say it right. Really I want to explain in depth my passion for shark fishing, but you have to be adventurous to try that out and get the sense across…
So, in the spirit of overcoming our inhibitions about making mistakes, I’m going share with you one or two problems I’ve encountered in my language-learning, all of which I can look back on with a fractionally-wiser grin and a chuckle.
I started learning Russian several years ago and when I went to the country I discovered (to my dismay) that the language is riddled with pitfalls for unsuspecting foreigners. Stress is unmarked in Russian, and yet it is very very important, so if you guess that it goes on the wrong syllable you quite often end up saying something totally different to what you intend. For example, замок zAmok is a castle but замок zamOk is a lock, and you just don’t know unless you learn them. Also, with case endings mutating words all the time, you end up with a long list of words that, while different in their nominative form, can be easily mistaken in a sentence. And then there are all the words which just sound very similar, especially to the untrained ear. One of my favourite Russian hazards is the confusion between мука mUka (torment), мука mukA (flour) and муха mUkha (a fly)… I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one who’s been in a Russian supermarket and asked, ‘Can you show me where the flies are, please?’
And of course, for the careless learner, there are always so many other mistakes you can make. On my first week in Russia, rather overawed and not very good at the language, I tested my skills with the very basic phrase, ‘Where is the post office’, Где почта Gdye pochta? Sadly, I had misremembered the exact word for post office and ended up asking, Где почка？Gdye pochka?, Where is the kidney? It was not very well received.
And it’s not just because Russian is full of these little difficulties that I fall into traps: it’s easy to get things wrong in any language. For example, I’ve recently taken up Catalan in my spare time and have been trying to use all my vocabulary as much as possible, but only last week I emphatically responded to a Catalan friend’s ‘How are you?’ with a world-weary ‘Estic casada!’ (I’m married) when of course I really meant ‘Estic cansada’ (I’m tired). Embarrassing, but at least it’s not something I’ll be getting wrong again in the near future.
I could write pages of these little mistakes (I really could!) but perhaps it would be more fun to hear from you some similar stories of language traps you’ve fallen into in the past, and how you’ve learnt from them?
Nat
Do you know who you’re talking to?
Our post today is by Izabella Klein, who’s been working with us to translate our maths apps into Brazilian Portuguese. Izabella’s post is about the importance of getting to know your target audience as a translator, and understanding more than just the words used.
Have you ever read an article, document or webpage in your own language that you can clearly see has been translated from another language? The sentences don’t really make sense, or have wordings that are not commonly used where you come from or where it’s been published. Do you get bored or lose interest because of this? I would say most likely yes!
There are two main reasons for this. One, it has been translated by a translation device. Or two, it has been translated by real people, but they were not careful to take into consideration the target public – you.
Reason number one I will disregard, because I strongly do not recommend this option for translation. But let’s go a bit deeper into reason number two, and look at why many translations are not handled carefully, to catch the attention of the readers, or even just make them understandable.
Let’s take the English language as an example. How many different countries in the world speak English as a first language? USA, England, Australia, some of Canada, some of Africa and even more. But, although it is all English, each one of them has a particular way of communicating; they use different words, they have different local parlance, slang and so on. Spanish is another language spoken worldwide as a first language; take Spain, Argentina, Colombia, Mexico, Chile, Peru, Venezuela and Ecuador for example. And even if we talk specifically about Spain, they still have other variations, such as Catalan and Galician.
So, even if someone is fluent in a specific language, that doesn’t mean they are capable of translating perfectly to that language in any place in the world where this is the native language. You must understand the minimum of their culture, their slang, and how they usually communicate something that you are interested in communicating to them.
I’ll take myself as an example. I’ve been working for Japanese people for the last couple of years as a linguist, using Portuguese and English as source and target languages. In the beginning it was a hard task. Much of what was said or written to me was difficult to understand: their awkward accent, the different words they used (words that are in the dictionary, but I’d never really heard people saying them on a daily basis), or incomplete sentences. So I had to get used to their weird English sentences, sometimes just random words that I had to put together like a puzzle and figure out the missing words. But, in the end, it was just a matter of adapting to their culture, or to JapanEnglish as I call it. Now, I feel 100% confident while working with them. I had to spend a year studing their different habits, and basically dig a way into making myself understandable in their language, in this case JapanEnglish.
You might say JapanEnglish is not really a language, but I argue that it is. It’s just a mixture of Japanese and English, the same way Catalan is a mixture of Spanish and French; and Galician a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese. The only difference is JapanEnglish is not an official language. My point here is that it’s important to realise why you must get to know your target public as deeply as possible, so that your translation work will be accurate.
I can also take my internship at EuroTalk as a second example of my work experience. I worked in app localisation, focused on teaching maths to very young children. Some might say it must have been an easy task. But actually it was not that easy. Children are different from adults, they use different vocabulary and they can easily get distracted. Plus, you can’t use a completely different vocabulary than teachers use at school, because the main idea is to reinforce what they will learn or are already learning at school; otherwise you might just confuse them, which will mean unhappy children and parents.
I know that for most linguists time is money, as it is for most people, but a piece of advice from what I have learned during my career is, take some time and effort to study your market. I believe that if you do, your chances of boosting your career are greater.
Izabella
Utility versus Beauty
Cristina Mateos is our Catalan intern here at EuroTalk, working on translating and recording our maths apps. In her blog post she explores a reason for learning languages that is often forgotten.
Utility versus Beauty.
Utility: Hammers, zips, kettles, light bulbs, electricity, mobile phones.
Beauty: Handwritten postcards, dawns, coffee smell, lovers looking into each others’ eyes, handknitted scarves.
The world where I live stores useful belongings in closed wardrobes and turns on the radio so as not to listen to the silence around. As a Spanish teacher, I sell my courses by reminding these ‘utility users’ of the fact that 500 million people speak Spanish around the world. It is therefore extremely practical to be able to communicate in this language and to display that knowledge (especially if it comes with an official certificate) on one’s résumé. And I really believe that… and I am more than pleased with zips and light bulbs. But I feel sorry for the dawns. I feel sorry for the dawns and for language learners turning into language users. I would like my students to be able to ask for directions in Sevilla, complete a business deal with a big enterprise in Buenos Aires or get a train ticket in any Spanish train station, but I also want them to be fascinated by the beauty of my language.
Los rinocerontes no pueden leer. This is probably the most pointless sentence ever, unless you meet a woman crying in disappointment because a rhino isn’t answering her love letters, and you find it necessary to clarify for her that rhinos cannot read. But the sentence itself: its sonority, the combination of the ‘e’ letters together, the way grammar is used in it, the choice of the masculine gender instead of the feminine… it moves language away from usefulness and places it closer to poetry. Don’t you find it amazing how it’s possible to play with a language and build nonsense sentences? Making up words – and this is something, as language learners, that we constantly do when trying to refer to concepts we don’t know the name for – just by using common lexical rules? (Like The mugness of a morning, or This dog is so killable when it starts barking in the middle of the night.) Have you ever fallen in love with a word in your own language just because of the way it sounds, as if it were a piece of music with no meaning at all apart from the feelings it causes for you? If not, I can suggest one in English that I love: wibble. And I can provide one in Spanish too… barítono. Beautiful as a handknitted scarf.
Let me come back to the point. As a Catalan speaker, I feel also sorry for my second first language. Catalan has been left apart so many times in the name of utility that too often I need to make a real effort to keep on using it. I have been told that Spanish is more practical. More and more parents in non-English speaking countries choose a school for their children taking into account nothing but the number of hours their children are going to be taught English, because English (and now probably also Chinese?) is the Future.
Then, in Utility’s name… we can close small shops and open more and more supermarkets. We can burn poetry books and publish more instruction manuals. We can forget about nice roasts and pies and cheesecakes, and ingest vitamins and protein pills every morning.
But if, like me, you feel sorry for the dawns, then learn another language.
Cristina
