Chicago Literary Club

19 January 2009

 

Lost in Translation

 

Peter V. Conroy Jr

 

Tonight I would like to speak about the frustration and fascination of translation, which in my case means going back and forth between English to French. I am equally fluent in both languages, so the passage of literal meaning from one tongue to the other is not the problem. What is at issue are the extra, supplementary significances that lie beyond the surface of the literal. These nuances, these difficult- to-calculate additions to meaning are precisely what can be so easily lost in translation. That loss is the topic of my talk this evening. To start, however, let me make a few generalizations about the two languages in question.

     English is an incredibly flexible language. A single spelling of a word can be used in different syntactic situations, most commonly verb and noun. See or hear the word out of context and you cannot tell which is which. Run. As a verb, I run, she runs; as a noun, six runs scored, or a run on the stock market. English is both concrete and picturesque, and loves to use vivid, descriptive terms in figurative senses.

     French, on the other hand, has specific and easily recognizable forms to distinguish nouns and verbs: courir is to run; elle court, she runs; les courses means running around, doing errands, or horse races. True to its Gallic culture, French prefers abstractions over vividly descriptive words. French has traditionally prized logic and clarity and shunned the confusion that figurative language can produce. French has remained remarkably faithful to the vocabulary bequeathed to it by Latin, while English has willingly and easily incorporated words from many divergent sources. The logic, clarity, and strict grammatical rules of French once gave it claim to being the universal language that replaced Latin. Today English (really American English) is de facto the world’s lingua franca because it is so open, so flexible, so user-friendly.

     Given such differences, it is inevitable that something will be lost in translation. But what? And why? Translations that are faithful to the exact meaning of the original can be inadequate in conveying the figurative dimension of that original. The American idioms I will cite in my paper are all common and everyday expressions, to the point that we do not usually recognize their poetic reverberations. Once we try to translate them, however, we confront the problem of how to deal with that extra bit of meaning, the evocative supplement that is lost in translation. Nonetheless, only by trying to translate them can we discover and then fully appreciate what that supplement is.

     Expressions that incorporate animals are some of the easiest to lose in translation. 

     We all know about cock and bull stories, which are fanciful and imaginary; neither coq nor taureau, the French equivalents, hints at the possibility that such stories are straight-out lies or just bull. The closest French comes is un coq à l’âne (from a rooster, or a cock, to the donkey) which designates a non-sequitur: you cannot pass logically, at least in the Gallic mind, from one of those animals to the other. The bull’s female counterpart, however, is another kettle of fish. Harry Carey’s “Holy cow!” is merely an expression of surprise while I’m not sure what to make of Bart Simpson’s “Have a cow!” La vache is an expletive that denounces a disagreeable person or situation. Vacheries refers to nasty behavior, dirty tricks, and other such bad conduct. For some reason, in French to be called a camel is an insult. “Quel chameau” resembles “ô la vache” not as a mammal but as invective.

     The following sentences all contain animals whose figurative or idiomatic significance is lost in French. We wolf down food when we are very hungry. We might pig out when we hog all there is to eat. Informers rat on their enemies, even on their friends. We dog someone’s steps when we follow her too closely; dogged and doggedly mean relentless. A dog is something that disappoints: a stock that falls, a business project that fails. In slang, it refers to our feet: my aching dogs! It also designates a particularly homely person, most often a woman. Alas for male gallantry! We probably should hound those guys out of our clubs. Huskies draw sleds in the Artic. The word also signifies a stocky, muscular build or a voice that is placed low in the throat. In French they are simply Esquimo dogs (chiens esquimoux). Wisconsinites are not the only ones who badger us about this and that. We skunk a team that we beat by a wide margin. Whenever we lose a bet, especially with friends, we should pony up immediately. A foxy broad is an attractive woman. Anyone who is clever and cunning, or a sharp-dealer, is foxy. Renard is not the original French word for fox, which was goupil. In a series of medieval stories, one particular goupil named Renard became popular as a master trickster, a cunning schemer who was the most clever animal in the forest. His proper name replaced the Old French goupil and became the common noun to designate that red carnivore in modern French.

     In America ace salesmen and regional managers are often called upon to make inspirational or informational presentations to their colleagues at business conventions. They refer to these presentations as “dog and pony” shows. One staple of circuses around the world is the act that combines horses running in formation with dogs weaving in and out among them, jumping on and off their backs. Despite such international exposure, the businessman’s dog and pony show is exclusively and untranslatably American. The phrase would provoke nothing but profound incomprehension in France.

     We mentioned pig before as a verb and an eating disorder. As a noun, a pig is dirty, slovenly, and thus disgusting. In French, un cochon is immoral and disgusting because of his poor conduct. English emphasizes the physical, French the (im)moral side of the animal. Cochonneries (piggy behavior is a weak, insufficient translation) are ribald stories, unfair tactics in interpersonal relationships, or vile conduct. French pigs, camels, and cows belong to a very similar semantic register as insults. A theatrical and pretentious individual is a ham; but even an actor can bring home the bacon.

     In English we monkey around when we are having (usually innocent) fun. In French, to monkey (the verb singer) means to imitate, but pejoratively. As a rough equivalent, we ape our betters; when we lose control, we go ape. However, to be malin comme un singe (clever as a monkey) is a high compliment. Monkey business refers to vague manipulations and other shenanigans that are surely illicit. Singeries is more restricted to the social domain and designates gestures that are hypocritical or awkward. In both languages gorillas are the tough guys who surround and protect celebrities and other VIPs.

     Duck is the generic term in English for a specific type of waterfowl, although it literally designates the female of the species. A fortunate individual can be designated as a “lucky duck” even if the expression is a bit passé now. As a verb, duck means to lower your head quickly. According to my Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, both verb and noun derive etymologically from the Old English duce. By metonymy the action (duck) gave a name to the animal that is most closely associated with that dipping motion. The French canard is equally generic but refers to the male, the drake. In addition to the fowl, it indicates (1) an egregious mistake (a meaning that we also have in English, although it is not a word commonly used), (2) a cube of sugar dipped in coffee, and (3) a tabloid or more generally any newspaper. Hence the mirth and ambiguity for French readers in the title of the political and satirical newspaper, Le Canard Enchainé (The Duck in Chains). A line drawing of a duck with a shackle on one foot but with a broken chain figures on the front page of the newspaper and accurately represents the paper’s ambition to be totally free in what it reports and how it does so. There are no sitting or lame ducks in French. Cold duck is an American beverage; duck cold (un froid de canard) refers to the weather and low temperatures.

     Now we really are for the birds: we parrot words and phrases that we do not understand or that we have learned by rote. We snipe at friends and enemies when we gossip about them, or criticize them sharply, or otherwise indulge in back-biting. Cowards chicken out while the vain crow about their accomplishments. Both of them get my goat. Many of us, unfortunately, work for chicken feed even when we are paid in dollars. A poule is the female of the rooster but is rich in other senses. It can mean a woman of easy virtue, which is much, much more than simply being a chick. In addition, it indicates the purse you can win on a sports bet while also referring to a round of competitive matches whose winner will advance to the next level, like a round robin. An unscrupulous salesman will goose the tally on his monthly sales report just to please his boss. Try to convince a Frenchman of the logic in all that!

     We bug people when we annoy them, although the term also refers to eavesdropping devices. A bug prevents computer software from functioning correctly. French has simply imported the pronunciation and meaning of that term (un bogue). Someone who bugs out departs quickly and without warning. A bugger is a catamite. Closely related (through a four letter expletive), “bug off” is a violent injunction to get lost even though it has a distinctly literary or British sound to it. A buggy is a perambulator or a small, old-fashioned horse-drawn carriage. A young lady with a bee in her bonnet is visibly upset. In France she would probably have a flea in her ear (une puce à l’oreille), which emphasizes restlessness more than annoyance. A puce is also a computer chip. Given the prevalence of micro radios, Ipods, Iphones and other such devices, soon we will all have a chip in our ear. Better that than on our shoulder.

     Boys having fun are horsing around; grown men out on the town and seeking loose women are catting around. Both groups are having a whale of a time! A fluke is only a portion of that sea-going mammal, but its figurative meaning  is complete. Less serious amorous feelings are dismissed as puppy love. There are no kangaroos in a kangaroo court. A cat burglar does not steal cats. The term  describes the MO of a thief who works silently and stealthily. He avoids contact with his victim, in contrast to the strong arm robber who is prepared to inflict violence on his. A cat’s paw denotes a pawn, a shill, an intermediary who serves another’s project, an individual who is used and manipulated by others. It is also a certain condition of surface water that sailors are always wary of, since it is unpredictable. An overly timorous person is a fraidy cat; one who is kind, gentle, and easy to deal with, a pussy cat. A copy cat imitates. A cool cat is … well, hot stuff. Women, never men, are involved in cat fights. Only women can be catty and display cattiness in their behavior. Catty in French is sournois (sneaky) or rosse, which means a small horse or nag. To nag, however, is chamailler. Kitty-corner has different regional forms that include catty-corner and catty-whumpus. It translates as the quite simple and logical en diagonale. A kitty designates the stakes in card games or a sum of money we have put aside, or even the receptacle we place that money in. One-a-cat describes a ball game in which there are three rather than the usual two opposing sides. The single player is on offense against the other two on defense. The players rotate and each takes his turn alone. With no exaggeration it also goes by the name cut-throat. One-a-cat doesn’t translate, cut-throat (coupe-gorge) does.

     One small carnivorous mammal gives us two divergent significations. An individual will try to weasel out of a deal he doesn’t like, but will ferret out the information he needs to do so. The standard translation of ferret is furret. A fouine belongs to the weasel family but in English is known as a marten; the verbal analogue, fouiner, means to investigate, to poke your nose around, ... to ferret out something. Referring to a much larger carnivore, we say “what a bear!” when we face an ungainly, troublesome, or potentially dangerous task. A bear of a man is large, clumsy, and unkempt. In French, that rumpled and untidy bear is an ours mal-leché (literally badly licked) who principally lacks social skills.

     In both French and English, a person can snake through a crowd just as a road snakes through the foothills. Only in English do we worm ourselves into a comfortable situation or worm our way out of a jam. The French do not eat their words when they have to retract a statement or suffer a rebuke; they swallow serpents (avaler des couleuvres). A lounge lizard is a smooth and slimy creep. Like a reptile basking in the sun, he rarely moves from his favorite habitat, but rather waits for his prey to come to him. The type might be equally common in France, but the reptilian designation is not. We fish for compliments in both languages: English suggests the before, process of looking for the compliment, French the after, the fact of having gotten it. In the context of trolling the web, phishing is only English. A recent neologism, it would gladden the heart of George Bernard Shaw with its sly recall of his quixotic efforts to reform English spelling. To drink like a fish means to drink excessively, continuously. French fish only swim; an excessive imbiber “boit comme un trou“ (drinks like a hole), analogous to our expression having a hollow or wooden leg. A snake in the grass becomes in French une anguille sous roche (an eel under a rock). A culinary term, une andouille is a sausage or chitlin. Applied to people, it is a grave insult: quelle andouille! What a jerk! A red herring is a willful distraction, a conscious attempt to divert attention from the main issue. Such a strategy often sticks out like a sore thumb. In French, that would be cousu de fil blanc (sewn with white thread). The assumption is that the white thread stands out glaringly from the rest of the material under repair.

     A turkey is an imbecile, a mindless, hapless fool just like a dinde or dindon in French. While the bird’s stupidity does seem like an international given, do not forget that Benjamin Franklin proposed the wild turkey as our nation’s symbol because it is, in fact, quite clever. The bald eagle eventually prevailed as our national logo. The French national emblem is the rooster, le coq gaulois. In English, a rooster says “cock-a-doodle-do!” in French cocorico, a word sometimes used to point out a vain boast or brag.

     Donkeys are also synonymous with stubbornness and stupidity. It was the traditional term applied to Irish immigrants like my grandfather when they first began to work in the US. On the northeastern seaboard, mackerel-snappers was the anti-Catholic, anti-Irish slur in favor. It was used throughout the first half of the 20th century even in reference to affluent and educated Irish like the late Bill Buckely and his family. It probably referred to the Catholic church’s injunction against eating meat on Fridays and during Lent so that fish, especially the cheapest kinds, became the alimentary replacement. (Cf Evan Thomas, “He Knew He Was Right,“ Newsweek 10 March 2008, p. 28). Only in English does coyote indicate those who smuggle people across the Mexican-US border. Those who helped refugees cross the French-Spanish border during the Nazi occupation were simply called passeurs (passers).

     Squirrels are almost as much fun as ducks. They hide nuts underground all summer long but don’t always find them when winter comes. Their prudent but ineffective gesture inspires us to squirrel money away, hopefully where we will find it. Squirrelly is an adjective that denotes any one exhibiting eccentric or erratic behavior. The French écureuil has a much longer tale to tell. It is the nation-wide logo for all the savings and loan institutions in France, called caisses d’epargne and which are not full service banks. The image is seen on their front windows and on the cover of their savings account pass books. Historically, the squirrel was the totemic animal of Nicolas Foucquet, a Minister of Finance in the seventeenth century. Foucquet was a Breton, and in Breton, a regional non-French language close to Celtic, fouquet means squirrel. The animal figured prominently on his official coat of arms along with the motto, How high can I climb? Venal, corrupt, and wildly ambitious, Foucquet was more positively an astute Maecenas who supported the best writers and artists of his time and who built the chateau Vaux-le-Vicomte, which was the model for Versailles. His meteoric rise ended when he was imprisoned for fraud, fiscal malfeasance, and theft by Louis XIV in 1655.

     If animals are idiomatic and possess characteristics that are so easily lost in translation, what about nations and nationalities? To indicate someone’s total and perhaps unexpected pardon, we say he is going scot-free. The Scots have been under English domination for centuries and so offer a poor example of freedom. Unfortunately for my thesis tonight and contrary to what we might expect, the key word here does not refer to the Scots people. It is an archaic term, derived from Old Norse, and refers to a monetary payment or obligation; it exists today only in this one expression. When we deny a rumor effectively, we scotch it. In a French office supply store, scotch means transparent tape for wrapping; in a bar, it designates a particular type of whisky. If you order scotch, your Anglophone barstool companion might ask for Irish. If your friend asks for Irish coffee, he will still get his dollop of booze. Unscrupulous individuals have no compunction about welshing on a deal. In billiards, english is backspin that is put on the cue ball to make it stop after hitting another ball. When each person in a couple pays his or her own way, they are going Dutch or Dutch treat. Holland is known for thrift, but does no one else possess that virtue? There is an alternative possibility: this phrase might be a corruption of Deutsch or German, another frugal nation. Greece, the country, is unfortunately a homophone in both French and English for fatty substances we want to eliminate from our diet.

     French has meanings in English that French does not know. Taking French leave (British usage) means going AWOL (American usage) while the French say “leaving in the English manner” (filer à l’anglaise). A French kiss is … well, I won’t explain that, you all know what it means. When I was a kid hanging around the school yard, the older guys would show off by demonstrating a French drag. No, it had nothing to do with cross dressing or transvestites. They would exhale cigarette smoke out of their mouth and simultaneously inhale it through their nostrils. French is sometimes a useless adjective without a precise meaning but nonetheless denoting a vague idea of elegance or exclusiveness: French vanilla ice cream, French dry cleaning, French vanilla extract, French cut as in string beans. In French, French toast is pain perdu (lost bread), that is stale bread which would be thrown away if it were not prepared in this manner. It is not common in France and it certainly is not a treat. French fries are simply fries in French; so much for the ludicrous attempt of our brilliant legislators to re-designate them “freedom fries.” What a withering diplomatic insult that was! The French usually consider frites Belgian, especially when served with mayonnaise.

     Diet makes me think of one untranslatable vegetable: the couch potato. What a plethora of suggestion and allusion! And all impossible to capture in translation! The person so indicated like the tuber is immobile, rooted deep in couch or soil. The plant itself is humble, ungainly, unglamorous, just as the person is listless, bland, and dull. However, in an effort to spruce up its image, the UN declared 2008 as the International Year of the Potato (see The Economist, 1 March 2008). The overall implication is indolence and inactivity: the couch potato sits passively watching TV, never reading, never writing, never actively engaged in doing anything on the computer. This spud is a dud.

     A related story about tubers. Agatha Christie invented Hercule Poirot, the famous Belgian detective. His surname sounds just like poireau, a plant related to onions and scallions. Translating his name into English gives us the pompous and comic Hercules Leek. In popular argot, the verb based on that edible, poireauter, means to wait, to hang around with nothing to do.

     Staying in the French kitchen we find that pickles or cornichons are foolish individuals, rubes, dupes. You are “in a pickle” in English when you face a dilemma that has no single, easy solution, when you are caught between two distasteful alternatives. In baseball, “caught in a pickle” means a base runner is trapped in a run-down between two bases. The term egg-head (tête d’oeuf) in both languages designates intellectuals. When English admires a fellow, he is considered a “good egg” while sois pas un oeuf (don’t be an egg) means “don’t act like a jerk!” Now we can review our repertory of French insults which lose all their invective and become ludicrous in English: You’re a cow. What a camel he is! You’re a pickle. She’s a chitlin. Don’t be an egg.

     Before closing, allow me just a few words on untranslatable colors. Blue in English describes a mood or in the plural a musical genre, functioning as an adjective (I’m blue) or a noun (singing the blues). French does not even bother to translate and just uses the English pronunciation and spelling. A slap on the face leaves a black and blue mark; in French it is only blue. The most famous “blue” in French is surely sacré bleu, a term I first encountered in the comics with the Thunderhawk jet fighter pilots. Phonically this phrase wobbles in sound and sense between “holy blue” and “God damn.” Bleu is a phonetic corruption of Dieu (God). Sacré changes meaning depending on context and its position before or after the noun it modifies. Thus, un endroit sacré is a holy place; un sacré endroit a hell of a place. The American flag is always and invariably the “red, white, and blue” while the French drapeau is an equally unchangeable but reverse sequence bleu, blanc, rouge. We experience black moods (more serious than the blues) and exhibit black eyes, which in French become poached (un oeil poché) or buttered (un oeil au beurre). Censors black-out words they don’t want you to read. Black mail has no color in French. It is chantage (singing) and to blackmail someone is to make him sing (le faire chanter). A cut-off in electricity is called a black-out as is an individual’s loss of consciousness. In strong contrast, a white-out describes an intense snow storm with no visibility. Thanks to computers we have lost the once prevalent reference to correcting mistakes on a typewritten page with a pasty fluid called white-out. In baseball, a sport unknown in France, a white-wash means that a team has failed to score any runs. Blanchissage is laundry, usually the white wash, while blanchiment is money laundering.

     One final example, illustrating how meandering translations can come surprisingly close to their point of origin.

     In English to indicate a person who is not at all sound mentally, we might say “he has bats in the belfry.” The idiomatic equivalent in French would be “he’s got a crack in his bell” (il a la cloche fêlée). At first glance not too close if we go word for word. But what about the underlying concepts? The French bell in question is surely in a bell tower, a structure not too different from the bat-inhabited belfry. Both idioms reference high structures (with a subtle nod at the head atop the human body: cloche is frequent synonym for head) where something is amiss: the presence of bats indicates the bell is not working while the crack also tells us it is broken. Another idiomatic  expression for the mentally instable is “he has a spider on the ceiling” (il a une araignée au plafond). Now across the two languages we can match animals (bats and spiders), but we lose the tower. At a certain distance, a spider’s web can look like a series of fine lines against a bright background, and so we are back, in French, to cracks, which hooks up with the English expression to be “cracked” or crazy.

      Voilà, as we say in English, two cultures, two languages, two mind-sets. Nonetheless, we can find in translation as much as we have lost. Not exactly the same meanings, but new ones that are just as much fun. No need to choose, we’ll keep them both. And again as we say in English, vive la différence!