Subscribe | UPI Odd Newsletter Subscribe ARLES, France, Nov. 12 (UPI) -- As you read this, some 200 hundred literary translators are dispersing after their annual get-together in Arles, in southeastern France. Arles is a lovely city, its people and places perhaps familiar through the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh, who spent his last years at the hospice here. What do literary translators do when they get together? Mostly, they talk. A lot. About literature and translation and, about publishers and contracts, about getting their travel and hotel expenses paid. About each other, about other gatherings, the professional associations they belong to, who's in and who's out -- all those things which people with a common profession find entertaining: personal, professional, of greater and lesser import. Advertisement It can be lonely, translating books, and for some of the 200, this yearly jamboree is their only real outing. Their job is more than what most people would consider full-time. There's always a publisher's deadline, and the pay is often meager. They mostly work at home, which means a heavy door to shut out the family for what can seem an unreasonable time. Advertisement The book translator must master not only the language he's translating from: he must also be master of his own. For the words he chooses are what the reader will read. He is, at least partly, the "author" of the translated book. But only very recently, in France at any rate, is the translator gaining proper recognition. I know, because I'm married to one, and have made a foray or two into the field myself. When France's book translators crawl out of the woodwork to assemble in Arles each autumn, they quickly get down to the nitty-gritty. Which books should be translated and which not, and who should decide? Is something bound to be "lost" in translation? Is the translator condemned to "traduce," to betray, the original work? And how do you translate something like "To be or not to be ... " into a language which doesn't have the verb "to be"? One of this year's most interesting workshop events was conducted by a Franco-Turkish lady currently engaged on a new translation of the Bible from the Hebrew texts. We spent over two hours examining the first five lines of Genesis: a fascinating exercise, even for those of us with no Hebrew (just about everyone). A similarly engaging tour de force was conducted by two Iranians, who took us through a few of Omar Khayyam's "rubaiyat" verses, and ended up convincing us to learn Persian. Advertisement We do most of this in a building that you recognize the minute you pass under the honey-colored arch into the quadrangle, with its carefully laid-out garden and paved walkways. Called the Hôtel-Dieu, it was erected in the 18th century as a hostel for the poor, the sick, and the distressed. Van Gogh, who by then was all of those things, spent his last years here, and painted the courtyard and garden dozens of times. This being France, we make sure there's plenty of time for more relaxing activities away from the lecture-halls and seminar rooms. We give ourselves three days, including Nov. 11, known here as Armistice Day, and a public holiday in France. For 20 years, the hostel at Arles has been the location for the international literary translation college, which hosts these annual get-togethers. The building now houses a municipal library and media center, as well as the translators' college. There is room for 20 translators-in-residence, who get bursaries and stipends, either from their home governments or from the French culture ministry. Current guests include five French teachers and literature specialists from Iran, and translators from Lithuania, Hungary, Cuba, Germany, Iraq, Belgium, and Iceland. Lots of us know each other, but many don't. In the breaks between events, those who have been eyeing each other during the formal events slope off to the cafés of this lovely town. Or they stroll among the Roman ruins and along the banks of the mighty river Rhône, which here is only a few dozen miles from the end of its journey from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean. As they admire the view and perhaps each other, they form bonds. Not just professional ties -- they may never have any formal working contact -- but personal ones. Friendships are struck between people who believe that books are worth translating, that the ideas in them are worth sharing. Advertisement The town authorities are steadily banning cars from the narrow, winding streets of Arles. As the plane-tree leaves plop damply to the ground this brilliant autumn weekend, it's little wonder some of those who leave the lecture-halls at lunchtime simply don't come back for the afternoon events. Arles is a romantic place and, sometimes, perhaps they've found something better to do. (Michael Mills can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].)
