One frequently hears teachers of foreign languages
exclaim that one must read the literature in the original language in order to
appreciate it.* This is true, but it is only true if you are a native-speaker
of that language, or if you have a near-native command of the language. But it
is not the case that a beginning student or even a person with a fair command
of a foreign language will appreciate the literature in the same way that a
native does. A foreigner with some knowledge of a foreign language frequently
over-appreciates the literature. Tolstoy once remarked on how much better
poetry sounds in a language which a person knows poorly. The reason for this
over-appreciation is actually quite clear. Literature has value in so far as it
impinges upon the human consciousness, in so far as the literary text differs
from the usual or everyday method of expression. The non-native, however, will
be struck and impressed by the most casual cliché, the most trite phrase, if it
differs from the thought pattern imposed by his native language. To the English
speaker the expressions short cut, if worst comes to worst and in the face of
difficulties are trite. But a Russian friend of mine once commented upon what a
marvelous expression short-cut was; according to him it epitomized American
inventiveness and ingenuity. "There is nothing like it in Russian",
he said. Let us take the second example, if worst comes to worst. A Czech
friend said that this was an excellent expression, because he could picture in
his mind how two disasters were approaching each other, each one perhaps a huge
glob of thick, dark substances which would merge, congeal and form an
impenetrable difficulty. In addition he thought (because of his knowledge of
German) that these two worsts may well be in the shape of mammoth sausages. Let
us imagine how the expression in the face of difficulties might be interpreted.
One might think that for the user of this expression difficulties were
personified as an evil face and that he would feel the universe to be populated
by hostile spirits which were searching to persecute him. The English speaker
recognizes all these expressions as completely clichéd and obvious, but the
non-native does not.
In a recent publication we read: "The study of a
foreign language imparts a humanistic value from the very early lessons, as
when the young pupil visualize the difference between the real image in 'au
revoir' or 'hasta la vista' from the stereotyped archaic English
"goodbye"1 This is an excellent example of how an English speaker
over-appreciates the trite idiom of another language. There is no more real
image in au revoir, hasta la vista, or sudieu than in English goodbye. For the
English speaker goodbye does not mean "God be with you" any more than
Lithuanian sudieu means 'God be with you'. Both the Lithuanian and the English
expressions are formulas used when people take leave of each other. The meaning
of a word is not what its etymology suggests, interesting as this may be, but
rather what the people communicating understand by the word. Etymology is, of
course, a fascinating field for linguists and non-linguists alike, and it
contributes greatly to the understanding of the historical development of
culture, but it has little to do with the current understanding of a linguistic
sign. It is interesting to know that popierius and paper are both derived from
the Greek word papyros, but one can say that English paper and Lithuanian
popierius express roughly the same thing and that neither has much to do with
the Greek papyros.
All literature builds up a kind of tension in the
reader and the reader derives pleasure from the understanding of the literature
which relieves the artistic tension. Now it is just such artistic tension which
is easier to build up in a foreign language. Thus I will over-appreciate the
picture of spring when I read:
"Jau saulelė vėl atkopdama budino svietą
Ir žiemos šaltos triūsus pargriaudama
juokės...1"
The reason for this is that I am always wondering
from one word to the next whether I will understand the meaning of the
following word. When I do understand it, I am so delighted that the relief of
the tension adds to my pleasure in a way that it wouldn't to a native
Lithuanian. On the other hand it is difficult for me to appreciate those
features which make it pleasurable for the Lithuanian to read. I would presume,
although purely on an intellectual, not an emotional basis, that the use of the
diminutive saulelė would mean something more than just saulė, although I have
no real feeling for the diminutive here. An English counterpart 'sunlet' would
just not do. Likewise I assume that the word svietą "world" probably
has a delightful archaic flavor not to be found in pasaulis, although if I look
in a dictionary I will find both words glossed as 'world'. One might compare
the interesting remark of Ronald Hingley concerning Vladimir Nabokov:
"Still, in spite of many miscuing, Nabokov's English is justly described
as masterly, perhaps for the very reason that he puts twists on it such as
would never occur to a native user." (The New York Times Book Review,
January 15, 1967 p. 16).
As a non-native speaker I am also struck by the
apparent laconic nature of the East European languages, all of which seem to
express thoughts in fewer words than in English. This is, of course, in the
very nature of the language and would not impress a native at all, but let us
take for example: "Linguosiu gluosniu prie lygaus kelio" - "I shall sway like a willow, near the
even road" from Kad nebūtum viena by Kazys Bradūnas. I am particularly
impressed by the fact that in two words linguosiu gluosniu one can say 'I shall
sway like a willow, an expression requiring six different words in English. Now
I seriously doubt that this makes any impression on a native Lithuanian at all.
To come to my next point now. I do not believe that
anyone can ever understand a foreign culture in the same way the native can. I
am not saying that one should not make the effort, however. Thus no matter how
much I may read about life in a Baltic village, or on a Baltic farm, I will
never be able to experience rising early in the morning to the sound of the
cuckoo, going out to milk the cows by hand, or feel the close intimate
friendships (or enmities) which may arise in a village. These are beyond the
experience of a twentieth-century urban American and can never be recaptured
for him. This is not to say that one should not try to understand these things,
but it is to say that they can only be understood intellectually not with one's
feelings. Thus I was charmed by the delightful little vignette, Lietuvos
miestelyje in Kregždutė II by A. Rinkūnas, but it remains for me an
abstraction, an interesting and informative abstraction, but nevertheless an
abstraction. The case is similar to that of certain New York children who grow
up without ever having seen a cow, although they may drink milk daily at home
and in the school. Another more concrete example is furnished by a line from
the poem Peizažas by Jonas Aistis. Here we read: Tik sukrykš, lyg gervė,
svirtis 'Only the water-pulley will cry like a crane'. Now I have only seen a
svirtis in a Latvian ethnographic museum 'in Riga, but I have no idea how a
svirtis sounds when it is crying — in addition the crane (gervė) is an animal
familiar to me only from pictures and captive birds in Washington and
Philadelphia zoos. This is undoubtedly a fine poem, but as a result of my lack
of experience of the cultural setting in question, I must confess that it is a
kind of nostalgic abstraction, not a reality.
In effect, then, we need more interpretative English
translations of Baltic literatures. This is not to depreciate the fine work to
be found in such works as The Green Linden, The Green Oak, the many fine
translations by Professor Sealey and others, but we actually need many more
such translations. Now of all the East European languages taught in American,
schools, Russian is without doubt the most popular. But it is even difficult to
find a sufficient number of students to have Russian literature courses in the
original at large American universities. Most Slavic departments find that
enrollments in the courses in Russian literature in translation far outnumber
the enrollments in the courses in Russian literature in the original. In fact
it is frequently difficult to find a sufficient number of students for the
Russian literature courses given in Russian. In order to spread information
about Baltic cultures and literatures it is essential that it be presented in
English, because the average American student does not have enough time to make
the literature meaningful to him in another language. To the best of my
knowledge there is no American university which offers more than one year of
Lithuanian and this is just not enough instruction to prepare the student to
read the language easily. Dr. Kostas Ostrauskas did an excellent job of
gathering materials in English for the one-term course of Lithuanian literature
in translation which he offered at Pennsylvania State University in the spring
of 1966, but he had to use every resource available. In sum then my message is
that there should be more good English translations of Baltic literature.
* Lithuanian translation appeared in Draugas, Jan.
18, 1969, Pt. II, p. 1. Reprinted by permission of the Editor.
1. Stephen A. Freeman, "Modern Languages for a
Changing World," Curricular Change in the Foreign Languages: 1963
Colloquium on Curricular Change (Princeton, N. J., 1963), p. 10.
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