An incident from my days as an engineer made a deep impression on me.
It was the day after the 1984 Academy Awards, during which Milos Forman’s film Amadeus had walked away with the Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actor. Exchanging morning pleasantries with my boss, I jokingly noted that there was still hope for the cultural redemption of the country.
“What do you mean?” asked my boss.
“Well, if a film about Mozart can win an Oscar, then anything is possible,” I said, light-heartedly.
“Who?” asked my boss.
When it became clear that neither the name “Mozart” nor the film title Amadeus meant anything to him, I was… well… a little shocked, to say the least. In my world view, being out of touch with what was popular at the box office was forgivable, but to be so narrowly focused in one’s life as to not have picked up the name “Mozart” from somewhere – if only by a kind of social osmosis – or to be aware even of the existence of a thing called classical music (even if one never listened to the stuff)… that just made my jaw drop.
Having a narrow focus is not a malady unique to techies, but many techies suffer from it (indeed, some even boast of it). For as long as I can remember, though, despite a natural inclination toward the technical end of the world, I’ve striven to develop my “weak side.” By this I mean I’ve worked at learning something about the nontechnical world: languages (of course), art, literature, and so on.
Not too surprisingly, this “broadening” has paid benefits to me in the interpretation and translation end of the world. (I don’t doubt that some technical “rounding” would not benefit nontechnical translators, either.)
For some time, however, I’d noticed that the “Russian” side of my life lagged behind, from both a cultural point of view (a common shortcoming among Americans, it is said) and that of non-technical vocabulary. So, some time ago, I decided to do something to remedy this defect.
The first fruit of that effort was the translation of the lyrics to the song Ваше благородие from Vladimir Motyl’s popular Russian film Белое солнце пустыни (White Sun of the Desert).
An interesting piece of lore about the film is that it is an obligatory part of a cosmonaut’s ritual on the eve of a trip into space from the space port at Baikonur. (I seem to recall someone telling me that this tradition dated back to Gagarin’s flight, but as the film was shot in 1970, I have my doubts. Nonetheless, somewhere along the line, it did become a tradition.)
When I had an opportunity to watch the film, I was struck by the melody of Ваше благородие. Unfortunately, between my deficient non-technical Russian vocabulary and my poor skills at deciphering sung lyrics in any language, the only words I could make out were those of the refrain in the last line: Не везет мне в смерти, повезет в любви! (I’m no good at dying, I’ll fall in love instead!) The line intrigued me, so I resolved to get hold of the lyrics and translate them.
I’ll not bore you with the details of the consultations, false starts, and dead ends involved in attempting to fashion a workmanlike translation that I felt was true to the original. What I will tell you is that the experience of working outside of what you normally do will make you a stronger translator.
Rounding can take various forms, too. Recently, I returned to stamp collecting, after an interval of more years than I care to count, having given up the hobby in my teens because of the sheer extent of the what could be collected, combined with an unwillingness to settle down and concentrate on some kind of specialty – a country or a topic – the way most collectors eventually do.
Paleolithic Cave Paintings at Lascaux, France
I decided to collect French stamps for a number of reasons, among them, to learn more about French history and culture. Sure, you can get that kind of thing out of books, and in great truckloads as well, but the stamps of a country provide a sort of “CliffsNotes” version of what that country – through its postal authorities – thinks is notable, best, and worth commemorating about the country. I’m not at all sure the hobby will make me a better French translator, but it does provide a concise and enjoyable way of learning more about the culture.
These and other activities provide an environment for continued growth and improvement. Try it yourself. Develop your weak side. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.