It's not easy

It's not easy | Clare Azzopardi

Out of habit we may think of our heritage as something which has preceded us. Education and tourism campaigns, addressing our children and tourists, less so young or older adults, and when they do, relying on inane posters that evoke nostalgia and rarely reflection, keep telling us so. For instance, Heritage Malta, like many heritage guardians around the world, encourage us to keep our past alive. I wonder how many of us would want to do that – isn’t the past dead? Isn’t keeping it alive similar to what the Egyptians did with their mummies, the Capuchin brothers in Floriana with their departed brethren, in pop culture what zombies are, as evoked so thrillingly by Quincey Jones and Michael Jackson in 1982, and what Mary Shelley described as the gruesome experiment of Dr Frankenstein?

It may be time to adopt a different perspective. We could consider our heritage as something we engender. For instance, as something that is still to come, and something we have full capacity and responsibility to shape. Many times we hear about what we shall leave the younger generations in terms of legacy. Following the European Capital of Culture experience in Malta in 2018, this concept was bandied around balefully in the cultural sector, but the results today look stillborn. Today’s destruction of our heritage, and its misuse through unenlightened commercialisation, will leave us with what to pass on?

The 2022 UNESCO global summit held in Mexico, MONDIACULT, at which Malta participated, and which came in for criticism of its regular chipping away at and ensuing devaluing and hollowing out of its own heritage, was all about our common good and our common heritage. This perspective is interesting, as heritage is neither seen solely as something which preceded us, and not only as something we engender. By evoking the Brundtland Report of 1987, Our Common Future, the awakenings of civil society activism in an urban context in the West in 1960s, led by urbanists like Jane Jacobs, the development of sustainable thinking, the concept of doughnut economics, the annual Pope Francis Assisi economic fora, and the writings and interventions of Bruno Latour who passed away recently, one sees a pattern that should inform policy and set strategy for present action with future consequences.

A number of religious, classical and more recent classical tales from Western culture allow us to reflect on this delicate cycle. The metaphors applied and the strong images therein are effective to make the point that the way we inhabit our natural and built environments has direct repercussions on how we live and our wellbeing.

Take King Midas. He stands for that part of humanity that may in turn become too powerful, too greedy, too materialistic-minded, and eventually starve oneself in spite of unlimited access to sustenance. In my mind this Classical tale provides us with an example of what Malta and other places around the world are inflicting on themselves by persisting in practising outdated economic models. If one asks, ‘what should we do with all the heritage we have?’, the answer seems to be, ‘cook it, eat it and make a meal of it!’ The sprouting of restaurants, bars, take-aways, food trucks and food festivals, fundamentally disconnect us from the historical and traditional cultural contexts they have inflitrated and dominated. They act as an epitome of consumption culture.

If we would like to indulge in stories that further illustrate this misplaced nourishment, Jonathan Swift’s eighteenth century A Modest Proposal offered a way of how to turn a problem into a solution that is hard to swallow, but follows the all-consuming logic. While we seem to have too much heritage to manage and resort to eating away at it, Swift poked serious fun at contemporary British policy towards dealing with too many Irish Papist poor children by prescribing people eat their offspring. Soon after, the authors of the fictional character Sweeney Todd and Scottish essayist Thomas Carlyle provoked their nineteenth century British readers by reflecting on the resourcefulness of human beings not in terms of education and skills, but fodder.

Further examples abound, enough to give us indigestion. However, let’s allow one more, and in a way bring it back to the beginning. The Greek Titan Cronus devours son after son in order to prevent them from taking his place, which he considered should last forever. A very powerful rendition of the myth strikes us through Goya’s painting of Saturn, the Roman version, feasting on his offspring. There seems to be something there we can spot in our society, where in their minds people suspend the natural cycle of life and death and behave as if all the past has to offer is theirs to be consumed, while the future, including their own children, is no concern of theirs.

Stories we have inherited remind us that we may be no worse than previous generations. They also suggest we are no better, in spite of the possibility of lessons having been learnt. We seem to be living out the eternal cycles that repeat themselves as envisioned by the Ancient Greeks and spun again much later by Nietsche on the cusp of the twentieth century.

So is there some form of salvation to be hoped for? Is there a break away, a release, for the prodigal son? Is there a father to welcome us back after having squandered our inheritance, eaten with the pigs in the trough, and having had to realise one’s mistakes and lack of balance, once the damage has been done? Is there experience to be learnt from and applied ahead? Is there any legacy of heritage to pass on?

Any space for heritage in the future?

Any space for heritage in the future? | Karsten Xuereb

Speaking and writing in different languages is quite a privilege, opening up communication doors onto other realms, allowing us to achieve a deeper understanding of different cultures and to navigate between one and the other. Nevertheless juggling between languages can be quite challenging, requiring the keeping of a balance that is hard to manage. When we speak more than one maternal language, are we comfortable writing on all subjects possible in both languages in a similar way? Or do balances shift depending on situations, people we speak to, issues we debate? My main maternal language is Maltese, then English (English is also an official language in Malta). I have been living in France for almost 20 years so French has become my everyday language. I write poetry in Maltese and translate it into French but I would find it impossible to write an article, translate a novel or give a lecture in Maltese. Yet, when I am emotional or very tired, my tongue automatically switches to Maltese. At times I feel frustrated as I have the impression I master different languages but my knowledge of each one of them is then limited. I sometimes start writing an email and when rereading I realise that sentences are written combining different languages. I feel that these languages I write, speak, read and think, feed each other inside me as they intermingle. This definitely impacts the way I write, the words I choose when writing in each and every one of them.

Juana Adcock (Mexico/UK), you are both a poet and translator working both in English and Spanish. You are among those poets who combine and experiment with multilingualism in your poetic works using your writings but also those of others in different languages. I was recently intrigued by the title of a blog post on 

 asking, “Are we different people in different languages”? What do you think?

I think about this often, and I don’t have a definitive answer. What is becoming clearer to me is that languages are relational, reflecting a unique set of relations between things in the world even at the most basic linguistic level. For example, when I look at my own hand, in English I say simply “my hand”, whereas in Spanish I would most likely say “la mano” (the hand): “me quemé la mano” means “I burnt my hand” but literally “I burnt (myself) the hand”. How absurd it would be to describe our own body like that in English, as if it didn’t belong to us! I wouldn’t say I’m ultimately a different person in English or in Spanish (or any other language), but rather, that each language teaches me different ways of being in the world – a different relationship to time, space, movement, objects, my own body, the people around me – which inevitably translates into slightly different ways of expressing myself, and yes: ways of being, of organising my days. Even my voice changes: in Spanish I find it easier to speak from my chest, whereas in English I more often find myself in a slightly higher pitch, more in my head; perhaps in a quieter or weaker tone. But how much of that is cultural?

Multilingualism, writing in different languages

Multilingualism, writing in different languages | Elizabeth Grech

Speaking of genres

Speaking of genres | Leanne Ellul

Reading stories out loud to newborns and continue even after they learn to read by themselves is the best recipe to prepare children for reading. All kinds of stories with illustrations and pictures from a large variety of books from fiction to poetry and if and when possible, reading in different languages. This not only enables them to bond with parents and relate to emotions but also to develop language and listening skills. I believe it is essential to seek balance between guiding them, helping them associate letters, words with images, objects, and sounds and at the same time allowing space for their imagination to be nourished. Enhancing access to knowledge, reading expands the understanding of the world and this is why discussing stories and letting children voice their questions is important.

However, reading is not only a practical and educational tool, it is also about the pleasure of discovering other worlds, letting go and playing. There is also the pleasure of holding a book as a beautiful object, turning pages, feeling the paper, unfolding adventures. Reading grounds us, trains our concentration capacities and it can be a beautiful alternative to reduce watching screens. It’s not about denying kids access to technology but about holding it at bay as much as possible.

Of course, the challenge of encouraging reading among children changes with age. The most efficient way to keep this going is by reading ourselves. It is important for them to see the significant place books have all over the house, to see their parents read newspapers, books, comics, journals and magazines and also to hang out in book shops and libraries. Parents should let children choose to read what they feel like reading without insisting about a story or another. Some of them enjoy reading the same book over and over again. After all, it’s the act of reading that counts.

Each and every one needs to find the way that suits his situation best. I personally read stories to my children during the day or at bed time when I feel that I can be fully present in that space and time. Children are very sensitive and they definitely feel it when we do just do things out of habit or out of pleasure. For me, reading and reading to others has to be above all, a pleasure and not something to be imposed. Although reading is a crucial part of education, I believe that the best transmission of all is that of the pleasure of reading, reading for pleasure.

www.theguardian.com/books/2018/jul/27/children-reading-summer-holidays

www.washingtonpost.com/news/parenting/wp/2017/02/16/why-its-important-to-read-aloud-with-your-kids-and-how-to-make-it-count/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.c99a93281845

Initially published in Arabic in February 2019 issue 4 of “Al Nasher Al Usboei”, (Publisher Weekly), by Sharjah Book Authority. Managing Editor, Ali Al Ameri.

Transmitting the pleasure of reading to children

Transmitting the pleasure of reading to children | Elizabeth Grech

Translating poetry is an act of creativity. It is a complex work consisting of making continuous choices, not only of words, but also of colours, smells, sounds and texture to give to a poem when translating it from one language to another, from a culture to another, from a world to another. It is also a way of wearing the skin of the author himself (like an actor does), trying to absorb the emotions before carving them out of words in another language without knowing beforehand the forms they may take, the picture they will draw. There are of course numerous challenges to this including the translation of metaphors, rhythm, rhyme, onomatopoeia. In another language these aspects might be flat so one needs to recreate others to compensate and maintain poetic balance. Translating poetry is also a very subjective activity and everything depends on the sensibility of the translator. A poem translated by five different people will be in five different versions.

Albert Gatt, many are those who believe that to translate poetry you must be a poet yourself. You are Senior Lecturer and Director of the Institute of Linguistics and Language Technology at the University of Malta and also have a solid experience in translating poetry from Maltese into English. What is your position?

I have never fancied myself a poet. Put differently, I don't write with the intention of producing something others would recognise as poetry. I suppose this means that, to the extent that my translations of poetry are successful - that they somehow manage to convey to the reader something of the experience of the reading of the poem that I have had in the original - I'm an exception to the rule you mention. But of course, such broad characteristics often don't matter in any case.

For me, the translation of poetry is first and foremost an aural activity. The first thing I need is to be convinced that I've somehow got the poem's rhythm and music (however discordant this may be). I think of that as the poem's pulse, thrumming underneath the skin of words. That is what I need to grasp before I begin to translate. A big part of the translation then is to find another music to carry that pulse. And my choices undoubtedly depend on the sources through which my ear for poetry was formed, perhaps not as a poet, but certainly as a reader of poetry. I think I must have learned a few lessons too from some of the composers whose work I admire and listen to again and again.

https://lithub.com/10-literary-translators-on-the-art-of-translation/


Conversation with Albert Gatt, Senior Lecturer and Director of the Institute of Linguistics and Language Technology at the University of Malta.

Initially published in Arabic in the 6th issue of the Publisher Weekly Arabic “Al Nasher Al Usboei” magazine, by Sharjah Book Authority, April 2019.

Translating poetry

Translating poetry | Elizabeth Grech

Notes on critical reactions to and from a writer

It's not easy | Clare Azzopardi

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Any space for heritage in the future? | Karsten Xuereb

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Multilingualism, writing in different languages | Elizabeth Grech

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Speaking of genres | Leanne Ellul

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Transmitting the pleasure of reading to children | Elizabeth Grech

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It's not easy | Clare Azzopardi

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