Outsider - Ausländer in der Gesellschaft
Outsider - Ausländer in der Gesellschaft
Samantha Thibodeaux-Endesfelder
Outsider
In a small seaside town, sat an even smaller seaside bar. It was only half full, but almost all the town’s inhabitants were there. It was early evening on this uneventful day. For such a small population, the bar was humming with sound, every person chatting to another.
The main door opened, and a smattering of rain hit the floor beside two beaten boots. The bartender scanned the room, taking count of every regular in attendance. Certain that everyone who would likely be there was, the bartender turned to the stranger in the doorway. As he made his way across the floor, the lively chatter hid behind a cloud of whispers.
“It’s the Fish Man,” one seated patron whispered to her companion. Someone a few seats down, who had not been a part of their previous conversation leaned in, “last week, I saw him working outside his little hut, you know…the one down by the water—“
“The pump house looking place?” the first woman interjected.
“That’s the one!” I coulda sworn a sturgeon grew legs and was wanderin’ around on land,” the Leaner continued.
“Well, I heard he sleeps where the water meets the land, ya know, in the shallows….with the other fishes”
The Fish Man made his way to the bar, a trail of dampened wood in his wake. If someone were to lean in close, real close, they might see specks of seaweed stuck in the fibers of the floor.
Ausländer in der Gesellschaft
In einer kleinen Stadt am Meer gab es eine noch kleinere Kneipe. Es war nur halb voll, aber fast alle Einwohner in der Stadt waren da. Es war früher Abend an diesem langweiligen, grauen Tag. Trotz der kleinen Gruppe von Menschen brummte es in der Bar, und jeder unterhielt sich mit dem anderen.
Die Eingangstür öffnete sich, und neben zwei ausgetretenen Stiefeln prasselte ein wenig Regen auf den Boden. Der Barkeeper sah sich im Raum um und zählte die Anwesenden. Nachdem er sich vergewissert hatte, dass alle anwesend waren, wandte sich der Barkeeper an den Fremden in der Tür. Als er über den Boden ging, verstummte das fröhliche Geplapper zu einem Flüstern.
„Es ist der Fischmann.“ sagte eine Frau.
Jemand ein paar Plätze weiter sagte: „Letzte Woche habe ich ihn vor seiner Hütte arbeiten sehen, die unten am Wasser liegt...“
„Das Pumpenhaus?“ unterbrach die erste Frau.
„Ja das Pumpenhaus! Ich dachte, einem Fisch mit Beine hat an Land gewandert!”
„Ich höre, er schläft dort, wo das Wasser auf das Land trifft.”
Der Fischmann ging zum Barren, er hat eine Spur von nassem Holz hinter sich gelassen. Wenn man sich ganz nah an den Boden lehnt, kann man Flecken von Seegras in den Fasern des Bodens sehen.
Reflection on the Translation Process
I found translating something that I wrote in English into German to be a very challenging but wonderful experience. I had the opportunity to learn new words like “Geplapper”! I’ve never needed the word for “chatter” in German before, but now that I know it, I’ll be sure to add it to my daily lexicon. Now for the more challenging part; in English, I know how to write melodically, pairing wonderful words together to weave serendipitous sentences. However, with a more limited vocabulary in German, I found that my writing didn’t have the same flow as the English version. I felt like I had to dumb down my intricately weaved phrases to accommodate my reduced German language and grammar capabilities. Despite this, I was able to turn to my good ol’ dictionary and find different words in German with the same meaning to give my writing the same life it has in the English original. I was able to play around with different phrases to find ones that I thought sounded best. Being the author of the original I was able to mold the German phrases to still fit my meaning and essence of how I wanted the story to feel even if it didn’t match the exact wording I had originally used. I found myself changing the sentences, sometimes significantly, so that they sounded better in German. For example, the first sentence when literally translated reads: In einer kleinen Stadt am Meer…eine noch kleinere Kneipe am Meer. It sounded better in English: “In a small, seaside town…sat an even smaller seaside bar.” However, in German, having “am Meer” repeated at the end felt repetitive rather than rhythmic, so I omitted it. The meaning is the same, but there is a small, seaside melody that is lost from English to German. I also took note from our Peter Waterhouse translations and turned an adjective into a noun to give someone a proper name based on the action they were doing (the Leaner). I really enjoy this naming style and might even bring it over into English (what a funny bilateral learning experience!). Finally, I find that I am probably less poetic in German than I am in English, but I hope that by expanding my vocabulary and continuing to play with my words I’ll be able to craft new and unique melodies in both languages.
Samantha Thibodeaux-Endesfelder is an undergraduate student at the University of British Columbia.
Picture: “Seaside Town” by https://www.flickr.com/photos/60849810@N05
