{"title":"Communal Translation in the Classroom","authors":"E. Fishman","doi":"10.1080/07374836.2023.2179295","DOIUrl":null,"url":null,"abstract":"David was sitting in the corner of our small classroom library when Isabel called him over to her small group. “David, we need you! In Guatemalan Spanish, what does ‘miran’ mean?” David sat down and quietly talked with the group as they worked on a translation of Rosa Chávez’s poem “Ri Ti’ Tuj / La Abuela de Temescal.” I overheard snatches of conversation about syntactical differences in Spanish and English. “We have to change the word order when we translate,” Isabel explained to Victor, another member of the group. Three of the four students in the group were heritage Spanish speakers, with a multitude of relationships to the language; their families were from El Salvador, the Dominican Republic, and Guatemala. For this poem, David was the expert. A few minutes later, he tried to leave again, but the group called him back with a question: “What do you think would match more here for ‘visitarnos’? Visit us, or we visited?” When I consider the idea of translation as community, I think of this moment in my fifthand sixthgrade classroom. In this conversation between students, there were also the echoes of many other voices, both heard and unheard. To begin, there were the words of Rosa Chávez herself:","PeriodicalId":0,"journal":{"name":"","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":"0","resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":null,"PeriodicalName":"","FirstCategoryId":"1085","ListUrlMain":"https://doi.org/10.1080/07374836.2023.2179295","RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":null,"ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":null,"EPubDate":"","PubModel":"","JCR":"","JCRName":"","Score":null,"Total":0}
引用次数: 0
Abstract
David was sitting in the corner of our small classroom library when Isabel called him over to her small group. “David, we need you! In Guatemalan Spanish, what does ‘miran’ mean?” David sat down and quietly talked with the group as they worked on a translation of Rosa Chávez’s poem “Ri Ti’ Tuj / La Abuela de Temescal.” I overheard snatches of conversation about syntactical differences in Spanish and English. “We have to change the word order when we translate,” Isabel explained to Victor, another member of the group. Three of the four students in the group were heritage Spanish speakers, with a multitude of relationships to the language; their families were from El Salvador, the Dominican Republic, and Guatemala. For this poem, David was the expert. A few minutes later, he tried to leave again, but the group called him back with a question: “What do you think would match more here for ‘visitarnos’? Visit us, or we visited?” When I consider the idea of translation as community, I think of this moment in my fifthand sixthgrade classroom. In this conversation between students, there were also the echoes of many other voices, both heard and unheard. To begin, there were the words of Rosa Chávez herself:
大卫坐在我们小教室图书馆的角落里,伊莎贝尔把他叫到她的小组里。“大卫,我们需要你!在危地马拉西班牙语中,‘miran’是什么意思?”大卫坐下来,与团队安静地交谈,他们正在翻译罗莎·查韦斯的诗歌《Ri Ti'Tuj/La Abuela de Temescal》。我无意中听到了一些关于西班牙语和英语句法差异的对话片段。“我们在翻译时必须改变语序,”伊莎贝尔向小组的另一名成员维克多解释道。小组中的四名学生中有三名是传统的西班牙语使用者,与西班牙语有着多种关系;他们的家人来自萨尔瓦多、多米尼加共和国和危地马拉。大卫是这首诗的专家。几分钟后,他试图再次离开,但小组给他回了电话,问他一个问题:“你认为什么更适合这里的‘访问者’?访问我们,还是我们访问过?”当我把翻译视为社区的想法时,我想到了在我五、六年级教室里的这一刻。在学生之间的这段对话中,也有许多其他声音的回声,无论是听到的还是闻所未闻的。首先,罗莎·查韦斯自己说过: