Thursday, 25 November 2010
Meine Ruh' ist hin, Mein Herz ist schwer
An overwhelming feeling every now and again. It will pass I hope.
Saturday, 6 November 2010
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~William Wordsworth
On Sunday last week, Sonya and I went to Bookstore. I'd wanted to go there for ages since picking up a leaflet for the place months and months ago. There are two of them, one in Oakmere and the other is near Buxton. We went to the one in Oakmere. It was so nice being surrounded by books, at bargain prices and they had free tea or coffee as well. I felt like I could have stayed for hours on end. I only bought one book. 'The Illustrated Timeline Of Western Literature'. It was only £3. There were a couple of other books there that I liked too, but I restrained myself due to money.
It got me thinking all over again how I should be writing the book but if truth be told, I haven't had the heart to write any of it. I'm not the same person I was when I started writing the book and now it just seems like something that doesn't make sense to me anymore....maybe one day it will again. My other two book ideas still seem possible though. Maybe part of me is feeling like I need to write as I think there's a book that needs to be written. I've got a polka-dot note book that I've been writing in....not anything for my books though...I probably need another notepad.
When I was walking round, looking at the books I started thinking about the authors and how they managed to write their stories and wondering what it was like to put things down on paper and have someone judge whether anyone else is ever going to want to read it. Especially the poems. Sonya bought a poetry book; it had some good poems in there, some I recognised and some I didn't. I did look through to see if Bronte, Browning and Rossetti were in there as I wanted to see if the poems that Dylan (a character in a short story I've just translated from German to English who talks about poetry) referred to, were in there. One was. The others I couldn't find. I was thinking how difficult it it to get someone to appreciate something so subjective and perhaps with poetry you can only appreciate it, if you can identify it. I don't know.....
I was thinking as well how enthusiastic I had been leaving my first tutorial for Literary Translation and thinking how amazing it was. I could have stayed talking for hours, had I not had to go my Translation Technologies class. It was so good talking about not only the translation issues but also discussing the meaning behind the story; what the author was trying to say and talking about how that affected the translation choices. I remembered all over again why I love books and why I love reading. I started thinking if it were possible to do this for a living I would. Translating literature is by far more fun than any other kind. It really made me think that maybe I should be looking for jobs that are to do with publishing books or international literature. If I could, maybe an author...but I'm not sure I have the talent for that.
Part of me knows that if I did write with the intention of publication, I wouldn't be able to help but pour my heart into everything I write and I'm just not sure I can let anyone see that yet.
One day.......
It got me thinking all over again how I should be writing the book but if truth be told, I haven't had the heart to write any of it. I'm not the same person I was when I started writing the book and now it just seems like something that doesn't make sense to me anymore....maybe one day it will again. My other two book ideas still seem possible though. Maybe part of me is feeling like I need to write as I think there's a book that needs to be written. I've got a polka-dot note book that I've been writing in....not anything for my books though...I probably need another notepad.
When I was walking round, looking at the books I started thinking about the authors and how they managed to write their stories and wondering what it was like to put things down on paper and have someone judge whether anyone else is ever going to want to read it. Especially the poems. Sonya bought a poetry book; it had some good poems in there, some I recognised and some I didn't. I did look through to see if Bronte, Browning and Rossetti were in there as I wanted to see if the poems that Dylan (a character in a short story I've just translated from German to English who talks about poetry) referred to, were in there. One was. The others I couldn't find. I was thinking how difficult it it to get someone to appreciate something so subjective and perhaps with poetry you can only appreciate it, if you can identify it. I don't know.....
I was thinking as well how enthusiastic I had been leaving my first tutorial for Literary Translation and thinking how amazing it was. I could have stayed talking for hours, had I not had to go my Translation Technologies class. It was so good talking about not only the translation issues but also discussing the meaning behind the story; what the author was trying to say and talking about how that affected the translation choices. I remembered all over again why I love books and why I love reading. I started thinking if it were possible to do this for a living I would. Translating literature is by far more fun than any other kind. It really made me think that maybe I should be looking for jobs that are to do with publishing books or international literature. If I could, maybe an author...but I'm not sure I have the talent for that.
Part of me knows that if I did write with the intention of publication, I wouldn't be able to help but pour my heart into everything I write and I'm just not sure I can let anyone see that yet.
One day.......
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