Translanguaging as part of the creative process
*This is the English medium version of an ‘ysgrif’ (literary essay/ belles-lettres) previously published in Y Stamp literary magazine as part of the ‘Wrth dy grefft’ (‘At your craft’) series. To access the Welsh medium version, please click here: Ysgrif trawsieithu
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, my main literary inspiration is the Welsh-Caribbean-Creole author, Jean Rhys. One of the things I admire the most about Jean is her writing style, which is notably clear, smooth, rich, evocative and engaging. Apparently, much of the credit for this is due to Ford Madox Ford, who encouraged her to begin writing, starting with short stories, such as ‘Vienne’, which was published in 1927 in the literary journal ‘The Transatlantic Review’. Ford was the founder and editor of the journal, which published the work of authors from the bohemian literary scene of the left bank in Paris. Ford was also taking advantage of Jean’s unfortunate circumstances at the time, but that’s a topic for discussion at another time.
Under Ford’s wing, Jean learnt her craft. He advised her to avoid melodrama and stick to what she knew, and to be merciless in cutting her work, showing rather than telling. And interestingly, he suggested another technique, which was related to the multilingual and multicultural context they were living in: if a piece of writing doesn’t feel as though it’s working, she should translate it into French; if it seemed ridiculous in French, then she should cut that bit too. Although Ford advised Jean to ‘translate’, in our current context I believe that this step would be called ‘translanguaging’, since it was a part of the drafting proses and trying to discern essence and meaning, rather than presenting a translation to an audience of readers.
The concept of translanguaging is derived from the doctoral work of Cen William, whilst he was a postgraduate student at Bangor University, in the field of education in the 1990s. The essence of the technique was that school children received information through the medium of one language, for example English, and then utilized it through the medium of another language, for example Welsh. In doing this, in order to use the information successfully, they must have fully understood it in the first place. Williams emphasised that one language strengthened the other, thus enhancing understanding. The idea became very popular with teachers and students all over the world, since there was a general belief that multilingual people naturally make use of their whole linguistic repertoires in order to maximise the learning experience. Having worked as a Welsh medium lecturer myself, I can attest that I have witnessed this technique being of enormous benefit, whilst reading student essays.
Although the concept of translanguaging comes from the field of pedagogy, the essence of the idea is that the cognitive process of perceiving, knowing and understanding, includes switching between two or more languages; it is therefore relevant to contexts beyond the classroom. The concept has evolved over time, with authors such as García and Wei presenting research about how multilingual people translanguage in their everyday contexts, to make sense of their complex lives and worlds. Kasula draws attention to ‘Borderlands/ La Frontera: The New Mestiza’, by Anzaldúa, as an example of creative work which translanguages in the same space, in order to describe and convey the multilingual life of the border. Anzaldúa herself emphasises this contribution by saying:
“The U.S.-Mexican border es una herida abierta (is an open wound) where the third world grates against the first and bleeds. And before a scab forms it haemorrhages again, the lifeblood of two worlds merging to form a third country — a border culture.”.
So Anzaldúa is suggesting that there is something special and unique about the culture of the borderlands — a kind of combination which creates a third culture. As I have previously discussed, the creative work of Aled Lewis Evans also reflects the unique language and culture of the borderlands, in a North-East Wales context. The poem ‘Over the llestri’ is a striking example of the dialect spoken on the corridors of Ysgol Morgan Llwyd (secondary school) in the 1990s, and so also of the phenomena García and Wei discuss in their research. There are several examples in Jean’s stories which convey this kind of translanguaging, within contexts which are multilingual and multicultural. I was fortunate enough, last year, to be an external examiner for a literary PhD, where the student had combined this kind of translanguaging in one space, whilst also self-translanguaged her own poems in order to better understand her feelings and experiences. I very much enjoyed her thesis, and I was a little jealous of her PhD experience!
In terms of what is particularly useful about hybrid literary works, Kasula cites Canagarajah’s work on ‘code-meshing’, including the fact that combining languages in one piece of work creates a space for the reader and author to co-create meaning and understanding, whilst challenging and explaining attitudes towards the voice of the author. This reminds me of discussions regarding the use of dialects within literary works, including where the dialect is contrary to the rules of the standard language; it can be very challenging, in a good way, to read and consider these matters. For example, Giaimo postulates that the Walter Mosley detective story ‘Devil in a blue dress’ challenges stereotyping assumptions regarding the complexity and sophistication of African-American English. I certainly like the idea of a ‘meta’ element where the author and reader each have a role in co-constructing the story or meaning, whilst considering the voice of the author.
Personally, I only have one poem, currently, which I have written combining languages in the same space, and I wasn’t very successful in converting it into English — that is to say, translanguaging it enough for it to be understood by an English audience. Although I had received some kind comments about the Welsh version: ‘Pam fod brechdanau’n fenywaidd? A chwestiynau difyr eraill’ (‘Why are sandwiches feminine? And other interesting questions’), I received a thoughtful and astute comment from the editor of an English medium literary magazine, who said that the second half of the poem, in English, felt ‘forced’ and ‘sing-songy’. When I considered the two versions, I felt that this was a completely accurate observation; the first half of the poem, where the two languages were combined, had retained the essence of the Welsh version — although, only readers with a certain amount of knowledge of the Welsh language, for example a learner, would be able to understand it. But I had struggled to translanguage the second half, whilst also trying to rhyme.
However, I am aware that I use both of my languages, Welsh and English, and also my dialects and knowledge of standard language correctness, at every stage and step of the writing process — whether literary or scholarly. In fact, I would liken my internal linguistic struggles to B’Elanna Torres’ situation in the Star Trek universe, and that which she learns in the ‘Faces’ episode of ‘Voyager’. I feel sometimes as though I have more than one personality. Welsh is from my childhood — and my Welsh is dialectical. I spent long summers over in the village of Rhosllannerchugog, listening to nain (my grandmother) and aunty Gwladys (her sister), discussing the old days, when Rhos was a bustling, close community. I later became aware of negative perceptions towards this working-class dialect, and also towards the working class Wrecsam dialect I spoke when speaking in English.
I set about ridding myself of my Wrecsam accent in English, replacing it with BBC British, but curiously enough I didn’t do the same with my Welsh. When I left Wales at 19 years of age, to take up my undergraduate studies at Liverpool John Moores University, I went from a bilingual situation to a monolingual English one; social media did not exist then in the way that it does now, and I didn’t even have a mobile phone. As a result, my Welsh remained frozen as it was, the Welsh of someone in their teens from a Working-class family, whilst my English continued to develop and to be enriched, absorbing scholarly words and concepts and the mindset of an adult — and that of an adult who was crossing the border between working-class and middle-class.
As a result, my English is of a high standard. I have also learnt, after a fashion, how to write to a high standard, to the point where my academic colleagues have recognised my skills in terms of precision and thus as a proof-reader. However I do feel sometimes, when I try and write creatively in English, that there is some kind of veneer, which makes it more difficult for me to reflect my emotions; as a result my drafts tend to feel a bit stiff and scholarly. In the meantime, my Welsh is limited, where I haven’t learnt the rich vocabulary of an adult in it, and also sometimes I’m not sure if words are dialectical or standard. And, despite the same kind of palaver of revision courses, my grammar and correct use of language, for example mutations, are still far from competent. And yet, I can somehow feel my feelings better — or at least admit them to myself better, maybe. I struggled with this conundrum for years, however, like B’Elanna, I came to the conclusion that a combination of the two (or four) sides was the best thing in the end, thus the kind of code-meshing that Kasula discusses.
So, most of my literary drafts are in Welsh, especially if I am working in a Welsh context at the time; however, there will be English words throughout. The drafts will also be full of dialect as well, and they certainly are not something I would wish to show to anyone else! Then I will work on them in Welsh, before converting them into English, and perhaps sometimes back again — correcting for dialectical words or, and this is an interesting point I think, words where it is not clear which meaning of the word I meant when I chose it. This issue is discussed in the ‘translator’s note’ of ‘Powers of horror: an essay on abjection’, where Roudiez asserts that French, as a language, has a more limited vocabulary compared with English, which in turn worsens the problem of there being more than one meaning for some words. Indeed, Roudiez says that Kriteva takes advantage of such ‘polysemy’ words, in the same way that Derrida and Lacan had a tendency to do. One several occasions, when he asked Kristeva which version of the word she meant, she answered ‘both’.
It is some comfort to know that even famous authors do this on purpose, taking advantage of the ambiguity of words whilst constructing their arguments. However this does mean perhaps that this element of translanguaging will be difficult, and perhaps it will be difficult to get a clear answer to which meaning of the word in the dictionary I meant; however, it is worth musing on issues like this during the creative process, as a deeper understanding will come from considering each word in turn. Sometimes it comes to light that I have actually misunderstood a word in the first place, or that it means something else in my dialect, for example the word ‘ddreng’, which means ‘blin’ (angry) in Rhos dialect, but means ‘sarrug’ (morose) in standard Welsh; in the meantime, I associate the word ‘blin’ with ‘blino’ (tired). When writing dialectically, I select words which feel right to me — I can always correct them later, during the drafting process, swapping them for standard words. Obviously, this can slow the poetry writing process down, particularly when rhyming, however perhaps it is also useful as an additional drafting step, in terms of essence and feeling.
Recently, I was on the beach during a creative retreat with Y Stamp (literary magazine) when the poetic breeze found me. Since I was with a group of Welsh speakers, I wrote through the medium of Welsh. Some words came to me in English — for example, I saw a group of gulls on a ‘jetty’. I used the word ‘jetty’, translating it when I was back in Tŷ Newydd (writing centre), with access to the online dictionary. The Welsh word ‘glanfa’ was more satisfactory for a poem than ‘jetty’ so I was pleased. Then I decided to translanguage the poem, and I realized, during the process of translating it back, that the English word ‘bank’ was more appropriate than ‘jetty’ anyway, in terms of meaning as well as aesthetically; as it turned out, the word ‘jetty’ refers to a manmade structure, rather than a natural, small peninsula which protrudes into the water.
At a deeper level, I had quite a lot of trouble translanguaging the line “a phenderfyniadau erchyll sy’n chwalu’r pen yn llwyr”. I recalled a discussion I had, years ago during my doctoral research in Liverpool, when I was researching ‘somatisation’, where the ability to discuss emotions is vital — and the difficulty I had in converting the concept of “chwalu’r pen yn llwyr” (literally — collapse or destroy the head completely). I elicited a twitter conversation, where it was pointed out to me that the English equivalent might be ‘does my head in’, however this didn’t have the same feeling or meaning for me, as I associate that with being fed up or bored with something, rather than the emotional turmoil that I was seeking to convey. In the end I went with: “and ghastly decisions which muddle the mind completely”, however I still don’t feel that this quite conveys the bitterness of the torture and associated emotions.
Anyway, translanguaging the title brought a deeper meaning to it. I had called the poem ‘Dychwelyd’ (Return), since the poem was about the process of returning to a state of good mental health, following a period of anxiety and depression. However, in English, I realized that I could use the word ‘Wellbecoming’, which refers to the process of reaching a state of ‘Wellbeing’. I don’t think that we have a comparable term in Welsh, currently, but perhaps this is an opportunity to challenge ourselves to create one? I also liked the fact that ‘Wellbecoming’ resonated with the title of Doshi’s poem ‘Homecoming’, which had partly been the inspiration for the style and approach of mine. In any case, I present both versions of the poem here for your consideration — I wonder what your response will be?
An additional element came from a pleasant exchange on Twitter. I posted the English version of the poem, explaining the translanguaged process. A non-Welsh speaker read and enjoyed the English version and said he regretted that he was unable to read the poem in its original language — but said perhaps that this might be a future project. It pleased me greatly to think that, not only was he going to learn some Welsh as a result of interaction with my literary outputs, but perhaps, in the future, we might engage in the kind of code-meshing Kasula talks about, and we might communicate on the mater with the reader, whilst discussing the merits of the words I have selected and my translanguaging skills, as well as my skills as a poet. I do hope so!
So to close, I think that every bilingual, or multilingual, author has the potential to translanguage whilst writing, bringing depth and a unique aspect to their work, considering each word and expression in terms of meaning and clarity or ambiguity; indeed, it is likely that they, or you, do this naturally already, maybe without even noticing. However, sometimes maybe translanguaging elements of work, looking specifically for meaning and sense, might be a useful extra step in the creative process. Maybe translanguaging will reveal linguistic gaps, such as ‘Wellbecoming’ above, where there’s an opportunity for us to be creative in building a vocabulary so that we can all have richer conversations regarding, for example, mental health. It would be interesting to hear about the experiences of other poets and authors, in trying this additional step in the creative process.
References
Angier, C. (1990). Jean Rhys: life and work. London: Andre Deutsch.
Anzaldúa, G. (2007). Borderlands/ La Frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books.
Doshi, T. (2006). Homecoming. In Countries of the Body. London: Aark Arts. Collection soon to be re-issued, poem currently availible at: https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/homecoming-0/
García, O., & Wei, L. (2014). Translanguaging: Language, bilingualism and education. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Giaimo, G. (2010). Talking back through ‘talking Black’: African American English and agency in Walter Mosley’s Devil In a Blue Dress. Language and Literature, 19(3), 235–247. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963947010368308
Kasula, A. J. (2016). Olowalu review: developing identity through translanguaging in a multilingual literary magazine. Columbian Applied Linguistics Journal, 18(2), 109–118. http://www.scielo.org.co/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S0123-46412016000200009
Kolbe, W. (1995). “Faces”: Star Trek Voyager ( Season 1, Episode 14). Paramount Studios.
Kristeva, J. (1982). Powers of Horror: an essay on abjection. New York: Columbia University Press.
Lewis Evans, A. (2002). Over the llestri. In Hoff Gerddi Cymru (pp. 98–100). Ceredigion: Gwasg Gomer.
Lewis, G., Jones, B., & Baker, C. (2012). Translanguaging: Origins and development from school to street and beyond. Educational Research and Evaluation, 18(7). https://doi.org/10.1080/13803611.2012.718488
Pizzichini, L. (2010). The Blue Hour: a portrait of Jean Rhys. London: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Wei, L. L. (2011). Moment Analysis and translanguaging space: Discursive construction of identities by multilingual Chinese youth in Britain. Journal of Pragmatics, 43(5), 1222–1235. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.pragma.2010.07.035
Wheeler, S, L. (2019). Dychwelyd. Y Stamp: Rhifyn Tŷ Newydd, 18. https://www.ystamp.cymru/siop-rhifynnau
Wheeler, S. (2017). Synfyfyrion llenyddol: Awduron y gororau/ ffiniau. Y Clawdd. Content availible on my personal blog here: https://saralouisewheeler.wordpress.com/2017/06/29/awduron-y-gororau-ffiniau/
Wheeler, S. (2019). Wellbecoming. Retrieved November 5, 2019, from https://www.instagram.com/serensiwenna/
Wheeler, S. L. (2010). Synfyfyrion llenyddol: Pam fod brechdanau’n fenywaidd? (a chwestiynau difyr eraill). Y Clawdd. Content availible from my personal blog here: https://saralouisewheeler.wordpress.com/2010/07/15/pam-fod-brechdanau%E2%80%99n-fenywaidd-a-chwestiynau-difyr-eraill-2/
