A couple of weeks ago I wrote about my need for silence when I write. It followed a frustrating and unproductive morning of being driven bonkers by the banging, drilling and sawing a couple of doors away.
Robert Stubbings a former advisor manager with Business Link South East, has just sent me a link to a post that gives a slightly different angle on the relationship of quietness to productivity.
Roberta points out that it’s often the quiet people who are the most productive and she gives some great examples of why she believes that to be so.
While it’s not exactly related to my post it does show how powerful a force quietness can be. Definitely food for thought and I hope you enjoy reading it.
Thanks to Robert for sending it to me and to for Roberta of course for agreeing to let me use it.
I’m in the process of getting a page of copy translated into around 12 different languages to promote my localisation service to business people who don’t have English as a first language.
I’ve written the copy and have the translators lined up. On the surface it’s a relatively simple task: just a few paragraphs of copy to introduce and explain a service.
But the point of the localisation service is to make sure that copy that’s been translated into English flows and reads well. It needs to get the message across and engage the audience too. So, of course I need to be sure that happens with my copy in each of the languages it’s translated in to.
Going through this process got me thinking about book translations. We take it a bit for granted when we read classics like Tolstoy’s War and Peace and Anna Karenina, Flaubert’s Madame Bovary or more modern books such as Blindness by Jose Saramago.
But how on earth does a translator capture the essence and poetry of the original? How do we know that the translator isn’t more talented than the author? And what about those words and phrases that only exist in the original language and not in English?