Translating English (part 2)

It is easy to have a little fun with funny English translations in China. The so-called Chinglish is a source of amusement for many, including a couple of websites. But one does have to admit that if it was Americans translating English into Chinese, the results would be horrendous. Nevertheless, some translations are minor simple minor mistakes, perhaps even typographical errors. For example, on a tourist map of Beijing near Tian’anmen Square that told the observer: “You Are Her.”

Some translations made me scratch my head in confusion. My favorite was at the Quanfu Temple, which is constructed of wood and has incense regularly burning. A sign reminds the visitor: “Careless is a big fear to fire protection.” Fair enough.

On the highway to Huangzhou, the toll plazas are manned by young people. I read the sign below and then noticed that the attendant was looking slightly upward, off into space, with his hand raised in a wave at a 90-degree angle, with a bizarre (and somewhat creepy) smile. The sign over the tollbooth read: “The Youth Civilization Serve You With Smiling.” 

A discussion on the virtues of cats

Having a cup of coffee at Carson’s Store, the Noark, Connecticut diner that has been a general store and local institution since 1907, I listened as two elderly people, speaking very loudly to one another, have a wide-ranging conversation that ended with this point:

Female: “He does have his good points…he leaves me mice in my bed.”

Male: “Yes. That probably is his best point.” 

Clomacnoise

When I first visited Ireland in 2001, Clonmacnoise was one of the first places I visited. It is a place that captivated me. I remember reading about the ancient monastery in a travel book and was mesmerized. In planning my trip, I thought that it would intrigue me. It did.  To this day I remain fascinated by the site. It appeals to my sense of history, the quest for knowledge and understanding our place in the world.

This monastery and religious site in County Offlay was founded by St. Ciarán in 547 AD along the banks of the River Shannon with the assistance of Prince Diarmaid. Ciarán never saw the fulfillment of the center for learning and teaching; about seven months after the founding of Clonmacnoise, he died of the plague with his dying word reportedly relaying, “He who perseveres till the end will be saved.” According to legend, he was buried beneath the small church known as Temple Ciarán, a small tenth century structure within the confines that replaced an earlier wooden church. A shrine of Ciarán’s hands was kept at the church but was last seen in 1684. An old Irish legend suggests that a handful of dirt from Clonmacnoie in each corner of a field will insure its prosperity.

The site would grow in religious and scholarly importance during the middle ages but its importance would not protect it. It seems to me that it is a great irony that the site, dedicated to peace, knowledge and contemplation, was attacked no less than forty times over its history by the Irish, the Vikings and the English. Most of the time for plunder, and had devastating results. The vulnerable monastery would survive and rebuild until its final sacking by English forces, dispatched from Athlone in 1552. According to the Annals of the Four Masters, during the attack, “not a bell, large or small, or an image, or an altar, or a book, or a gem, or even glass in a window, was left which was not carried away. Lamentable was this deed, the plundering of the city of Ciarán, the holy patron.”

In Temple Coghlan, a chapel whose walls date from the 10th and the 15th centuries, several gravestones adorn the floor that is largely constructed of grass and gravel. It is exciting, at first, to think about observing centuries old stones and memorials, but a cursory glance leads to disappointment because the grave markers or monuments primarily date from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It as if the people of just a couple of generations ago viewed the religious and historical importance of Clonmacnoise and sought to appropriate it for themselves.

Clonmacnoise represents a place of learning and study that I find appealing. The knowledge that was lost (the history, art and philosophy) each time the site was raided is a tragedy. I speak neither Latin or Irish sufficiently well enough to understand the manuscript in any meaningful way. Yet, I would relish the opportunity to see what was lost.