Oh dear, I really don't speak French at all. The tap in my bathroom has been dripping for ages and eventually I got my act together enough to email my landlord about it.
About a week later, the landlord's wife comes round with a handyman (they call each other 'tu', so I assume he's a relative or something).
All finished, they ask me for a 'torchon' and I, who learnt to speak French in France, handed over a tea towel.
Confusion and amusement.
- No, no, don't you have a mop or something? For the floor?
Oh dear, I really don't speak French at all. As French wikipedia points out, a 'torchon' is a mop in Belgium. Why can't they all just agree on these things?!
Showing posts with label Languages. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Languages. Show all posts
Friday, 22 January 2010
Friday, 25 September 2009
English
I write a lot about languages here but I generally avoid talking about the big elephant crouching silently on the dining room table: my own native language, English.
And I'm not going to talk about it now: I'm cheating. Strictly Come Dancing finished, I have no plans tonight and I'm still awake, so I decided to flick through the Ted talks (disappointingly, all in English), which is something I've been meaning to do for a while. Running the mouse over inventions, philosophy, neuroscience, finally I came to a section on words.
The result is a short video that describes learning English as a mania.
I concur. My entire living is based on the fact that English is my mother tongue. As a translator, interpreter, proofreader, my added value is the fact that I do this automatically: I have natural style, linguistic grace: when I do it, it just sounds right. At least most of the time. Better still, I am British, and that holds an added premium (although most people's cultural contact with English is of the US variety, I believe the majority of schools - at least in Europe - are still teaching Received Pronunciation phonetics and therefore it carries a certain prestige).
Just think of the flood of capital pouring into the coffers of anglophone states simply from the export of TEFL teachers, interpreters, translators, copywriters and multilingual ex-pat Brits who are hired for good client relations. I read an article on this - it took me ages to find it - but unfortunately it's old enough to require an Economist on-line subscription to actually read the thing.
Personally I'm disappointed when everyone speaks English. However frustrating it is - and believe me I know - to have those moments when you simply can't say what you want to say and when the waitress for heavens' sake gives you that withering look as if you were an illiterate child, I still think it's fun to mix it up, I still like learning, I love the complexities, the similarities, the beautiful broken jigsaw puzzle of it all. I love borrowings, calques, sound shifts - all ghostly traces of long-forgotten human migrations.
I will never speak a foreign language with perfect confidence and fluency: I started learning far too late for that. But I love to try, to play, to dip my toe into the deep well labelled 'foreign'.*
I think that's important, don't you? I think we - anglophones - are becoming too complacent about our silent pachydermatous companion perched on the table top, and we're letting opportunities pass us by (see this article, also from the Economist - sorry).
Where was I? Oh yes. Here's the talk:
*Pinolona's theory of adult language acquisition (and a jolly good excuse for using Polish words in Italian): language is a deep, dark well of words. The human brain recognises two such wells: mother tongue and foreign. The most recent foreign language bobs closest to the surface of the well, and when the right word is lacking, you plunge in and fish out a word from another, deeper down. (Disclaimer: the language professional known by Pinolona's real name never fishes at work and she always knows the Right Word. She just may not pronounce it correctly. Especially if it happens to be French.)
And I'm not going to talk about it now: I'm cheating. Strictly Come Dancing finished, I have no plans tonight and I'm still awake, so I decided to flick through the Ted talks (disappointingly, all in English), which is something I've been meaning to do for a while. Running the mouse over inventions, philosophy, neuroscience, finally I came to a section on words.
The result is a short video that describes learning English as a mania.
I concur. My entire living is based on the fact that English is my mother tongue. As a translator, interpreter, proofreader, my added value is the fact that I do this automatically: I have natural style, linguistic grace: when I do it, it just sounds right. At least most of the time. Better still, I am British, and that holds an added premium (although most people's cultural contact with English is of the US variety, I believe the majority of schools - at least in Europe - are still teaching Received Pronunciation phonetics and therefore it carries a certain prestige).
Just think of the flood of capital pouring into the coffers of anglophone states simply from the export of TEFL teachers, interpreters, translators, copywriters and multilingual ex-pat Brits who are hired for good client relations. I read an article on this - it took me ages to find it - but unfortunately it's old enough to require an Economist on-line subscription to actually read the thing.
Personally I'm disappointed when everyone speaks English. However frustrating it is - and believe me I know - to have those moments when you simply can't say what you want to say and when the waitress for heavens' sake gives you that withering look as if you were an illiterate child, I still think it's fun to mix it up, I still like learning, I love the complexities, the similarities, the beautiful broken jigsaw puzzle of it all. I love borrowings, calques, sound shifts - all ghostly traces of long-forgotten human migrations.
I will never speak a foreign language with perfect confidence and fluency: I started learning far too late for that. But I love to try, to play, to dip my toe into the deep well labelled 'foreign'.*
I think that's important, don't you? I think we - anglophones - are becoming too complacent about our silent pachydermatous companion perched on the table top, and we're letting opportunities pass us by (see this article, also from the Economist - sorry).
Where was I? Oh yes. Here's the talk:
*Pinolona's theory of adult language acquisition (and a jolly good excuse for using Polish words in Italian): language is a deep, dark well of words. The human brain recognises two such wells: mother tongue and foreign. The most recent foreign language bobs closest to the surface of the well, and when the right word is lacking, you plunge in and fish out a word from another, deeper down. (Disclaimer: the language professional known by Pinolona's real name never fishes at work and she always knows the Right Word. She just may not pronounce it correctly. Especially if it happens to be French.)
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Coffeecoffeecoffee
In 'A Year in the Merde' * the author goes to a Parisian café on a Sunday afternoon and attempts to order coffee with milk.
Thinking logically, he orders 'un café avec du lait'.
The waitress immediately picks him out as an outsider and charges him the whopping tourist price. As he is reeling in horror at the bill, the chilled-out American at the next table leans over and lets him in on the Big Secret. When in a foreign country, it's not enough to speak a bit of the language. You have to Know the Code. French people who like their coffee with a touch of milk order 'un crème'. This doesn't mean that the coffee has cream in it but - as my French colleague pointed out in St Brieuc all those years ago - if you use that particular code, they'll bring you a nice warm milky coffee in a neat cup and saucer with a little chocolate on the side.
Wouldn't it be nice if francophones the world over used the same code?
The Belgian equivalent is 'lait russe', which still takes me slightly by surprise as I can't understand how a beverage described as Russian can possibly fail to contain a single drop of vodka.
In addition, they have all the usual Italian palaver - cappuccino, latte, ristretto, ecc. - to the extent that sometimes it's hard to tell one cup of coffee from another.
Visiting a local coffee bar this weekend, my friend ordered caffè latte while I - trotting out my best Belgian like a good girl - asked for a lait russe.
The machine hissed and thundered, steam filled the air, the clink of china was heard and the clouds dispersed to reveal our order: one tall glass and one squat little cup sitting roundly in its saucer...
... containing two identical warm milky coffees.
*a dull book in which a rather ordinary English bloke in Paris describes his attempts to get into the knickers of several frighteningly stereotypical Frenchwomen.
Thinking logically, he orders 'un café avec du lait'.
The waitress immediately picks him out as an outsider and charges him the whopping tourist price. As he is reeling in horror at the bill, the chilled-out American at the next table leans over and lets him in on the Big Secret. When in a foreign country, it's not enough to speak a bit of the language. You have to Know the Code. French people who like their coffee with a touch of milk order 'un crème'. This doesn't mean that the coffee has cream in it but - as my French colleague pointed out in St Brieuc all those years ago - if you use that particular code, they'll bring you a nice warm milky coffee in a neat cup and saucer with a little chocolate on the side.
Wouldn't it be nice if francophones the world over used the same code?
The Belgian equivalent is 'lait russe', which still takes me slightly by surprise as I can't understand how a beverage described as Russian can possibly fail to contain a single drop of vodka.
In addition, they have all the usual Italian palaver - cappuccino, latte, ristretto, ecc. - to the extent that sometimes it's hard to tell one cup of coffee from another.
Visiting a local coffee bar this weekend, my friend ordered caffè latte while I - trotting out my best Belgian like a good girl - asked for a lait russe.
The machine hissed and thundered, steam filled the air, the clink of china was heard and the clouds dispersed to reveal our order: one tall glass and one squat little cup sitting roundly in its saucer...
... containing two identical warm milky coffees.
*a dull book in which a rather ordinary English bloke in Paris describes his attempts to get into the knickers of several frighteningly stereotypical Frenchwomen.
Friday, 17 July 2009
Music Room
Last week I did two things I haven't done for a little while.
No, not that. If only.
Hidden deep in the bowels of the conference centre are three music rooms. Not so far from the interpreting booths actually - the old disused ones that look out onto nowhere.
There's a lovely black Bechstein piano and a dog-eared copy of Bach's Woll-Temperierte Klavier as well as some Schubert impromptus on fragile leaves and as your fingers stumble over the keys all the chatter clears from your mind and you can really think finally.
You might think, for example, that you found and that you played from exactly the same ragged fragments of music last year and that this year it is somehow more difficult: the memory of the music moves your hands but in some way they are less agile, less accustomed to the exercise - they trip and falter under the sheer emotion of the melody and you cannot fill the notes with the expressive quality that you would like.
This week I bit the bullet and recorded myself in the booth. I won't go into details but - if I could forget just for one second that it was me speaking and pretend that it was some complete stranger - the comedy value would be immense.
As with the piano, I want to express the idea elegantly, I want it to sound smooth and pretty and legato but I am out of condition and it's more staccato, rubato and generally agitato with the odd note of vibrato where more than a hint of a doubt starts to creep in.
Why is it that choosing one way means missing out on something else?
I love living in Kraków, and I value the experiences of the past two years, but I wonder what I have missed by being here. Could I have lived for two years in Paris instead, spending Sundays at the market near Bastille or daydreaming around the Butte de Montmartre? If in two years I managed to learn enough Polish to stagger through a conversation in the back room of Kolory, imagine how much I could have improved and perfected my French instead! I could have travelled to Italy, lived in Florence, taught English and finally Learnt to Appreciate Art! Or moved into London and worked in a suit in the City.
Can't you hear the doors slamming shut all around you?
So you make choices and you travel and you run after one thing and neglect another. You forget that you are a musician, or a writer, or a lover, and you chase something else that you have never been.
Eventually you flit from place to place, trying to catch up with whatever essential intangible thing it is that you are missing. You avoid commitment to one home as you avoid attachment to one person. When you want to daydream, well, you take out old memories like photographs, blow the dust off them, and leaf through them, soothed by the fact that they are closed history and that you can just as easily slip them back into the album where they belong.
So what now?
No, not that. If only.
Hidden deep in the bowels of the conference centre are three music rooms. Not so far from the interpreting booths actually - the old disused ones that look out onto nowhere.
There's a lovely black Bechstein piano and a dog-eared copy of Bach's Woll-Temperierte Klavier as well as some Schubert impromptus on fragile leaves and as your fingers stumble over the keys all the chatter clears from your mind and you can really think finally.
You might think, for example, that you found and that you played from exactly the same ragged fragments of music last year and that this year it is somehow more difficult: the memory of the music moves your hands but in some way they are less agile, less accustomed to the exercise - they trip and falter under the sheer emotion of the melody and you cannot fill the notes with the expressive quality that you would like.
This week I bit the bullet and recorded myself in the booth. I won't go into details but - if I could forget just for one second that it was me speaking and pretend that it was some complete stranger - the comedy value would be immense.
As with the piano, I want to express the idea elegantly, I want it to sound smooth and pretty and legato but I am out of condition and it's more staccato, rubato and generally agitato with the odd note of vibrato where more than a hint of a doubt starts to creep in.
Why is it that choosing one way means missing out on something else?
I love living in Kraków, and I value the experiences of the past two years, but I wonder what I have missed by being here. Could I have lived for two years in Paris instead, spending Sundays at the market near Bastille or daydreaming around the Butte de Montmartre? If in two years I managed to learn enough Polish to stagger through a conversation in the back room of Kolory, imagine how much I could have improved and perfected my French instead! I could have travelled to Italy, lived in Florence, taught English and finally Learnt to Appreciate Art! Or moved into London and worked in a suit in the City.
Can't you hear the doors slamming shut all around you?
So you make choices and you travel and you run after one thing and neglect another. You forget that you are a musician, or a writer, or a lover, and you chase something else that you have never been.
Eventually you flit from place to place, trying to catch up with whatever essential intangible thing it is that you are missing. You avoid commitment to one home as you avoid attachment to one person. When you want to daydream, well, you take out old memories like photographs, blow the dust off them, and leaf through them, soothed by the fact that they are closed history and that you can just as easily slip them back into the album where they belong.
So what now?
Friday, 20 February 2009
Language post
*Attention* Language geek post follows.
Every so often there are a spate of articles in the British press about how bad we are at learning foreign languages. These are usually in opinion columns and usually take the form of a sort of nagging warning: 'uh... look, guys... we might be missing something'.
I've noticed a couple in the past few days (ok, people have sent me links. although naturally I read ALL the papers in four languages every day like a good little linguist. Including the finance sections. it's true, honest it is).
Article 1: Foreigners translating into English because we're not clever enough to do it ourselves; the Times, Feb 16:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/leading_article/article5741122.ece
Article 2: Not enough native English interpreters in the EU; BBC News, Feb 19:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7900276.stm
This leads me to the conclusion that I might be in the only profession in the current world climate in which there is actually a real demand*.
Saints preserve us, I may actually have made a good career choice!
I would write my own article, but I have a plane to catch. I anticipate No Problems At All getting to Balice airport in the snow thank you.
Oh yes and the fun stuff?
Tłusty Cwartek**: Four at last count (although cheated by eating leftover two for breakfast the next morning). I scored one free doughnut in 'Pisanie/Słuchanie' class at school; my flatmate scored two from her workplace and one at salsa class (I really have to sign up to salsa dancing).
The police protest: A police protest against the removal of their right to retire after 15 years. Lots of big bangs which the other dog would not have liked. Also, they were in my way on the way home. Last time I protested about anything was as a student in Paris. I think that's the only way to do it really.
NATO summit: lots of helicopters over the town centre and security guards on the Rynek. Very exciting... in any case, anything loud enough to interrupt classes is naturally a plus.
School: Six hours so far, including gramatyka, mowienie, słownictwo... I'm discovering I may have been hasty in my judgements of my fellow students: not everyone is of Polish origin and not everyone is engaged to a Polish girl. And did you know there is an excellent Polonistyka department at the University of Tokyo?
We have just spent the morning learning how to apologise and to forgive people in Polish (przepraszanie and wybaczenie). This will be extremely useful given my propensity to pharmacy and tram rage. Particular emphasis was placed on the right expression and accent.
Notably, our repertoire now includes przepraszanie:
z lekceważeniem
ze złością
niegrzecznie
arogancko
z drwiną
And now I really must go and put these into practice in the queue for check-in...
*apart from useful things like teachers, doctors, reality tv show stars, etc.
** Polish pancake day but the Thursday before - start of the last week of carnival, only with doughnuts instead of pancakes. Just a light snack then.
Every so often there are a spate of articles in the British press about how bad we are at learning foreign languages. These are usually in opinion columns and usually take the form of a sort of nagging warning: 'uh... look, guys... we might be missing something'.
I've noticed a couple in the past few days (ok, people have sent me links. although naturally I read ALL the papers in four languages every day like a good little linguist. Including the finance sections. it's true, honest it is).
Article 1: Foreigners translating into English because we're not clever enough to do it ourselves; the Times, Feb 16:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/leading_article/article5741122.ece
Article 2: Not enough native English interpreters in the EU; BBC News, Feb 19:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7900276.stm
This leads me to the conclusion that I might be in the only profession in the current world climate in which there is actually a real demand*.
Saints preserve us, I may actually have made a good career choice!
I would write my own article, but I have a plane to catch. I anticipate No Problems At All getting to Balice airport in the snow thank you.
Oh yes and the fun stuff?
Tłusty Cwartek**: Four at last count (although cheated by eating leftover two for breakfast the next morning). I scored one free doughnut in 'Pisanie/Słuchanie' class at school; my flatmate scored two from her workplace and one at salsa class (I really have to sign up to salsa dancing).
The police protest: A police protest against the removal of their right to retire after 15 years. Lots of big bangs which the other dog would not have liked. Also, they were in my way on the way home. Last time I protested about anything was as a student in Paris. I think that's the only way to do it really.
NATO summit: lots of helicopters over the town centre and security guards on the Rynek. Very exciting... in any case, anything loud enough to interrupt classes is naturally a plus.
School: Six hours so far, including gramatyka, mowienie, słownictwo... I'm discovering I may have been hasty in my judgements of my fellow students: not everyone is of Polish origin and not everyone is engaged to a Polish girl. And did you know there is an excellent Polonistyka department at the University of Tokyo?
We have just spent the morning learning how to apologise and to forgive people in Polish (przepraszanie and wybaczenie). This will be extremely useful given my propensity to pharmacy and tram rage. Particular emphasis was placed on the right expression and accent.
Notably, our repertoire now includes przepraszanie:
z lekceważeniem
ze złością
niegrzecznie
arogancko
z drwiną
And now I really must go and put these into practice in the queue for check-in...
*apart from useful things like teachers, doctors, reality tv show stars, etc.
** Polish pancake day but the Thursday before - start of the last week of carnival, only with doughnuts instead of pancakes. Just a light snack then.
Friday, 30 January 2009
Polish word of the day: 0012009
I've decided to resurrect 'Polish Word of the Day' - ostensibly to get some culture into an otherwise flagging blog and give Anna a run for her money but basically because it's still by far and away the biggest search hit* and I Want Stats.
Today's Polish Word of the Day is 'pakiet internetowy'. Or even 'pakiet transmiji danych'. (I know that's actually several words. But one single concept).
This is a magic bean that you can bolt on to your sim card or phone contract (if you were the kind of person who stayed in one place long enough to have a phone contract), which allows you to have internet wherever you go. Hurrah, and finally, freedom from sitting in front of the screen! Not only can one check/receive emails on the move (thus avoiding that annoying situation where you have No Work for 48 hours, yet the minute you go outside for a walk/shopping/just to remember what daylight looks like, four million requests arrive, all of which are answered by ... 'never mind, I found another translator' by the time you come back).
Also it would allow me to update my facebook status and get a little mobile phone sign next to it, just to confuse all my friends who work in the city...
Having decided that mobile internet was going to be essential to my professional survival over the next five months, I set out for Carphone Warehouse.
- Sure, said the first guy. You can buy a Blackberry handset (costs a fortune but it'll be worth it), add a SIM-only contract and then cancel it and slip in your Polish SIM once you get over there. No problems!
I spent an evening calculating how many pages of EU regulatory notifications I would have to translate before earning back the £250+ a Blackberry handset would cost me, and whether it would in fact be better to spend this money on minor essentials such as my first month's rent and deposit (I probably lose almost this amount per month in missed jobs when I'm away from my email for whatever reason).
I then passed many happy hours trying to decipher the various websites of Simplus, Era and Blackberry Polska. All excellent vocabulary practice.
The next day I went to the Sevenoaks Mobile Phone Centre. A very smug salesman was very busy with a middle-aged customer. I checked the queue at Phones 4 U and came back about twenty minutes later.
Blackberry? No, you can't do that. It's got to be configured you see - all of ours are locked to Vodafone. If you put a new sim in the email won't work.
You could try the new Nokia...
great!
... but it'll cost you 300quid.
Oh.
Back to the drawing board.
I tried Carphone Warehouse again and talked to a different salesperson.
- You know what? she said; I think maybe for your purposes an email phone isn't the best way forward. Why not get a netbook (greedily I took in the row of tiny 7" Asus laptops, all heavily discounted - hurrah for credit-crunch Britain) and use a PAYG dongle for mobile internet? Then all you have to do is put in your Polish sim when you go abroad!
Wow! A new toy! And wouldn't it look bad-ass in the booth?! (not that I'm in the booth all that often, but who knows, maybe a magic netbook would give me special professional powers)
I wanted one.
I went home and rang the 3G sales line to ask about their mobile broadband roaming rates.
- Um... I'm not actually going to buy anything today but I'd like to... can I still ask you some questions?
I could feel the guy's heart sink at the lost commission, but he gamely agreed to chat to me.
- No... no it doesn't work like that. All our dongles are locked to 3G. You'd have to have it re-configured for a Polish sim. You're basically in a Catch-22 situation** really: if you get an English contract you have to pay massive roaming fees, and if you get a Polish one... well, you're stuck with it for eighteen months.
Oh crap.
Back to the drawing board. Worse still, no new toy for me.
I decided to leave it until I actually got to Poland and then go and talk to the nice guy in the Plus GSM store. And then possibly to the dodgy guy down the road just off Starowiślna, under the sign saying 'Odblokowanie komórki'.
Anyone got a better idea?
*with the exception of anything about Polish men. You'd be surprised. Actually, maybe I should tag all my posts with 'Polish men' and gain a whole new reader demographic.
**I've heard that the French equivalent to this phrase is 'une situation Corneillienne': can anyone give me an Italian or Polish version?
Today's Polish Word of the Day is 'pakiet internetowy'. Or even 'pakiet transmiji danych'. (I know that's actually several words. But one single concept).
This is a magic bean that you can bolt on to your sim card or phone contract (if you were the kind of person who stayed in one place long enough to have a phone contract), which allows you to have internet wherever you go. Hurrah, and finally, freedom from sitting in front of the screen! Not only can one check/receive emails on the move (thus avoiding that annoying situation where you have No Work for 48 hours, yet the minute you go outside for a walk/shopping/just to remember what daylight looks like, four million requests arrive, all of which are answered by ... 'never mind, I found another translator' by the time you come back).
Also it would allow me to update my facebook status and get a little mobile phone sign next to it, just to confuse all my friends who work in the city...
Having decided that mobile internet was going to be essential to my professional survival over the next five months, I set out for Carphone Warehouse.
- Sure, said the first guy. You can buy a Blackberry handset (costs a fortune but it'll be worth it), add a SIM-only contract and then cancel it and slip in your Polish SIM once you get over there. No problems!
I spent an evening calculating how many pages of EU regulatory notifications I would have to translate before earning back the £250+ a Blackberry handset would cost me, and whether it would in fact be better to spend this money on minor essentials such as my first month's rent and deposit (I probably lose almost this amount per month in missed jobs when I'm away from my email for whatever reason).
I then passed many happy hours trying to decipher the various websites of Simplus, Era and Blackberry Polska. All excellent vocabulary practice.
The next day I went to the Sevenoaks Mobile Phone Centre. A very smug salesman was very busy with a middle-aged customer. I checked the queue at Phones 4 U and came back about twenty minutes later.
Blackberry? No, you can't do that. It's got to be configured you see - all of ours are locked to Vodafone. If you put a new sim in the email won't work.
You could try the new Nokia...
great!
... but it'll cost you 300quid.
Oh.
Back to the drawing board.
I tried Carphone Warehouse again and talked to a different salesperson.
- You know what? she said; I think maybe for your purposes an email phone isn't the best way forward. Why not get a netbook (greedily I took in the row of tiny 7" Asus laptops, all heavily discounted - hurrah for credit-crunch Britain) and use a PAYG dongle for mobile internet? Then all you have to do is put in your Polish sim when you go abroad!
Wow! A new toy! And wouldn't it look bad-ass in the booth?! (not that I'm in the booth all that often, but who knows, maybe a magic netbook would give me special professional powers)
I wanted one.
I went home and rang the 3G sales line to ask about their mobile broadband roaming rates.
- Um... I'm not actually going to buy anything today but I'd like to... can I still ask you some questions?
I could feel the guy's heart sink at the lost commission, but he gamely agreed to chat to me.
- No... no it doesn't work like that. All our dongles are locked to 3G. You'd have to have it re-configured for a Polish sim. You're basically in a Catch-22 situation** really: if you get an English contract you have to pay massive roaming fees, and if you get a Polish one... well, you're stuck with it for eighteen months.
Oh crap.
Back to the drawing board. Worse still, no new toy for me.
I decided to leave it until I actually got to Poland and then go and talk to the nice guy in the Plus GSM store. And then possibly to the dodgy guy down the road just off Starowiślna, under the sign saying 'Odblokowanie komórki'.
Anyone got a better idea?
*with the exception of anything about Polish men. You'd be surprised. Actually, maybe I should tag all my posts with 'Polish men' and gain a whole new reader demographic.
**I've heard that the French equivalent to this phrase is 'une situation Corneillienne': can anyone give me an Italian or Polish version?
Monday, 24 November 2008
Just a formality
One of the hardest things in any foreign language is learning to use the formal register.
swumph!
That was the sound of thousands (read 'one or two') of readers simultaneously clicking their browser windows shut.
French is ok: anything French is normally work and therefore 'vous'. Unless you're elderly, or married to a diplomat, anyone you meet socially is 'tu' (although traditionally apparently it's a bit naughty to ask guys if you can se tutoyer: so that's one to remember when you're out hunting for a sugar daddy on Bvd St Germain). Having said that, it's now a bit trendy to call your colleagues 'tu', especially in a translation company where everyone is under thirty and wears jeans to work. It leaves you a bit confused with older colleagues and the boss's PA... will they be offended because you've made them feel old??
Polish: well, everything about Polish is hard. You can forgive a stupid foreigner a couple of mistakes here and there.
No, the really complicated one is Italian. If you learnt Italian at university, you probably studied abroad on the Erasmus scheme, and you probably hung out with lots of long-haired groovy sociology students who called everyone 'tu'. If you went to a British or American university back home, your professors were probably relaxed enough to slip into the informal at the earliest possible moment (not wanting to distract from important things, like Italo Calvino and Marco Tullio Giordana, with complicated things like personal pronouns).
In the formal, pronouns work in a similar way to Polish: the formal personal pronoun is the same as the third person singular, except with only one gender: everyone is a feminine 'Lei'. Having said that, there's also a very archaic form: 'essi', which I am not too sure about.
Basically you are calling the person 'Her' all the time (hmm - like a Scottish laird: 'is Himself at home?), and conjugating as appropriate (la, le, with or without capital letters).
Now, when you're applying to work for an Italian firm, you send them an email in polite Italian, they email you a test translation in polite Italian, you complete it, they give you a score and ask about your rates, etc, all in nice polite (hellishly complicated) formal Italian. Cordiali saluti all round.
When a slightly harassed project manager sends you your first job request, it's still all 'La prego di consegnare ...' and 'Le mando i files ...' ecc.
And you continue - watching your step, because the more correspondance is exchanged, the more chances you have to slip up - with the polite forms of address.
I can't even begin to list the possibilities for disaster here. Imagine you are a professional linguist with an image to maintain. Imagine that - unlike me, ahem - you have up until now managed a steady flow of dialogue without any typos, or mistaken endings, or bent genders.
Now you are getting to know your project manager better, you want to build up an easy working rapport with them, but at the same time maintain a professional distance. Do you stay formal and risk sounding archaic (imagining mirthful project managers reading out bits of stilted Italian from their English correspondants to peals of laughter)? Or do you slip into 'tu' form and hope they don't notice?
I was doing my best to keep a formal tone, when suddenly, the project manager starts calling me 'tu' (rather offhandedly - 'when you translate, make sure you check this and this, and then spellcheck, and check for uniformity' and so on). Relieved, I started using the informal too, along with all the accompanying dry rot of modern email correspondance (lower cases, lack of accents, etc).
Suddenly: wham! We're back in the formal, effectively Szanowna Pani - ing each other all over again.
Panic!
Have I offended her? Should I have stayed virtuously formal while she slipped into the second person? Have I won or lost respect through some complex pronomial game of which I was not aware? Did I use some anachronism of antique Italian and is she mocking me??
Find these answers to these and more in the next exciting episode of Pinolona's translation life...*
*Welding glossary not included.
swumph!
That was the sound of thousands (read 'one or two') of readers simultaneously clicking their browser windows shut.
French is ok: anything French is normally work and therefore 'vous'. Unless you're elderly, or married to a diplomat, anyone you meet socially is 'tu' (although traditionally apparently it's a bit naughty to ask guys if you can se tutoyer: so that's one to remember when you're out hunting for a sugar daddy on Bvd St Germain). Having said that, it's now a bit trendy to call your colleagues 'tu', especially in a translation company where everyone is under thirty and wears jeans to work. It leaves you a bit confused with older colleagues and the boss's PA... will they be offended because you've made them feel old??
Polish: well, everything about Polish is hard. You can forgive a stupid foreigner a couple of mistakes here and there.
No, the really complicated one is Italian. If you learnt Italian at university, you probably studied abroad on the Erasmus scheme, and you probably hung out with lots of long-haired groovy sociology students who called everyone 'tu'. If you went to a British or American university back home, your professors were probably relaxed enough to slip into the informal at the earliest possible moment (not wanting to distract from important things, like Italo Calvino and Marco Tullio Giordana, with complicated things like personal pronouns).
In the formal, pronouns work in a similar way to Polish: the formal personal pronoun is the same as the third person singular, except with only one gender: everyone is a feminine 'Lei'. Having said that, there's also a very archaic form: 'essi', which I am not too sure about.
Basically you are calling the person 'Her' all the time (hmm - like a Scottish laird: 'is Himself at home?), and conjugating as appropriate (la, le, with or without capital letters).
Now, when you're applying to work for an Italian firm, you send them an email in polite Italian, they email you a test translation in polite Italian, you complete it, they give you a score and ask about your rates, etc, all in nice polite (hellishly complicated) formal Italian. Cordiali saluti all round.
When a slightly harassed project manager sends you your first job request, it's still all 'La prego di consegnare ...' and 'Le mando i files ...' ecc.
And you continue - watching your step, because the more correspondance is exchanged, the more chances you have to slip up - with the polite forms of address.
I can't even begin to list the possibilities for disaster here. Imagine you are a professional linguist with an image to maintain. Imagine that - unlike me, ahem - you have up until now managed a steady flow of dialogue without any typos, or mistaken endings, or bent genders.
Now you are getting to know your project manager better, you want to build up an easy working rapport with them, but at the same time maintain a professional distance. Do you stay formal and risk sounding archaic (imagining mirthful project managers reading out bits of stilted Italian from their English correspondants to peals of laughter)? Or do you slip into 'tu' form and hope they don't notice?
I was doing my best to keep a formal tone, when suddenly, the project manager starts calling me 'tu' (rather offhandedly - 'when you translate, make sure you check this and this, and then spellcheck, and check for uniformity' and so on). Relieved, I started using the informal too, along with all the accompanying dry rot of modern email correspondance (lower cases, lack of accents, etc).
Suddenly: wham! We're back in the formal, effectively Szanowna Pani - ing each other all over again.
Panic!
Have I offended her? Should I have stayed virtuously formal while she slipped into the second person? Have I won or lost respect through some complex pronomial game of which I was not aware? Did I use some anachronism of antique Italian and is she mocking me??
Find these answers to these and more in the next exciting episode of Pinolona's translation life...*
*Welding glossary not included.
Saturday, 12 July 2008
Po Ukrainsku
Much as I love Poland, recent events have engendered a certain curiosity about the lands further east. Ukraine is a big country to the east of Poland. In Kiev there is a Great Gate. Also it is the name of a type of frozen chicken with breadcrumbs on the outside and garlic butter on the inside. And you should never talk about the Ukraine because it means 'the end bit' and Ukrainian people will be offended.
That is the extent of my knowledge about Ukraine before last week.
Here are a few new things I have learnt about Ukrainian culture over the past week and a half:
- Speaking Polish loudly and slowly is not the same as speaking Ukrainian, and no-one is going to be impressed (or pretend to understand you).
- Ukrainian pierogi are not as nice as Polish ones (sorry). Interestingly, the cream cheese goes on the outside. It's very confusing. Not to mention sticky.
- Ukrainian national dances are awesome. I was able to get my yearly Slavic wedding dance fix without going east of Geneva. Plus I got to have another go and the Ukrainian man-snatching dance, and managed to stay on the appropriate side of the gender gap this time.
- You can stand a knife up in borscht. Whereas you could probably swim in a bowl of barszcz.
- Ukrainians - and indeed any other non-Polish Slavic people - are Not Interested when you rave about how great Poland is. Although we managed to find common ground over kwas chlebowy (which is probably not spelt like that in Ukrainian).
- It is possible to turn a Swiss traditional brass band concert in the mountains into a Slavic wedding dance...
I realise there are some gaps in my knowledge. Must do something about that...
That is the extent of my knowledge about Ukraine before last week.
Here are a few new things I have learnt about Ukrainian culture over the past week and a half:
- Speaking Polish loudly and slowly is not the same as speaking Ukrainian, and no-one is going to be impressed (or pretend to understand you).
- Ukrainian pierogi are not as nice as Polish ones (sorry). Interestingly, the cream cheese goes on the outside. It's very confusing. Not to mention sticky.
- Ukrainian national dances are awesome. I was able to get my yearly Slavic wedding dance fix without going east of Geneva. Plus I got to have another go and the Ukrainian man-snatching dance, and managed to stay on the appropriate side of the gender gap this time.
- You can stand a knife up in borscht. Whereas you could probably swim in a bowl of barszcz.
- Ukrainians - and indeed any other non-Polish Slavic people - are Not Interested when you rave about how great Poland is. Although we managed to find common ground over kwas chlebowy (which is probably not spelt like that in Ukrainian).
- It is possible to turn a Swiss traditional brass band concert in the mountains into a Slavic wedding dance...
I realise there are some gaps in my knowledge. Must do something about that...
Sunday, 29 June 2008
Ramifications
- My colleague has started behaving in an unusual way-
said my friend, Brussels Girl;
- she bought a copy of The Economist and starting underlining good words and expressions.
- uh... I do that... I admitted sheepishly*
- No but she hates The Economist - replied BG. - Only... last week, I used the word 'ramifications' at work and I think it caught her off-guard. What's more, the other day she used 'ramifications' too.
- Oh. I replied. - I'm not sure that I've ever used the word 'ramifications' actually: not even in casual conversation.
Now I'm starting to worry about my own use of English. Maybe I should try and drop in a few ramifications at unexpected moments.
At breakfast: 'If I were to eat a croissant with jam instead of Weetabix, what do suppose would be the the potential digestive ramifications?'
Crossing the road: 'In contact with that lorry I foresee significant bodily ramifications!'
On the cafe terrace: 'One more gin and tonic and tomorrow morning will be coloured by serious ramifications'...
Uxbridge English dictionary definition: 'Ramifications: i) fortifications involving a battering ram. ii) cardinal sin for sheep.'
Must think of some more good words... any ideas??
*Also Le Point, Repubblica and the bilingual airport magazines you get at Krakow Balice.
said my friend, Brussels Girl;
- she bought a copy of The Economist and starting underlining good words and expressions.
- uh... I do that... I admitted sheepishly*
- No but she hates The Economist - replied BG. - Only... last week, I used the word 'ramifications' at work and I think it caught her off-guard. What's more, the other day she used 'ramifications' too.
- Oh. I replied. - I'm not sure that I've ever used the word 'ramifications' actually: not even in casual conversation.
Now I'm starting to worry about my own use of English. Maybe I should try and drop in a few ramifications at unexpected moments.
At breakfast: 'If I were to eat a croissant with jam instead of Weetabix, what do suppose would be the the potential digestive ramifications?'
Crossing the road: 'In contact with that lorry I foresee significant bodily ramifications!'
On the cafe terrace: 'One more gin and tonic and tomorrow morning will be coloured by serious ramifications'...
Uxbridge English dictionary definition: 'Ramifications: i) fortifications involving a battering ram. ii) cardinal sin for sheep.'
Must think of some more good words... any ideas??
*Also Le Point, Repubblica and the bilingual airport magazines you get at Krakow Balice.
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