UJ Prize for Literary Translation 2022: SJ Naudé’s acceptance speech

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On 22 September 2022, SJ Naudé was awarded the UJ Prize for Literary Translation for his translation of his book Dol heuning into Mad honey. He delivered the following acceptance speech during the prize-giving ceremony in Johannesburg.

Thank you to Michiel Heyns for his commendatio. If the male version of “grande dame” is “grand seigneur”, then I can say it is inspiring and heart-warming to receive such praise from the grand seigneur of South African literary translation.

To the University of Johannesburg, Professor Marné Pienaar and the rest of the panel: I feel proud to be acknowledged for my translation. Normally, I would just think of it as the demanding last phase of writing a book. As an amateur, I find it wonderful to hear that my translation works, that it is an important part of my creative process. And to learn this from such formidable specialists is especially satisfying. I could talk about my approach to translation – one might call it a predominantly intuitive one – and about the extent to which one does, after all, consider and execute translation strategies. I’m hesitant to say too much, given that there are people present who are more experienced translators than I am, and who know much more than I about the nuances and most recent developments in the world of translation theory.

SJ Naudé delivering his acceptance speech during the prize-giving ceremony in Johannesburg (Photo: UJ Multilingual Language Services Office)

I nevertheless venture to make a few comments, especially about the benefits and risks of translating one’s own work. The biggest advantage is, of course, that one may ignore the author’s wishes. There is no need to have debates about one’s choices. And, although each decision has an underlying motivation, one may rely on one’s intuition without feeling the need to formulate an exhaustive argument explaining it. It also means that one may vary one’s strategy in a relatively supple manner. In a collection such as Mad honey, one may, for instance, decide that different stories require different approaches. My default mode is usually one that makes the English sound as smooth and idiomatic as possible, that is, as if the text were written in English. That, of course, implies a freer translation, one that sometimes moves some distance away from the source language, to a more comfortable zone for the reader of the target language, in respect of both the language and the representation of culturally complex concepts. But there are also some stories that seem to demand greater fidelity, and then that becomes the selected approach. 

Some writers who write in languages other than English, in particular established European authors, know or anticipate that their texts will be translated into English. It then sometimes happens that they may – either consciously or unconsciously – start tailoring their language to deliver sentences that are more easily rendered into English, that is, a text that is translation-ready. The risk is therefore that the language may become pale, generic. 

I quite admire authors who do the opposite, who refuse to relinquish richness, who make their sentences and words difficult, trying to armour them against the onslaught of translation. Because there is also the notion that the reader who can access only English is far too comfortable, too passively ensconced in the metaphorical centre of the world of culture. It is indeed so that there is a nett flow of literary translation into English rather than the other way round. And the geographical centre into which it flows is typically a metropole in the northern hemisphere. Literary products that have been rendered into English are constantly being brought to the erstwhile colonial masters like gifts. Like objects on velvet cushions.

Now, trying to armour one’s text doesn’t really work. Many texts that take the most alienating or resistant positions on the level of language are, in fact, translated successfully. The task of the translator simply becomes quite an active and challenging one. The translator herself may, of course, be resistant, and could adopt a translation strategy that describes concepts that are culturally specific in terms of the source culture rather than the target culture, and that generally also renders the translation strange, forcing it closer to the source language. But there is potentially a more radical position that would entail refusing consent for the translation of one’s work, thereby, for once, excluding the English reader entirely. That is, unless he leaves his lounge chair and starts learning other languages.

So, where does my own translation fit into all of this? Well, like most writers, I would like to be read as widely as possible. In the case of literary fiction, it is the case that one often needs to accumulate thinnish layers of readers in different languages. I wouldn’t, for instance, consider refusing translation entirely. And, as regards making the text strange: earlier I referred to my instinctive preference for an English that shows no traces of Afrikaans. My lengthy conditioning in the London legal world, among professional people who sometimes still harbour fantasies of Elizabethan English, means that smooth English is the default for me. However, because I often hear the English like a soundtrack in my mind while writing in Afrikaans, I do have to resist the temptation of writing sentences in Afrikaans that are translation-ready. Due to the fact that my stories are regularly set in non-South African spaces, with characters that are often not South African and, in fact, speak neither Afrikaans nor English, the dialogue in Afrikaans is in reality already a translation, and the language isn’t as embedded in the Afrikaans landscape. Such stories are necessarily more translation-ready than those that are set locally. On the whole, my approach is, however, to keep the Afrikaans relatively rich, not idiomatic in an old-fashioned way, but at least with a preference for syntax and forms of Germanic origin. I therefore try to let the Afrikaans and English rub up against each other with a degree of discomfort – to maintain a healthy degree of tension between the two languages. To make them uncomfortable bedfellows.

I promised to be short, and I’ve said too much. So, to conclude at a brisk pace: thank you to UJ for instituting the Literary Translation Prize. It is wonderful that someone is still thinking of this important activity. And thank you for honouring me with the prize. May it go from strength to strength.

 

Read the commendatio by Michiel Heyns here:

Commendatio for UJ Prize for Literary Translation 2022: SJ Naudé’s Dol heuning / Mad honey

 

Further reading:

SJ Naudé (1970–)

LitNet Akademies-resensie-essay: Dol heuning deur SJ Naudé

SJ Naudé se toespraak by ontvangs van die Hertzogprys

Poëtiese taal: Dol heuning deur SJ Naudé, ’n resensie

Persverklaring: Dol heuning wen nog ’n prys – en die skrywer maak sy stem dik

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