trite but true

What makes a cliché a cliché?  Partly, the truth within it.  It's just that we've said it so often that it becomes an automatic phrase, more about the words than the meaning.  As a writer I have an inbuilt 'cliché' detector - Beep!  Avoid at all costs! (There's one, right there.)  Trouble is, we strive so hard to find alternatives that they are then in turn overused and over familiar.  It requires a lot of creative thinking to find new ways of saying old truths.

A cliché is a phrase that becomes overused, eventually smelling slightly of cheese (or corn!).  And we're left desperately scrabbling for new ways, new ways of description when, at the end of the day (beep)*, when you really get down to it (beep) and round to it, there is nothing new under the sun (beep or not beep? Hmmm...). Because it seems there are truths that carry over generations, filter through trends and developments, and despite of - and because of - their truth, become trite.  So they need shaking out and freshening up.

We enter the tomorrows trying to find other ways of expressing yesterday's phrases.  This is a challenge when we want to communicate anything worthwhile and of meaning, trying to ditch the baggage (beep) and find a better way of saying it for a newer generation impatient with old phrases.


*I read recently that 'at the end of the day' is particularly maligned.


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lost in translation?

Translation fascinates me.

It fascinates me because more often than not, there is no exact equivalent.   As I noted in my book review yesterday, languages behave differently and have different ways of emphasising, of communicating, of speaking.

In order to show what the words mean, sometimes the translation requires the use of a word which is not the literal word-for-word translation.  It helps us understand what was meant, but often we miss the picture or metaphor of the original - and why it was appropriate in that language.

Cultures also have different ways of communicating things.  So often we find ourselves struggling to find 'cultural equivalents'.  Recognising the context of something and then contextualising it for a new context - while still trying to keep the original meaning or principle.  A different kind of translation, but with similar challenges.  As one of my college lecturers used to say (and probably still does): what did it mean?  what does it mean?

Words themselves need re-translating frequently, as over time they pick up new associations and different meanings (or refuse to shake off older associations which we never liked in the first place).  The precise definition of the word becomes shrouded in all kinds of assumptions, expectations, sensitivities.  These sensitivities vary from person to person.  For one, a certain word can be fairly innocuous; for another it is streaked with difficulty and pain.  For one, a word has an older meaning - for another, a newer one.  For some, both meanings are recognised and they are left wondering which meaning is intended and how do I interpret this?

All of which means that the writer of a sentence and the reader of a sentence can have different impressions entirely over the meaning of their words.

Translation fascinates me.

on books: layers of imagining

Went to book club last night, where we discussed The Testament of Gideon Mack by James Robertson, which provoked some lively discussion. It is an absorbing book - circling round the issues of belief and believability, the nature of mental illness, truth and perception. Lots of material for discussion!

After coming home, I started thinking some more about how we read, and what we like to read. Some books we might not say we 'like' but will still admit they are good books. We are affected by our perceptions, our experience of life, our likes and dislikes, the things that particularly interest us, the things that influence us. In reading a book, we are not merely listening to the writer's voice. There are whole nuances of our own that we bring to each sentence.

As I pondered aloud to the group yesterday, I may well read something quite differently from how the author would read it aloud if I heard him/her. We give each sentence our own emphases and inflections - or do not detect that which the author would assume to be there. Penny noted that she had once heard a book she had written read aloud by an American (after my noting that we even read in our own accent) and that he had brought out the tone of sheer irony throughout the book, which differed from her own reading of it. It opened her eyes to a whole new meaning.

The reader is an essential part of the book - all that we bring, all that we add, all that we don't see (and discussing books is a good way to see things we missed). Our imaginations take the words and form the pictures, in a way that may be entirely different from another reader - especially when there are marked differences in things like cultural background. We see through the lenses of our culture; often we do not even realise we do so. Because books fuel and provoke imagination, they morph into a different shape each time they are read by different people.

I could continue to waffle, but I will stop there. I may add more thoughts in a later entry. I am fascinated by words and how we use them - how we perceive them. It intrigues me how tone of voice and body language influence meaning (see also #17 in my 25 things!). And how one book can mean so many different things to different people - travelling further in thought and layers of imagining than the author ever envisaged.

Today: 4/10, medium