Poetry translation chain gang -- first email

You are receiving this email because you expressed interest in my "translation chain gang" project, or you reluctantly allowed me to put your name on my list. Ou pas. Ça fait longtemps, vous avez probablement oublié notre conversation, ou peut-être c'est la première fois que vous entendez parler du projet. Peu importe, here it is.

I read about this "translation relay" concept in Geist magazine, and was instantly fascinated. C'est comme jouer à Cadavre exquis, mais avec la traduction. On commence avec un poème en anglais, qui est traduit en français, et cette traduction est ensuite traduite vers l'anglais par quelqu'un qui n'a pas vu le poème original, et le résultat est traduit vers le français, et ainsi de suite. Each translator only sees the version of the poem that is provided to them by the dispatcher (moi). The only person allowed to see the original poem before the end of the process is the first translator. On va travailler avec un poème court qui n'a jamais été publié. Si ça se passe bien on le refera avec un autre poème dans l'autre sens! WHAT FUN WE WILL HAVE.

So, are you into it? Do you want to play? Je pense qu'on devrait être 12 traducteurs (6 francos et 6 anglos) pour que ça donne un résultat intéressant. I'm sending this mesage to a select group of 24 translators (12 of each flavour) pour partir le bal. What can I say – I'm terribly well connected.

This is just for fun. Just enjoy yourself. There are no rules! Pas de pression, pas d'évaluation, pas de tourbillon, pas de ganglion. Bien évidemment, si vous n'en avez pas envie, just tell me and I won't pester you. On n'a pas de date de tombée, évidemment. But please do respond one way or the other, if you don't mind.

Here's the thing that inspired me to get this project going:

slice of life

I always reorganize the eggs remaining in the carton so they're perfectly symmetrical. Unless there's one too many, which I find terribly uncomfortable.

La mujer del pescador

Tuesday evening. Miramar, Nayarit, Mexico. After a full day of swimming, reading, exploring and gardening (well, Patrice gardened while Alex the gardener and I yakked), we realized we hadn't eaten since that lovely breakfast on the patio. Jim was off getting his truck fixed and had been gone for hours. So we decided to head out in search of shrimp tacos for everyone. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending how you look at it), everything shuts down early on weeknights in Miramar. So there's nada. Unless we want "hamburgesas" from the little convenience store. But we want fresh local yumminess. In the hopes that we missed something fabulicious in our search of the miniscule town, we ask an old gal if she knows where we can get something to eat. Our disappointed faces inspire her to offer a home cooked meal. It'll take a few minutes she says. Come and wait here on the patio. As we sit there feeling like we're part of a Fellini movie (as if we know what that really means), the rest of the family mills around doing what I assume is their regular Tuesday night routine, stopping occasionally to peer at us and ask us questions. So Maria fries up four portions of fish and gives it to us to take home with rice and beans and fresh salsa.

The upshot of this surreal experience was the culinary highlight of our trip. So much numminess.