Mexico | Short Prose | Spanish
July, 2017These brief pieces, originally written for a monthly column in the Buenos Aires newspaper Clarín, were published in one of Fabio Morábito’s more recent books, El idioma materno ["Mother Tongue"] (Sexto Piso, 2014). I happened upon this book when I was living in Buenos Aires a few years ago, though I didn't intend to translate it at the time. When my partner started reading the book, wondering why I was always carrying it around and laughing out loud, she convinced me to at least write Morábito to see whether the book had been translated into English. Not only did Morábito give me permission to translate the collection, but that was also the beginning of his regular and invigorating correspondence with me about his work.
Much like Alejandro Rossi’s book Manual of a Distracted One, Morábito’s El idioma materno is less a book about one theme or subject and more a demonstration of style and the view of a broad, discerning gaze cast over almost every imaginable subject. Instead of pontificating or pushing some moral stance, these texts provide a critical view of literature, literary professionalism, and imprecise language, and the author does not shy away from critiquing such themes as creative writing pedagogy, translation, and the reading practices of academics, three spaces or roles he himself inhabits. Morábito is a writer who believes in the substantive, in the complex idea, and in the rhythms of long, complex phrases; quirky details, of course, are the hallmarks of his work.
What I most appreciate about Morabito’s prose, however, is his fixation on, and deep love for, the languages we speak and how we speak them: each of the eighty four texts in El idioma materno contains a stylistic lesson, sometimes subtle and other times explicit, and represents the author’s effort to reveal the essence of a subject and its place in the world. The selections published here exemplify the breadth of the book. The essay—to give a name to these prose pieces—“The Sirens,” for example, is more than a retelling of Odysseus’s encounter with the dangerous creatures who enchanted nearby sailors with their music and voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island. By varying the syntax of the same phrase, Morábito not only encourages us to look at the story from multiple perspectives, but also asks us to consider how slight shifts in language can open up new meanings inside a text. The “ominous song” of the sirens in one sentence leads us to the “ominous island” in the next, to the “ominous sirens” followed by the “ominous sea,” and on and on until the wax becomes “ominous” at the end of the text and the snapping point for the crew, “tired now, as we know, of their Odysseus, the calm sea, the oars, the mast, the islands and that beautiful song.”
- Curtis Bauer
Short Prose | Slovene | Slovenia
January, 2014First published as a chapter in her 2009 novel Poletje s klovonom (Summer with the Clown), which is comprised of pieces that might equally be called linked stories or extended prose poems, Nina Kokelj's "Early Butterfly" draws the reader into Besa's hypnotic trance from the very first sentence. The train does not just head toward the exotic-sounding Mongolian lake (Uvs Nuur) but heads there "with a sense of longing" that echoes Besa's. What Besa longs for is not completely revealed in this short piece, though mercy, intoxicating passion, and a sense of feeling all feature as prominent suggestions. The chapter stands alone as a story in its ability to convey fully Besa's sense of longing, however, as it captures a great variety of emotions and subjects but is here concentrated on one subject: the "him" referred to almost exclusively in italics.Who is Early Butterfly? He is a messiah of sorts for passion and love who floats across Europe and Asia an as-yet-undefined archetype, who found eternity in Amsterdam, and who figures directly into what Kokelj calls "the embroidery of women's dreams." As readers, we long to discover who Early Butterfly is alongside Besa--we, too, would like to see him, as Besa states over and over. By the time the collocation is reversed--when Besa is told he would like to see her--the anticipation is palpable, even as we are told that after everything, Besa will leave alone. The days of travel that multiply like grasshoppers lead to this moment: the realization of desire, which is both fulfilled and immediately dissipates. Kokelj explores the contours of longing, love, and what it means to reach a seemingly unreachable destination in alluring detail.
- Kristina Zdravič Reardon
The Brooklyn Rail welcomes you to our web-exclusive section InTranslation, where we feature unpublished translations of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and dramatic writing. Published since April 2007, InTranslation is a venue for outstanding work in translation and a resource for translators, authors, editors, and publishers seeking to collaborate.
We seek exceptional unpublished English translations from all languages.
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