In this three-part series, Asymptote has asked the 2023 PEN/Heim grantees to talk about their work in progress; their responses, brimming with excitement, conviction, and connection, are a testament to how much translators put themselves into their labor. Through the varied approaches and languages, they share the important commonality of surety: that the work they’ve been entrusted with has an immense potential to illuminate our reality, enlarge our world, and enrich our experiences of literature.
Here, Stine An grows the vocabulary of her world; Stoyan Tchaprazov wrestles with a complex, multilingual diction; and Joaquín Gavilano translates his way back home.
Stine An on Yoo Heekyung:
I was initially drawn to Yoo Heekyung’s work because of both his poetic lineage and breadth of contributions as a cultural worker. Having studied poetry with Kim Hyesoon, Yoo is most known for his poetry; however, he also writes plays and essays and frequently collaborates with other poets and artists on video content, podcasts, and events. Additionally, he runs wit n cynical, a one-of-a-kind poetry bookstore and project space in Seoul. I started translating his poems back in 2019 for a literary translation workshop with Sawako Nakayasu during my final year of MFA studies at Brown University; there, she not only inspired me to explore literary translation as a meaningful way to connect with my Korean heritage as a poet, but also as an exciting and potentially life-changing activity. I take invitations to change my life seriously. I started writing poetry because I wanted to change my life, and it’s for the same reason that I continue my work as a translator. The possibility to change my life. How exciting is that? What does it mean to grow the vocabulary of your world?
Sawako introduced me to the poet and translator Don Mee Choi, who in turn introduced me to Yoo’s work. One of the earliest pieces of feedback I received from Don Mee and other early readers for my translations was that I had nailed the tone for Yoo’s work, so I took that as a sign to continue. During my ALTA translation mentorship with Joyelle McSweeney, she invited me to reflect on my relationship to tone, and I realized that tone was something I deeply cared about in my own work—both as a poet and a stand-up comedian. So, I’ve been prioritizing tone, mood, and voice when translating Yoo’s poems. For inspiration, I’ve been revisiting Joachim Neugroschel’s translations of Franz Kafka’s short stories and aphorisms; I remember being utterly bewildered and enchanted by Kafka’s words through those translations—the humor, grief and wonder.
I decided to work on Yoo’s debut poetry collection because I knew I wanted to translate the title 오늘 아침 단어 as Today’s Morning Vocabulary. I have a bittersweet relationship with learning vocabulary. Dictionaries promise you that learning words will help you feel less lonely in the world. That’s of course not the case, but I still remember the joy and hope in learning new words and how that does expand, if not the world, a word.
Many of the poems in this collection feature a short title, followed by a poem that explores the world evoked by the titular word or phrase. In my translation work, I sometimes approach the poems in this collection as new or alternate definitions for words, which reflect the vocabulary of Yoo’s poetic world. The poems consider together the vocabulary of mourning, the vocabulary we encounter anew each morning, and the vocabulary that exists with us just for today. While his poems have a reputation for being difficult due to their syntactic complexity, I’ve embraced this complexity as a part of the unmistakable style and charm of Yoo’s writing. Images, sensations, and emotions tremble and tumble into each other as they transform and transform again into something new and unfamiliar.
I’ve also been fortunate to find community through literary translation. In particular, I’ve had the pleasure of workshopping translations for this project with the translator Jein Han, who is based in Seoul and currently working on translating Phantom Limbs by South Korean poet Lee Min-ha. Jein and I met through the ALTA mentorship program, and we’ve been meeting online regularly to exchange feedback on our projects. We’ll frequently discuss poetic register and what to prioritize when translating difficult lines and weighing different interpretations. One thing I’ve learned as an emerging translator is that you don’t have to work alone.
I had the chance to visit Seoul in May 2022 to meet with Yoo at wit n cynical. During that time, I witnessed firsthand his palpable influence and place within the literary community. Despite his widespread influence in the Korean poetry scene, Yoo’s poetry is unavailable in English translation—outside of the individual pieces I’ve published in literary journals over the past two years. This debut collection is essential to understanding Yoo’s flowering into the poet and artist he is today, and through this translation project of Today’s Morning Vocabulary, I hope to introduce his work and poetics to a broader audience.
Stoyan Tchaprazov on Dobri Voinikov:
Dobri Voinikov’s Криворазбраната Цивилизация (The Misunderstood Civilization) is one of the most beloved comedies of Bulgaria. Published in 1871, a time when Western cultural norms and beliefs were increasingly growing in popularity—especially among the youth with means to travel and study abroad—the play probes a question that has not lost its luster to this day: what makes one civilized?
Voinikov’s answer: the road to civilization is not paved by a superficial, blind emulation of stifling Western European models, but by a thoughtful and honest appreciation of one’s own traditions and culture. Such a fascinating subject, not to mention the play’s rare insight into late nineteenth-century Eastern European views of the West, could not remain available only in Bulgarian, I thought.
I knew that translating the play was not going to be an easy task: not only is The Misunderstood Civilization written in a Bulgarian that in many ways no longer exists, both lexically and grammatically, but it regularly relies on Turkish and French as well. To top all that, the play’s modus operandi is humor, a textual feature notoriously hard to translate because of its contextual, cultural dependance. The guiding principle of my translating efforts was, therefore, to make the play’s heteroglossia and incisive wit sound as authentic as possible in English.
Thankfully, Bulgarian and English syntaxes are quite similar, and Voinikov does not rely on intricate combinations of independent and dependent clauses, a consequence, surely, of the genre of his text; plays are principally driven by dialogue, and everyday speech rarely deviates into syntactic complexities. Unlike his syntax, however, Voinikov’s diction in The Misunderstood Civilization is a true devil: the extensive lists of various nineteenth-century fabrics, hair styles, shoe types, pants, tops, jackets, even walking canes, more than once made me question my knowledge of Bulgarian, my native tongue; the Turkish and French, while basic for the most part, consistently forced me to rethink my choices of writing them in the play; and some of the obsolete Bulgarian words, I came to find out, were not even listed in specialized dictionaries anymore.
“Translation is the expression of the most intimate relationships among languages,” writes Walter Benjamin. Agreed, but what of the rhetorical nature of language? The Misunderstood Civilization is certainly more than skillfully deployed heteroglossia and piquant idioms. In many ways, especially in its rigorous examination of blind apings of Western notions of civilization, it also is a political play, deserving of a larger audience than only those who can read Bulgarian.
Joaquín Gavilano on Gabriel Mamani Magne:
Literature is all about connection. You find something—a book, a movie, a TV show—anything—and you either connect with it or you don’t. It’s as simple as that. Being born and raised in La Paz, Bolivia, I felt an instant connection to Gabriel Mamani Magne’s work when I first encountered “El Rehén” (“The Hostage”). This profound connection goes beyond just our shared cultural background; it extends into my approach to translating this powerful story.
The plot is riveting: two young boys in La Paz are faux-kidnapped by their father, taking them on an unexpected journey to the outskirts of the city. This story paints a picture of La Paz—not just the vibrant city center, but also its less traveled outskirts. It’s a tale that reflects the multi-faceted nature of La Paz and its people, as much about the characters’ personal evolution as it is about the city’s complexity—its beautiful landscapes contrasted with stark socio-economic realities.
Translating “El Rehén” has been both a challenge and an honor. It allows me to delve deep into the intricacies of Magne’s writing, as I have an intimate understanding of the cultural nuances and linguistic subtleties that permeate the text. My mission is to carve a niche for this exceptional author in Anglophone literature, showcasing his masterful use of language, evocative narrative, and the vibrant spirit of the Andes. It’s about capturing the essence of La Paz and its people, sharing a piece of our homeland with a global audience.
As translator, my role is to act as a bridge between the author’s original vision and the target audience. I aim to maintain the essence of the work while making it accessible and engaging to readers from different linguistic backgrounds, thus creating a fluid, engaging reading experience that conveys the soul of these characters and Magne’s unique storytelling.
The politics of translation come into play as words are moved between languages. The choices I make as a translator can shape how “El Rehén” is perceived by readers. This responsibility is both exciting and humbling. I aim to spark not only interest but enthusiasm for Gabriel Mamani Magne’s work among Anglophone audiences, sharing a story that transcends linguistic and cultural boundaries. As a proud native of La Paz, I am honored to play a part in this process, and I look forward to introducing more readers to the vibrant world of Bolivian literature.
Stine Su Yon An (안수연) is a poet, literary translator, and performer based in New York City. Her poetry and translations have appeared in FENCE, Chicago Review, Electric Literature, The Southern Review, World Literature Today, and elsewhere. She holds an MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University and a BA in Literature from Harvard College. She is the recipient of fellowships from The Poetry Project, the American Literary Translators Association, and PEN America. Her interdisciplinary work explores diasporic poetics, experimental translation, and virtual performance. You can find her online @gregorspamsa.
Joaquín Gavilano is a translator and writer from Bolivia. He’s currently studying at the University of Arkansas, where he is working towards an MFA in Creative Writing and Translation. In 2023, he was fortunate to receive a PEN/Heim Translation fund grant. During his first year at university, he was also awarded the Carolyn F. Walton Cole Fellowship in translation. At the moment, he’s the translation editor for The Arkansas International. One can find him at @jjgavilano in most platforms or at jjgavilano.com
Stoyan Tchaprazov is an Associate Teaching Professor of English at Iowa State University. His research focuses mainly on representations of the “other” in nineteenth-century British and Balkan literature. He has published academic articles on Bernard Shaw’s Bulgarian characters in Arms and the Man and Bram Stoker’s “Gypsies” and Slovaks in Dracula. His latest article, published in SEEJ, explores Ivo Andrić’s “Gypsy” characters in The Bridge on the Drina. He also writes in Bulgarian, mainly on issues concerning Bulgarian Roma. In 2023, his translation into English of Dobri Voinikov’s Криворазбраната Цивилизация (The Misunderstood Civilization) was selected for a PEN/Heim Translation Fund Grant.
Artwork by Wang Ning
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