Posts featuring Nedra Rodrigo

Language Through the Pores of My Skin: Nedra Rodrigo on Tinai as Tamil Genre, Tinai as Tamil Geography

June 12, 2024  |  in Interviews  |  by Alton Melvar M Dapanas

I think as soon as your translation is published, you pick it up as a different person.

Born in Colombo, the community organiser, translator, art curator, and spoken word artist Nedra Rodrigo immigrated to Canada during the twenty-six year Sri Lankan Civil War. Befittingly, she has since worked to delineate refugee writings and the literature of conflict: “When a cultural identity is deeply tied to a landscape through song, poetry, story, or even film, being forced to leave that place, or witness its destruction, erodes the psyche.” She has been translating contemporary literary works from the Tamil, a language spoken widely in her homeland of Eelam or Ilankai (now a part of what is colonially known as Sri Lanka) as well as in India, Malaysia, Singapore, Fiji, Mauritius, and South Africa.

In a panel discussion in late October 2023 titled ‘Unsettling Borders: Translation’s Intimate Labours’, Nedra spoke from her experience as the translator of Tamil Eelam revolutionary leader Thamizhini’s memoir Oru kuurvaaLin Nizhalil (published as In the Shadow of a Sword for SAGE Yoda India in 2021): “Although weaponised, literary translation is driven by hope … that we can know one another and that our experiences can be permeable to each other through language.”   

In this interview, I conversed with Nedra on tinai as the affinity of literature and land; her translations of Tamil writers; refugee-settler writings, and the literature of war and exile, among other things.

Alton Melvar M Dapanas (AMMD): You have rendered the works of Tamil-language writers R. Cheran, V.I.S. Jayapalan, Puthuvai Ratnathurai, and Rashmy into English. I wonder about your translation process, given the variety not just of writers but also of genres, aesthetics, and modes you translate from.

Nedra Rodrigo (NR): The first few poems I translated, I did so out of necessity. I had approached a wonderful Tamil translator, Prof. Chelva Kanaganayagam, for some poems, and he pushed me to translate them myself. I entered into it with a lot of hesitancy because I was never convinced that I could bring the kind of emotion I experienced while reading the Tamil poems across into English. Once I became more confident in my capacity to reclaim the language, I could go beyond the words to think more about the contexts and genres of the poetry, and try to bring different tones and textures to the translation. The work I’ve translated is generally focused around the war in Sri Lanka, so I also see the ways in which these texts act as archives, containing forms of knowledge that the majoritarian state continues to try to erase. So, my process is often a balancing act between maintaining the aesthetics and the historical content of the source text. The more I read, the more I realise how much these texts are also often in conversation with each other, and with the literatures of other oppressed cultures.

Very few translators have the luxury of doing nothing but translate, and I often have to juggle my translation work with my paying work and community work. I try to give my headspace over to one text at a time, so I ‘live’ with one author or poet for a while. It’s a challenge of translation, that you hold meaning in your head in two languages as you weigh it back and forth. Precision means a lot to me, so I often sit with my research as well as my own memories to try to do justice to this work. I think I’ve done best when I have been able to work consistently, every day—even if it’s just a page.  READ MORE…

I Carved A Girl Of Stone: Nuzhat Abbas on Feminist, Decolonial, and Anti-Imperialist Translation

October 23, 2023  |  in Interviews  |  by Alton Melvar M Dapanas

What drives my work at trace is perhaps a desire to destabilize the spaces I was made to enter and reside in . . .

Since its inception in 2019, Tkaronto/Toronto-based trace press has published “literature that illuminates, in complex, beautiful and thought-provoking ways, contemporary and historical experiences of conflict, war, displacement, exile, migration, the environment, labour, and resistance.” Re-emerging after a brief hiatus during the pandemic, their first anthology River in an Ocean: Essays on Translation (2023) assembles emergent and experienced feminist translators, scholars, and writers from Palestine to Uganda, from Indonesia to Kashmir—spotlighted by, among others, Khairani Barokka, Suneela Mubayi, Otoniya J. Okot Bitek, and Yasmine Haj. In the foreword, the decolonialist historian Françoise Vergès describes the vestiges of imperialism, the dominance of the languages of Euro-American colonisers, the myths of globalisation, and the “hegemony of national languages” inflicted by neocolonial nation-states. Having read and reviewed the anthology myself, I think of it as a complex re-mapping of literary hemispheres “twisting through the atrocities of literary empires and post-colonial capitalism.”

In this interview, I asked trace press’ founding editor Nuzhat Abbas, a Zanzibar-born writer and critic of postcolonial mobilities and gender studies, about the literary publishing house she has founded; how independent presses can stay true to a transnational, anti-imperialist and decolonial feminist ethos; and writings from her archipelagic birthplace in East Africa and the Indian Ocean.

Alton Melvar M Dapanas (AMMD): Having founded trace press, in what ways do the values of decoloniality, anti-imperialism, feminism, and anti-racism occur as concrete practices in translation and in publishing? And what is the opposite of that?

Nuzhat Abbas (NA): I prefer to pose such questions to my writers and translators—to inquire how they, in their practice, think through such challenges, especially in relation to localized tensions and displacements, both historic and geographical. For example, trace is located on a forcibly white-settled and renamed space where Indigenous and Black resistance and creativity continues to resist and respond to histories of profound violence and displacement. As racialized im/migrant-settlers working with non-European literatures and languages, how do we ‘translate’ and write toward Black and Indigenous readers in the Americas, and toward each other, as people from the global majority, scattered around the globe, displacing each of our certainties? This is a question for me, a beginning question, one that can only be answered in practice—and differently—by each of the books we make and the conversations that emerge. Building space for these kinds of ‘after-publication’ conversations is very much part of what I want to create with trace. 

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