Richness and Complexity

One really good definition of poetry is “condensed language.” A poet chooses words and images that are deep, and wide, and richly textured, and to “translate” the poem into prose would take many, many more words that the poet used to get across the same idea.

Think about the twenty-third Psalm, a pastoral poem. It only has six verses, and you could read it aloud in, what, two minutes? Now think about how many preachers have preached half-hour or forty-five minute sermons on that psalm. Go to a Bible bookstore and see how many books you can find attempting to explain the richness and complexity contained in those six verses. See what I mean?

Well, some words themselves are like that. They are deep and complex. If you look them up in the dictionary, you find a paragraph rather than a simple phrase.

But it gets even more complicated when we try to translate certain words from another language. When foreign words are translated into English, what we often get is the literal, exact meaning of the word, minus all its cultural connotations. Often, no one English word quite manages to convey all the associations the word brings forth in its original language.

One such word is the German heimat. Translated literally into English, we get the word “home,” but this translation is woefully short of a German’s understanding of this complicated word. Heimat includes all these ideas and more: home; origin, birthplace of oneself and one’s ancestors; security, attachment, and joy; an uncontaminated space, a realm of innocence and immediacy; ideas of language and regional identity are encompassed in this term; it implies patriotism without nationalism; it is a somewhat sentimental term, yet it encompasses a history that is not always pleasant to recall.

I ran across another interesting foreign word in the book I’ve been reading by Krista Tippett. She shares the South African word ubuntu, a word that, she explains, “is suggestive of humanity. It means ‘I am through you, and you are through me. To the extent that I am estranged from another person, I am less than human.’” I don’t think that will translate to any one English word that I know, but isn't it a beautiful word?

Well, after being introduced to the word ubuntu, I wondered about other hard-to-translate words. According to Today Translation, who consulted one thousand linguists, these are the ten hardest to translate words:

1. Ilunga: Bantu language of Tshiluba for "a person who is ready to forgive any abuse for the first time, to tolerate it a second time, but never a third time." However, there is no independent evidence that the word actually means what the translation company claims. When asked for confirmation by one reporter, representatives of the Congo government recognized the word only as a personal name. Furthermore, the translation company failed to respond to inquiries regarding the survey.

2. Shlimazl (שלימזל): Yiddish for a chronically unlucky person. (Cf. Schlemiel). (NOTE. In colloquial Italian, it is very common to use the word sfigato with exactly the same meaning, in Dutch and German one says pechvogel, also used in colloq. German is the word schlamassel, if you are in an unlucky situation)

3. Radiostukacz: Polish for a person who worked as a telegraphist for the resistance movements on the Soviet side of the Iron Curtain. It is not a real word, only a mistake or a hoax.
4. Naa (なぁ or なー): Japanese word only used in the Kansai (関西) area of Japan, especially in Osaka (大阪府), to emphasize statements or agree with someone.

5. Altahmam (التهمام) †: Arabic for a kind of deep sadness.

6. Gezellig †: Dutch for cosy (room, house, chair, etc.), pleasant (evening spent with friends), friendly (atmosphere).Gesellig German for spending time with friends.

7. Saudade †: Portuguese for a certain type of longing.

8. Selathirupavar † (செல்லாதிருப்பவர்): Tamil for a certain type of truancy.

9. Pochemuchka (почемучка): Russian for a person who asks a lot of questions (usually a kid).

10. Klloshar †: Albanian for loser. Could be derived from French clochard.

I don’t recognize any of these words, except for number Six, which has obvious ties to our old friend gezelligheit, and possibly number Two, which sounds like a word in the old Laverne and Shirley chant, “Shlimeel, shlimazl, . . . .”

Tune in tomorrow for their list of the hardest English words to translate.