y ahora . . . ¡Pillaje de palabras!

I suppose it’s fitting that a poem about language should attract some attention from translators after it wins the Hugo Award, but I didn’t see it coming.

Cuentos para Algernon has published my work once before, a translation of “Waiting for Beauty” as “Esperando a que Bella . . .”. A little while ago, Marcheto came back to ask if she could also translate “A War of Words” — a query that left me staring in a bit of surprise at my computer screen, because I’d legit never thought anybody would be interested in translating my poetry. The result went live today, as “Pillaje de palabras.”

Nor will that be the only one! There’s also a Romanian translation in the works!

But this one is a little special, because as you may recall, I spent 2024 bludgeoning myself up to something like reading proficiency in Spanish so I could do broader research for the Sea Beyond. When Marcheto asked to translate “Waiting for Beauty,” I could kinda read the result, but mostly because I already knew what it said. This time around, I was actually in a position to collaborate more actively with her: the translation is Marcheto’s, but I read a draft and gave feedback, suggesting some slight alterations to bring it more in line with my original intent.

This was a fascinating process. Every translator knows there are always choices to make — and they’re not right or wrong choices, just questions of priority and style. For example: if you were to translate the title for its literal meaning, it would be “Una guerra de palabras,” and that’s what Marcheto originally went with. She proposed “Pillaje de palabras” as an alternative, though, because I had mentioned at the outset that I wanted to preserve the elements of alliteration within the poem if it could be done naturally in Spanish. It’s a less direct translation, but one that emphasizes the poetic quality of the title.

Or take the places where languages can’t quite re-create each other’s effects. Marcheto originally translated “raid” as “incursión,” which is of course completely reasonable. In reading the Spanish draft, though, I became aware of something I’d done entirely on reflex when writing the poem: the text leans heavily toward short, simple, Germanic-derived words, rather than Latinate ones, because the former tend to sound more direct and harsh than the latter. What do you do, though, when the language of the translation is Latinate through and through? I suggested, and Marcheto agreed with, “ataque” instead, which sounds a little sharper (and assonates with “arrebatada” to boot). The same happened with “existe una palabra” becoming “hay una palabra”: she said, and I believe her, that “existe” doesn’t sound at all high-flown to Spanish speakers, the way that “a word exists” sounds fancier in English than “there’s a word” . . . but “hay una” flows off the tongue a little more smoothly, so that’s what we went with.

All told, my suggested alterations were few and minor. (There were also a couple she stood her ground on — which was entirely fair; she’s the native speaker!) But it was a really intriguing process, the first time I’ve been able to meaningfully contribute to the translation of my own work. It makes you think a lot about what you did and why you did it, and if you have to choose between two different priorities, which one matters to you more.

If you read Spanish, I’d be delighted to hear your thoughts on the translation!

The No Longer Littlest Black Belt Takes the Next Step

Nine years and eight months ago, I earned my black belt in shōrin-ryu karate.

Today, I became a second degree black belt.

It was supposed to happen sooner. But right when the head of my dojo began saying that maybe it was time for me to prep for testing, a pandemic started. Which put a dent in my training. And even once classes began again, various factors meant I wasn’t able to go regularly. And then 2024 was, in hindsight, a rather abysmal year for my health. And and and, spring of this year rolled around, and I realized I was in danger of it being ten years since my previous test, and dammit, I did not intend to let that milestone pass without me at least trying to take the next step.

There were more than a few hurdles along the way. I’ve had wrist problems for years that meant I hadn’t been doing kobudo (weapons training), but you’re expected to do that as part of your test. So starting in August I began a crash course, scraping the rust off the sai kata I was expected to perform — not too bad; it was one I used to know well — and, uh, learning from scratch a long and difficult bo kata that I did not know in the slightest. I went so gung-ho on that, in fact, that I managed to give myself a repetitive stress sprain in my right ankle five weeks before the test (bear in mind that sprains take about six weeks to heal . . .). And then, to put the cherry on top of that sundae, I caught my big toe against the mat nine days ago and basically re-activated the hellacious sprain I had in that joint some years previously.

As I put it to several people, by the time I got to the test, I felt like I was being held together by chewing gum. Not even duct tape: that would have been an upgrade.

But these higher-level tests can only be done when our dojo’s founder is in town (he moved back to Okinawa a few years ago), and his next visit will likely be for the seminar in April of next year. That would be past the decade mark I was determined to beat. So, come hell or high water, I was going to drag my sorry carcass through the test — and I did! And, barring a couple of utterly bone-headed errors brought on by nerves (which got knowing nods of “yep, that happens” from other black belts later), I did acceptably well. I faced down literally an international panel of seven sensei — Shihan being in from Okinawa, and also we have a contingent of Germans from one of our sister dojo here for the fall seminar — whose collective belt rank totaled well over forty degrees, and I achieved ni-dan status.

You don’t get a new belt, of course. It’s still the same black belt as before. But there’s kind of a joke that a truly experienced black belt becomes a white belt again, because over time the black threads fray and break, revealing the white canvas core underneath, so that a truly high-level sensei’s belt can be tattered indeed.

And this afternoon, after I passed my test . . .

. . . I glanced down at my belt . . .

. . . and I found a tiny frayed spot on the corner of one end where the white canvas is peeking through.

I consider it my ni-dan badge. ^_^

Electric Sheep online reading!

On November 12th, 8 p.m. Eastern (5 p.m. Pacific, 1 a.m. UTC), I’ll be the Guest of Honor for a session of the Electric Sheep online reading series — for poetry! Yep, I’ll be reading my Hugo poem, “A War of Words,” and possibly something else if time permits. But I won’t be alone: my fellow finalists Mari Ness, Ai Jiang, Angela Liu, and Oliver K. Langmead will be joining us, along with Brian U. Garrison (the president of the Science Fiction Poetry Association) and Brandon O’Brien, who was Poet Laureate for the Seattle Worldcon. So it’s a heck of a lineup!

Attendance is free, but you do have to register in advance, and space is limited. If you’re interested in joining us, sign up now!