Can the quality of a translated text be measured using purely statistical methods? What is the definition of statistical? What do we have in mind when we speak of a method or methodology? Without doubt, care must be taken with the terminology we use due to the fact that statistical could relate to a variety of techniques which in some way or other make use of statistics. Similarly, the term computerised is bandied about and often relates to a wide spectrum of techniques.

Statistical and/or computerised (or even computer-based) techniques are most certainly the way forward for translators, translator trainers and editors/proof-readers. This is not to say that the computer will relieve us of the work we put into the translation process but will rather provide us with powerful tools that can improve the quality of translation as well as save valuable time when producing texts. Already, computer-aided human translation has given us translation memories (like Trados) that have had a huge impact on speed and quality.

Nevertheless, is it possible for computer-based tools to measure the quality of a particular text? We have seen that the analysis of language corpora can give us clues into how a text works. By looking at purely quantitative features, such as frequency lists, it is possible to assess the mechanics and style of a text. By extension, we should therefore be able to assess the quality of a translation. If translators are able to pinpoint particular linguistic elements that might correlate to the quality of a text in a particular domain we should be able to talk of a statistical-based study of translation quality.

Research into translation quality assessment seems to point to a procedural approach to the assessment of quality, however, a simpler path might be the search for specific statistical anchor points which the translation assessor could use to determine if the translation fulfils the basic functions of a text with regards to style, for example, the appropriate number of nouns, verbs, adjectives and the appropriate ratio between these parts of speech.

Statistical tools are just that. Tools. The Universal Translator so often depicted in science fiction films may well be a pipe dream and momentarily unrealistic but this does not mean we cannot push the limits of statistical and computer-based linguistics to the very edge so that not only theorists but translation practitioners can also put them to use.

The reason why translation and translators exist is, of course, because of the fact that there is a huge diversity of languages in the world. There are many theories and hypotheses as to the reason for the evolution of language and the divergence of the world’s languages but some of the most interesting ‘hypotheses’ are the mythical stories that seem to accompany people everywhere around the world.

Most of us know the Babel myth. Some call it a fable, some call it a legend, some even say that it is a lesson to be learned. Let us have a look at the origin of the story of the Tower of Babel/Babylon (as found in the Holy Bible):

Now all the earth continued to be of one language and of one set of words… And they began to say, each one to the other: “Come on! … Let us build ourselves a city and also a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a celebrated name for ourselves, for fear we may be scattered over all the surface of the earth.” And Jehovah proceeded to go down to see the city and the tower that the sons of men had built. After that Jehovah said: “Look! They are one people and there is one language for them all, and this is what they start to do. Why, now there is nothing that they may have in mind to do that will be unattainable for them. Come now! Let us go down and there confuse their language that they may not listen to one another’s language.” Accordingly Jehovah scattered them from there over all the surface of the earth, and they gradually left off building the city. That is why its name was called Ba′bel, because there Jehovah had confused the language of all the earth, and Jehovah had scattered them from there over all the surface of the earth.

Humanity has long sought explanation for the divergences in human languages. In fact, every tribe, nation or people on every continent seems to have their own ‘language divergence’ myth. Interestingly, the people of the island of Hao in French Polynesia have an almost identical myth in which God chased the builders away in anger, destroyed the building, and changed their language, so that they spoke diverse tongues.

There is a Mexican legend which talks of the giant Xelhua constructing the great Pyramid of Cholula, in order to reach heaven. However, the gods were angry at his audacity, burned the building and destroyed it after which each separate family received a language of its own.

The Wa-Sania people of East Africa believe that all the the peoples of the earth spoke only one language but following a terrible famine, a sickness fell upon the people driving them all mad. They wandered about in all directions, jabbering strange words, and from this wandering and jabbering the world’s languages evolved.

On the other hand, Hindu mythology states that:

There grew in the centre of the earth the wonderful world tree, or knowledge tree. It was so tall that it reached almost to heaven. It said in its heart, “I shall hold my head in heaven and spread my branches over all the earth, and gather all men together under my shadow, and protect them, and prevent them from separating.” But Brahma, to punish the pride of the tree, cut off its branches and cast them down on the earth, when they sprang up as wata trees, and made differences of belief and speech and customs to prevail on the earth, to disperse men upon its surface.

Aztec mythology describes the story of a cataclysmic flood where only one man Coxcox and one woman Xochiquetzal survive. They have many children who are unable to speak but are endowed with language by a magical dove. However, each child is given a different language and as such they cannot understand one another.

The Iroquois God Taryenyawagon leads his people on a long journey showing and directing his people to settle in different places and because of this journeying and ‘resettlement’ their language changed into many.

The Gunwinggu tribe of Northern Austrailia describe a goddess who during the mythical dreamtime gave each of her children a language of their own to play with. A tribe from South Australia, on the other hand give us a delightful story which suggests that language diversity stemmed from cannibalism:

In remote time an old woman, named Wurruri lived towards the east and generally walked with a large stick in her hand, to scatter the fires round which others were sleeping, Wurruri at length died. Greatly delighted at this circumstance, they sent messengers in all directions to give notice of her death; men, women and children came, not to lament, but to show their joy. The Raminjerar were the first who fell upon the corpse and began eating the flesh, and immediately began to speak intelligibly. The other tribes to the eastward arriving later, ate the contents of the intestines, which caused them to speak a language slightly different. The northern tribes came last and devoured the intestines and all that remained, and immediately spoke a language differing still more from that of the Raminjerar.

Sometimes, fiction, legend and story are far more interesting than fact.

Is it possible to quantify translation? Is it possible to assess if one text is more difficult than another? Is it possible to claim that one language is more difficult than another language? The whole idea of quantifiability in language and linguistics has often been shunned and thought to be impossible, however, the advent of corpus linguistics and statistical approaches to language has shown us that there is much that statistics can give us. Certain aspects of language are quantifiable and probabilistically-motivated.

A question that is often put by non-linguists is whether one language is more difficult than another. Interestingly, this question is very rarely posited by linguists and sadly has not been taken up by statistical linguistics. Are linguists afraid to ask this question or do they believe it is redundant? Perhaps this question is marked by a form of linguistic political correctness and it is not ‘right’ to ask whether one language is more difficult than another. A ‘better’ question might be how one language differs from another. Yet we are all aware of the fact that some languages are more difficult than others. Obviously, there are a number of factors at play here, such as one’s mother tongue, how many languages one already knows and the relation of the new language to the mother tongue as well as our own individual predisposition for learning languages. But still, with all these factors taken into consideration, certain languages are easier or more difficult than others.

Opinions are varied with Mandarin (Chinese), Arabic, Polish, Basque and Xhosa seen as the most difficult. But when attempting to answer this question we find that it is in fact redundant with there being as many answers as there are people asking the question. Yet where statistical linguistics fears to tread, second language learning boldly goes. It is fascinating that some language teaching institutions have tried to approach this answer quantitatively. The US Military (as well as other US institutions) use a system which divides languages into four groups from I to IV. French, Italian and Dutch can be found within Group I; German in Group II; Polish, Thai and Hebrew in Group III whereas Arabic, Chinese, Japanese and Korean fall into the Group IV bracket. The methodology behind this system is both simple yet extremely practical with languages in each successive group requiring a greater number of teaching hours than those in the preceding group.

It is interesting how practical demands often create the lines of demarcation that linguists (and translators) are often so loathe to draw. The same, of course, can be said of different types of text which the translator faces. Some believe medical or legal texts to be the most difficult, some maintain that poetry is a much more arduous task but in the thick of the translation jungle and within translation agencies the distinction is much less elegant. Initial quotes by translation agencies are often undertaken based on the distinction of general vs. specialised, express vs. non-express translation. It is only when such (theoretical) distinctions are pushed up against the cold, hard truth of practice do these distinctions come good.

One of the greatest problems for translators is translating concepts that simply do not exist in the other language or culture. Examples in Polish include kombinować or lustracja, województwo or szlachta zaściankowa. English examples include elevenses or hoody. There are different ways to attempt to translate these terms, but no translation can be regarded as truly equivalent. Of course, some may argue that no translation is ever truly equivalent, but there are equivalents that might be regarded as more (or less) faithful than other ones. We might also argue that there is a continuum of correctness that allows us to speak of a better or worse translation.

All of the words mentioned above can be translated in some way or other but that does not necessarily make them good equivalents. Kombinować might be to wheel and deal; lustracja might be lustration or vetting; województwo could be province or district; szlachta zaściankowa might be petty nobility or disenfranchised noblemen. On the other hand, elevenses might be drugie śniadanie and a hoody could be a łobuz or zbir. We might argue that all of these suggestions are poor and inadequate but we may also argue that they perform a certain function and they kind of do the job. Is this enough? Is translation always about doing enough? Should we be aiming for perfection, satisfaction, or adequacy?

Another fine example of a word which does not have an altogether elegant translation into English is the Polish koleiny. These are ruts in the road caused by poor tarmac surfaces being over-used making driving difficult and often extremely dangerous. Due to the poor quality of roads in Poland (especially in communist times) and weather extremities (hot summers, cold winters), the tarmac surfaces had/have a tendency to become soft and give under the weight of traffic. Problems in translation begin when we see road signs in Poland warning of koleiny. Could this be rendered as simply ruts? Or perhaps road ruts? Perhaps even grooves? It is only when we see this kind of road sign do we realise how difficult this could be to translate. German seems to have Spurrille as a possible equivalent. English however does not offer such contextual equivalence.

Translation is a thankless task and one which sometimes even has negative repercussions for the translator. Why are translators, especially those taking their first steps in this enlightened career, so utterly preoccupied with the quality of their work, perhaps more so than in other professions? There are two reasons for this. First of all, the translator is frequently working under the pressure of time. Being creative is difficult when the translator is constantly aware of the fact that the sands of time are fast trickling away. The second reason is key to translation itself and is fundamentally interwoven with the very concept of translation.

In essence, translation is an impossible exercise. We are never able to perfectly transpose the ideas of one person in one language embedded in one particular culture into another language and culture. It simply cannot be accomplished, much in the same way as recapitulation, reformulation or rephrasing is never an ideal match. Take, for example, “The heathens were still all avid worshippers of the Sun God Ra”. This is not the same as “There are still pagans who worship Ra, the Sun God”.

There are several phenomena at work here. Firstly, the very nature of linguistic multiplicity lends itself to multiple interpretations. Secondly, the overt and covert meanings of the author/speaker of a given text will very rarely ideally match the interpretations of the reader/listener. Every text has a clear and open meaning (overt) but also a deeper truth (covert) hidden between the lines. Expecting a reader/listener to know both these meanings is fanciful. Expecting thousands of readers/listeners to do so is simply inconceivable.

Translators are faced with thousands of glittering and shimmering signifiers whose light sometimes keeps us from seeing the distant, yet constant, glow of the signified. We are sometimes like lost children not able to see the forest for the trees, preoccupied with the details and often missing the whole.

Translation is an impossible task. The hope of creating the Perfect Translation is akin to the quest for the Holy Grail. The quest is tangible and very real, yet the Perfect Translation itself is illusory and unattainable, just like the Holy Grail. Translation theorists discuss at length concepts such as equivalence, translatability and untranslatability but these can all be boiled down to one concept - how near or far the translation is from the original. In effect, the translator moves along a continuum of impossibility gauging the quality of each translated text by the distance from the original. What we are discussing is not the apparent fidelity of fluency of a text but where this text figures on the continuum of impossibility.

Umberto Eco once stated that to be a good translator one needs to translate and be translated. How true these words are. In fact, Eco goes on to state that the author must also act as an editor and consultant to the translator of his works. Umberto Eco makes it his duty to discuss the problems of translation with each individual translator regardless of whether he knows the target language or not. Eco asks his translators to discuss the problems they are having - which section is difficult, which paragraph seems unintelligible, or which sentence appears to be untranslatable. He is able to illicit answers to their problems by prodding them deeper and deeper about the culture of the target language and making them become aware of the real context of what lay within his mind at the time of writing.

In essence this shows us that the translator must have a dual outlook on the text he or she is translating - from the side of the author and the side of the translator. Or, in fact, from the point of view of the author and point of view of the reader. Moreover, a cultural fluency (or bi-culturalism) is essential. The first idea that comes to mind here is how does one translate into or out of the ancient languages? How does one grapple with a culture that is no more? All that can be done is to read, read, read, research, research, research until one immerses oneself in the source culture in order to then transpose (functionally) equivalent concepts into the (home) culture.

What Umberto Eco shows us is that even authors need to be sensitive to the sensibilities of the translator. And the best consultant for every translator is invariably the author of the original text. Interestingly, these are nigh-on always the most fascinating linguistic, translational and cultural conversations. The author who is ready to discuss a text with his/her translator is often an open person ready to take on new ideas. When culture meets culture, text meets text, author meets translator the boundaries between the two often blur, overlap and merge often producing something new and exciting. It is at moments like this the process of translation is most exhilarating.

The age old problem.

Should the translator focus on being as faithful to the original as possible or should his/her job be to make the translation as comprehensible as possible? The translator’s path, which might be elegantly rendered into Japanese as 訳道 (yákù-dō), is a difficult route fraught with danger but at the same time littered with gleaming jewels and precious stones. The path is narrow and is often bisected by what appear to be easier, more well-trodden roads. Sometimes other routes run parallel to our path but we must always stay true and keep on our path. The glittering jewels we sometimes find are priceless gems that need to be collected and cherished but more often than not they are cheap baubles that may seem beautiful at first glance but are of little worth and merely spoil the view.

The yákù-dō is not easy. Most of the time the way is hard to spot, is overgrown or littered with debris and only the more experienced travellers will be able to find the correct path. Initiates and novices of yákù-dō are taught to find the path using a variety of methods and tools so that in later life the yákù-dō master is able even to find his/her way blindfolded. Yákù-dō requires many years of training, dedication and learning and no one ever attains perfection.

Experience is crucial. Only with experience can the translator be sure that he/she has the correct balance, the yin-yang harmony of translation that is fidelity-intelligibility. Only then can the decision be made, depending on each text, which way the balance should be tipped - towards faithfulness or comprehensibility.

The next great quantum leap in translation will most surely take place in the Arabic-speaking world. Throughout history religious upheaval, military conquest and foreign domination have often had immense implications on the linguistic point world.

When the nations of Europe began to feel the need to express themselves, it was only when the Christian religion caved in and allowed the use of the vernacular that these national identities (together with their languages) really took off allowing for a veritable blossoming of literature written in the vernacular as well as a new flourishing of translation.

The liberalisation of religious shackles in Judaism had an analogous effect on Ashkenazi Jewry allowing for the flowering of Yiddish, in much the same way that Luther and the Reformation affected the languages of Christendom.

Similarly, the future of translation in North Africa and the Near East and many other countries (that use Arabic) may be dependent on a similar liberalising movement. It is difficult envisaging such a movement in Islam due to the important position Arabic holds in the religion of Muḥammad, but should such a change occur, the repurcussions will be huge.

If and when the nations under Islam get the urge to begin translating the Qur’ān into their own varieties of Arabic (be they dialects or languages) we will most certainly see a linguistic explosion the like of which we have not seen for a long time.

There are over twenty known, widely spoken varieties of Arabic including Maghrebi, Egyptian, Sudanese, Iraqi, Hijazi, Chadian, Nigerian and Judeo-Arabic to name just a few. The question really is not if but more when, how and where the language explosion will take place. The effects of this Arabic linguistic renaissance will most certainly rock the world.‎‎

Complex concepts often lead to questions such as why does one particular culture possess a word that another does not? Language always seeks to be as efficient as possible. If a concept is used enough in a particular culture, it begins to stick. Here are some more odd words that could prove to be difficult to translate:

Dai Lu maozi (Chinese): his wife is sleeping with someone else (literally, he wears the green hat)

Gwarlingo (Welsh): the rushing sound a grandfather clock makes before striking the hour

Setja upp gestaspjot (Icelandic): a phrase denoting the action taken by a cat when cleaning itself, with its body curled tightly in a circle with one back leg sticking up directly in the air and when a cat was seen doing this it was supposed to indicate that visitors would be turning up (literally, put up a guest-spear)

Pisan zapra (Malay): the time needed to eat a banana

Geisterfahrer (Austrian German): one travelling the wrong way up an autobahn (literally, ghost driver)

Mouton enragé (French): someone calm who loses their temper (literally, an enraged sheep)

Mamihlapinatapai (from Tierra del Fuego): two people looking at each other each hoping the other will do what both desire but neither is willing to do

Iets door de vingers kijken (Flemish): allow something illegal or incorrect to happen by conscious inaction (literally, to look at something through the fingers)

Yupienalle (Swedish): a mobile phone (literally, yuppie teddy)

Schürzenjaeger (German): someone who chases after women (literally, a hunter of aprons)

Amoureux d’une chevre coiffée (French): a man who is attracted to every woman he sees (literally, a love of a goat whose fur is combed)

Translators beware…

Cultural terms are all the more difficult to translate when there is almost no known social equivalent. This post is dedicated to those terms which are almost completely impossible to transfer across without some sort of loss (and gain):

Buaya darat (Indonesian): a man who fools women into thinking he is a very faithful lover when in fact he goes out with many different women at the same time (literally, land crocodile)

Okuri-okami (Japanese): a man who feigns thoughtfulness by offering to see a girl home only to try to molest her once he gets in the door (literally, a see-you-home wolf)

Traer la lengua de corbata (Latin American Spanish): to be worn out; to be exhausted (literally, to have your tongue hanging out like a man’s tie)

L’esprit d’escalier (French): used to describe the precise moment a person comes up with a clever retort to an embarrassing insult (literally, spirit of the staircase)

Tantenverführer (German): a young man with suspiciously good manners (literally, aunt seducer)

Nito-onna (Japanese): a woman so dedicated to her career that she has no time to iron blouses and so resorts to dressing only in knitted tops

Faire du leche-vitrines (French): window-shopping (literally, to lick the windows)

Amakudari (Japanese): describes the phenomenon of being employed by a firm in an industry one has previously, as a government bureaucrat, been involved in regulating (literally, descent from heaven)

Harami (Arabic): an electrical plug adapter that allows more than one plug to be plugged into the same socket (literally, a thief)

Handschuhschneeballwerfer (German): coward (literally, somebody, who wears gloves to throw snow balls)

Pune-ti pofta-n cui (Romanian): forget about getting something (literally, hang your craving on a nail on the wall)

More to follow…