Numéro Cinq translation contest Archives

The photo dg calls “Swimming With the Loons,” also the title of his next book. It shows the now famous NC blue dog Lucy anxiously watching her fearless master (large dot) as he swims further and further into the lake in the company of a pair of loons (two smaller dots) whom he befriended. Initially, he gained their trust by mimicking loon calls and diving under water for extended periods. This is on Misty Lake in Algonquin Park, Day 9 of the EPE (Epic Paddle Event). (No animals were injured during filming. All stunts were performed by the author.)

It was during a moment of sublime unity with Nature such as this that it occurred to dg that the winner of the First Ever Annual Numéro Cinq Translation Contest had to be Gary Garvin, not just because of his hilariously parodic official translation but also (as Jacob suggested in his People’s Choice vote comment) because of his incredibly witty first response, that passage of Chinese characters (when he quite correctly noticed that dg had neglected to stipulate the language of the final translation–see all the entries here). Congratulations, Gary. Please feel free to fly out here at any time, and bring Rich Farrell’s bottle of Talisker when you come.

The other finalists were nearly equally brilliant and this is what flummoxed the judges for so long. The level of attack, of wit and arrogance, far exceeded our expectation. (See the finalists here.)

With this out of the way (luckily, most of you will have forgotten the contest, so we expect no protests), we can now push on to other literary competitions.

FIRST EVER NUMÉRO CINQ TRANSLATION CONTEST

Submissions June 12-30, 2010.

Enter by translating the sample passage below and submitting it as a comment on this post.

The competition is open to anyone. Just sign onto WordPress.com for free and contribute your translation.

Rule #1: Do not submit an entry if you actually speak the language in the sample below. It doesn’t help if you can read the sample and render an accurate translation because the judge can’t read the sample himself. (It goes without saying that you shouldn’t bother using a translation dictionary either.)

That’s the only rule.

Rule #2: Translations must be submitted in English. (Gary Garvin already submitted an entry in Chinese characters via email. This will not fly with the judge.)

Rule #3: Given the confusions we had during the last contest, the judge wishes to specify that there will be an open, ageless category (the Numéro Cinq Shark Class) and an under-16 category (the Numéro Cinq Barracuda Class).

Rule #4: Birth certificate and two pieces of photo ID required to qualify for the Barracuda Class competition (last time certain adult members of the Numéro Cinq community—a disreputable, rebellious, disaffected, and outlaw crowd of ne’er-do-wells and agitators—attempted to have their entries switched to the under-16 category).

Let go of your bourgeois yearning after sense and meaning. Forget certainty. (The judge is returning to his Sufi roots.) Think only of the sound of the words, their rhythms, and what you can invent from them.

As usual with Numéro Cinq contests, wit and arrogance will be appreciated. In fact, wit and arrogance are the only qualities the judge cares about.

Contest open to everyone including employees of Numéro Cinq, their significant others, children, and small pets (mammals only, up to 50 lbs).

First Prize — Instant Worldwide (e)Publication w/ commentary.

Plus honours & laurels.

A single malt Scotch at 9 Maple Avenue with dg or a hot chocolate at Virgil’s with Jonah if you’re in the under-16 Barracuda Class. (You have to get to Saratoga Springs on your own and dg will not put you up.)

Each entry must purport to be a translation of the following passage. Feel free to submit more than one translation.

Ja, er dreigde iets. En hij bleef daar zitten, ziek van angst, làf, zonder geestkracht, zonder moed…. Er dreigde iets en hij voelde het naderen, hem overvallen, met hem strijden op leven en dood, in eene overspanning van wanhoop: hij voelde zich wankelen, nederzinken, hij voelde zich gerukt worden uit de fluweelen zachtheid van zijn leven, neergesmakt worden op straat, zonder dak, zonder iets … Wat behoorde hem toe! Het linnen aan zijn lichaam, de schoenen aan zijne voeten, de ring aan zijn vinger, het was van Frank. Het souper daarginds, zijn bed boven, het was van Frank. Zoo was het geweest een vol jaar lang en als hij ooit weg zoû moeten gaan met alleen het zijne, dan zou hij moeten gaan … naakt, in den winter. En hij kón niet meer zijn, als hij geweest was in Amerika, dienstbaar scharrelend van den eenen dag op den anderen. Zijn lijf en zijne ziel waren beide als geweekt in een bad van lauwe weelde; hij was geworden als eene kasplant, die, gewend aan de vochte warmte der serres, vreest in de open lucht te worden gezet. Want het dreigde, gruwzaam, onbarmhartig: geen seconde was die bedreiging van hem af, en, in de lafheid zijner verweeking, wrong hij er zachtjes zijne witte handen om, en drupten er twee tranen langs zijn strak masker van wanhoop.