I once did a multilingual abstracting project for a Russian translation agency, which required me to read all these documents related to certain lease contracts written in German and identify certain bits of information from them which I was supposed to include in these forms. It was a case of fill in the blanks; the answers lay in the documents – somewhere. I think I included most of the important information where it was due, but sometimes I wasn’t sure what to put for certain blanks in the forms, or not even too sure what a certain question was asking. And I had to deal with the (unestimated) probability of no information for certain questions waiting to be found in the documents, or if I could forget about having to fill in certain blanks. I say this because I (sort of) believe that there is not knowing what to think; then there is not knowing what to think if you tried. Does that make sense? Too much of the latter would probably be enough to drive a person crazy, wouldn’t you think?

Yes, one thing I can’t overlook in my work is my belief that to become too comfortable with doing things that are straightforward is perilous. Basically, knowledge is everything… and guess what, I feel like talking about knowledge here! I researched the difference between a priori and a posteriori, and in my writing of this comment I have committed myself to talking about things like the differences between empirical knowledge and intuitive knowledge, and how I apply them in my work for better results. If you feel like reading further is going to be daunting, can I just ask: which one is the real “common sense knowledge”? (LOL)

Now, some knowledge is not knowledge worth the name. I think Namibia is an example of a very little known country in the world. I say this because I could tell you that its capital is Windhoek, and this is something that you could say to everyone else and it would pass for a correct statement. But if you don’t know where Namibia is (anyone?), then it’s all just… fake, you know? Even if you KNEW that Windhoek was the capital of Namibia like I’ve just told you here (and didn’t know it before), and you KNEW it to be correct, if you just said to someone, “Windhoek is the capital of Namibia” without knowing where Namibia is or anything like that, you could not hope to prove anything verifiable other than source you heard it from. Seriously, what would be the point? Note that I’m specifically not including a link in this comment to anywhere listing basic information on Namibia; if it matters to you, you can find it yourself. Turn to Google, turn to your geography teacher, turn to a toy globe – turn to whatever you want; just don’t ask me to provide you with anything that confirms that Windhoek is the capital of Namibia. I won’t. Full stop.

But I want to talk about knowledge in connection with my work as a translator. To exhibit an interest in performing masterful translation work in its true form is to accommodate a multi-faceted imagination challenge. As a language professional, I guess the truth is that I’m always seeking a priori truths in the field of linguistics (and, to a certain extent, the subject matter of whatever it is I happen to be translating) to make things easier and help me feel more confident, but what I really can’t ignore is a perceived need to question my a posteriori knowledge of given words or expressions on a very frequent basis. When deciding what I should really write for this, that or the other, I never act like I expect to find the solution through something like the basis of deduction (which I think is a more maths and science thing anyway).

On translator forums, like ProZ.com, talk about a translator having specialised knowledge in a given field is common. Some go out of their way to emphasise that it is important, and I can veritably agree to a certain extent. I am just one of many people who have discussed how translation requires certain skills and knowledge that are not specifically taught from textbooks in a classroom environment. It may be easy for some to agree that there are some things that you may learn, but never master, until there’s “a part of you”, “something inside of you” – something most personal and intangible, like a thought or an idea (and it doesn’t matter if it’s as detached from reality as anything you’ve seen on Power Rangers) – that you have come to habitually relate to activity involving the subject in question. Have you ever been discouraged from trying to learn something because something about it was put to you in terms that are usually familiar to you, but not on that occasion – terms that most people are familiar with? For example, consider the expressions “internal use” and “external use”. I could understand if you only think of “internal” as meaning “inside a thing” and “external” meaning “outside a thing”, and feeling hopelessly lost as you respond like, “…meaning?” wherever you see “internal use” and / or “external use” mentioned.

And these are the things I ponder as my stories of how I deal with the utter abstractness of language in translation work continue…

In German “Nachweis” means “proof” but it also means “certificate”, depending on the context. In a sense a certificate is definitely proof, although “proof” in English can be something tangible or just the concept of proof, evidence.

In one German to English translation project, I read the word “Raumlüftung” in the original. “Room” or “space” ventilation? Specifically “rooms”? What about corridors and whatnot?

In one German to English translation project, one bit in the original was “Der Projekt-Ansprechpartner des Auftraggebers kann die Agenda bis zu zwei Werktage vor dem Koordinationsgespräch ändern und/oder ergänzen”, which I translated as “The client’s project contact partner may change and / or supplement the agenda at any point up to two working days prior to the coordination meeting”. But I nearly translated it more literally, like “they can change it up to two working days prior to the coordination meeting”. The former English translation and the latter one are not quite the same, for what they suggest about the valid change possibilities. The latter sort of suggests that only one change occasion is permissible. I’m very sure that, had I put the latter, someone out there would have labelled it as a bad quality thing.

The German word “Projektabwicklung” can mean project management or completion / transaction. As both project management and project completion are common things to hear in connection with the world of work, it’s important not to get confused there, huh!?

In another German-to-English project, the German word “Schnecke” meant not “snail”, but “screw” – but I instantly saw what they have in common (spiral traits). But I would not necessarily have seen things like this in the past. It used to be the case that whenever I saw the German word “Schnecke” I thought, “snail” in English, but never “screw”. This would have been most likely when I was at school, I think. Sound familiar?

In another German to English project: “Wo dürfen Getränke aufgehoben und konsumiert werden”. I wondered: does it mean where may drinks be “picked up” (from surfaces), “or removed”? My answer: I put “taken” – it “works” whichever it is, when you think about it!