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Related Content. Companion to Music in the Age of the Catholic Monarchs. Editor: Tessa Knighton. The Companion to Music in the Age of the Catholic Monarchs , edited by Tess Knighton, offers a major new study that deepens and enriches our understanding of the forms and functions of music that flourished in late medieval Spanish society. As the recent local elections and tabloid headlines show, a tide is turning in British public opinion. In articles about schools and higher education , there are concerns about local resources and the impact of diversity on the host community.
Our own experience of the great benefits brought by colleagues and students from around the world is absent from this discourse, and the foreigner is all too easily seen as alien. These thoughts played on my mind when I joined my son last week on a trip to watch the new Star Trek movie. I enjoyed the film but it also awakened in me a sense of nostalgia for an ideal which feels under threat.
Its fantastic plots and stories of undiscovered planets held the promise of a future in which national boundaries had been eroded and become long lost cultural absurdities. The images of interracial connection were stunningly important in , and the makers of the TV series knew they were making a popular fable with political implications.
As I left the cinema, memories of my own encounters with internationalism came flooding back. I was in London for an admissions interview at Queen Mary College on the same day as a House of Commons debate about membership of the European Union, and I was moved by the thought that we were making a step towards forming an international community with global governance.
I also remember giving a speech at a European research collaboration meeting, which seemed to both surprise and delight the scientists there. I talked about the role of science in building a new international community of academics whose home was not only their own nation state, but Europe and indeed the world.
The young optimist who hoped for an academia without borders is still there within me — still hoping, but feeling more threatened.
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And I am perturbed by the apparent growth of the view that people in the UK are essentially different from everyone else and need to keep ourselves that way. Politicians of all parties are afraid of losing voters. Yet we need to be very sure about the visions we do have and whether they really are places of safety, or simply of hiding. As a university, we are an experimental country, one with citizens of every nation on a mission to make a difference for all our home communities wherever they may be.
In this sense, ours is a moral voyage with an emphasis on innovation and putting knowledge to service. We will also fail to answer questions from students and society about what universities are for at a time of change and limited resource. As the tabloids focused on fears of a Romanian crime wave in inner-city London, our Romanian Society took the award for performance of the night for its joyful mixture of irony, energy and fun.
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The event was hosted by international student officer Fadi Dakkak, who is leading our campaign to ensure that all students — from the UK or overseas — feel the benefits of being part of aninternational community. Some of the leaders of the future are with us at Sheffield now, and our task is to make the very most of them being among us.
As our union president Abdi Aziz-Suleiman puts it: Los protagonistas y lectores de sus libros estandartes, Maravilloso desastre Jamie McGuire, Suma de letras o El chico Malo Abbi Glines, Destino entre otros, se encuentran en esa edad intermedia entre la adolescencia y la edad adulta que no tiene nombre. James se encuentran en la veintena. And you can never go fast enough. Easier said than done, writes actor Lisa Dwan. Every pore of my face and neck is smothered with thick black grease and cloaked in charcoal.
With surgical precision, I wet-wipe my lips and pull down the opaque tight shroud. Blinded now, I reach out for the hand that will guide me up the steep steps to the platform. The sound is muffled, but I can pick out some voices in the crowd below.
My forehead is pushed forward, pressed between a thick blindfold and plank of wood. My arms are placed inside metal clasps, and my heartbeat reverberates against the blackened boards: I will never get used to this claustrophobic grip. Becky, my stage manager, pushes my neck forward through a gap large enough for only a third of my face and fastens the second strap of the head harness.
Now my ears are closed off. He told me about this short, intense play, where an actor is suspended in utter darkness except for her disembodied mouth spewing a torrent, a stream of consciousness. The mouth appears to float about the stage. Backstage, he told her she had destroyed his play.
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At 22 minutes, she had delivered it far too slowly. In , I was sent the script by the director Natalie Abrahami. In between the sheer poetry and the fractured narrative, I saw a transcript of how the mind works — not a linear stream of thought, but layers of interjections, interruptions, insurrections. In the scattering of Christian pieties and Irish colloquialisms, I also heard the sound of home.
But it looms large among Beckettians; her close affiliation to him provokes a natural call and response.
The impact of her original minute triumph at the Royal Court in London resonates 40 years on. And yet it was vital not to let that performance affect mine. When Beckett watched the rushes, he turned to his friend and biographer James Knowlson to say: He was a holistic artist, and the visual, textual and sensory elements of the performance are of equal importance. Every performance is knife-edge stuff.
Beckett wanted this piece to play on the nerves of the audience, not the intellect.
And in writing a text so near to unlearnable as Not I, with its exhaustively tricksy repetition and countless interjections to be spoken at such speed, he gets it. It is so rarely performed that I cannot afford a mistake. I record each performance, then carefully play it over with the text. If I go wrong even halfway through, back I go. They disturb the concentration.
But like vultures, they hover above his lean lines. Did you turn off the gas? When I met Billie in , we bonded immediately, like two shell-shocked war veterans. Are we literalists or activists? Sometimes, this dichotomy is expressed in metaphorical terms. What about this distinction between literalists and activists? Are there any other metaphors or frameworks that you feel provide a better starting point for talking about our work? It might seem creative, you say, but actually it ignores the specific creativity of the Spanish.
But before we do that, let me throw in a couple of comments that stuck in my mind recently reading through an anthology of older translation theory to prepare for a teaching course. That makes sense to me. We come at the original. We throw in some tricks to liven it up. In general, especially where the prose is unusual, we should remember that, as the pages turn, readers can be drawn into a different kind of fluency.
A writer knows this. The whole book is going to go on like that. The translator has to take a risk, wait, write quite a few pages, see if some kind of different enchantment can be conjured up. In short, I suspect Dryden would be with your fifth draft rather than your third, but can we see them? Ya no duele, dijo mi hermano. Ever more pale, he observed through the window how the landscape pulverized itself in the speed.
My brother grew paler and paler as, through the car window, he observed the speeding landscape turn to dust.
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He was growing paler and paler. Through the car window, he watched the landscape crumble in the speed. But that shifts the focus of the sentence from the process the crumbling of the landscape to its result dust. If you read on in the novel, you notice the author uses a lot of ergative or reflexive verbs, creating an open-ended atmosphere where nothing is resolved, which is also true of the plot itself.
A good question to ask is how the unusual aspects of the style are linked to each other, how they are working together. This disorientation then meshes with the experience of the person watching the landscape dissolve or turn to dust or whatever en la velocidad. That sensation has worked its way into the language. Two lessons we could draw maybe: first, your Spanish has to be good enough to distinguish the standard from the non-standard, the ordinary from the not.
This is probably the hardest thing for people reading in their second language. Especially since the two shade into each other. Second lesson. You have to become aware of your own bias toward writing in this or that style and resist it, or at least not mistake it for creativity. But what is a beautiful sentence? The attraction of the writing is in relation to the content and the overall project. Your Bolivian author is trying to create a certain feel. Because the translator — and I think this is crucial — is both server and performer.