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Great Literature in Foreign Languages | ||
Tags: Literature | Foreign Languages | ||
 Language Learning Forum : Books, Literature & Reading |  | |
| Tanner Diglot Newbie United States Joined 5602 days ago 2 posts - 2 votes Speaks: English*, Spanish Studies: Russian, German | Message 1 of 6 31 August 2009 at 2:27am | IP Logged | ||
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I have been wondering about this for quite some time and I thought I would bring it to this forum to see if anyone has knowledge of this topic.
Many great writers have had knowledge of more than one language. The English writer John Milton, who knew Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, Spanish, Italian, and proficiency in Dutch in addition to his native English, immediately comes to mind. I assume tha we can all agree that this would facilitate writing in their native language. Yet, has an author composed a work in a modern, foreign language which has become regarded as great literature? Obviously, I am aware of works which have been written in dead languages (most notably Latin). I do know that, to use him again as an example, Milton composed poems in Latin and Greek. (As an aside - I do not know if it was contemporary Greek or its ancient counterpart that he composed in. If anyone knows this, I am sure many would be interested if you were to share this.) However, if anyone has any information on this subject, I would be greatly interested to listen. Thank you. 1 person has voted this message useful | |||
| Russianbear Triglot Senior Member United States Joined 6766 days ago 358 posts - 422 votes  1 sounds Speaks: Russian*, English, Ukrainian Studies: Spanish | Message 2 of 6 31 August 2009 at 2:47am | IP Logged | ||
See this thread. Edited by Russianbear on 31 August 2009 at 2:49am 1 person has voted this message useful | |||
| Tanner Diglot Newbie United States Joined 5602 days ago 2 posts - 2 votes Speaks: English*, Spanish Studies: Russian, German | Message 3 of 6 31 August 2009 at 2:59am | IP Logged | ||
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Thank you. I don't know how that didn't show up on my search.
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| ryanmatthew Newbie Bhutan Joined 6123 days ago 3 posts - 4 votes Speaks: Kannada* | Message 5 of 6 31 August 2009 at 4:57am | IP Logged | ||
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I am currently writing a novel in Spanish, a language that I started learning four years ago, at age 19. I also searched the internet like you, seeking out examples and reading the same stories about Joseph Conrad and Nabokov. It started for me as a way to simply practice the language, to keep it alive, but it has become much more. The freshness is exhilarating. It is not easy, and at times the issue of language choice seems to usurp my thinking and overflow into the pages.
I hope that me posting the following prose isn't impertinent, as I have no interest in trying to get my writing out there for others to see. I simply paste it here because it describes, for me, the constant tension that I feel as someone who has left their native language behind in a state of neglect, while pursuing the study of other languages and expression –verbal or written– in them. ----- Años han pasado sin que yo te haya confrontado. Sé que estás a mi lado, que me acompañas cuando intento escapar de los primeros rayos de sol, cuando me sirvo el té matinal, en mi reacción desmesurada a una rebanada de pan quemada que iba a desayunar. Estás desbordándote de cada fisura de mi ser, de cada detalle del día y de la noche, de lo consciente y lo inconsciente del más profundo tejido que me mantiene nada menos que humano. Huyo de tu presencia: en mi pasaporte ya no queda dónde dejar más rasgos de una trayectoria inútil; entierro el pasado, la familia, incluso a tí, en las páginas de novelas que apenas si las entiendo. El interior de mi ser se ha vuelto un campo de batalla en que me aviento contra mí mismo, puñal a la mano, con una reticente inclemencia de hermanos que se están a punto de fusilar. He construido mis mediaguas patéticas bajo las formas cuadradas del cirílico, buscando abrigo en los malentendidos que se extienden hacia atrás y adelante como oxidadas latas de remolachas azucaradas, medio fundidas en los vestigios de hogueras de un ejercicio en retirada. Te abandono, dejo la llave que me abría a los pensamientos lejanos cubierta de lodo, olvidada, bajo los cimientos de épocas anteriores, como Roma, como Barcelona, como el resultado de civilización y de tiempo. Soy huérfano, exiliado, incomprensible para los que antes me estaban cercas. ¿Puedo traducir el pasado para que encaje con el presente, seguir gastando mis zapatos en calles que ni siquiera sé hacia dónde van, y todavía acceder a una vida que ahora me es extraña, ajena? Fui escogido por tí: me sacaste del horno con una leve sonrisa de satisfacción y echaste lo que quedaba de la masa al olvido. Y ¡qué mezcla, qué especias, has trabajado bien! Para otro, para otros, hubiera sido… ¡perfecto! Con las manos esposadas me has condenado a llevar un diccionario por todas partes, que me irrumpe en los pensamientos como quien juzga gracioso encender la luz en una sala del cine en el momento preciso del punto culminante, como un río que se lleva al libro de quien lo deja caer, estupefacto, sin haber terminado las últimas páginas. Y por más que me esfuerce por liberarme de tí, padre abusivo, esclavista implacable, me tropiezo con las mil otras cadenas a las cuales me habías atado mientras salía, llorando, de mi madre, esa noche de inevitable destino. 1 person has voted this message useful | |||
| ryanmatthew Newbie Bhutan Joined 6123 days ago 3 posts - 4 votes Speaks: Kannada* | Message 6 of 6 31 August 2009 at 5:01am | IP Logged | ||
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I meant to post what I wrote above in the linked topic, as this is obviously not great literature. If it can be moved I would appreciate that.
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