Talking to Sweden
an Art of Dying Fragment
Talking to Sweden
These days, pretty much all Scientology materials: books, tapes, course packs, et cetera, et cetera, nearly ad infinitum, are available in print or on CDs (mp3s have not made inroads yet on the assembly lines) in a host of different languages, Swedish included. Back in 1970, it was all English.
And only English. American English, to be precise.
One morning, in the Orders of the Day (our Apollo Daily), Our Prince, who had been mulling the translation question for a while, shared a thought on how to get his materials translated quickly into various other languages. He mentioned the UN translators who translate from one language to another on the fly, as a UN representative or other important person talks — live.
A good translator, went on to speculate, could read a page of text, or listen to a recorded lecture, and simply translate from LRH’s English to his or her native (or expert second or third) tongue as he or she read the page or listened to the lecture.
Good on paper.
Yes, perhaps even great, and not only on paper, when it came to live speeches or verbal questions or rebuttals in a meeting, using experienced, well-trained, translators, for the holder of the speech or the voicer of the question or opinion usually speaks relatively slowly and with pauses here and there where the sight-translator (which is the term for these on-the-fly heroes) can catch up or correct as needed. I have since heard some of these UN guys and they stop and start a lot and repeat or correct a word here and there, and sometimes gush a really fast sentence in order to catch up — it’s not how you want to hear our sacred doctrine rendered.
For now we are talking about Our Prince, the savior of the Universe, whose every word is gold and must never, never, ever be misconstrued or mistranslated. To wrongly interpret Our Prince in another language, in other words, mis-translate him, would be crime, a crime with inconceivable, unconfrontable and utterly unforgiveable consequences, for that would block the road to freedom for an entire country.
Should a UN sight-translator flub a line or two, or correct something on the fly, her or she would not commit a crime — not even close — that would just be expected par for the translation course.
Not so with translating the Eternal Voice of Total Freedom.
I knew this. But this was the problem: if Our Prince thought it was a good and feasible idea, then it WAS a good and feasible idea. It would be up to us, the potential sight-translators to make things go right and make it work; up to us to prove Our Prince correct, as always.
He was never wrong.
Yes, I knew this going in, but still, I volunteered. Yes, Sir, I can do this. Sure.
All right, said Our Prince. You can use one of the Nagras, see Geoff about it. Start with something simple.
The Nagra, by the way, was (and still is) a Swiss manufacturer of high-quality audio equipment, and their portable reel-to-reel recorders of the 1970s are more or less legendary. Our Prince used them to record his own lectures, all the time. We had an Audio Chief (Geoff Barnes, my Seamen’s Four landlord) aboard, who took care of the recorders, and who also set up for and recorded LRH’s lectures and briefings.
A Nagra for my translations, well, I’ll be damn. Cool. They were beautiful machines, lending credibility to the project just by being so cool.
Our Prince, having thought on this some more, then suggested that I start with translating the Communication Course curriculum, a fairly thin pack with issues that I was already quite familiar with.
Sure, will do.
Next problem, however, and a big one: where on the ship to do this? The ship was never really quiet, always a noise somewhere, if not from within then from the docks or other ships without.
Surveying the ship, top to bottom, I concluded that the chart room up on the bridge was the quietest place onboard. Farthest from the engine room, and also away from the busier part of the ship. Our Prince agreed, as did the Audio Chief.
All around approval obtained.
So, I set myself up with the Nagra, a good (professional) microphone, and the course pack. Pressed record and set out.
Only to discover, within a sentence or two, that I was no professional UN sight-translator; and also to in fact discover that the sight-translator had yet to be born (if he or she every would be) who could, smoothly, and correctly “sight” translate Our Prince’s technical material while reading (or hearing) them for the first time. No way, man. No way. Not in this universe.
Okay, make things go right.
Up to me, now.
This is how I solved this problem: I convinced Geoff to supply me a small, portable Uher reel-to-reel recorder (it used smaller reels and could run at very slow speeds, making even the smallest reel last for an hour or two) for me to record a draft translation, thus: I’d read the first sentence, give it some thought, form the translation in my head, and then record it on the Uher. Once down, I’d stop the Uher and then read the next sentence, give it some thought, form the translation in my head, and then record it on the Uher, press Stop. Read the next sentence, et cetera.
In the end I’d have the entire technical issue recorded like this, on the little portable, replete with clicks (of course) from all the record-starts and stops.
Next, I’d rewind the Uher tape to the beginning, plug a small ear piece from the Uher into my right ear, and with the Nagra and pro mike set up to go at professional speed, press playback on the Uher, press record on the Nagra, and simply speak, smoothly and clearly, into the Nagra pro mike what I heard in my right ear from the Uher.
And it worked. It bloody well worked.
No, it was not sight-translating, but on-the-fly translating nonetheless. Perhaps not precisely what Our Prince had prescribed, but close enough and workable was my take on it.
And so, a week or so into this project, reel after reel of my translations in the bag, I began thinking of climbing the midnight stairs (I worked from midnight to about 5 am, the quietest time on the ship) up to the bridge and the chartroom as heading upstairs to “Talk to Sweden.”
That’s how Scientology translations took their first baby steps.
© Wolfstuff
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