Eighty years ago, a translator–Mary Ryan–wrote about her work as a translator, a communicator whose responsibility it was to be a bridge between two worlds.
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We are all translators in some way, especially on rainy days. Thinking about how we tell stories and explain the many whys of the moment to our future selves–the generations behind us–as a writer, this is what I think about on rainy days. This passage is arresting as I hear raindrops on the roof dribble down loose gutters.
Do you want to do intellectual work? Begin by creating within you a zone of silence, a habit of recollection, a will to renunciation and detachment which puts you entirely at the disposal of the work; acquire that state of soul unburdened by desire and self-will which is the state of grace of the intellectual worker. Without that you will do nothing,
Antonin-Gilbert Sertillanges, 1863–1948, The Intellectual Life (1948/1960, Translation by Mary Ryan), p. viii
at least nothing worth while.
I am getting so close to finishing this manuscript. All the note-taking. All the re-wording. All the resisting that which is artificial. All the truth-finding. On rainy days, writing seems easier until I remember I have other work to do. Sigh…the steady rhythm and harmony of rain is being replaced by bustling on the street…it is time to translate something else as I evaluate papers…the life of a teacher is more than intellectual.
