Happy Interpreter


Гео и язык канала: Украина, Английский
Категория: Блоги


Random thoughts on interpreting, translation, language, and happiness. Any comments, questions, suggestions? Feel free to contact me: @kusznir
You can support this channel here: https://www.patreon.com/happyinterpreter

Связанные каналы

Гео и язык канала
Украина, Английский
Категория
Блоги
Статистика
Фильтр публикаций


​​Torture

As russia-occupied territories get liberated, the world learns about appalling scope of atrocities, which also means that we interpreters get to interpret for survivors and witnesses.

At a first glance, it may seem these people are not saying anything that could be difficult to interpret. But even for those of us who started interpreting about torture before it went mainstream, first-hand witness accounts can be somewhat challenging. Let's name just a few of the possible pitfalls: casual mentions of the local geography, political figures and collaborationists, military equipment, and some russian Sprachregelung. While each one of these things is manageable, the cognitive load can get quite overwhelming when they are mentioned together. 

On top of that, the whole account may at times sound more emotional than logical, with focus on some specific scenes—this is explained by the very nature of how traumatic memories are stored in one's brain.

What's the best preparation? As usual, soak in as much background knowledge as possible. The more you have been to the topic, the easier pieces fall into place even if the speaker is not exactly a master storyteller. The more you are aware of the patterns, the smaller the chance you will be caught off-guard by any specific detail.

Nine Circles of Hell: Places of Detention in Ukraine under the Russian Occupation, a recent report by the Danish Institute Against torture, is one way of gaining such background knowledge. 

Warning: by any means not an enjoyable read.


​​Will to Live

If your country has been through an emergency or crisis (e.g. a war or the COVID-19 epidemic), you are probably well aware of the medical triage system: the patients are marked with color tags (Red/Immediate, Orange/Delayed, Green/Minor) depending on the urgency of care they need. The system is useful because in almost any large-scale emergency there is no capacity to help everyone all at once.

However, in most contexts there's one more color tag—for those who don't need help any more, albeit possibly still alive. It's Black/Deceased—the hopeless.

In May 2022, having come back to my home office after 3 months of absence, I quickly triaged my indoor plants. The succulent buddy was clearly still Green—both physically and figuratively. The rest of the plants seemed hopelessly Black: for a couple of weeks, I gradually cut off the parts that were obviously dead, and kept watering the plants just out of respect for the deceased creatures. Eventually, the watering effort was phased out. 

Weeks later, the leafless plant suddenly produced a cute little green leaf. My non-binary friend had to be kidding me! Needless to say, I started watering it again. Now there are 5 leaves and counting. The plant has won the battle for its own life, and now can rightly enjoy the military orchestra practicing victorious melodies mere hundreds of meters away.

Few stories in the school curriculum managed to make me cry. One of them was Dovzhenko's "Воля до життя" (Will to Live). The story is short and straightforward: a heavily wounded soldier clearly triaged as hopeless summons his last strength, walks up to the surgeon's table, yells at the doctor, and gets his treatment.

Caution: the story was written back in the USSR, so it had to include a tiny flirting wink for the regime. But the character's conclusion is correct—and timeless:

Людина на війні — це воля. Є воля — є людина! Нема волі — нема людини! Скільки волі, стільки й людини, — ось що я знайшов.

Even my plants manage to put this philosophy into practice. Now it's time for this Telegram channel to catch up. Let this post be the first green leaf!


Monkeypox
#PopularScience

Interpreters are often among the first to notice a new trend. They have no choice: once the new elephant in the room becomes too obvious, it can rear its [usually] ugly head in virtually any conversation.

Quite often, the elephant is not really new. On some rare occasions, it's actually a monkey.

If you've been following this channel for a couple of years, you could have seen my posts about measles and COVID-19. Now, when those two seem to have subsided, there's a new health threat coming up: monkeypox.

(Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yeah, as if the war were not enough...)

From what I can gather, monkeypox is not nearly as dangerous as COVID: it is both less deadly and less transmissible—although we can't fully rule out the airborne transmission yet. Furthermore, even if the current strain is somewhat new, humanity has known monkeypox since 1958, and have developed effective vaccines against other Poxviridae. In short, given some concerted international effort, we are likely to get on top of it soon.

Until then, let us do some background reading (e.g. on general virology and immunization), follow the news, and look up "monkeypox" in all our source/target languages. In Polish, for instance, it is małpia ospa; in Ukrainian, віспа мавп / мавпяча віспа (note the lack of apostrophe in мавпячa).

Stay safe!


​​On Resilience

Having looked through my last year's posts, I found only one that's quite sad: the one-of-a-kind Ukrainian English-language newspaper was closed down because of the owner's self-censorship.

Can you guess what happened next? The journalists who lost their jobs founded a news website of their own, The Kyiv Independent. Concurrently, Kyiv Post was relaunched. In essence, we've got two at the price of one—neither is paywalled, by the way.

Poland has witnessed a similar story. When Agnieszka Kamińska was appointed the Editor-in-Chief of the Polish Radio and started "cleansing" the staff of the famous Trójka channel, two independent listener-supported radio stations were soon launched: Radio Nowy Świat and Radio 357 (the latter is now backed by 45,000+ patrons, myself included). Needless to say, the original Trójka is still there, although not nearly as popular as before.

The same phenomenon can be observed in the Ukrainian Armed Forces. When the enemy comes to "demilitarize" Ukraine, we actually seize their equipment, and end up much more militarized than before. Once the enemy announces, say, the COMPLETE DESTRUCTION of our aviation, the very next day they are attacked by... our aviation. Now that's a true miracle!


Holy Fire

No, I'm not afraid of religious vocab. Moreover, as someone whose humble beginnings in interpreting can be tracked back to religious organizations, I've been promoting Christian hymns and Biblical language as a source of elevated vocab in modern English (and other languages).

This said, there are religious fields in which I am not well-versed. One example is liturgical and clerical terminology of the Orthodox and Catholic churches. In March 2022, when I found myself helping to interview an Orthodox priest, the journalist was impressed with my knowledge, but I clearly saw some terminological gaps to be bridged.

On the Great Sabbath, my boothmate was someone immersed into the Orthodox subject-matter much deeper than I will ever be. They juggled all those "autocephalous," "all-night vigils" and the like with grace, elegance, and flair. All I needed to do was pick those nuggets and recycle them in my interpretation a half an hour later. So I gladly did. 

Finally, when it was my turn, у Єрусалимі зійшов благодатний вогонь. Yes, while many Christians pray the Lord to "send the Fire down," the Orthodox guys in Jerusalem claim this keeps happening in the most literal sense, on an annual basis, in strict accordance with the liturgical schedule developed by their church. I knew about the phenomenon, but my translation was rather word-for-word.

A few days later, I was translating an interview with a notoriously corrupt mayor who likes to emphasize how Orthodox he is. A tragedy had happened in his city—Russian missiles killed some civilians. Predictably, before discussing the tragedy, the mayor described himself watching the Holy Fire on TV—and it was then that the missiles stroke! That time, I already new the word.

Yes, it is the Holy Fire. It seems, in English it doesn't really descend—instead, it is simply lit.

Having noticed a certain word craving for your attention, don't shrug it off. Look the word up, google for some background knowledge if necessary, and be thoroughly equipped for every good work. Otherwise, as some Christians say, your sin will find you.


Polish Your Underused Languages

Last year, I looked into the issue of how we interpreters maintain our "second" foreign languages—the ones by no means inferior in terms of excitement and joy, but usually less prolific in terms of orders.

In this video, I use my own story with Polish as a case study.

The attendees liked the abundance of sources in the second half of the video, so I decided to prepare a language toolkit for advanced learners of my [other] native language—Ukrainian. Back then, we couldn't predict the current war, but it has surely made my forthcoming presentation eerily relevant.

Just in case: Today is the last day when you can register for this year's Polyglot Gathering Online (April 28 to May 1, 2022) with a €25 discount. Find out more and register here.

See you at the Polyglot Gathering!


​​Fair Balls to You, Good Sir!

Yesterday Ukrainian TV ran a story of a confectioner who made a huge chocolate egg decorated with the Union Jack. The author congratulated Boris Johnson for his tremendous support for Ukraine, and then explained his masterpiece:

"...таке велике шоколадне яйце на честь британського прем'єра, бо в нього виявилися найбільші яйця".

In the vernacular, the Ukrainian word for eggs—яйця—is also commonly used for "testicles" (both physical and proverbial, i.e. to say that a brave person "has big balls"). In English, eggs are just eggs—tough luck for ribald puns!

Fortunately, it was my colleague's turn to interpret, so I could just relax and think what I would do in her stead—that is, how I would save this gourmet joke from falling apart. 

Technically, the word "big" can pass as a pun, too: the first use will be literal, and the second one figurative (in the "big balls" idiom). Yep, we can go almost word-for-word:

"Why is this egg so big? It commemorates the British prime minister. He's got the biggest balls!" 

That's more or less how my colleague put it—to be fair, I'd probably say the same if it were my turn. Yet, in a TV news bulletin you can't always do word-for-word, because they speak at breakneck speed; you often have to omit things that have already been mentioned in the same message. In this case, the audience can see it's an egg, and the reporter has just spent a minute explaining how it had been made, so we can skip "this is a big chocolate egg" with no regrets.

Now, you may recall, in his previous sentence the confectioner praised Boris Johnson for his valorous support. Sounds like a great occasion to use an old Irish expression I've learned a dozen years ago from... another Johnson :-)

"[Boris Johnson has been supporting Ukraine from the start...] Fair balls to him! He's got the biggest balls!"

This simple stratagem lets us catch up with the speaker and insert a smart pun. We're feeding two birds with one scone!


W/Na Ukrainie

It seemed carved in stone: when I was learning Polish, there was only one correct way to say "in Ukraine": "na Ukrainie". Unlike in the Russian language, Poles use this preposition with names of many other modern countries, some of which never were part of Poland (e.g. "na Węgrzech"). When denoting destination, only one of those countries could be used with variable prepositions—both "na Słowację" and "do Słowacji" were correct; all the rest had to be used with "na".

The atrocious war of 2014 didn't change the situation much. But the war of 2022, it seems, finally shook the foundations and effed the ineffable. All the respected Polish language pundits now say in one voice: both "na" and "w/do" have sufficient historical backgrounds, and both can be used in modern Polish—and, in their personal opinion, using "w/do" makes much more sense now. (If you want to hear the same in a woman's voice, here you go).

Socially responsible media, such as Radio 357, are now consistently using "w Ukrainie / do Ukrainy" in their communication (needless to say, this same radio supports pro-Ukrainian charities, and covers events in Ukraine with due effort and diligence, mindfully and compassionately).

In Russian, Ukraine seems to be the only non-island country used with "na," which is inconsistent at the least. Back in 1990s, they made some decent effort to switch to from "na" to "w" (even their current dictator used to say "w Ukrainie"), but then quickly backslid to "na" again.

What's their current situation? The choice pretty much depends on whether the speaker supports or condemns the war. Let's quote one of the Russian language pundits:

Предлоги окончательно поляризовались, и даже с разными обозначениями происходящего на територии Украины используются разные предлоги. Со словом "спецоперация" используется предлог "на", то есть, мы читаем новости российских СМИ о "спецоперации на Украине"; a с другим словом используется предлог "в", и я не видел использования предлога "на" в сочетании с этим словом — там только "в Украине". 

You've guessed right: the mysterious "other word" he is referring to is "WAR", and the pundit himself chooses to silently condone it. According to him, "не стоит придавать предлогам тех смыслов, которых в них нет, и грамматический вопрос превращать в военно-политический". Unsurprisingly, some of his previous soft-power activity was funded through Russia's presidential grants, and was conducted not only in the Crimea, but also in the self-proclaimed republics in the East of Ukraine—years before Putin "recognized" them. Indeed, once Persil—always Persil.


One Badass Pop Sci Vlogger
#PopularScience

One of the unnoticed perils of this war for a male civilian like me is a rather high chance of gaining some pounds—seriously, I still "carry some weight" of the first 2020 pandemic lockdown. 

Think of it this way: even for those as active professionally, socially, and athletically as before (although, frankly, few of us are), many of the usual activities are limited in time now. E.g., before the war, I could do some jogging at 11 pm, or take a leisurely stroll at 5 am; now, I have to stay at home because of the curfew. To keep the balance, it's only logical to impose similar time restrictions on one's consumption of food...

My discovery of intermittent fasting—or, to use a more precise term, time-restricted eating—was serendipitous. A water cooler chat, an extra-long day at work in a high-security facility with no food left in the evening—and here you have it, I jumped into the experiment in mid-February. I desperately needed to get a better view of what I was embarking upon, at least to pick a suitable time interval. 

Fortunately, I stumbled upon Huberman Lab Podcast that answered all my questions and more. No matter what aspect of daily bodily science you are interested in, neuroscientist Andrew Huberman almost surely has an episode for you! On a separate note, his voice is quite likeable, too. But I'll save you the spoilers—check for yourself.

Oh, in case you are interested in my results: unlike in the lockdown, I've actually lost about 2 kg over the last 2 months. Nothing too impressive, especially compared to the stories of the people I spoke with. However, time-restricted eating proved surprisingly easy to follow, and seems to have a host of other unexpected health and behavioral benefits. My verdict: it's definitely worth trying!


​​Eyewitness Accounts

News updates can be truly horrifying these days. Still, the more fortunate of us—those residing far from Ukraine and having no friends or relatives here—manage to shrug this off as some kind of propaganda, or just a bad dream, or whatever. 

Personal stories are one of the tools to breach this gap of indifference. In fact, much of our interpreters' and translators' work right now has to do with eyewitness accounts—making them accessible to the global audience. 

Most of the time we are translating the words of others; in my home city, I personally witnessed only one missile attack, and saw the consequences of another. But what if a top-notch interpreter had to experience the all-out turmoil firsthand, e.g. stay in Bucha throughout its occupation? What if they could write a chilling diary straight from the bomb shelter, typing it on a mobile phone thoughtfully hidden from the occupiers?

The fact is, there is such an interpreter, and here is his wartime diary on Medium (impressive text-to-speech available).

Still not sure if he is a real person? I've found a sweet old pic for you: the diary's author, joined by Word4Power and yours truly, sharing remote interpretation experience (before it went mainstream in 2020). Oh, how happy, how careless, and how euphoric our lives were!

Some more eyewitness accounts from people of all walks of life—1,900 and counting—can be found here. As a rule, they are not in English, but Google Translate, our tireless digital colleague, readily helps to get the message across. And if you happen to be from Ukraine, I hope you will find some of these memoirs inspiring, and decide to share your own story, too.


​​Long in the Tooth

"I’m too long in the tooth," said President Biden in one of the recent press conferences. What did he mean?

Though the meaning is quite guessable from the context, it is better to be forearmed with exact knowledge, especially with people like Biden, whose speech is at times a bit slurred because they are rather... long in the tooth :-)

You've guessed it: the phrase is a joking way to say someone is old. This 16th century Latin expression was first used in written English by William Makepeace Thackeray back in 1852. The thing is, horses' teeth actually get longer with age—hence another old adage, "don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

How then do we render Biden's phrase in Ukrainian? Some options include:

Старий я вже.
Я вже не в тому віці.
Я вже збУйвік.
З мене вже порохнЯ / порохнО / порох сиплеться. 

In case you are from Ukraine, notice how polysemantic the last one becomes if we use it to describe our Gray-Haired Hetman! 

* * *

If you are following генрі kissінжир, our today's content surely rings a bell with you—because this is exactly where the better part of this post is borrowed from.

The channel is authored by Silvester Nosenko, a fellow interpreter known for his work for President Zelenskyy and the likes. Though not really long in the tooth, Silvester consistently delves deep into the language and the subject matter of what he interprets and translates. You could have heard him unveil some inner workings of our profession in this podcast episode.

Silvester's efforts demand admiration, and his channel is worth following—among other things, you'll learn where to send the proverbial Russian warship, and how to call Russian politicians.


​​One Miracle at a Time 

Interpreters help change lives... maybe. As a rule, I was skeptical about this statement: no matter how important work we do, no matter how satisfied the clients are, any life-changing outcomes are difficult to track at best.

Now, in wartime, I sometimes try my hand in the subtle art of fixership. And you know what? Life truly knows how to bewilder one with a sudden miracle. 

...Michael envisioned a story depicting the war through the lens of a local church. OK. But which church should we choose if they are so numerous? We came to a natural compromise: I took the team to a church I picked, and they took me to a church they picked. This was only fair, and we actually got two great features for the price of one.

2 weeks later, there was a heartwarming update

Touched by the TV story of a refugee family from the war-torn Hostomel, and more specifically, of a teenaged ballroom dancer suddenly robbed off his dream, a dancing school in Aarhus got an idea... In short, the entire family is safe in Denmark now, and the boy is back to dancing.

I want Ukraine to win as fast as possible. I want invaders to go to hell where they belong, or back to their insipid, hapless, fear-infested lives in Russia (who knows which of the two options is worse). I want to interpret for huge conferences in Kyiv, joined by scores of consummate colleagues and friends. But even before that happens, let us keep making a difference—one miracle at a time.


​​Sudden Visibility

In every shitty situation there's hope for some unexpected benefit. Due to Russia's aggression in 2014, people like me became full-fledged interpreters. And due to the shitshow that's happening now (with very tangible implications for millions of people), the profession suddenly gained long-due attention. 

Here's a recent example: Danylo Mokryk, a Ukrainian journalist with a 50K+ audience on YouTube devoted almost an entire episode to interpretation, translation, and our President's premature attempts to communicate in English. 

The video showcases some classic mistakes every beginner interpreter should know their way around:

False Attribution. In a misleadingly confident voice, the interpreter renders President Biden's words "it will be a war of choice" as "это будет та война, в которой мы будем участвовать по собственному выбору," in essence making him say the USA is willing to participate in the war. If this were a story from A. Falaleyev's course, it would have ended with something like "on that same day, the guy was shamed out of the profession, and soon after committed suicide / died a lonely drunkard / etc." But this is a real-life story, so you can be assured that this same guy is mistranslating someone else today, in the same gravely confident voice (and if I were Julia Poger, I would finish this sentence with "just because you are not marketing yourself enough"). 

Word-for-word Translation. Here Mokryk cites the example of "false-flag" being translated as "під чужим прапором". I agree, this rendition is less than ideal, and in many cases it makes much sense to interpret "a false-flag attack" as, let's say, "провокація". Nonetheless, "під чужим прапором" seems to have become an established figure of speech. Come to think of it, it sounds quite natural, and is quite difficult to substitute in many situations, so I'd rather abstain on this one.

False Friends. When interviewed by an international journalist, Volodymyr Zelenskyy (sorry for the official shitty spelling) has mistaken "ambitions" for "амбіції". Mr. President, she actually meant "прагнення"... But there's no one to give him a hint, and the entire answer is led astray.

What's Mokryk's conclusion? One should master foreign languages and check the original in case there's something suspicious in the translation. Actually, there's one more solution, which he shows without much comment: Mr. Zelenskyy on an official visit to the USA, accompanied and interpreted by our esteemed colleague from Kyiv—easily recognizable even when wearing a mask.


​​Irresistible Lure

"Next time a DHL package is delivered while we are interpreting, could you please abstain from unwrapping it right in the booth?"
"Yes, dearest boothmate, next time I'll surely do as you say. But this time, when the products arrived straight from France, in stylish black square boxes, smelling of exquisite perfume... How could I possibly resist?"

The enticing products in question were creative covers for my B&O Beoplay A9. Now my childhood dream has come true: I finally have a perfect set of equipment for listening to Радіо "Промінь" (Channel 2 of the Public Broadcasting Company of Ukraine). Seriously: each morning, starting from 6 am, they play a set of wonderful energizing music with no comments or commercials, which seems like a very good reason to wake up earlier. If I'm in the mood for a run (or have leave for work early), I can listen to it outside, using a headset. Otherwise, I'll just stay in the room enjoying my morning cup of tea with some decent songs old and new.

Indeed, B&O and Skiniplay know how to impress, and Промінь knows how to consistently deliver inspiration for decades. Let us be like them.


​​RIP Kyiv Post!

This month has been rich in sad news, but here's an update that truly struck me dumb: an awesome newspaper has died. Or should we say "the most awesome newspaper in Ukraine"? Because Kyiv Post truly had no equal.

I can vaguely recall our first encounter: back in my secondary school years, a classmate brought a copy to the English class having come back from Kyiv. The newspaper was so classy, so glossy, so sophisticated—no less mesmerizing than the charming city it came from! Someday, I'd travel to that majestic city, too. In the meantime, I was happy to hold that little slice of Kyiv in my hand.

A couple of years later, when I already had a computer at home and could read Kyiv Post on my screen, I found out they sometimes offered free guided tours of the capital's center. In English! That was the first time I travelled to Kyiv on my own, and I enjoyed the experience thoroughly.

Fast forward 10+ years. The majestic city became the place I live in. And Kyiv Post was there for me: a good many of conference venues—and airlines alike—always had some free copies, to which I'd gladly treat myself on my way to or from work, to or from Ukraine... My main takeaway was simple yet profound: being born and raised in Ukraine should not be an obstacle to writing in exquisite, flamboyant English. Hence this channel came to life.

But now, as the crackdown on free press has spelled the doom of this immense source of inspiration, I find myself speechless. So let's just finish by quoting a song by Jars of Clay, my favorite band:

Raise a glass for ignorance,
Drink a toast to fear
The beginning of the end has come
That's why we all are here
Strike up the band to play a song
And try hard not to cry
And fake a smile as we all say goodbye
Goodbye


​​Let's Slam Together!

Years ago, I used to write and recite (or recite and write?) slam poetry, winning prizes—and some actual money!—in both of my native countries. Gone are those days... And still, working on my speaking skills, broadly understood, keeps coming up on my agenda.

This Saturday, on November 20, I'm graduating from a certain course. The graduation day includes reciting a poem together with other amateurs I shared the course with. Needless to say, I chose a slam poem—and the craziest one at that! :) 

If you are in Kyiv, you are free to come and listen to us reciting (4 pm, contact me for the exact location; it's easy to get there). Technically, you're supposed to have your COVID-19 certificate, but actually no one seems to give a flying syringe. 

Caution: the place is quite welcoming and attractive. You may be lured into taking some course, too.


​​Weird Fun

"Can you do a dictation for me? Please?"

It's been over 5 years since she's gone. I mean, literally, gone from this dismal world that failed to embrace her cheerful, ebullient nature. But the page is still there, carefully stored in a box of personal effects somewhere in Vinnytsia—in neat handwriting, sprinkled with the cutest of mistakes, with my girlfriend's name solemnly inscribed in the corner. 

Having some weird fun together fosters the strongest bonds between people. However, this particular kind of fun—albeit in a less intimate form—keeps happening here in Ukraine on an annual basis. I mean the All-Ukrainian Radio Dictation of National Unity. This year, as usual, it's scheduled for November 9, and if you know the language, I encourage you to take part.

The reasons to participate abound, including the already mentioned weird fun, and a slight chance to revisit some grammar rules, keeping one's skills from growing stale. Let's not fool ourselves into thinking one short dictation can produce any serious progress in any person's knowledge. Yet, as the numbers and years pile up, the initiative can have a truly profound effect, instilling in the general public the very idea of polishing one's language skills, and doing so for the right reasons. What are those right reasons? I believe they are: feeling the beauty of the language, respect for fellow language users, and the joy of learning so innate to human nature. 

In 2021, the text is going to be authored and read by Yurii Andrukhovych. This fact alone is enough for me to join. I first met Yurii in Wrocław back in 2009, when he voted for my slam poetry performance in a bar, thus helping me win the cash, some of which I gladly spend on his concert the very next day. Later, in 2011-12, his son and I shared the joy of studying at the University of Warsaw. Much later, in 2021, when Yurii's daughter won the Women in Arts Award in literature, I interpreted at the awards ceremony; Sophia herself was absent for health reasons (which had an unexpected upside: unlike me, she didn't have to listen to Ms. Zabuzhko's relentless self-bragging). In short, their whole family keeps producing awesome feelings, both for me and for thousands (millions?) of other people worldwide.

Finally, there's one more reason to participate: the whole thing is happening over the radio, which always redoubles the magic. 

None of us is here forever. Let's enjoy the weird fun while we still can.


​​Jack-O'-Lantern

Last year I told my subscribers about Everything Is Alive, a podcast by Radiotopia/PRX. Today, I'm doing this again, and not only because I'm absolutely in love with the podcast. There's one more reason this time: on the occasion of Halloween, they re-ran an old episode mentioning Ukraine, my home country. This came as a pleasant surprise: for some reason I have never heard the episode before. 

Namely, the piece discussed the Ukrainian tradition of giving someone a pumpkin as a sign of rejecting a marriage proposal. To my mind, there are many good things about this old tradition. Let's name just some:

🔹 Even in those old days, when marriage was literally crucial for one's survival in rural areas, there was still a way for a young woman (or for her family) to say "no," and it was a normal practice. This exemplifies the freedom-loving nature of our people 😄

🔸 Pumpkin is a very noticeable thing, that's also quite hard to hide. On the one hand, it could prompt other girls that the guy is eager to marry someone, and is still available one the marriage market. On the other hand, as you'll learn from the podcast, it actually encouraged guys to propose late at night, so that fewer people could see them carrying a pumpkin. And that's also a good thing: even in those old days, one's private life could be truly private, to some extent at least.

🔹 Pumpkin was a useful present: back then, Ukrainians didn't make Jack-o'-lanterns, but one could use the vegetable to cook some good pumpkin porridge. In fact, because of this tradition, marriage proposals were a no-lose game: one either got a bride, or a pumpkin (quite possibly, lots of pumpkins—having free pumpkin porridge each week seems like a great business plan).

🔸 Finally, carrying some unusual object in one's hands is a good distraction when one is actually upset about the refusal of some particular candidate. I once heard a story of a young interpreter who had to urgently replace a colleague and was not confident about the vocab, and disliked the general mood of the conference since the moment she arrived there. In a phone conversation, the interpreter's mother encouraged her to go to the toilet and steal a roll of toilet paper. And it worked—she did the job well, and also got some toilet paper as a souvenir!

Though the tradition is long gone, the phrase still remains in the Ukrainian language: дати гарбуза (to give someone a pumpkin) = to refuse a marriage proposal.

Anyway, ghostly greetings, everyone! Eat, drink, and be scary!


On the Radio

Hi there, dear friends! Long time, no see!

Today we have a great occasion to listen to an old song by Regina Spektor. You've probably guessed already: I'm interpreting on the radio. To be more precise,

Suspilne, Channel 1, Українське радіо
13:30, Kyiv time
(best way to listen: suspilne.radio, or install their app on your cell phone)

Interestingly, over the years in the profession I've been to many places, including regional and national TV channels, yet this is the first such experience on the radio. If you have been reading me for a while, you know I am a big fan of radio (e.g. read here or here). I knew the street address of the Ukrainian Radio since my preschool years, and today I'm just going there, in the most mundane way possible. This is how dreams come true.

Also, this is a good occasion to praise our Public Radio for what they are doing. While I've been enjoying Radio Promin (Channel II) for over 3 decades, over the recent years the radio has made huge steps to become more modern, relevant, and digital (read the story in Ukrainian here). 

Needless to say, I always include Suspilne Radio on the "sources list" for those looking to improve their Ukrainian language skills (e.g. those who take the Ukrainian version of Falaleyev's simultaneous interpretation course).

Let's meet on the air!


​​Life Without Poetry? No Way!

You get a good feeling about the webinar right from the start, when you learn that the speaker has not provided any talking points. This sounds encouraging, because you love interpreting spontaneous, unscripted presentations, and you are ready to be surprised along the way.

When the event starts, you notice that the talk follows the "X Things I Learned" template: the speaker presents a slick managerial phrase, which is then followed by some explanation and examples. And this is awesome, because you adore well-structured presentations, and you've completed lots of exercises on how to translate nebulous headlines and buzzwords.

All of this would be quite ordinary—but wait, there's more! When the host asks the speaker for some final takeaway, the answer is:

"What about a poem? Here is a poem for you..."

That moment you realize you are interpreting an absolutely perfect event. Because, as Mykhailo Kotsiubynsky once said, life without poetry is a crime.

P.S. Long time, no see, everyone here! I missed you, and now, it seems, my channel is coming back to life. Cheers!

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