Invitée à écrire en Anglais, les idées me viennent en français. (trans.: Invited to write in English, I can only think about the content in French.) I hear in French. I understand sounds in my native (and contracted) French Canadian, with a hint of my fathers French which carries a melodic and grammatically correct French from the Caribbean.
What a slippery and fugitive word translation is. There are so many factors that come up and collide in this way. When I begin to reflect on translation, Im thinking who is doing the translating?
That desire for authoring new modes that reflect the diasporic, non-monolithic condition of language is what drives my interest in translatability. Who is being translated, and for whom?
If you work in a really involved way with materials, you inhabit this realm of translation, in a sense, because the preoccupation with material systems stays within these specific languages. You didn’t pick a broad topic that you could put things into. You picked one that has to become a process.