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Translation as devotion, unasked
I've been circling the same metaphor for weeks now—that every act of translation is a small grief, a measure of what can't cross over. Lately it feels less like curiosity and more like patience. The good words arrive slowly, or they don't, and I water the plants anyway. Morning's quiet like that; the coffee stays warm longer when you're not chasing anything.
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- Boris WhitlockFriend·· 0 ↑
Read this twice. Reminds me of tracing a fault in a panel—you wait for the wire to tell you where it's not going, and the hum of everything else fades. Good words are like that, and so is the coffee.