LL-L "Language proficiency" 2010.06.27 (05) [EN]

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*L O W L A N D S - L - 27 June 2010 - Volume 04
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From: Mark Dreyer <mrdreyer at lantic.net>

Subject: LL-L "Language proficiency" 2010.06.25 (01) [AF-EN]



Beste Vlad Lee



Subject: LL-L. Language Proficiency



Groete van nog 'n (hedendaagse) skuiler, Mark

Maar ter wille van die hele streep belangstellendes, laat ons vêrder in
Engels;


I can only concur that when I follow a conversation I pay no attention to
the language we are speaking in, & if it becomes relevant at some later
stage I must deduce it from other data. I have been an interpreter for
Israelis here, & sundry English-speakers in Israel, & on the basis of my
experiences fluency in languages doesn't help much with simultaneous
translation between them.



In the end I told the people, "Say what you want him to hear as though
you're talking to him, & I'll talk to him as though it is you saying it."
But if someone asked me how you say this (...) in the other language I'm
flummoxed. It works both ways but I have a trick. If you ask me to
*spell*the word in the other language it comes like a shot. I think
cross-fluency
between languages is a skill like a language itself, & has also to be
learned.



I believe the mind compartmentalises any given language in its own locus in
the brain, each tongue in its own place, & cross-fluency is another skill
entirely & gets a place of its own too.



My assumtion has support in the experience of victims of strokes or
traumatic brain damage, & lose one language but not another There is a case,
Vlad, where a Japanese bloke had a stroke, I think, which destroyed his
ability to read & write Katekana, but he had no difficulty with Hiregama or
the Classical script.



Mind you there is a lot we still don't know about consciousness, mind &
language. Once I was roped in to help in the workshop on the kibbutz, well
before I was fluent. They only needed another pair of hands. Well, there I
was on my back with my legs sticking out holding up a feelthy sump while the
mechanic sloped off to find something I don't know what. While he is away
another man comes in & in a conversational tone says something I follow not
in the least, but getting no response from me he kicks my shoes & asks
again. By now I am getting ratty & I let go with a blast of Hebrew I follow
not a whit.The bloke says "Toda *h*abibi." & pushes off. Mechanic comes back
later, finishes the job, & thanks me (in English, of course) for helping his
buddy. I hadn't the nous to ask him what I dun, assuming I dunit.



I dream in the languages I know, I can't always say for sure which, except
that I may be aware which tongue some denizens of my dreams know or prefer
to speak. There is an exception. In the early days of my wanderings in
Israel I was studying the people, their language & their Faith. I had got
hold of Maimonades' 'Guide to the Perplexed', in English translation. I was
well through the book when I had a dream about him. I dreamt I went into an
awesomely Ionic-looking auditorium & sat down to a long & no doubt very
profound lecture by the Rambam himself. I knew it was him because of his
dress, & moreover, he was green like his banknote. He lectured in Hebrew, &
the company around commented in Hebrew. It was a long dream & I heard
nothing else. Now how do you dream in a language you don't understand?



In some contexts the knowledge is inevitable. This Saturday evening I am in
the van posting guards. Our HQ is in the shadow of Loftus Stadium, where
Chile is playing Spain. The road is blocked in front of me by a crowd of men
in knots sorted by national colours, waving flags, wearing funnified miner's
hats & blowing vuvuzelas. A leadfoot steps in front of me & stops me with an
imperious hand. He's not one of ours (there's a lot of these around) but
he's a leadfoot all the same. I stop. Suddenly one of the guards calls to me
from the back, pointing to an oncoming articulated lorry & trailer full of
beer. We were between the hunter & the prey... The guard says to me, "Tina
zo sheshisha, Mandefu!" (We will have to move, Mandefu! ((My Bantu name. It
means 'bearded')) ).



I say to the leadfoot, "Nos vamos, compadre." (We're moving, buddy). He
understood the problem exactly. He no less imperiously shuffled a trail open
through the milling herd of baying fans & we made our escape.



Don't talk to me abut vuvuzelas.



Yrs, Vlad, Ron & All,

Mark.



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