Translations by Wing Tek Lum
"Translations" by Wing Tek Lum is a thought-provoking poem structured in three parts that delves into the complexities of cultural representation and identity. Lum initiates the poem with the word "Ghosts," exploring how the language used by individuals to describe themselves often contrasts sharply with external labels imposed by others. He juxtaposes childhood innocence with the darker implications of cultural terms, such as the Chinese word "Gwái," meaning "demon," highlighting the misunderstandings and stereotypes that can arise in cross-cultural interactions.
The poem transitions from personal reflection to a broader communal experience, illustrating a "comedy of errors" that emerges from mutual misconceptions between groups, as epitomized by the absence of a Cantonese term for "fortune cookie." In the final part, Lum reflects on the evolution of cultural identity among Chinese Americans, noting how the original name for their community—Tòhng Yàhn Gāai—has been replaced by the more commercial "Chinatown," symbolizing the pressures of assimilation and misrepresentation. Through vivid imagery and careful language, Lum's work invites readers to consider the nuanced realities of cultural identity and the implications of linguistic choices in shaping perceptions of self and community.
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Subject Terms
Translations by Wing Tek Lum
First published: 1987, in Expounding the Doubtful Points
Type of poem: Lyric
The Poem
“Translations” is a poem in three parts that considers the ways in which provocatively descriptive language influences and reflects attitudes toward cultural communities located outside of conventional representations of life in the United States. Speaking with the thoughtful, reflective voice that is characteristic of his work, Wing Tek Lum begins the poem with the word “Ghosts,” a focal point for an exploration of the manner in which the terminology chosen by a people to describe themselves may differ significantly from the words used by outsiders to refer to them. The first lines of the poem recall the innocent pleasure of a child’s delight in the thrill of the supernatural, a series of images evoking the harmless fun of “running around in/ old bedsheets,” enjoying the reassuring comic-book fantasy of the friendly Caspar, and then “marveling at/ the trick/ camerawork” in a television show about Cosmo G. Topper. These familiar, pleasant vignettes from popular culture are placed in sharp contrast with Lum’s adult perspective on ghosts as the second section of part 1 begins with the word Gwái, a Chinese term for “demon” or “devil.” The transition to a term loaded with negative connotations introduces a darker, more sinister element to the poem, which Lum amplifies by references to “Shaw Brothers horror/ films” and “rites of exorcism” before concluding the section with a cryptic comment about “Old Demons who wear/ white skin/ and make believe/ they behave/ like men.”
The second part of “Translations” moves away from Lum’s closely personal account of his changing perspective on the word for “ghost” and toward an omniscient position in which the poet proceeds as the voice of communal experience. Summarizing decades of cross-cultural confusion and intrasocietal clashes, Lum states that “The Chinaman” (a stereotype) gave “the Demon” (another stereotype) “what/ the former thought/ the latter thought/ were things/ Chinese.” This mutual misconception resulted in “a comedy/ of errors” that Lum, maintaining a degree of distance from the humiliation involved, describes as “part fawning, part/ deception and contempt” for both groups. He concludes part 2 with a mordant observation, pointing out that “There is no/ word for/ fortune cookie in Cantonese,” a statement that effectively undercuts one of the most prominent assumptions about Chinese life held by many non-Chinese.
In the third part of “Translations,” Lum somewhat ruefully recalls the name that Chinese Americans gave to their home: Tòhng Yàhn Gāai (“China-People-Street”). As an indication of the pressures placed on an ethnic minority by a dominant culture indifferent to the nuances of their lives, Lum says that Chinese Americans eventually “mimicked/ Demon talk” and began to use the term Wàh Fauh for their address. This is the predominant descriptor in many American cities, the “China-Town” that is regarded primarily as an exotic tourist destination. In conclusion, Lum explains that the difference in names is obvious. “The people” (that is, the soul and spirit of the community) have “disappeared,” or, in a unifying trope that reaches back to the first word of the poem, they have become ghosts.
Forms and Devices
“I have always been slow in my verbal skills,” Lum commented while discussing his processes of composition. “Since the fourth grade I have resigned myself to plodding along with the written word,” but then he realized that “by nature poets choose their words carefully” and that what seemed like a limitation could be an aspect of his strength as a writer. Rather than the “razzle-dazzle of the flow of words,” Lum’s poems often provide what he calls “epiphanies of passion, of something deeply-felt” that he deems “important to share.” Consequently, Lum has emphasized “the clarity of the image” so that in a poem such as “Translations” the political element that he has always recognized in his work emerges from the juxtaposition of the images that he presents.
The controlling image of “Translations” is that of ghosts rendered first in terms of a child’s delight with features of a magical cosmos then darkened by the adult’s realization that there is a component of psychic danger in horror films and exorcism rites. The establishment of the twofold nature of the ghost phenomenon enables Lum to begin to examine the ramifications of the ghost/Gwái polarity, a division in which the demon’s “white skin” is a disguise camouflaging its nonhuman behavior or attributes, an inversion of the friendly nature of Caspar, whose white ghost form covers a humane disposition. This doubling of the human/devil image expresses Lum’s opinion that white people have sometimes acted with demonic malice and ignorance in transcultural matters.
The clarity of the ghost imagery permits Lum to place a conundrum at the core of the poem. The intricate reversal and inward reflection of his assertion that “The Chinaman gave/ the Demon what/ the former thought/ the latter thought/ were things/ Chinese” is a tightly wrapped enigma that demands close attention but that contains a kernel of meaning that becomes accessible in accordance with the previous presentation of imagery. Even as the general idea becomes comprehensible, however, it remains elusive, which is part of Lum’s point: The thinking of both groups is muddled and biased, and the “things Chinese” are subject to misinterpretation and misconception. Lum’s designation of this as a comedy of errors somewhat softens the force of the language he uses to describe the postures of the participants in the play (their “fawning,” “deception,” and “contempt” are not conducive to any kind of admirable human interaction), while his matter-of-fact observation about the absence of a word for “fortune cookie” in Cantonese epitomizes his exasperation at assumptions that avoid any comprehension of a complex reality.
The poem concludes with a fusion of word and image that is reminiscent of the characters used in the Chinese written language. Lum’s recollection of the original name for his neighborhood, Tòhng Yàhn Gāai, is translated into English as “China-People-Street,” as if each word is also an image representing its meaning. Then, as he and his neighbors accede to “Demon talk” and write only Wàh Fauh, the alteration and the absence of the key word for “people” has literally changed the appearance of the place, both in written language and in the way in which language shapes perception.