In 2011 on my exchange to Budapest, I spent a lot of time listening to people speaking English in other accents. My speech and accent changed to accommodate the listening skills of non-native English speakers. I would speak slower, with more of a neutral accent. At the same time as this, I was learning Hungarian in the art school. The lessons were provided free for all exchange students who wanted to learn. I had begun to study Hungarian shortly before I went to Budapest, and was excited to learn more, and use what I’d learned. I soon discovered a phenomenon. My Northern Irish accent is an ideal tool in the basic pronunciation of Hungarian. It didn’t occur to me when I was learning alone, but when in the class with English, Scottish, French, Polish and German people, I soon realised that I could make sounds that others had trouble with, or found impossible.
I see this as a sort of magic that lies within languages. This discovery of mine made me fall in love with Budapest, Hungary, the language, the people, everything. I wanted to learn Hungarian fluently, move there, be Hungarian. This was serious but fleeting love. I have now been back in the UK for almost a year, and have forgotten the majority of Hungarian I learnt.
Whilst in Budapest, I made a video of Marissa, a friend speaking about a man she was in a relationship with, and a situation that occurred on a camping trip. The way she told the story was so poignant, in my opinion largely due to her sometimes awkward use of English and her beautiful German accent. The fact that she was talking about a difficult emotional situation made the words heavy and deeply affecting. She didn’t realise I was filming until afterwards, and when I told her I would like to use the footage she told me I could not use the video of her face, as she was wearing clown make-up. However she agreed that I could use the audio any way I liked.
As I listened to her story more and more, and tested it to see how I could use it, I felt like the words needed to be seen. I began transcribing the audio, first into clear English, then, in a sense, phonetically. I wrote the words I heard, as I would say them if I was imitating Marissa. I did this because I had listened to the audio so many times, that I could perform it without looking at the words. My everyday speech had always been peppered with silly accents, but now I would increasingly chat with a German accent.
I wanted more stories in more non-English speakers’ accents, honest and intimate stories, descriptions, situations. I wanted to discover things in the words and phrases and pronuciations, the choice of descriptive words, the hesitant, thoughtful, translation of emotion into another language than the mother tongue of the speaker. I wanted to hear and see, and experience the physical exertion, emotional and mental concentration required when you don’t speak the language perfectly.
As I began to receive audio recordings from friends I met in Budapest, I realised that I was lucky to have gained the trust of these people. I had not expected to receive such personal and emotional material, in fact I thought I would receive quite objective descriptions of loved ones. But in fact, I asked for the impossible. One cannot describe a loved one or family member objectively, even if it is just a decription of their physical attributes. I was overjoyed to listen to the combination of deep feeling and unfluent English, having to remind myself constantly that English is these peoples’ second or even third language.
Accented Stories is not about the political, social, educational aspects of languages, but a personal exploration into filtration of emotion and memory through translation, listening and speaking.
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