Translation Agency
(2024)
It’s quite likely, almost a sure bet, that “translation agency” is the dullest term you’ve ever come across. Is this the end of poetry, buried and gone for good? You examine the term from every angle, letter by letter, quietly and then out loud. But no matter how you look at it, “translation agency” stubbornly remains the epitome of boredom. You read the term again and then once more, continuing until the sequence of sounds utterly loses its meaning. You think, after all, there exists a funeral agency imbued with the eternal scent of lilies. And there’s the advertising agency, where stylish folks weave words with flair. A travel agency hints at adventure, and a detective agency teases the possibility of mystery. But a translation agency? No. Nothing.
But in spring 2024, the Institute of Meetings and Non-Meetings opened a TRANSLATION AGENCY at the International Literature Festival Prima Vista.
Just as you’d expect from its name, it’s a place where translations happen.
But what are they translating?
The 2024 Prima Vista festival explored and decoded futures both bright and dim. At the Grand Futurological Congress, ten writers whose works pivot around visions of possible futures shuffled tomorrow’s deck of wild cards. Yet, beyond their thoughts, doubts, desires, and fears, each brings something else to Tartu.
A sentence.
A sentence that offers comfort.
A sentence that points the way.
A sentence to take with you into tomorrow.
This sentence consisted of one or a hundred words, spread over half a page or took up an entire sheet. It contained as many commas, semicolons, and dashes as it was necessary, but only one full stop. There were no restrictions. And it is these sentences that the Translation Agency translated.
Translates into possible futures, translates into languages and states, into clouds and dances, into spells and winds, into sewer manholes and cigarette butts, into distances and heights, into depths and understandings. Translates, because none of us knows what awaits us. Translates, because maybe you can't take a toothbrush or clean socks into the future.
Translates until this very sentence has become a part of it. Part of us. Part of the present.
Authors / Directors: Jan Teevet, Oliver Issak
Performers: Jan Teevet, Oliver Issak, Anumai Raska, Elise Metsanurk, Johanna Vaiksoo
Photos: Uku Peterson, Jan Teevet
Institute of Meetings and Non-Meetings, 2024