Camille Corot
As I increasingly read in English, my lack of connection with my second language is sometimes distressing. Language is a beautiful thing. Words express meaning, they sing to the ear, create poetry, convey emotions and mental images. The emotions I associate with words in my mother tongue are a product of my personal experiences. When I was a kid, my mum would buy me a “tarte au citron” at a local bakery. I remember exactly the anticipation I had each time we walked by my childhood’s bakery and the taste of the pie melting in my mouth. (Yum!)
Hence for me, “une tarte au citron meringuée” does not merely compare to “a lemon meringue pie.” The “tarte”/”pie” equation is not at fault, for the words merely describe a formal aspect of the finished product: the open pastry case that contains the filling. The problem is the relationship between “citron”/”lemon” and my French’s mind’s eye, where a “lemon” is a yellow acid citrus fruit, while a “citron” bears connotations of silken golden glints. This mental image in turn affects the rest of my senses and leads my palate to feel the lovely sweet and acidulous taste of my “tarte au citron.”
This suggests that to feel in my second language like I do in my mother tongue, I need to create and associate in my adopted language a whole new range of memories and sensual emotions without resolving to translation.
The task seems daunting! Lucky are those born with French and English as their mother tongue for they can already feel in both languages! Having said that there is beauty and reward in learning another language. (Perhaps the topic of a later post…) However frustrating the learning curve might be, living and conversing with the Anglo and reading their literature should certainly help re-contextualize and in turn feel their words, … and perhaps some day call them mine. 
I shall keep at it…
