In some cases, the letter won’t translate. Specified language is always a little tricky, not like asking for directions to the swimming pool, or how much for the loaf of bread behind the counter. You craft an art-form of assumptions. Cut loose the odd words, ones which clearly don’t fit in the rigid confines of business, ones surely not meant. Leave a framework of mundane. Puzzle a meaning from the scraps, a rhythm for the found poem butchered out of miscommunication. Send a response in English, cringe a little for the recipient, know they will likely do as you and turn to an app, a browser tab, punch in the words, frown at the nonsense.
“Call me Crazy!” I smiled, spitting out a new label for the next introduction in a room filled with names I’d never know. You grim ginned back at me. Tension lines draw just as tight into the cut of your jaw, and mind working out how to swallow dive through the conference room window five ‘networks’ away. “Call me Stark Raving,” you said hand still in mine this time reluctant to hear that bell. If anyone wants to give me some feedback I would love to hear it. Does it make sense? Is the length alright? Is the rhythm complete tosh? Anything people! Anything please! *Vanishes off into her own insanity.*