Наша книга по-английски: первые шаги
Это так важно, такая веха пройдена, что просто не могу не зафиксировать.
Английский я знаю неплохо, но даже работать простым переводчиком не очень-то и рвусь. Я не профессионал.
Еще я кое-как начала переводить тексты с английского на русский (но никогда не делаю этого за деньги - платят мало, удовольствия никакого), но переводить с русского на английский для меня все эти годы было чем-то запредельным. Я довольно бегло и быстро разговариваю, моментально переключаюсь, мне легко дается синхрон, но литературный перевод это что-то другое. Все эти годы Дима меня нещадно давил и прессовал на тему перевода моих нетленок на английский, мол, ты же можешь! но я не могла, физически, вообще, никак не знала как подступиться к этому. Переводил, в итоге, мой папа, а я смотрела на его работу, лезла в словарь на каждом предложении и понимала, что я так не смогу никогда.
Я даже на родной укаинский не смогла перевести свои сказки.
И вот внезапно, в семь часов утра меня сегодня пробило.
Впереди сочная порция "scathing criticism" от моего папы. Но вот, вот, выкладываю и не могу налюбоваться. Это почти целая страница!!!
Не уверена, насколько оно читабельно, но оно все по-иностранному:)
АПД от отца: он сказал, что текст "editible" но на выделение всех спорных моментов ему потребуется пара дней:)))
The Yoga affair
“And when she leaned towards him Clemens grasped her in deep embrace and all inconsistences of the past day, all worries, all problems seized to exist for them.” That was the only sexual scene, for you to understand, out of all three volumes. These several niggard sentences accompanied me to sleep every evening for about two years. “The light was dim and the room was emerged in semi-darkness”. I close my eyes and turn to the side, facing the wall, on my parents’ double bed. The wallpaper is bleached green, with an elongated rhombus-shaped hole -once, that was many years ago, I discovered that if rubbed, the paper goes away, revealing the cold grey concrete. That opened up to me as a sudden searchless revelation. As I was pining at bedtimes, I tried to rub through the concrete as well and maybe dig into another dimension or who knows. Behind my head is a windowsill cracked with moisture, that holds a dense row of flowerpots . There are so many of them that they make something of an extra curtain and the dwellers of the opposite building cannot see how we live here and go to sleep in particular (well at least that what conciliates me and mom). Two orange reading lamps are clipped to the bolster at our heads. Most of my life I sleep here, with mom. This is our bed, our room. A white furniture set is called “Ludovic XIV” and consists of two wardrobes, a round mirror and a dresser. On that place where my crib used to stand is now an armchair. I pile up my clothing and stuff on it and get a go from my parents once in a while. Near the armchair there is another window. There is an utter and impenetrable darkness behind it. At daytimes one can see a dove-colored stretch of a little park, some poplars along the road, a metro-line and distant pipes and chimneys of a chemical plant that covers most of the horizon. In darkness all of that in and out of my room acquires some new qualities, becomes something like a takeoff site, an airport, a transit passengers lounge, nothing of that room anymore, with a hole in wallpaper where just another day of mine ends. For me the whole thing is just starting. Right behind the bed, at my feet grows a giant cheese plant that in my earlier fantasies used to be either a castle with aerial roots making its flying buttresses or just a peaceful monster. The car lights glide along the ceiling and top of the wall as brass trapeziums and parallelepipeds, illuminating, for instances, the metal edging of picture frames and glass.
“They lay tightly clinging to one another” - that’s how the next episode starts. Shortly afterwards the only lover of my key female protagonist is eaten up by a monster. But those other issues were of far less importance for me. It’s just an… option, a commercial binding of the essence element of the whole thing, which is eloquently revealed in few sentences. Those snug secluded pauses preliminary to falling asleep were imbued for me with all that what was happening between them two, before a monster came, far beyond the printing and binding offices, sans-serif and low-quality paper gruffness. As a fragile rainbow that thing they did dipped into space becoming one with endlessness and eternity.
In my fantasies he was thirty seven and she was thirty four. It seemed to me that adults of that age are rather direct and simple. Especially when the lights are dim and the room is emerged in semi-darkness. I was not yet there with them. I, as an observer of no age or sex, as a quiet bodiless soul was simply watching them from different angles, comfortably switching at my directors’ console panel between the cameras. And then I would fall asleep. And my following day was filled with school corridors, yards and concrete apartment blocks , with writings in my note books and early dusk with cozy table lamp light, with favorite music in headphones - those images left an axonometric ,lush, but utterly unemphatic memory that wormed up, in a perfectly Freudian manner, my inspirations and joys of ordinary everyday life.
Английский я знаю неплохо, но даже работать простым переводчиком не очень-то и рвусь. Я не профессионал.
Еще я кое-как начала переводить тексты с английского на русский (но никогда не делаю этого за деньги - платят мало, удовольствия никакого), но переводить с русского на английский для меня все эти годы было чем-то запредельным. Я довольно бегло и быстро разговариваю, моментально переключаюсь, мне легко дается синхрон, но литературный перевод это что-то другое. Все эти годы Дима меня нещадно давил и прессовал на тему перевода моих нетленок на английский, мол, ты же можешь! но я не могла, физически, вообще, никак не знала как подступиться к этому. Переводил, в итоге, мой папа, а я смотрела на его работу, лезла в словарь на каждом предложении и понимала, что я так не смогу никогда.
Я даже на родной укаинский не смогла перевести свои сказки.
И вот внезапно, в семь часов утра меня сегодня пробило.
Впереди сочная порция "scathing criticism" от моего папы. Но вот, вот, выкладываю и не могу налюбоваться. Это почти целая страница!!!
Не уверена, насколько оно читабельно, но оно все по-иностранному:)
АПД от отца: он сказал, что текст "editible" но на выделение всех спорных моментов ему потребуется пара дней:)))
The Yoga affair
- Sex and sadness
“And when she leaned towards him Clemens grasped her in deep embrace and all inconsistences of the past day, all worries, all problems seized to exist for them.” That was the only sexual scene, for you to understand, out of all three volumes. These several niggard sentences accompanied me to sleep every evening for about two years. “The light was dim and the room was emerged in semi-darkness”. I close my eyes and turn to the side, facing the wall, on my parents’ double bed. The wallpaper is bleached green, with an elongated rhombus-shaped hole -once, that was many years ago, I discovered that if rubbed, the paper goes away, revealing the cold grey concrete. That opened up to me as a sudden searchless revelation. As I was pining at bedtimes, I tried to rub through the concrete as well and maybe dig into another dimension or who knows. Behind my head is a windowsill cracked with moisture, that holds a dense row of flowerpots . There are so many of them that they make something of an extra curtain and the dwellers of the opposite building cannot see how we live here and go to sleep in particular (well at least that what conciliates me and mom). Two orange reading lamps are clipped to the bolster at our heads. Most of my life I sleep here, with mom. This is our bed, our room. A white furniture set is called “Ludovic XIV” and consists of two wardrobes, a round mirror and a dresser. On that place where my crib used to stand is now an armchair. I pile up my clothing and stuff on it and get a go from my parents once in a while. Near the armchair there is another window. There is an utter and impenetrable darkness behind it. At daytimes one can see a dove-colored stretch of a little park, some poplars along the road, a metro-line and distant pipes and chimneys of a chemical plant that covers most of the horizon. In darkness all of that in and out of my room acquires some new qualities, becomes something like a takeoff site, an airport, a transit passengers lounge, nothing of that room anymore, with a hole in wallpaper where just another day of mine ends. For me the whole thing is just starting. Right behind the bed, at my feet grows a giant cheese plant that in my earlier fantasies used to be either a castle with aerial roots making its flying buttresses or just a peaceful monster. The car lights glide along the ceiling and top of the wall as brass trapeziums and parallelepipeds, illuminating, for instances, the metal edging of picture frames and glass.
“They lay tightly clinging to one another” - that’s how the next episode starts. Shortly afterwards the only lover of my key female protagonist is eaten up by a monster. But those other issues were of far less importance for me. It’s just an… option, a commercial binding of the essence element of the whole thing, which is eloquently revealed in few sentences. Those snug secluded pauses preliminary to falling asleep were imbued for me with all that what was happening between them two, before a monster came, far beyond the printing and binding offices, sans-serif and low-quality paper gruffness. As a fragile rainbow that thing they did dipped into space becoming one with endlessness and eternity.
In my fantasies he was thirty seven and she was thirty four. It seemed to me that adults of that age are rather direct and simple. Especially when the lights are dim and the room is emerged in semi-darkness. I was not yet there with them. I, as an observer of no age or sex, as a quiet bodiless soul was simply watching them from different angles, comfortably switching at my directors’ console panel between the cameras. And then I would fall asleep. And my following day was filled with school corridors, yards and concrete apartment blocks , with writings in my note books and early dusk with cozy table lamp light, with favorite music in headphones - those images left an axonometric ,lush, but utterly unemphatic memory that wormed up, in a perfectly Freudian manner, my inspirations and joys of ordinary everyday life.