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Конкурс перевода. Голосование

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Ввиду значительного количества участниц мы разбили текст на фрагменты,
а участниц на группы.

Каждой группе для перевода был предложен одинаковый отрывок текста.
Таким образом, вам необходимо проголосовать за понравившийся вариант (варианты) перевода каждого фрагмента.

Голосование продлится до 18 мая

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Текст оригинала (вдруг кому понадобится)

Chapter One
My Internet profile read like this:
Educated MTV addict with a penchant for bad fashion and dull conversation seeks overly attractive, high maintenance, money grubbing, curious, “straight” woman for bad dates and awkward kisses. You should be prepared to use me anytime and dump me on a whim to return to your husband/boyfriend. I am into transcendental vegetation—“I think, therefore, I yam.” I like long walks through airports and singing in public restrooms. I have perfect teeth and perfect feet. Everything in between is a cruel joke told by gravity. I am in a very vulnerable place in my life, so please be willing to take advantage of my insecurities and need for affection. I drink, smoke and use prescription medication. You should be prepared to overlook my chain-smoking, drug addiction and alcoholism; but feel free to complain about it every second of every date. I do not have a sense of humor and I lack patience. If I tell you that you are a flake, I am being serious. Please do not laugh at everything I say as I am sure most of the time it will go over your head. Boring tales of your job will put me to sleep. I need sleep, so please don’t try to wake me. Any attempt to change my hair, clothes or habits will lead to bitter resentment and removal from my Christmas card list. You must insist on flaunting me in front of all your exes and treat me like dirt when they don’t respond. More important, you must treat me like less than dirt if they do respond. Please don’t invite me to the wedding; getting you back together is reward enough. I don’t like intellectual conversation, so I would appreciate a woman who is not familiar with Darwin, Dorothy Parker or anyone not associated with “Cosmo magazine.” I am turned on by women who call me “hun” and use alternate spellings like “kewl.” If you think you can meet any or all of my criteria, I would love to hear from you. Normal, intelligent, funny, fit, attractive women need not apply; you don’t exist. I might as well date the Easter Bunny.
Needless to say I only got a handful of responses. It wasn’t that I was bitter, I was basically just burned out. I spent a few years in the dating scene and had some horrific experiences. I went on thirty-eight dates in ten months and not one of them led to a second date. When talking to my friends about these women, I never used first names. I referred to them by their flaws. I then made a rule— if someone has a big enough flaw to eclipse their given name, then they are not worthy of a second date.
GRANDMA GIRL arrived on our date carrying a crocheted purse and wearing starched jeans. She ordered a Cosmopolitan “because she liked the magazine.” G.G. sipped on her Cosmo for three hours. I went through five beers and a whiskey sour because the bartender insisted on the latter after she met my date. Said date was currently unemployed but it was okay because she lived in her grandparent’s basement and they pretty much covered all her bills. I couldn’t resist asking if they gave her money for Cosmos. She tittered politely. Grandma Girl was 41 years old.
BLONDE BARBIE was not blonde, but I am pretty sure she was made of plastic. She was as dumb as a bag of hammers and not afraid to use it. She said she hated the butane smell that came from motorcycles and cigarettes. She got to travel a lot for work and bragged about flying first class to Australia on Kwanza airlines. When her car ran out of gas on the highway, she walked back and forth to the gas station fourteen times until her tank was finally full. She asked me what day of the week Thanksgiving would be on that year so she could make travel arrangements. She could never remember where she parked her car and on our date she cried all the way to the parking lot. She felt much better when I reminded her that I had driven us in my car. She did have one redeeming quality, I just never figured out what it was.
BOOBIE BABE was extremely attractive and exceptionally tall. We met at a bowling alley, which I know now is not a good place to pick up chicks. We arranged a date for the following weekend. I picked her up and had to wait fifteen minutes while she optimistically changed the sheets. We went downtown to see my favorite local band. I made the usual small talk—where are you from, do you have siblings, what do you do, any hobbies? I was given one-word answers all night—Texas, yes, post office, no hobbies. (Okay, maybe a few two-word answers). We sat in silence most of the evening. When we arrived back at her place, I asked if I could use the bathroom. The one-word response was affirmative. When I exited the bathroom, I was greeted by a topless Amazon who finally spoke, “Be careful, they’re perfect.” I was shocked not by the perfection of her breasts, but by the fact that she actually said four words without being questioned.
NASTY NELLIE may have been a man and I debated the possibility all night. She was a little too effeminate for a typical lesbian and her face was a little too hairless. When she handed me a drink, I stared at her hands—no hair, huge knuckles. When she crossed her legs, I looked at her ankles—no hair, fraternity tattoo. When she went to the bathroom, I noticed women coming out making whispered remarks. Eventually, I became determined to find out for sure so I kissed her in the parking lot. I couldn’t tell much from the kiss—strong jaw, good breath, subtle perfume. We kissed for about five minutes before I felt the bulge grow beneath her dress. She just laughed and offered no apology for the deceit. I was strangely aroused and offer no apology for that. We did not have a second date but I set him up with one of my friends for shits and giggles.
FORGIVING FEMME was gorgeous from head to toe. She made no attempt to understand my humor. I overlooked her despicable grammar because what she lacked in subject-verb agreement she made up for in breast-hip proportion. In my mind, I rationalized the fact that we had nothing intellectually in common. I spent the entire night deciding to take it slowly and hanging on her every word, no matter how routine. I tried very hard not to cringe when she used the word “ain’t.” I played slightly hard to get when she tried to kiss me in the parking lot. I even asked her out for the following weekend. The morning after our first date I received an e-mail that stated: “Even tho you drink to much and smoke to much and were married too a man and dont like dogs and read to much. I think that we will make a good couple.” I sent a detailed response stating that although I appreciated her overlooking all my flaws, I was dreadfully allergic to dogs and didn’t think it would work out.
JEWISH JILL was adamant that I accept the fact that she was Jewish. She spent two hours telling me that it is important to keep an open mind and not judge people based on religion, political affiliation or race. I suffered through an evening of one-sided conversation then politely told her I’d call. The next morning she called to inform me that although she had a wonderful time, she just didn’t think she could date a teacher who probably made less than $30,000 a year. I wanted to remind her that I was head of the department at the university, but it just seemed shallow.
ICKY ISABEL was pretty cool. She liked to piss me off and push my buttons. I appreciated a good debate and found her attractive in a “Beverly Hills 90210” sort of way. We danced and had a few drinks then headed back to her place for some wine. After we downed the entire bottle and she showed me her extensive collection of John Tesh memorabilia, I was totally ready to pass out. She offered me her bed and kissed me very seductively. Then she whispered in my ear, “I think oral sex is icky, don’t you?” I explained to her that it is the basic premise of lesbian sex. She argued that there are other things that can be done. I offered that if there were no oral, why would you need a partner. She reiterated that oral is just flat out icky. I implied that maybe she has some trust issues. She told me not to put words into her mouth. I remarked that apparently that was the only thing I was going to put in her mouth. Seeing as how I was too drunk to drive home, I spent the rest of the night sleeping in the back seat of my car. To this day, the word “icky” makes me think of John Tesh.
So, after no second dates, zero multiple orgasms (or even singular ones for that matter) and utter bitterness, I finally gave up on dating. I occasionally checked the mail on my profile when I felt like being brave or more discouraged. I replied to a few who seemed remotely intriguing and explained to them that I had recently joined a nunnery and that the sisters don’t like me bringing women back to the convent. They felt it was a bad habit. After a few months of mundane mail, I finally got a reply worth reading twice:
Dear Sarcastic Professor,
I am writing to inform you that if you are as bitter in real life as you seem on paper, then perhaps you don’t drink, smoke and drug enough. Try upping the dosage and everyone will seem tolerable. You needn’t respond to my e-mail, as you are way too old for me. I refuse to spend my life taking care of an acidic, aged *тут был мат* who thinks she is too good for everyone. I only read “Cosmo” in the waiting room of my gynecologist. I bet no woman has ever mentioned her gyno in a response to your ad. I felt it important to set myself apart from all the others. You probably don’t care that I was an ambassador to Jamaica before taking a job with the CIA. I would tell you more but then I’d have to figure out what CIA actually stands for. I am sure that you are profoundly impressed that I ended that last sentence with a preposition.
I will not share further details about myself. I refuse to waste my time seducing you when I am sure that you have some sort of standard e-mail response that you send to all the lunatics. Let me guess . . . it is glib, ostentatious and contains a bad pun. You bitter elderly women are so predictable. I look forward to receiving your customary response. Perhaps I will have it framed for posterity.
Enjoy your endless search for the figment of your imagination.
Best wishes,
The Easter Bunny
I waited three days to respond and rewrote my reply six times:
Dear Ambassador Bunny,
Thank you for responding to my profile. It is so rare to find a woman who not only visits the gynecologist, but who actually knows how to spell it. I am sorry to hear that I am too old for you; perhaps you have a mother or grandmother who might like to go dancing one night. I am not sure what CIA stands for either; maybe it’s Cousin In Arkansas for the white trash set. For the lesbian group, I will submit Clingy Insane Androgynous.
I appreciate your keeping your details to yourself. At my age, seduction by an intelligent woman might just give me a heart attack. I will admit that I do indeed have a standard e-mail reply that I send to be polite. Yes, you busted me, and for the record, the pun wasn’t really that bad. If you should decide to share some tidbits about yourself, I will be happy to reciprocate. Please don’t let my bitterness fool you. Once you get past my crusty exterior and overlook all the wrinkles, I am relatively harmless.
Take care,
Professor Predictable
She replied within minutes:
Dear Predictable,
I will not waste a lot of your time with e-mail flirtation. I know at your age it is important to get the ball rolling. Let’s trade basic necessities and see who runs off to Zimbabwe first. I am a year past legal drinking age; I had two of my three heads removed shortly before prom—some say I am attractive . . . but you know how flattering moms and grandmas are. By the way, neither was interested in your dancing invitation. If your profile was correct, we live in the same zip code; however, I will be heading back to school in a few months. I am currently interning with a local firm three days a week. I spend the other four days stalking old women and harassing young children. Tonight is my stalking night, so I will be the lady in red playing pool at Splinter’s.
Ball’s in your court, Martina.
Billie Jean
My hands were shaking from excitement as I wrote my response.
Dearest B.J.,
You already have all my details from my profile. I hope you feel that six years is not like the Grand Canyon. As long as you know what Motown is, I think we will be okay. I will not commit to nor deny your subtle invitation; however, beware of women in glasses carrying tequila shots.
I did not get another response, which is exactly what I was hoping for. It meant that she was confident and I loved self-assured women. I adored the fact that she was playing pool at a straight bar and didn’t feel the need to arrange a meeting in the alternative triangle of our city. Splinter’s was two blocks from my house and one of my favorite hangouts. I wondered if I had seen her there before. I perused my memory trying to recall all the women I had seen playing pool recently. I came up with a few faces and dismissed two out of the three. The third woman I recalled was vibrant, gregarious and gorgeous. I didn’t get my hopes up though, as I am a confirmed pessimist. I couldn’t decide whether I should go it alone or bring a friend with me in case I needed an escape. I decided to invite my ex-husband, which probably seems odd. He and I had the same taste in women, so I knew if he liked her, she was a keeper. Unfortunately, he was already committed to attend a charity event that night. I discharged the idea of inviting some of my other friends for fear that the lady in red might like them better than me. We confirmed pessimists have low self-esteem.

Chapter Two
Oh, what to wear, what to wear. I was not sure why I was so concerned about the impression I made on this youngster. I spent the better part of an hour changing clothes and as usual, ended up wearing the first thing I put on. I never learned that the first impulse is usually the best. I fried up a large hamburger patty knowing that I would need a strong protein base to do tequila shots on a weeknight. You know you are getting old when you do hangover prevention before you even start drinking. I ate my burger in silence and stared at the clock. Time was moving too slowly, so I decided to leave early and go to another bar first, maybe have a drink or two to loosen me up.
I walked the two blocks to a little jazz bar across the street from Splinter’s. I bellied up to the counter and ordered myself a Miller Lite. The bar was pretty empty, just a few yuppie couples who had probably been there since happy hour and me. A few minutes later a stunning couple came in the door laughing and being quite friendly. They sat across from me and ordered beers. The couple seemed very familiar. He had that type of infectious smile that straight women adore. His girlfriend had that comfort about her like she could be your best friend if you got to know her. I made an attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation because I like to steal dialogue for my short stories. I couldn’t hear them over the jazz. I sat watching their body language, the way they teased each other and jovially punched each other’s shoulders. They both took turns glancing up at me and smiling. I returned the smiles feeling a little embarrassed that I was sitting alone. They each had one more beer, paid the tab and left arm-in-arm.
I stared awkwardly at my third beer and checked my watch. I elected to leave the beer half full and head across the street. When I asked for my tab the bartender informed me that the loud couple put my drinks on their tab. I asked if he knew them and he just shrugged. I put a few dollars on the bar for his tip hoping to get some more information. He merely smiled so I left feeling a bit confused. It seems like it took me forever to finally get to Splinter’s. My cell phone rang and I spent ten minutes listening to my mother ramble. Next, a homeless guy cornered me and didn’t pipe down until I gave him a five. Finally, I made it to my destination much later than I had intended.
The place was pretty crowded, so I wandered around for a few minutes. I slowly made my way to the pool table area to catch a glance of the mysterious lady in red. I didn’t see her but I did see the fun couple from the jazz bar. I decided to thank them for the drinks while I waited for my Internet friend.
I went up to the bar and ordered three beers then headed back to the couple. As I approached them they both started laughing and punching each other again. It occurred to me why they had seemed so familiar—they played pool here all the time. In fact, she was the gorgeous gregarious woman I had in my mind. I was a bit crushed to discover that she had a boyfriend and could not be my Easter Bunny.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you for the beers.” I handed them each a bottle.

“No problem, you seemed lonely, so we wanted to be friendly.”

I didn’t know what to say when I found out they had bought me pity drinks.

“No, I wasn’t lonely, just killing time.” I blushed.

“Do you always kill time in bars? That could be a sign of alcoholism, you know.”

“No, I am supposed to meet someone and just got down here a bit early.”
She leaned over the pool table and I felt my face get hot. I looked up at her date and he was grinning at me. I felt so uncomfortable, but didn’t want to leave the area in case my new friend came in. I made small talk with the couple and intermittently checked the entrance for a woman in red. Every time a single woman walked in, my heart jumped. Not one of those women was in red and not one approached.

“Looks like you got stood up.” The infectious smiling male remarked.

“Looks like I did.” I replied as I glanced at my watch and tried not to blush.
His girlfriend returned from the bar with three shots and three beers. I decided I might as well drink my woes away and took one of the shots. She clinked glasses with me and smiled a smile that lit up the room. The three of us continued on with the small talk for another hour, nothing detailed, just heavy sarcasm and a little political discussion.

“My brother thinks you’re cute.” The beauty whispered and winked.

“Your brother? Oh! So is he . . . although not my type, really.”

“Yeah, I figured he was a bit too straitlaced for a wild woman like yourself.”

“Something like that.” I winked back.

I racked up the balls for another game and took another drink. The beauty beamed at me.

“It’s your break, Professor.”

My heart jumped, yet I didn’t miss a beat.

“No, after you, Ambassador.”
I can’t say that I was totally shocked to find out that she was the one I was waiting for. The conversation all night seemed to be intentionally evasive. We never exchanged names, or occupations or anything personal for that matter. We did, however, exchange tequila shots and lingering glances. I felt very comfortable with her all night. She and her brother kept looking at each other like they shared some sort of hysterical inside joke.

“So, why aren’t you wearing red?” I teased.

“I realized my red shirt was at the dry cleaners and would have felt stupid e-mailing you back over something so trivial.” She chewed on her fingernail.

“I never mentioned in my profile that I am a professor, you know.”

“Word gets around. You see a beautiful woman at a bar, you make inquiries. Your friends told me you had a profile on that site. They offered to introduce me to you, but I wanted to see if I could win you over on my own.”

“I see.” I was speechless and totally euphoric.

“And did I?” She looked nervous.

“Did you what?” I asked, knowing what she meant.

“Did I win you over on my own?”
I couldn’t help it. She was so adorable at that moment. She looked so nervous to hear my reply. I stared at her for a minute to keep her in anxious anticipation. I don’t know whether it was the tequila, the moment or the smell of her perfume. I leaned over and kissed her on the neck. When I looked back at her face, her mouth opened slightly like she wanted to speak. Her eyes got a little watery and her face was as red as her shirt was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, “I shouldn’t have done that so soon and in this bar.”

“I have been watching you for months wondering what it would be like to feel you that close to me.” Her eyes were round and looked like an ocean.
Her brother came back from the restroom and wrapped his arms around his sister. I stood there staring deep into her eyes until she finally blinked back the tears. I couldn’t understand her emotional response. I felt awful, like I had scared her or reminded her of a lover who broke her heart. I rationalized that it was probably the smoke in the bar and that she was allergic. I just kept staring at her and she just kept looking wounded.
Finally her protector spoke, “What’s next on the agenda, ladies?”

Neither one of us responded.

“C’mon. The night’s still young and none of us has to work tomorrow.”

“Actually, I have a class in the morning.” I came back to reality.

She looked totally dejected and again. I felt awful. I felt the need to redeem myself.

“But tomorrow is Friday and I don’t have any plans all weekend.”

She grinned from ear to ear and returned her brother’s embrace.

“Well then, Professor, maybe we should walk you home so I know where to pick you up tomorrow.” She seemed confident. “That is, unless you want to pick me up.”

“No, Ambassador, you can drive me.” I realized my entendre and got flushed.
The three of us took the long way back to my house. The siblings walked with arms linked and I limped up and down the curb like an ecstatic child on her way to the toy store. When we arrived at my porch, I asked them if they wanted to come inside. They shot each other a knowing glance and both declined at the same time. The male with the infectious smile leaned down and gave me a hug, then he jumped down the steps taking all three at once. The beautiful girl with my heart in her hands gave me a crooked smile and playfully kicked my shoe. I returned the crooked smile and threw in a wink as I opened the screen door.
“Eight o’clock,” I shouted over my shoulder as I closed the screen.

“Eight thirty and wear a skirt,” she shouted back.

Chapter Three
I hardly slept at all Thursday night. I woke up Friday morning slightly hung over and completely exhausted. Ironically, I had never felt better in my life. I danced to the kitchen, fed my cat and drank three cups of coffee. I stood in my closet for half an hour looking at all my skirts and decided that none were worthy of my date with an angel. I promised myself that I would go shopping during my two-hour break between classes. My wardrobe debate made me unusually late for work. I breezed through a shower and threw on some jeans, which were not acceptable even on a Friday. I made it to my first class with only minutes to spare. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on my lecture. I found myself grinning and making bad jokes about the Bard and his manipulation of the English language.
I made it through my first three classes and started to head to the mall. As I walked out of my office, my secretary reminded me of the department luncheon. I was the department head and there was no way I could miss it to go skirt shopping. I glanced down at my jeans and looked up at my secretary in sheer terror. She snickered and pointed me toward her desk. Apparently she had come straight to work from an all-night date. She had her date clothes thrown in a duffel bag underneath her desk. I pulled out a wrinkled skirt that, fortunately, matched my pale blue oxford. I looked up at her in terror again. She kicked off her heels and told me that I couldn’t have her hose, so I had better be clean-shaven. I thought about it for a moment then breathed a sigh of relief.
I made it through the luncheon with no one commenting on my lack of proper hosiery. I gave a charming little speech, and to this day I have no clue what I actually said. Everyone left in good spirits, so I figured I must have been congenial. I got back to my office and kissed my secretary on the forehead. Seeing as how I wasn’t out as gay, this probably seemed a bit odd. The skirt was kind of sexy and very comfortable. I wasn’t going to have time to make it to the mall. I offered to buy the skirt for twenty bucks. She said she’d take fifty but the shoes weren’t for sale. I knew how much her salary was and felt that fifty was probably appropriate.

* №13 в целях борьбы с суевериями не задействован (на самом деле участник просто не прислал работу, увы)

Отредактировано Вместе (10.05.18 23:08:38)



Вместе|0011/7a/32/482-1440601102.png написал(а):

Dirty Pink

, я не сомневалась в твоей победе!
Поздравляю! Ты лучшая!



Мне этот конкурс был интересен тем, что один и тот же текст можно по-разному читать. Все же от переводчика многое зависит или можно сказать ВСЕ.
Меня удивило качество текстов участниц, которые не знают английского или знают только начальный уровень. Почему-то думала, чтобы переводить тескты нужен шикарный английский, теперь думаю нужен русский.  Я вот читаю оригинал и почти все понимаю, но если меня попросить пересказать на русском, то это будет очень коряво.

Спасибо Gray и Lea, такие конкурсы мотивируют на творчество ( может и я когда-нибуль осмелюсь)  - приводят шестеренки в голове в рабочее состояние.  Я с большим удовольствием читала, сравнивала и умирала от смеха от креатива участиц.

П.С. дочитала книгу, в шестнадцатой главе, когда дошла до бровей...лежала под столом.



Спасибо организаторам за интересный конкурс, спасибо участникам и конечно зрителями за комментарии и оценки!  http://s7.uploads.ru/t/Hj73y.pnghttp://s2.uploads.ru/t/UgkCn.png   http://s3.uploads.ru/t/OTAKS.png

От себя скажу, что это был мой первый опыт перевода художественного текста. Мне повезло, что достался лёгкий отрывок, самые сложные по моему были первые три. Но и в своей работе я сразу увидела много косяков. Основных было два это то, что я не прочитала полностью текст, я лишь пробежала его чтобы понять смысл своего отрывка, и то что я не разобралась с сложными моментами. Первая трудность возникла с именем возлюбленной главной героини. Я перевела Ambassador как посланник - что еще за посланник? Звучит не очень... Я подумала, что это ник девушки и решила оставить его как есть, но если бы я прочитала их переписку этой ошибки можно было бы избежать(( Второе - это слово entendre. Мы с гуглом не знали его и он предложил вариант перевода с французского - слух, слышать, выслушивать. Затем я нашла вариант опять же с французского "желать, хотеть; намереваться, собираться" и получилась очередная хрень(( Потом уже когда работы выложили я почитала у участниц, перевела это слово другим переводчиком как "двусмысленность" и все встало на свои места. С Шекспиром тоже косяк у меня, я подумала Бард это просто фамилия одного из ее студентов, не стала даже гуглить что речь идёт о Шекспире.
В общем есть над чем работать. Надеюсь будут ещё подобные конкурсы и у меня получится лучше)



честно говоря, я давно хотела попробовать переводить художественную литературу , которую предлагали на этом форуме - но меня всегда останавливало то, что если берешься - то надо довести до конца, а уверенности в этом не было по понятным причинам.  Ну и , конечно ,  не имея опыта художественного перевода, всегда немного страшно - хотя я видела, что любого начинающего переводчика здесь вела за собой Грей и Леа, указывая на твои недоработки, ошибки, неправильные обороты.
Поэтому этот конкурс был для меня очень интересным - чтобы в будущем, зная свои слабые стороны, попробовать это сделать лучше
Здесь были очень хорошие переводы - важно видеть , как умеют мастера, и стремиться к лучшему всегда
Чем выше планка - тем интереснее ее достигнуть
Спасибо еще раз организаторам - за прекрасную возможность.

Отредактировано Shrink (20.05.18 10:32:41)



Gray и Lea, спасибо за этот конкурс!
Азартное это занятие - перевод. Вы не представляете, какое количество словарей я прошерстила, чтобы перевести свой отрывок.
Не могу похвастаться своим английским, последний раз я переводила топики на первом курсе университета ....дцать лет назад. Для меня переводить текст было очень трудной задачей, но я сделала это. Хотя, без конструктивной критики не обошлось  :writing:
Я понимаю, что мой перевод смахивает на "абракадабру", но я же не представляю его на номинацию премии "Мастер" среди литературных переводов.
Я просто попробовала себя в чем то новом, хоть и не очень красиво получилось, но я правда старалась.
Может быть, в следующий раз получится лучше.

Всех девушек поздравляю с завершением конкурса, вы большие умницы!
Поздравляю победительниц!
Dirty Pink, Shrink, bazuka-san и Окса, мое восхищение вам!

Отредактировано PaLena (20.05.18 17:09:04)



Гагарина|0011/7a/32/5606-1515722856.png написал(а):

такие конкурсы мотивируют на творчество ( может и я когда-нибуль осмелюсь)

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В общем есть над чем работать. Надеюсь будут ещё подобные конкурсы и у меня получится лучше)

PaLena|0011/7a/32/3943-1526812827.gif написал(а):

Я просто попробовала себя в чем то новом,  /.../
Может быть, в следующий раз получится лучше.

Нравится мне ваш настрой, уважаемые участницы темы.) Одобряю и поддерживаю!

Shrink|0011/7a/32/3230-1514841143.jpg написал(а):

я давно хотела попробовать переводить художественную литературу , которую предлагали на этом форуме - но меня всегда останавливало то, что если берешься - то надо довести до конца, а уверенности в этом не было по понятным причинам.  Ну и , конечно ,  не имея опыта художественного перевода, всегда немного страшно

Теперь опыт кое-какой имеется, и можно пробовать идти дальше.
И еще. Говорят, если маленькими шагами, планомерно и равномерно, то не заметите, как целую книгу переведете.)



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Теперь опыт кое-какой имеется

Для меня это был опыт ого-го))) я бы даже сказала "опытище"  http://s7.uploads.ru/t/i7nWB.png 
Знания английского = школьная программа) но зато многое вспомнила + разбор материала, очень познавательно) Спасибки)



Gray и Lea, спасибо за конкурс! Было познавательно и неожиданно понравилось переводить) Хотя английский был давно и неправда)
Karin Kant, вам отдельное спасибо, что вы увидели в моем переводе то, что я старалась передать) И вообще - люблю развернутые комментарии работ))

Ну и конечно - мои поздравления победителям!!!


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