User:Amire80
מִקָּצֶה לְקָצֶה זֶה תָּמִיד מִתְמַצֶּה
בְּאוֹתָהּ נְקֻדָּה,
הַכְּתָמִים מֻפְשָׁטִים,
הַלֵּילוֹת מִתְקַצְּרִים לְקַו לָבָן.
בֵּין רַקָּה לָרַקָּה נְקָמָה מְתוּקָה,
מְנוֹעִים שְׁקֵטִים,
רַכָּבוֹת שֶׁל מִלִּים חוֹלְפוֹת
כְּמוֹ צְלָלִים מֵעָלַי.
אסף אמדורסקי, יהלי סובול, סיון שביט
Lorsqu’il aborda la planète il salua respectueusement l’allumeur :
« Bonjour. Pourquoi viens-tu d’éteindre ton réverbère ?
— C’est la consigne, répondit l’allumeur. Bonjour.
— Qu’est-ce que la consigne ?
— C’est d’éteindre mon réverbère. Bonsoir. »
Et il le ralluma.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Only when Professor Duby reminded us that penguins are birds, that they do not swim but fly in water, only then could the therolinguist begin to approach the sea literature of the penguin with understanding; only then could the miles of recordings already on film be restudied and, finally, appreciated.
But the difficulty of translation is still with us.
A satisfying degree of promise has already been made in Adélie. The difficulties of recording a group kinetic performance in a stormy ocean as thick as pea soup with plankton at a temperature of 31° Fahrenheit are considerable; but the perseverance of the Ross Ice Barrier Literary Circle has been fully rewarded with such passages as “Under the Iceberg,” from the Autumn Song—a passage now world famous in the rendition by Anna Serebryakova of the Leningrad Ballet. No verbal rendering can approach the felicity of Miss Serebryakova’s version. For, quite simply, there is no way to reproduce in writing the all-important multiplicity of the original text, so beautifully rendered by the full chorus of the Leningrad Ballet company.
Ursula K. Le Guin
Vem har du med dig? frågade mumintrollet.
Det är Ninni, sa Tooticki. Ungen heter Ninni.
Hon höll fortfarande upp dörren och väntade. Ingen kom.
Nåja, sa Tooticki och ryckte på axlarna. Hon kan ju hålla sig där ute om hon är blyg.
Men blir hon inte våt, frågade mumintrollets mamma.
Jag vet inte om det gör så mycket när man är osynlig, svarade Tooticki och kom fram och satte sig.
Tove Jansson
— What is this that this is that this thing there?
— Sorry, what is this that you have said?
— That thing there, what is this that this is?
— Oh, dad’s beard?
— No, the other thing.
— You want to say a bald mouse?
— No, not that.
— Maybe a washing rat?
— No... in the sky!
— Oh yeah, of course. It’s a flying deer.
— I call myself Roya, and you?
— I call myself Alex, enchanted.
— Enchanted, and what age have you?
— Me I’m born in one thousand nine hundred four twenty ten eight and I have twenty-seven years, and you?
— Me I’m born in thousand nine hundred four twenty fourteen, so I have thirty-one years.
Så gik kejseren i processionen under den dejlige tronhimmel og alle mennesker på gaden og i vinduerne sagde: »Gud hvor kejserens nye klæder er mageløse! hvilket dejligt slæb han har på kjolen! hvor den sidder velsignet!« Ingen ville lade sig mærke med, at han intet så, for så havde han jo ikke duet i sit embede, eller været meget dum. Ingen af kejserens klæder havde gjort sådan lykke.
»Men han har jo ikke noget på,« sagde et lille barn. »Herregud, hør den uskyldiges røst,« sagde faderen; og den ene hviskede til den anden, hvad barnet sagde.
»Men han har jo ikke noget på,« råbte til sidst hele folket. Det krøb i kejseren, thi han syntes, de havde ret, men han tænkte som så: »Nu må jeg holde processionen ud.« Og kammerherrerne gik og bar på slæbet, som der slet ikke var.
Hans Christian Andersen
Where it had been left hundreds of years ago,
Extract from the depth, is but a setting sun,
Paradise is scarce in this light that won’t shine,
What is our earthly task, but a worthy design?
Some held it in sight, scattered it may have been,
They’re ready to fight in a priceless inkling,
The request is here, ready to resurrect,
What else can we do but recover the project?
Lætitia Sadier
Вообще, Юрий Михайлович, он мне говорил: «Это скоро кончится». Он был единственный человек, который так говорил. Я говорю: «Юрий Михайлович, почему скоро кончится?» Он говорит: «Ну потому что это так никогда не было, это искусственная конструкция». Подумаешь, ответ! Никогда не было, теперь стало. Так оно и будет. «Да нет! Посмотри́те, всё кончится».
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. “What a funny watch!” she remarked. “It tells the day of the month, and doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!”
“Why should it?” muttered the Hatter. “Does your watch tell you what year it is?”
“Of course not,” Alice replied very readily: “but that’s because it stays the same year for such a long time together.”
“Which is just the case with mine,” said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to her to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. “I don’t quite understand you,” she said, as politely as she could.
Lewis Carroll
—¡Válame Dios —dijo don Quijote—, y qué vida nos hemos de dar, Sancho amigo! ¡Qué de churumbelas han de llegar a nuestros oídos, qué de gaitas zamoranas, qué de tamborines y qué de sonajas y qué de rabeles! Pues ¡qué si destas diferencias de músicas resuena la de los albogues! Allí se verá casi todos los instrumentos pastorales.
—¿Qué son albogues —preguntó Sancho—, que ni los he oído nombrar, ni los he visto en toda mi vida?
—Albogues son —respondió don Quijote— unas chapas a modo de candeleros de azófar, que dando una con otra por lo vacío y hueco hace un son, que, si no muy agradable ni armónico, no descontenta y viene bien con la rusticidad de la gaita y del tamborín. Y este nombre albogues es morisco, como lo son todos aquellos que en nuestra lengua castellana comienzan en al, conviene a saber: almohaza, almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, almacén, alcancía y otros semejantes, que deben ser pocos más; y solos tres tiene nuestra lengua que son moriscos y acaban en í, y son borceguí, zaquizamí y maravedí; alhelí y alfaquí, tanto por el al primero como por el í en que acaban, son conocidos por arábigos. Esto te he dicho de paso, por habérmelo reducido a la memoria la ocasión de haber nombrado albogues; y hanos de ayudar mucho al parecer en perfeción este ejercicio el ser yo algún tanto poeta, como tú sabes, y el serlo también en estremo el bachiller Sansón Carrasco. Del cura no digo nada, pero yo apostaré que debe de tener sus puntas y collares de poeta; y que las tenga también maese Nicolás, no dudo en ello, porque todos o los más son guitarristas y copleros. Yo me quejaré de ausencia; tú te alabarás de firme enamorado; el pastor Carrascón, de desdeñado; y el cura Curiambro, de lo que él más puede servirse, y, así, andará la cosa, que no haya más que desear.
Miguel de Cervantes
You can imagine Piglet’s joy when at last the ship came in sight of him. In after-years he liked to think that he had been in Very Great Danger during the Terrible Flood, but the only danger he had really been in was in the last half-hour of his imprisonment, when Owl, who had just flown up, sat on a branch of his tree to comfort him, and told him a very long story about an aunt who had once laid a seagull’s egg by mistake, and the story went on and on, rather like this sentence, until Piglet who was listening out of his window without much hope, went to sleep quietly and naturally, slipping slowly out of the window towards the water until he was only hanging on by his toes, at which moment luckily, a sudden loud squawk from Owl, which was really part of the story, being what his aunt said, woke the Piglet up and just gave him time to jerk himself back into safety and say, “How interesting, and did she?” when—well, you can imagine his joy when at last he saw the good ship, The Brain of Pooh (Captain, C. Robin; 1st Mate, P. Bear) coming over the sea to rescue him. Christopher Robin and Pooh again. . . .
And that is really the end of the story, and I am very tired after that last sentence, I think I shall stop there.
Alan Alexander Milne
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