Exerciţii de traducere: The Hobbit, Game of Thrones, Castaneda

Aici sunt 3 pasaje din trei cărţi diferite. După toate trei, urmează varianta originală a textului în engleză.

Traducerile în română îmi aparţin şi consider că pe anumite porţiuni, sunt traduceri mai bune decât cele din versiunile în limba română ale acestor cărţi.

Fragment din The Hobbit de J.R. Tolkien

A doua zi aproape ca uitase de Gandalf. Nu-si amintea prea bine lucurile, daca nu si le nota pe tableta cu angajamente, asa: Gandalf ceai miercuri. Ieri fusese prea zapacit ca sa faca asa ceva. Chiar inainte de ora ceaiului a venit un sunat incredibil de clopotel la usa din fata, si apoi si-a amintit! S-a repezit si a pus ibricul pe foc, si a pus inca o ceasca si farfurie, si o prajitura sau doua in plus, si a fugit la usa. “Imi pare rau ca te-am facut sa astepti!” avea de gand sa spuna, cand a vazut ca nu era nicidecum Gandalf. Era un pitic cu o barba albastra bagata intr-o curea aurie, si ochi foarte stralucitori sub gluga sa verde inchis. Indata ce usa a fost deschisa, s-a avantat inauntru, ca si cum ar fi fost asteptat.

Si-a agatat pelerina cu gluga pe cel mai apropiat cuier, si “Dwalin, la dispozitia dumitale!” a spus cu o plecaciune adanca. “Bilbo Baggins la a ta!”, a spus hobitul, prea surprins ca sa puna intrebari pentru moment. Cand linistea care a urmat devenise prea incomoda, a aduaguat: “Tocmai ma pregatesc sa servesc ceaiul; te rog vino şi serveşte-l cu mine.”. Un pic cam rigid, s-a gandit, dar chiar era sincer. Si tu ce ai face, daca un pitic neinvitat ar veni si si-ar agata lucurile in holul tau fara o explicatie? They had not been at table long, in fact they had hardly reached the third cake, when there came another even louder ring at the bell.

Fragment din Game of Thrones – A Storm of Swords de R. Martin

Galera purpurie era inca acolo. Daca corabia ar fi plecat in timp ce ea era jefuita, ar fi fost prea mult de suportat. Un butoi de rachiu era rastogolit pe scandura cand a ajuns acolo. Cand a incercat sa mearga pe acolo, un marinar de pe punte a strigat catre ea intr-o limba pe care n-o cunostea. “Vreau sa-l vad pe capitan,” i-a spus Arya. El nu facea decat sa tipe mai tare. Dar zarva a atras atentia unui barbat carunt si bine facut cu o haina purpurie de lana, iar el a vorbit in limba obisnuita: “Eu sunt capitanul aici”, a spus. “Ce doresti? Spune repede, copila, ca trebuie sa prindem fluxul”. “Vreau sa merg spre nord, la Zid. Uite, pot sa platesc.” I-a dat punga. “Rondul de noapte are un castel pe malul marii.
“Eastwatch.”. Capitanul a turnat argintul in palma si s-a incruntat. “Asta e tot ce ai?”
Nu era destul, si-a dat seama Arya fara sa i se spuna. Putea s-o vada pe fata lui. “N-as avea nevoie de o cabina sau altceva,” a spus. “As putea sa dorm jos in cala, sau…”
“Ia-o ca fata de
a spus in vaslas care trecea pe acolo, cu o legatura de lemne pe un umar. Poate sa doarma cu mine. Ai grija la limbaj, s-a rastit capitanul.
“As putea munci, a spus Arya. As putea sa frec puntea. Am frecat treptele unui castel odata. Sau as putea vasli…”
Nu, a spus, “n-ai putea.” I-a dat inapoi monezile. “Nu ar conta daca ai putea, copila. Nordul nu are nimic pentru noi. Gheata, razboi si pirati.

Fragment din “Cealaltă realitate” de Carlos Castaneda (din capitolul Introducere)

Acum zece ani am avut norocul să întâlnesc un indian Yaqui din partea de nord-vest a Mexicului. Îi spunaem “don Juan”. În spaniolă, don este un apelativ folosit pentru a arăta respectul. Am făcut cunoştinţă cu don Juan în cele mai întâmplătoare circumstanţe. Stăteam cu Bill, un prieten de-al meu, într-o autogară dintr-un oraş de graniţă din Arizona. Eram foarte tăcuţi. Dup-amiaza târziu, căldura verii era insuportabilă. Dintr-o dată, s-a aplecat şi m-a bătut pe umăr.
“Acela este omul de care ţi-am spus”, a spus cu voce joasă.
A indicat cu capul spre intrare. Un bărbat în vârstă tocmai intrase.
“Ce mi-au spus despre el?” am întrebat.
“Este indianul care are cunoştinţe despre peyote. Ţii minte?”
Mi-am amintit că eu şi cu Bill condusesem odată toată ziua căutând casa unui indian mexican “excentric” care locuia în zonă. Nu am găsit casa bărbatului şi am avut sentimentul că indienii pe care îi întrebasem ne-au indus în eroare intenţionat. Bill îmi spusese că omul era un “yerbero”, o persoană care adună şi vinde ierburi medicinale, şi că ştia multe despre cactusul halucinogenic, peyote. Îmi spusese de asemenea că ar merita să îl întâlnesc. Bill era ghidul meu în sud-est în timpul în care adunam informaţii şi specimene de plante medicinale folosite de indienii din zonă.
Bill s-a ridicat si s-a dus sa-l salute pe barbat. Indianul era de inaltime medie. Parul sau era alb si scurt, si-i crestea un pic peste urechi, accentuandu-i rotunjimea capului. Avea tenul foarte intunecat; ridurile adanc de pe fata sa ii dadeau aspectul unui om batran, dar corpul sau parea puternic si in forma. L-am privit o clipa. Se misca cu ageritatea pe caer as fi crezut-o imposibila pentru un om in varsta.
Bill mi-a facut semn sa ma alatur lor.
“E un tip de treaba”, mi-a spus Bill. “Dar nu-l pot intelege. Spaniola lui e ciudata, plina de regionalisme, persupun.
Bătrânul s-a uitat la Bill şi a zâmbit. Iar Bill, care stia doar cateva cuvinte in Spaniola, a format o fraza absurda in acea limba. S-a uitat la mine ca si cum ar fi intrebat daca ce a spus avea sens, dar nu stiam ce avusese in minte; a zambit apoi timid si a plecat. Batranul s-a uitat la mine si a inceput sa rada. I-am explicat ca prietenul meu uita uneori ca nu vorbea Spaniola.
“Cred ca a uitat de asemenea sa ne prezinte”, am spus, si i-am spus numele meu.
“Iar eu sunt Juan Matus, la dispozitia dumitale”, a spus.

Fragmentul original din The Hobbit

« The next day he had almost forgotten about Gandalf. He did not remember things very well, unless he put them down on his Engagement Tablet: like this: Gandalf Tea Wednesday. Yesterday he had been too flustered to do anything of the kind. Just before tea-time there came a tremendous ring on the front-door bell, and then he remembered! He rushed and put on the kettle, and put out another cup and saucer, and an extra cake or two, and ran to the door. “I am so sorry to keep you waiting!” he was going to say, when he saw that it was not Gandalf at all. It was a dwarf with a blue beard tucked into a golden belt, and very bright eyes under his dark-green hood. As soon as the door was opened, he pushed inside, just as if he had been expected.

He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg, and “Dwalin at your service!” he said with a low bow. “Bilbo Baggins at yours!” said the hobbit, too surprised to ask any questions for the moment. When the silence that followed had become uncomfortable, he added: “I am just about to take tea; pray come and have some with me.” A little stiff perhaps, but he meant it kindly. And what would you do, if an uninvited dwarf came and hung his things up in your hall without a word of explanation? They had not been at table long, in fact they had hardly reached the third cake, when there came another even louder ring at the bell. »

Sursa: J.R.R. Tolkien (0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00). The Hobbit (Kindle Locations 153-158). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

Fragmentul original din Game of Thrones

« The purple galley was still there. If the ship had sailed while she was being robbed, that would have been too much to bear. A cask of mead was being rolled up the plank when she arrived. When she tried to follow, a sailor up on deck shouted down at her in a tongue she did not know. “I want to see the captain,” Arya told him. He only shouted louder. But the commotion drew the attention of a stout grey-haired man in a coat of purple wool, and he spoke the Common Tongue. “I am captain here,” he said. “What is your wish? Be quick, child, we have a tide to catch.”
“I want to go north, to the Wall. Here, I can pay.” She gave him the purse. “The Night’s Watch has a castle on the sea.”
“Eastwatch.” The captain spilled out the silver onto his palm and frowned. “Is this all you have?”
It is not enough, Arya knew without being told. She could see it on his face. “I wouldn’t need a cabin or anything,” she said. “I could sleep down in the hold, or…”
“Take her on as cabin girl,” said a passing oarsman, a bolt of wool over one shoulder. “She can sleep with me.”
“Mind your tongue,” the captain snapped.
“I could work,” said Arya. “I could scrub the decks. I scrubbed a castle steps once. Or I could row…”
“No,” he said, “you couldn’t.” He gave her back her coins. “It would make no difference if you could, child. The north has nothing for us. Ice and war and pirates. We saw a dozen pirate ships making north as we rounded Crackclaw Point, and I have no wish to meet them again. From here we bend our oars for home, and I suggest you do the same.” »

Fragmentul original din Castaneda

« Ten years ago I had the fortune of meeting a Yaqui Indian from northwestern Mexico. I call him “don Juan.”
In Spanish, don is an appellative used to denote respect. I made don Juan’s acquaintance under the most
fortuitous circumstances. I was sitting with Bill, a friend of mine, in a bus depot in a border town in Arizona. We
were very quiet. In the late afternoon the summer heat seemed unbearable. Suddenly he leaned over and tapped
me on the shoulder.
“There’s the man I told you about,” he said in a low voice.
He nodded casually toward the entrance. An old man had just walked in.
“What did you tell me about him?” I asked.
“He’s the Indian that knows about peyote. Remember?”
I remembered that Bill and I had once driven all day looking for the house of an “eccentric” Mexican Indian
who lived in the area. We did not find the man’s house and I had the feeling that the Indians whom we had asked
for directions had deliberately misled us. Bill had told me that the man was a “yerbero,” a person who gathers and
sells medicinal herbs, and that he knew a great deal about the hallucinogenic cactus, peyote. He had also said that
it would be worth my while to meet him. Bill was my guide in the Southwest while I was collecting information
and specimens of medicinal plants used by the Indians of the area.
Bill got up and went to greet the man. The Indian was of medium height. His hair was white and short, and
grew a bit over his ears, accentuating the roundness of his head.
He was very dark; the deep wrinkles cm his face gave him the appearance of age, yet his body seemed to be
strong and fit. I watched him for a moment. He moved around with a nimbleness that I would have thought
impossible for an old man.
Bill signaled me to join them.
“He’s a nice guy,” Bill said to me. “But I can’t understand him. His Spanish is weird, full of rural colloquialisms,
I suppose.”
The old man looked at Bill and smiled. And Bill, who speaks only a few words of Spanish, made up an
absurd phrase in that language. He looked at me as if asking whether he was making sense, but I did not know
what he had had in mind; he then smiled shyly and walked away. The old man looked at me and began laughing.
I explained to him that my friend sometimes forgot that he did not speak Spanish.
“I think he also forgot to introduce us,” I said, and I told him my name.
“And I am Juan Matus, at your service,” he said. »

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