 Golden oldies | 7. Jan 2025 @ 12:14  |
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Ar patīkamu izbrīnu ieraudzīju, ka Prometejs ir izdevuši Ambēras hroniku pirmo divu grāmatu tulkojumu latviski.
Jāsaka, viena no tīņu gadu aizraujošākajām grāmatām, kura man veiksmīgi aizstāja to, kas, iespējams, vēlākām paaudzēm būs bijušas Troņu spēles (ja Troņu spēles būtu vairāk saistītas ar šībrīža Zemes realitāti, mazāk asiņainas, inteliģentākas un nedaudz asprātīgas; ne jau velti Dž.R.R.Mārtins bija Zelaznija draugs un sadarbības partneris, un viņa Zelaznija nekrologs ir visai trāpīgs).
Tā kā daudzas rindkopas angliski teju atceros no galvas un Zelazniju, līdzīgi kā citu poētiskas ievirzes prozu, tulkot nav viegli, ar bailēm vēru vaļā, lai redzētu, ko Uldis Šīns ir paveicis.
Visā visumā, izskatās gana pieklājīgs darbs. Ir sajūta, ka pie detaļām piestrādāts. Tiesa gan, ir atsevišķas vietas, kur šis tas duras acīs, bet visā visumā es teiktu, ka ir izdevies pārcelt oriģināla tempu un izteiksmes stilu, nebūt ne viegls uzdevums.
Pirmajās lappusēs man iedūra tikai "Laughing Boy" tulkojums kā "Smejošais zēns", jo biju pārliecināts, ka tā ir manis nekad neskatīta, bet atsauce, ko nu nekādi nevajag tulkot burtiski.
Pameklējot un pajautājot forumos, izrādījās, ka "Laughing Boy" ir bijis gana populārs 1940-1960 frazeoloģisms:
"An ironic term of reference or address for someone of a morose disposition or gloomy countenance. First recorded in 1940 ..." // OED
Un tad man bija jāpadomā, nu, jā atstāts burtisks tulkojums, bet vai tā bija paviršība vai nespēja atrast latvisku analogu?
Bet, ja arī varētu atrast analogu, jārēķinās, ka tas ir tīri vienreizējs apzīmējums personāžam, kam veltīta puslappuse nedaudz iepriekš, un no kura stāsts aiziet prom. Kā varētu tulkot "Laughing boy", lai latviski nebūtu pārpratumu šādos apstākļos? Trilemma.
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ņirdzējs ? lai gan nezinu cik plūstoši tas izklausās/lasās
Then there was light all around me, and there was a beefy guy in a white jacket standing with his hand on the wall switch.
“What's this I hear about you giving the nurse a hard time?” he asked, and there was no more feigning sleep.
“I don't know,” I said. “What is it?”
That troubled him for a second or two, said the frown then, “It's time for your shot.”
“Are you an M.D.?” I asked.
“No, but I'm authorized to give you a shot.”
“And I refuse it,” I said, “as I've a legal right to do. What's it to you?”
“You'll have your shot,” he said, and be moved around to the left side of the bed. He had a hypo in one hand which had been out of sight till then.
It was a very foul blow, about four inches below the belt buckle, I'd say, and it left him on his knees.
“____ ____!” he said, after a time.
“Come within spitting distance again,” I said, “and see what happens.”
“We've got ways to deal with patients like you,” he gasped.
So I knew the time had come to act.
“Where are my clothes?” I said.
“____ ____!” he repeated.
“Then I guess I'll have to take yours. Give them to me.”
It became boring with the third repetition, so I threw the bedclothes over his head and clobbered him with the metal strut.
Within two minutes, I'd say, I was garbed all in the color of Moby Dick and vanilla ice cream. Ugly. I shoved him into the closet and looked out the lattice window. I saw the Old Moon with the New Moon in her arms, hovering above a row of poplars. The grass was silvery and sparkled. The night was bargaining weakly with the sun. Nothing to show, for me, where this place was located. I seemed to be on the third floor of the building though, and there was a cast square of light off to my left and low, seeming to indicate a first floor window with someone awake behind it. So I left the room and considered the hallway. Off to the left, it ended against a wall with a latticed window, and there were four more doors, two on either side. Probably they let upon more doors like my own. I went and looked out the window and saw more grounds, more trees, more night, nothing new.
Turning, I headed in the other direction.
Doors, doors, doors, no lights from under any of them, the only sounds my footsteps from the too-big borrowed shoes.
Laughing Boy's wristwatch told me it was five forty-four. The metal strut was inside my belt, under the white orderly jacket, and it rubbed against my hip bone as I walked. There was a ceiling fixture about every twenty feet, casting about forty watts of light.
// un that's about it for Laughing Boy :)
| From: | ![[info]](http://klab.lv/img/userinfo.gif) sii |
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| Date: |
7. Janvāris 2025 - 13:03 |
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Saulstariņš!
Jā, tas man arī ienāca prātā.
![[User Picture Icon]](http://klab.lv/userpic/42348/4729) |
| From: | usne |
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| Date: |
7. Janvāris 2025 - 13:29 |
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cilvēks, kas smejas ar atsaauci uz V. Igo :)
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