Texte/cette nuit
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Message de vaiana posté le 10-11-2018 à 21:23:22 (S | E | F)
Bonjour.
Pouvez-vous m'aider à corriger mon thème s'il vous plaît ?
Merci à vous !
Texte d'origine........
Je recule toujours devant le récit de cette nuit. Elle était si chaude que nous n’avions pu laisser les persiennes closes malgré ton horreur des chauves-souris. Nous avions beau savoir que c’était le froissement des feuilles d’un tilleul contre la maison, il nous semblait toujours que quelqu’un respirait au fond de la chambre. Et parfois le vent imitait, dans les frondaisons, le bruit d’une averse. La lune, à son déclin, éclairait le plancher et les pâles fantômes de nos vêtements épars. Nous n’entendions plus la prairie murmurante dont le murmure s’était fait silence.
Tu me disais : « Dormons. Il faudrait dormir… » Mais, autour de notre lassitude, une ombre rôdait. Du fond de l’abîme, nous ne remontions pas seuls. Il surgissait, ce Rodolphe inconnu, que j’éveillais dans ton cœur, dès que mes bras se refermaient sur toi.
Et quand je les rouvrais, nous devinions sa présence. Je ne voulais pas souffrir, j’avais peur de souffrir. L’instinct de conservation joue aussi pour le bonheur. Je savais qu’il ne fallait pas t’interroger. Je laissais ce prénom éclater comme une bulle à la surface de notre vie. Ce qui dormait sous les eaux endormies, ce principe de corruption, ce secret putride, je ne fis rien pour l’arracher à la vase. Mais toi, misérable, tu avais besoin de libérer par des paroles cette passion déçue et qui était restée sur sa faim. Il suffit d’une seule interrogation qui m’échappa :
— Mais enfin, ce Rodolphe, qui était-il ?
— Il y a des choses que j’aurais dû te dire… Oh ! rien de grave, rassure-toi.
Tu parlais d’une voix basse et précipitée. Ta tête ne reposait plus au creux de mon épaule. Déjà l’espace infime qui séparait nos corps étendus, était devenu infranchissable.
Le fils d’une Autrichienne et d’un grand industriel du Nord… Tu l’avais connu à Aix où tu avais accompagné ta grand-mère, l’année qui précéda notre rencontre à Luchon. Il arrivait de Cambridge. Tu ne me le décrivais pas, mais je lui attribuai d’un coup toutes les grâces dont je me savais démuni. Le clair de lune éclairait sur nos draps ma grande main noueuse de paysan, aux ongles courts.
Tentative de traduction........
I always shy away from the telling of that night. It was so hot that we could not let the shutters shut in spite of your horror of bats. Even if we knew it was the rustle of the leaves of a lime against the house, it still seemed us somebody was breathing in the back of the bedroom. And sometimes the wind imitated, in the foliage, the noise of a shower. The moon, at its setting, was shining the flooring and the pale ghosts of our scattered clothes. We did not hear the whispering meadow whose whisper had kept quiet.
You told me: "Let's sleep. We ought to sleep..." but, around our tiredness, a shadow was prowling. From the bottom of the abyss, we was not going back up alone. He loomed, that unknown Rodolphe that I was awaking in your heard, as soon as my arms closed on you.
And why I opened them again, we was guessing his presence. I did not want suffering, I was afraid of suffering. The instinct of conversation also plays for happiness. I knew I did not have to ask you. I let those first name spliting up like a bubble on the surface of our life. What was sleeping under the asleeped waters, this principe of corruption, this putrid secret, I did not do anything to tear it away from the silt. But you, wretch, you needed to relieve this disappointed passion and which was leaving a bit hungry for more by some words. All it took was a questioning that slipped away from me:
- Anyway, that Rodolphe, who was he?
- There are some things I should have been telling you... Oh! Nothing serious, don't be worry.
You was speaking with a low and hurried voice. Your head was not laid on my shoulder anymore. Already the tiny space which separated our laying bodies had become impassable.
The son of an Austrian woman and an important industrial from the North... You had known him in Aix where you had come with your grandmother, the year before our encounter in Luchon. He was coming from Cambridge.
You did not describe him to me, but I attributed him all the graces from which I knew myself penniless in one go. The moonlight was shining my big and knobbled farmer hand on our bedsheets, whose nails was shorted.
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Modifié par lucile83 le 10-11-2018 23:02
Message de vaiana posté le 10-11-2018 à 21:23:22 (S | E | F)
Bonjour.
Pouvez-vous m'aider à corriger mon thème s'il vous plaît ?
Merci à vous !
Texte d'origine........
Je recule toujours devant le récit de cette nuit. Elle était si chaude que nous n’avions pu laisser les persiennes closes malgré ton horreur des chauves-souris. Nous avions beau savoir que c’était le froissement des feuilles d’un tilleul contre la maison, il nous semblait toujours que quelqu’un respirait au fond de la chambre. Et parfois le vent imitait, dans les frondaisons, le bruit d’une averse. La lune, à son déclin, éclairait le plancher et les pâles fantômes de nos vêtements épars. Nous n’entendions plus la prairie murmurante dont le murmure s’était fait silence.
Tu me disais : « Dormons. Il faudrait dormir… » Mais, autour de notre lassitude, une ombre rôdait. Du fond de l’abîme, nous ne remontions pas seuls. Il surgissait, ce Rodolphe inconnu, que j’éveillais dans ton cœur, dès que mes bras se refermaient sur toi.
Et quand je les rouvrais, nous devinions sa présence. Je ne voulais pas souffrir, j’avais peur de souffrir. L’instinct de conservation joue aussi pour le bonheur. Je savais qu’il ne fallait pas t’interroger. Je laissais ce prénom éclater comme une bulle à la surface de notre vie. Ce qui dormait sous les eaux endormies, ce principe de corruption, ce secret putride, je ne fis rien pour l’arracher à la vase. Mais toi, misérable, tu avais besoin de libérer par des paroles cette passion déçue et qui était restée sur sa faim. Il suffit d’une seule interrogation qui m’échappa :
— Mais enfin, ce Rodolphe, qui était-il ?
— Il y a des choses que j’aurais dû te dire… Oh ! rien de grave, rassure-toi.
Tu parlais d’une voix basse et précipitée. Ta tête ne reposait plus au creux de mon épaule. Déjà l’espace infime qui séparait nos corps étendus, était devenu infranchissable.
Le fils d’une Autrichienne et d’un grand industriel du Nord… Tu l’avais connu à Aix où tu avais accompagné ta grand-mère, l’année qui précéda notre rencontre à Luchon. Il arrivait de Cambridge. Tu ne me le décrivais pas, mais je lui attribuai d’un coup toutes les grâces dont je me savais démuni. Le clair de lune éclairait sur nos draps ma grande main noueuse de paysan, aux ongles courts.
Tentative de traduction........
I always shy away from the telling of that night. It was so hot that we could not let the shutters shut in spite of your horror of bats. Even if we knew it was the rustle of the leaves of a lime against the house, it still seemed us somebody was breathing in the back of the bedroom. And sometimes the wind imitated, in the foliage, the noise of a shower. The moon, at its setting, was shining the flooring and the pale ghosts of our scattered clothes. We did not hear the whispering meadow whose whisper had kept quiet.
You told me: "Let's sleep. We ought to sleep..." but, around our tiredness, a shadow was prowling. From the bottom of the abyss, we was not going back up alone. He loomed, that unknown Rodolphe that I was awaking in your heard, as soon as my arms closed on you.
And why I opened them again, we was guessing his presence. I did not want suffering, I was afraid of suffering. The instinct of conversation also plays for happiness. I knew I did not have to ask you. I let those first name spliting up like a bubble on the surface of our life. What was sleeping under the asleeped waters, this principe of corruption, this putrid secret, I did not do anything to tear it away from the silt. But you, wretch, you needed to relieve this disappointed passion and which was leaving a bit hungry for more by some words. All it took was a questioning that slipped away from me:
- Anyway, that Rodolphe, who was he?
- There are some things I should have been telling you... Oh! Nothing serious, don't be worry.
You was speaking with a low and hurried voice. Your head was not laid on my shoulder anymore. Already the tiny space which separated our laying bodies had become impassable.
The son of an Austrian woman and an important industrial from the North... You had known him in Aix where you had come with your grandmother, the year before our encounter in Luchon. He was coming from Cambridge.
You did not describe him to me, but I attributed him all the graces from which I knew myself penniless in one go. The moonlight was shining my big and knobbled farmer hand on our bedsheets, whose nails was shorted.
-------------------
Modifié par lucile83 le 10-11-2018 23:02
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de vaiana, postée le 15-11-2018 à 23:13:13 (S | E)
UP.
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de traviskidd, postée le 16-11-2018 à 10:53:55 (S | E)
Bonjour, c'est un texte un peu compliqué, mais j'offre mes deux centimes :
the telling of --> talking about
let the shutters shut --> leave the shutters closed ("let" est plutôt permettre)
in spite of --> despite (je préfère traduire un mot par un mot si possible)
shower -> pouring rain (shower = douche)
at its setting --> on its way down
did not hear (n'oublies pas a traduire "plus")
meadow --> prairie
whispering --> murmuring (whisper = chuchoter)
we was --> non !
awaking --> "awake" n'est pas un verbe
heard --> non
why --> non
we was --> idem
guessing --> devining (Guessing: Is it a cat? a dog? a bird? I give up!
)conversation --> non
"name" means first name by default
spliting --> splitting
asleeped --> n'existe pas
principe --> n'existe pas
which was leaving a bit hungry for more --> a peu de sens
"a" ne traduit pas "un seul"
have been telling --> mauvais temps
"worry" n'est pas un adjectif
You was --> non
laid --> laying
"not ... anymore" est bon mais "no longer" est mieux dans une littérature
laying --> lying
industrial --> industrialist
known --> mauvais verbe
attributed *to* him
from which I knew myself penniless --> a peu de sens
bedsheets, whose nails --> les draps ont des ongles ?
nails was --> non
shorted --> "short" n'est pas un verbe
See you.
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de gerondif, postée le 16-11-2018 à 11:05:17 (S | E)
Bonjour
C'est le dictionnaire qui donne penniless, démuni au sens de fauché, sans un radis, sans une thune... Là,il ne convient pas.
Awake ne convient pas mais existe comme verbe un peu poussiéreux dans les listes de verbes irréguliers
Awake, awoke, awoken.
Je crois même que c'est ce verbe à l'impératif qui forme le titre des revues des témoins de Jéhovah. Awake ! Ce doit être de l'anglais à consonnance biblique pour dire wake up !
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de traviskidd, postée le 16-11-2018 à 15:55:55 (S | E)
Bonjour, je crois que le bon verbe est awaken(/awoke/awoken).
Je connais bien "Awake!", mais j'ai toujours interpreté le titre comme adjectif. (Ce qui ne l'empêche pas d'être employé en tant qu'impératif, par exemple "Out!")
See you.
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de lucile83, postée le 16-11-2018 à 16:51:40 (S | E)
Hello,
Here is a nice explanation: Lien internet
My personal feeling, which corresponds quite well with the OED’s examples and description, is that both awake and awaken have the possibility to be used both transitively and intransitively, but that by far the most common usage is that awake is intransitive while awaken is transitive.
Moreover, awake is strong (awake, awoke, have awoken) while awaken is weak (awaken, awakened, have awakened).
In other words, I would say, intransitively:
I awake at six o’clock every morning.
I awoke at six o’clock yesterday morning.
I had already awoken when the alarm went off at six o’clock this morning.
– but transitively:
I awaken him at six o’clock every morning.
I awakened him at six o’clock yesterday morning.
I had already awakened him when the alarm went off at six o’clock this morning.
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de gerondif, postée le 16-11-2018 à 17:22:50 (S | E)
Bonjour
Du coup, je tombe dans Riptide, de Sam Llewellyn, 1992, sur un verbe du même genre... A girl was awaiting him...
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de vaiana, postée le 17-11-2018 à 00:25:59 (S | E)
Good evening everybody. Thanks for having helped me.
Here is my second attempt:I always shy away from talking about that night. It was so hot that we could not leave the shutters closed (what is the main difference between close and shut?) despite your horror of bats. Even if we knew it was the rustle of the leaves of a lime against the house, it still seemed us somebody was breathing in the back of the bedroom. And sometimes the wind imitated, in the foliage, the noise of a pouring rain (however I found the translation "shower" for "averse" on WordReference). The moon, on its way down, was shining the flooring and the pale ghosts of our scattered clothes. We no longer heard the murmuring prairie (is there any difference between meadow and prairie?) whose whisper had kept quiet.
You told me: "Let's sleep. We ought to sleep..." but, around our tiredness, a shadow was prowling. From the bottom of the abyss, we were
not going back up alone. He loomed, that unknown Rodolphe that I was waking (indeed, like gerondif said, I learned awake/awoke/awoken at school yet...) in your head, as soon as my arms closed on you.And when I opened them again, we were devining his presence. I did not want suffering, I was afraid of suffering. The instinct of preservation also plays for happiness. I knew I did not have to ask you. I let that name splitting up like a bubble on the surface of our life. What was sleeping under the asleep waters, this principle of corruption, this putrid secret, I did not do anything to tear it away from the silt. But you, wretch, you needed to relieve this disappointed passion and which was leave a bit dissatisfied by some words. All it took was a sole questioning that slipped away from me:
- Anyway, that Rodolphe, who was he?
- There are some things I should have been telling you... Oh! Nothing serious, don't worry/don't be worried.
You were speaking with a low and hurried voice. Your head was no longer laying on my shoulder. Already the tiny space which separated our lying bodies had become impassable.
The son of an Austrian woman and an important industrialist from the North... You had met him in Aix where you had come with your grandmother, the year before our encounter in Luchon. He was coming from Cambridge.
You did not describe him to me, but I attributed to him all the graces from which I knew myself defenceless in one go. The moonlight was shining my big and knobbled farmer hand whose nails were short, on our bedsheets.
Réponse : Texte/cette nuit de gerondif, postée le 17-11-2018 à 10:17:31 (S | E)
Bonjour
Petite correction, pas facile sur un téléphone)
Good evening everybody. Thanks for having helped (for helping me)me. Here is my second attempt:
I always shy away from talking about that night. It was so hot that we could not leave the shutters closed (what is the main difference between close and shut?) despite your horror of bats. Even if we knew it was the rustle of the leaves of a lime against the house, it still seemed us somebody was breathing in the back of the bedroom. And sometimes the wind imitated, in the foliage, the noise of (a)pouring rain (however I found the translation "shower" for "averse" on WordReference). The moon, on its way down, was shining (dhinr ne convient pas et signifie faire briller,polir)theooring and the pale ghosts of our scattered clothes. We no longer heard the murmuring prairie(incongru ici) (is there any difference between meadow and prairie?) whose (on peut objectif à l'usage de chose avec un antécédent objet) whisper had kept quiet.
You told me: "Let's sleep. We ought to sleep...(should serait moins formel)" but, around our tiredness, a shadow was prowling. From the bottom of the abyss, we were not going back up alone. He loomed, that unknown Rodolphe that I was waking (indeed, like gerondif said, I learned awake/awoke/awoken at school yet...) in your head, as soon as my arms closed on you.
And when I opened them again, we were devining (devine ne convient pas)his presence. I did not want suffering(plutôt un infinitif), I was afraid of suffering. The instinct of preservation also plays for happiness. I knew I did not have to ask you. I let that name splitting up like a bubble on the surface of our life. What was sleeping under the asleep (adlerp n'existe pas comme épithète)waters, this principle of corruption, this putrid secret, I did not do anything to tear it away from the silt. But you, wretch, you needed to relieve this disappointed passion and (which was leave a bit dissatisfied ne veut rien dire)by some words. All it took was a sole questioning (contresens de traduction a mon avis)that slipped away from me:
- Anyway, that Rodolphe, who was he?
- There are some things I should have been telling you... Oh! Nothing serious, don't worry/don't be worried.(ne se dit guère)
You were speaking with a low and hurried voice. Your head was no longer laying on my shoulder. Already the tiny space which separated our lying bodies had become impassable.
The son of an Austrian woman and an important industrialist from the North... You had met him in Aix where you had come with your grandmother, the year before our encounter in Luchon. He was coming from Cambridge.
You did not describe him to me, but I attributed to him all the graces from which I knew myself (defenceless in one go.ne va vraiment pas) The moonlight was shining (mauvais verbe)my big and knobbled farmer hand whose nails were short, on our bedsheets.
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