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Sample translations submitted: 2
English to Norwegian: From the novel "The Death of Vishnu" by Manil Suri. Part of assessment for my Masters Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - English The counter made another plink and Mrs. Asrani resisted the urge to accuse the taxiwalla of having tampered with the meter. These people were all robbers. She'd already had to shout at the driver twice about the route he'd tried to take them by. She hated taxis, thought they were a tremendous waste of money – it was better to wait for a bus and be late than flag a taxi down. She had tried, over the years, to impress this ideal upon Mr. Asrani, but suspected he remained secretly errant.
"Shyamu, didn't I say to put your head back in? Think of how foolish you'd look walking around without it – everyone saying that's the boy who stuck his head out and got it cut off by a bus."
She'd had to succumb today because of all the jewelry and silk Kavita was wearing. Mrs. Asrani looked at her daughter, sitting serenely between Shyamu and herself. How she glowed. It was as if a complete transformation had taken place – so stubborn one minute, and then so docile and agreeable. Kavita had even allowed herself to be led to the kitchen and taught how to make gulab jamuns. (The lesson had been a disaster, and they'd had to stop at the halwai to get a box, but that was beside the point.)
Mrs. Asrani supposed that was what the prospect of marriage did to young people. She tried to remember how she had been at that age. Had she gotten all dressed up, had she tried to make gulab jamuns as well? She looked at Mr. Asrani, sitting at the front window next to the driver, the wind from Queen's Road ruffling the few locks that still ringed his head. How much like a child he was, enjoying his window and his taxi ride, just like Shyamu at the window behind. An unexpected clutch of emotion appeared in her throat. (Suri 2001: 97-98)
Translation - Norwegian Telleapparatet ga fra seg et nytt tikk, og Mrs. Asrani motsto trangen til å beskylde taxiwallaen for å ha tuklet med taksameteret. Disse menneskene var alle røvere. Hun hadde allerede måttet skjenne på sjåføren to ganger angående ruten han hadde prøvd å kjøre. Hun hatet taxier, syns de var fryktelig bortkastede penger – det var bedre å vente på en buss og være sen enn å praie en taxi. Gjennom årene hadde hun prøvd å innprente dette idealet i Mr. Asrani, men mistenkte ham for å fremdeles, i skjul, leve i villfarelse.
"Shyamu, sa jeg ikke du skulle ta hodet inn igjen? Tenk så tåpelig du ville se ut hvis du gikk rundt uten – alle ville si at der er gutten som stakk hodet ut så en buss kappet det av."
Hun hadde måttet gi etter i dag på grunn av alle smykkene og silkestoffene Kavita hadde på seg. Mrs. Asrani så på datteren sin, som satt stille mellom Shyamu og henne. Som hun strålte. Det var som om en fullstendig forvandling hadde funnet sted – så sta det ene øyeblikket, og nå så villig og medgjørlig. Kavita hadde til og med latt seg lede til kjøkkenet for å lære hvordan man lager gulab jamun. (Leksjonen hadde vært en katastrofe, og de hadde måttet stoppe på bakeriet for å kjøpe en boks, men det var ikke poenget.)
Mrs. Asrani gikk ut fra at det var det utsiktene til ekteskap gjorde med unge mennesker. Hun prøvde å huske hvordan hun hadde vært på den alderen. Hadde de staset henne opp, hadde hun også prøvd å lage gulab jamun? Hun så på Mr. Asrani, som satt ved frontvinduet ved siden av sjåføren, mens vinden fra Queen's Road rusket i de få lokkene som fremdeles omkranset hodet hans. Så likt et barn han var, der han koste seg med vinduet og taxituren sin, akkurat som Shyamu ved vinduet bak. En uventet klump av følelser satte seg i halsen hennes.
English to Norwegian: From the novel "The Death of Vishnu" by Manil Suri. Part of assessment for my Masters Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - English THE RED HAS receded into darkness. Light is beginning to appear again, flecks that emerge through the shimmer of gauze.
"Eight," he hears himself saying. "Nine." Through the veil he sees her come.
"Ten," he says. "Eleven." The dupatta she has wrapped around his head is slipping off. "Twelve. Thirteen." She is trying to tiptoe down the stairs past him. "Fourteen," he says. "You know you can't hide down there, you're not allowed down the stairs."
"You looked!" Kavita cries.
"I didn't! Not through my good eye!"
"You looked! Even after I tied the dupatta! What's the use? I'm going to take it off!"
The gauze begins to slide against his eyelids, it quickens and he feels the burn against his skin. His eyes open as it alights from his face and shoots into the air, a long, crinkled swathe, reaching up high toward the open window. The light streaming in sets it ablaze; suspended in the air, it sparks and crackles, like a canal for lightning, like a conduit for the sun, capturing light and energy from the universe and funneling them into her hand. Slowly, she turns, there is gold cascading around her, she turns round and round, and the dupatta floats in spirals above her. (Suri 2001: 38-39)
Translation - Norwegian DET RØDE HAR svunnet hen i mørke. Lys begynner å komme frem igjen, prikker som viser seg gjennom skimmer i tåkeslør.
”Åtte,” hører han seg selv si. ”Ni.” Gjennom sløret ser han henne komme.
”Ti,” sier han. ”Elleve.” Dupattaen hun har pakket rundt hodet hans, glir av. ”Tolv. Tretten.” Hun prøver å liste seg ned trappen og forbi ham. ”Fjorten,” sier han. ”Du vet du ikke kan gjemme deg der nede, du har ikke lov å gå ned trappen.”
”Du kikket!” roper Kavita.
”Det gjorde jeg ikke! Ikke med det gode øyet mitt!”
”Du kikket!” Til og med etter at jeg knyttet dupattaen! Hva er vitsen? Jeg tar den av!”
Tåkesløret begynner å gli mot øyelokkene hans, det setter opp farten og han føler brannen mot huden. Øynene hans åpner seg da det stiger ned fra ansiktet hans og skyter ut i luften, et langt, krøllet svøp, som strekker seg høyt opp mot det åpne vinduet. Lyset som strømmer inn setter det i flammer; svevende i luften gnistrer og spraker det, som en lysleder, som en kanal for solen, som fanger lys og energi fra universet og samler det i hånden hennes. Sakte snur hun seg, gull bruser rundt henne, hun snur seg rundt og rundt, og dupattaen flyter i spiraler over henne.
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Translation education
Master's degree - Middlesex University
Experience
Years of experience: 18. Registered at ProZ.com: Aug 2005.
I am a Norwegian native speaker translating from English, Swedish and Danish into Norwegian on a full-time basis. Areas of particular interest and experience include travel texts, marketing, business and IT.
I hold an MA degree in translation from Middlesex University, London. My academic background also includes Social Anthropology and Comparative Literature, and I have travelled extensively before coming to live and work in the UK. My professional memberships include the Institute of Translation and Interpreting (ITI) and the Chartered Institute of Linguists (CIOL). I take great interest in languages, translating and text editing, and I believe I am able to draw on my experience and understanding of different cultures in my work.
Please feel free to get in touch for further information about me, my specialisations and rates.
Keywords: Norwegian translator with MA degree in translation
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