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КОНКУРС ПЕРЕВОДОВ

Kazan State Medical University

the Department of Foreign Languages invites all medical students to take part in

THE TRANSLATION CONTEST

 

The contest consists of two steps.

First step:You are offered to translate from English into Russian either piece of prose from Ernest Hemingway Indian Camp or a poem No Road written by Philip Larkin.

The deadline to bring your printed translations to the room # 550 is November 21. Don’t forget to type in your name, group number and phone number.

On December 1 the results will be announced on our web site.

The authors of the best translations are taken to the next step.

Second step:The task for this step will be announced on the web site.

The deadline to bring your printed translations to the room # 550 is December 19. Don’t forget to type in your name, group number and phone number.

 

The best works will be published in the Collection of Scientific Works!

 

Good Luck!)

 

The tasks for the first step:

Philip Larkin

No Road

Since we agreed to let the road between us
Fall to disuse,
And bricked our gates up, planted trees to screen us,
And turned all time's eroding agents loose,
Silence, and space, and strangers - our neglect
Has not had much effect.

Leaves drift unswept, perhaps; grass creeps unmown;
No other change.
So clear it stands, so little overgrown,
Walking that way tonight would not seem strange,
And still would be allowed. A little longer,
And time would be the stronger,

Drafting a world where no such road will run
From you to me;
To watch that world come up like a cold sun,
Rewarding others, is my liberty.
Not to prevent it is my will's fulfillment.
Willing it, my ailment.

 

Ernest Hemingway

The Indian Camp

     They walked up from the beach through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who carried a lantern. Then they went into the woods and followed a trail that led to the logging road that ran back into the hills. It was much lighter on the logging road as the timber was cut away on both sides. The young Indian stopped and blew out his lantern and they all walled on along the road.

     They came around a bend and a dog came out barking. Ahead were the lights of the shanties where the Indian bark-peelers lived. More dogs rushed out at them. The two Indians sent them back to the shanties. In the shanty nearest the road there was a light in the window. An old woman stood in the doorway holding a lamp.

     Inside on a wooden bunk lay a young Indian woman. She had been trying to have her baby for two days. All the old women in the camp had been helping her. The men had moved off up the road to sit in the dark and smoke cut of range of the noise she made. She screamed just as Nick and the two Indians followed his father and Uncle George into the shanty. She lay in the lower bunk, very big under a quilt. Her head was turned to one side. In the upper bunk was her husband. He had cut his foot very badly with an ax three days before. He was smoking a pipe. The room smelled very bad.

     Nick's father ordered some water to be put on the stove, and while it was heating he spoke to Nick.

     "This lady is going to have a baby, Nick," he said.

     "I know," said Nick.

     "You don't know," said his father. "Listen to me. What she is going through is called being in labor. The baby wants to be born and she wants it to be born. All her muscles are trying to get the baby born. That is what is happening when she screams."

     "I see," Nick said.

     Just then the woman cried out.

     "Oh, Daddy, can't you give her something to make her stop screaming?" asked Nick.

     "No. I haven't any anaesthetic," his father said. "But her screams are not important. I don't hear them because they are not important."

     The husband in the upper bunk rolled over against the wall.

     The woman in the kitchen motioned to the doctor that the water was hot. Nick's father went into the kitchen and poured about half of the water out of the big kettle into a basin. Into the water left in the kettle he put several things he unwrapped from a handkerchief.

     "Those must boil," he said, and began to scrub his hands in the basin of hot water with a cake of soap he had brought from the camp. Nick watched his father's hands scrubbing each other with the soap. While his father washed his hands very carefully and thoroughly, he talked.

     "You see, Nick, babies are supposed to be born head first but sometimes they're not. When they're not they make a lot of trouble for everybody. Maybe I'll have to operate on this lady. We'll know in a little while."

     When he was satisfied with his hands he went in and went to work.

     "Pull back that quilt, will you, George?" he said. "I'd rather not touch it."

     Later when he started to operate Uncle George and three Indian men held the woman still. She bit Uncle George on the arm and Uncle George said, "Damn squaw bitch!" and the young Indian who had rowed Uncle George over laughed at him. Nick held the basin for his father. It all took a long time.

     His father picked the baby up and slapped it to make it breathe and handed it to the old woman.

"See, it's a boy, Nick," he said.