محاولة ترجمة قصة أجراس

[أسماء حسن محمد]

Bells

Written by Fahed El Khelioui

The bells of fifty years old tinkled a moment ago. Between the noise of a bell and another, a smooth quiver resided in the middle of a long play maintained by two sticks: one a comic and the other a tragedy. This night, he was annoyed. He wished it would rain, weting the ground and picking the skeletons of crushed cars, the unwanted pieces of wood, and the large quantity of empty cans scattered at the roadsides. He dreamed that it rained so that the rain brought back the sentiment of the old memories. Then, He drove his car towards the south of the city. In the sky, stars aligned in an exact order, adjusted a luminous collar that quickly scattered in the middle of the white clouds, that dispersed like a piece of cotton, paving the way to a very remote light to passage through its cold gaps.

The old neighbourhoods, in the south of the city, piled up like small sand dunes, and filled the place with a fragrant mixed of quietness and peace. The places in these neinghbourhoods, which are coming from wasted time, had a resplendent presence in his memory. He crossed a lane, which led him into his old neighbourhood. Here is the neighbourhood's mosque, and out of its wooden gate, there are two coffins rested as if they were there since eternity. Then, there is the coffee of Abdo Al-Yamani, who left the country to settle in Yemen a few years ago, after selling the coffee to an Indian. He progressed in the neighbourhood to reach his small house. The residence which he has left for thirty years because he was unable to pay the rent. The owner gave him two days notice to find another house.

At that time, he went to seek for tens of empty cartons, scattered in front of the grocery stores to box his books. He put the other stuff: a yellow bronze teapot, an old electric heating, diluted glass, mattress of a low sponge, pens, a flute, and a cassette of Fairouz' songs and another of Faouzi Mahsoun, in a small bag.

Then, he started by boxing the large books. "Being and nothingness" needs a carton (freedom is before the existence, nothingness is out of the existence). Sartre is a writer and an artist more than a philosopher and theorist. These two volumes: "The Decline of West"by Spengler needs more than one carton ( The city wasn't the embryo of a civilization. The inhabitants of the cities repeated the life and the death in a monotonous way, and they did not have any relationship with the creation of civilizations).How?!

The deadline to pay rent will shortly finish, and you are reading without having the answer from this large encyclopedist! Whereas "Thus Zarathoustra spoke" has fewer pages, so it could be boxed with the other books. Nietzsche is a great philosopher who does not have an equal.

He stopped growling, and started to arrange the books by size: the largest, the middle and finally the smallest. He carried these astonishing cartons, and his small bag; and then, he left this neighbourhood for about thirty years. Recalling this memory, his heart was filled with sad and melancholic rhythms. He felt that his memory ignited, and dissolved space and time as it transformed one time lost into counted minutes. He drove his car towards the main road, then he took the road which led to the sea. Over there, he remained upright on the beach listening to the growl of the sea.

[سمير الشناوي]

الاخت الفاضلة اسماء

ارجو منك ادارج النص العربي ايضا حتى يمكننا تدارس ترجمتك الراقية

احترامي

سمير الشناوي

[أسماء حسن محمد]

النص الأصلي

أجراس لفهد الخليوي

خمسون حولا دقت اجراسها قبل لحظة , بين صخب جرس وآخر تقبع ارتعاشة مرهفة داخل مسرحية طويلة , يشدها قضيبان , هزلي وتراجيدي.
كان في تلك الليلة ضجرا , رغب لو تمطر السماء وتبلل الأرض وتنقر بزخاتها هياكل السيارات التالفة وبقايا الأخشاب المهملة وكميات العلب الفارغة المتناثرة علي جنبات الشوارع.

كان يحلم ان تمطر السماء وتثير في مشاعره عبق الذكريات الآفلة0 قاد سيارته باتجاه جنوب المدينة , كانت منظومة من النجوم مصطفة في السماء وقد نسجت عقدا ضوئيا تلاشى سريعا وسط غيوم بيضاء تمزقت كنتف القطن وسمحت لشفافية ضؤ بعيد بالتسرب بين فجواتها الباردة. الأحياء القديمة جنوب المدينة ، تلتصق في بعضها كالتلال الرملية الصغيرة ، وتشيع عبقها الطيب الممزوج بالسكينة ولإستكانة. للأمكنة في هذه الأحياء المتصلة بغوابر الأزمنة حضور متألق في ذاكرته.

عبر شارع ضيق ، أفضى به الى حيه القديم ،ها هو مسجد الحي عند بوابته الخشبية نعشان متقابلان لم يتغير مكانهما ثم مقهى(عبده اليماني) الذي رحل الى اليمن قبل سنوات وباع المقهى لأحد الهنود. توغل داخل الحي الى أن وصل لمنزله الصغير الذي تركه قبل ثلاثين عاما ، بسبب عجزه عن دفع اجره الشهري ،مالك المنزل أمهله يومين للبحث عن منزل آخر.

ـ آنذاك ـ جلب عشرات الكراتين ، من مرمى مستودعات الأغذية لشحن كتبه ، أما باقي ألأمتعة فأمكن شحنها بكيس صغير ، إبريق شاي من النحاس الأصفر، سخان كهربائي عتيق ، كوب من الزجاج الباهت ، فراش من الإسفنج الهابط ، أقلام ، ناي , شريط غنائي ل (فيروز) ، وآخر ل(فوزي محسون). أخذ يشحن الكتب ذات الحجم الأكبر (الوجود والعدم) يحتاج بمفرده لكرتون (الحرية سابقة للوجود العدم خارج الوجود) سارتر أديب وفنان أكثر منه فيلسوفا ومنظِرا. (تدهور حضارة الغرب) لاشبنغلر ، ثلاثة أجزاء ، تحتاج لأكثر من كرتون (المدينة ليست نواة حضارة سكان المدن يكررون الحياة والموت بطريقة رتيبة وليس لهم علاقة بصنع الحضارة البتة) كيف؟

ستنتهي مهلة اليومين وأنت تقرأ قبل أن يجيبك هذا الموسوعي الجبار على سؤالك ،أما (هكذا تكلم زاردشت) فأقل حجما ويمكن شحنه مع بقية الكتب( على كل سائر أن يكون جسرا للمتقدمين وقدوة للمتأخرين) نيتشه 00 فيلسوف عظيم لا يتكرر.

أقلع عن همهماته وانهمك في ترتيب الكتب ، ذات الحجم الأكبر ، ثم الأوسط ، فالأصغر. حمل كراتينه المدهشة وكيس متاعه الصغير ، ورحل عن هذا الحي قبل ثلاثين عاما.
إيقاعات حزينة وشجية ، تناغمت في فضاء روحه شعر أن ذاكرته تشتعل وتصهر المكان والزمان ، وكأنها تحيل حقبة توارت الى دقائق معدودات.
قاد سيارته متجها الى الشارع العام ، ثم سلك الطريق المؤدية الى البحر هناك وقف على الشاطئ منصتا لدمدمة البحر.

[سامي خمو]

الأخت الفاضلة أسماء،

محاولتك في الترجمة جيدة وتدل على بذل جهد كبير في إخراج الترجمة بأسلوب أدبي يحاكي النص الأصلي.

عندما يبدأ بطل القصة في سرد أحدات الماضي Flashback ينبغي أن تكون كافة الأفعال في صيغة الماضي المسبوق Past perfect.

فيما يلي بعض الملاحظات المبدئية عن الترجمة ولك كامل حرية قبولها أو رفضها. اقتراحاتي ملونة باللون الأحمر مقابل ترجمتك باللون الأزرق.

مع خالص الود.

سامي خمو

Bells

Written by Fahed El Khelioui

The bells of fifty years old fifty year old bells tinkled a moment ago. Between the noise of a bell and another, a smooth quiver resided in the middle of a long play maintained by two sticks: one a comic and the other a tragedy. This night, he was annoyed. He wished it would rain, weting wetting the ground and picking the skeletons of crushed cars, the unwanted pieces of wood, and the large quantity of empty cans scattered at the roadsides. He dreamed that it rained so that the rain brought back the sentiment of the old memories. Then, He drove his car towards the south of the city. In the sky, stars aligned in an exact order, adjusted a luminous collar that quickly scattered in the middle of the white clouds, that dispersed like a piece of cotton, paving the way to a very remote light to passage pass through its cold gaps.0

The old neighbourhoods, in the south of the city, piled up like small sand dunes, and filled the place with a fragrant mixed of quietness and peace. The places in these neinghbourhoods, which are coming from wasted time, had a resplendent presence in his memory. He crossed a lane, which led him into his old neighbourhood. Here is the neighbourhood's mosque, and out of its wooden gate, there are two coffins rested as if they were there since eternity. Then, there is the coffee coffeehouse of Abdo Al-Yamani, who left the country to settle in Yemen a few years ago, after selling the coffee to an Indian. He progressed in the neighbourhood to reach his small house. The residence which he has had left for thirty years because he was unable to pay the rent. The owner gave had given him two days notice to find another house.0

At that time, he went to seek he had gone to look for tens of empty cartons, scattered in front of the grocery stores to box his books. He put the other stuff: a yellow bronze teapot, an old electric heating, diluted glass, mattress of a low sponge, pens, a flute, and a cassette of Fairouz' songs and another of Faouzi Mahsoun, in a small bag.0

Then, he started by boxing the large books. "Being and nothingness" needs a carton (freedom is before the existence, nothingness is out of the existence). Sartre is a writer and an artist more than a philosopher and theorist. These two volumes: "The Decline of West"by Spengler needs more than one carton ( The city wasn't the embryo of a civilization. The inhabitants of the cities repeated the life and the death in a monotonous way, and they did not have any relationship with the creation of civilizations).How?!0

The deadline to pay rent will shortly finish would have had expired shortly, and you are reading without having the answer from this large encyclopedist! Whereas "Thus Zarathoustra spoke" has fewer pages, so it could be boxed with the other books. Nietzsche is a great philosopher who does not have an equal.0

He had stopped growling, and started to arrange the books by size: the largest, the middle and finally the smallest. He carried these astonishing cartons, and his small bag; and then, he left this neighbourhood for about thirty years. Recalling this memory, his heart was filled with sad and melancholic rhythms. He felt that his memory ignited, and dissolved space and time as it transformed one time lost into counted minutes. He drove his car towards the main road, then he took the road which led to the sea. Over there, he remained upright on the beach listening to the growl of the sea.0

[أسماء حسن محمد]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته

أستاذ سامي

يشرفني ويسعدني أن تقرأ ترجمتي المتواضعة. وكيف لا أقبل ملاحظاتك وأنت أستاذ متميز جدا. شكرا جزيلا أستاذي الفاضل.

مع خالص تقديري وامتناني

[أسماء حسن محمد]

الترجمة بعد التعديل

Bells

Written by Fahed El Khelioui

The fifty year old bells tinkled a moment ago. Between the noise of a bell and another, a smooth quiver resided in the middle of a long play maintained by two sticks: one a comic and the other a tragedy. This night, he was annoyed. He wished it would rain, wetting the ground and picking the skeletons of crushed cars, the unwanted pieces of wood, and the large quantity of empty cans scattered at the roadsides. He dreamed that it rained so that the rain brought back the sentiment of the old memories. Then, He drove his car towards the south of the city. In the sky, stars aligned in an exact order, adjusted a luminous collar that quickly scattered in the middle of the white clouds, that dispersed like a piece of cotton, paving the way to a very remote light to pass through its cold gaps.

The old neighbourhoods, in the south of the city, piled up like small sand dunes, and filled the place with a fragrant mixed of quietness and peace. The places in these neinghbourhoods, which are coming from wasted time, had a resplendent presence in his memory. He crossed a lane, which led him into his old neighbourhood. Here is the neighbourhood's mosque, and out of its wooden gate, there are two coffins rested as if they were there since eternity. Then, there is the coffeehouse of Abdo Al-Yamani, who left the country to settle in Yemen a few years ago, after selling the coffeehouse to an Indian. He progressed in the neighbourhood to reach his small house. The residence which he had left for thirty years because he was unable to pay the rent. The owner had given him two days notice to find another house.

At that time, he had gone to look for tens of empty cartons, scattered in front of the grocery stores to box his books. He had put the other stuff: a yellow bronze teapot, an old electric heating, diluted glass, mattress of a low sponge, pens, a flute, and a cassette of Fairouz' songs and another of Faouzi Mahsoun, in a small bag.

Then, he had started by boxing the large books. "Being and nothingness" needs a carton (freedom is before the existence, nothingness is out of the existence). Sartre is a writer and an artist more than a philosopher and theorist. These two volumes: "The Decline of West"by Spengler needs more than one carton ( The city wasn't the embryo of a civilization. The inhabitants of the cities repeated the life and the death in a monotonous way, and they did not have any relationship with the creation of civilizations).How?!

The deadline to pay rent would have expired shortly, and you are reading without having the answer from this large encyclopedist! Whereas "Thus Zarathoustra spoke" has fewer pages, so it could be boxed with the other books. Nietzsche is a great philosopher who does not have an equal.

He had stopped growling, and started to arrange the books by size: the largest, the middle and finally the smallest. He had carried these astonishing cartons, and his small bag; and then, he had left this neighbourhood for about thirty years. Recalling this memory, his heart was filled with sad and melancholic rhythms. He felt that his memory ignited, and dissolved space and time as it transformed one time lost into counted minutes. He drove his car towards the main road, then he took the road which led to the sea. Over there, he remained upright on the beach listening to the growl of the sea

.

[ابراهيم اسعد]

[overline]هكذا هم الأستاذة الكبار.. من سجاياهم العظيمة الإخلاص في تأدية واجبهم العلمي والإنساني لتحفيز البراعم الجادة بخلق إبداع حقيقي في كل مجالات الحياة ومن تلك المجالات الهامة مجال الترجمة الذي أصبح قناة ضرورية وايجابية في تفاههم الشعوب وتقاربها واندماجها في كتلة إنسانية واحدة.
الأستاذان الكبيران علما ودراية سامي خمو و ، سمير الشناوي أبديا ملاحاظاتهما الحصيفة حول ترجمة المخلصة أسماء حسن التي توخت الدقة في ترجمتها لهذا النص الجميل.
ولأنها تريد أن تتعلم وتتقن أكثر وضعت بكل تواضع هذه الملاحظات القيمة من الأستاذين الكبيرين سامي و ، سمير نصب تقديرها وخرجت النسخة الأخيرة لترجمتها بمنتهى العلمية والدقة والجمال. [/overline]