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В качестве новогоднего чтения решил прочитать книгу пьесу Роулинг последователей про Гарри Поттера сына Гарри Поттера в переводе переврёте Маши Спивак.

Ну да, я тормоз и фанат ненастоящий, настоящие прочитали на английском, ибо сил не было терпеть.

Но вот что я хочу сказать.

То, что шутливая песенка "Гарри Поттер выбрал Слизерин" реализовалась с сыном Поттера - да пусть бы с ним. Спасибо, что не вазелин выбрал... хотя опасения возникали в какие-то моменты. Уж больно часто сын Поттера обнимался с сыном Малфоя, причем каждый раз недоуменно восклицая "Ой, а что это мы обнимаемся"... Фиг с ним, что Северус Снейп рассуждает о том, что мог бы быть женатым на Воландеморте. Все они в Хогвартсе потенциальные дамблдоры...

Но прошу вас! Если вы однажды найдете маховик времени, он же "времяворот" по мнению Маши Спивак... То вначале отправьтесь на полвека назад и отучите Машу Спивак от чтения! Попробуйте убедить её вышивать крестиком, выжигать выжигателем, выпиливать лобзиком, взрывать плутонием - в общем, на что-то менее разрушительное её переориентируйте?

А то читать нормальный любительский перевод, не купив книжку, мне совесть не позволила, а купив книжку я все-таки начал читать её, ну не люблю с экрана.

И теперь в глазах неприятное послечтение - все эти словотворчества от Маши, все эти перевранные и переведенные имена-фамилии... Ну нет у Спивак чувства слова. Она не виновата, но от её слов-уродцев тошнит. :(

А пьеса ничего так. Как-нибудь схожу, года через два-три. Может и Гермиону к тому моменту станет играть кто-то более традиционный.

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Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 8th, 2017 08:01 pm (UTC)
Во как господин Переслегин наворотил
Без стакана и не разбересси...Выходит что все ор нот ту би, это и не быть или не быть , а "бесконечность, текстов, порожденных единственным оригиналом и процедурой перевода...". Вот оно как, братцы ! Вали все волку на холку, т.е. переводчику ! Он во всем виноват, гад! Это ему надо было, разместившись за круглым столом, последовательно перенести с языка на язык. А он , сукин кот, не стал садиться, а решил так: я писатель русский, хочу как могу донести до читателя русского то, что хотел писатель английский (испанский, немецкий), сказать своему читателю. Если я че неправильно донес, то закидайте меня камнями, но перед тем как оные в меня кидать......ПОПРОБУЙТЕ ПОЧИТАТЬ В ОРИГИНАЛЕ! ....авось и лучше поймете иностранного писателя....
am0ralist
Jan. 8th, 2017 08:30 pm (UTC)
Re: Во как господин Переслегин наворотил
таки и правда бота вновь активировали...
Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 8th, 2017 08:49 pm (UTC)
Re: Во как господин Переслегин наворотил
Господин Аморалист! А я думаю с кем скрестить шпаги литературные!
alitet_1
Jan. 8th, 2017 08:03 pm (UTC)
Вспомнилось
Забавный баян на тему
http://www.dahr.ru/barbar/displayimage.php?album=9&pos=7
midnike
Jan. 8th, 2017 08:53 pm (UTC)
Придуманное другими отечественными дебилами имя "Воландеморт" вместо Voldemort (c "немым t" на конце) -- тебя видимо совсем-совсем не раздражает :)
irenka89
Jan. 8th, 2017 11:12 pm (UTC)
имя "Воландеморт" вместо Voldemort
Вот-вот.. тоже режет слух.. Читала любительские переводы по мере появления, но и все росмэновские книги купила. В сети были удачные отдельные главы. И имена Снейп и Вольдеморт. Не Маши Спивак. Её не читала. И что-то уже не хочется..
vmcshin
Jan. 8th, 2017 09:55 pm (UTC)
>А пьеса ничего так. Как-нибудь схожу, года через два-три. Может и Гермиону к тому моменту станет играть кто-то более традиционный.

Лучше сейчас идите смотреть, уважаемый Доктор. Года через два-три с горячего одобрения Роулинг Гермиону, скорее всего, будет играть негр-трансвестит.
Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 8th, 2017 10:07 pm (UTC)
и еще одна проблема с переводом
"Let's have a drink, Red." Without waiting for me he gulped down his drink and poured himself another. "You know Kirill Panov died."
I was so stoned that I didn't quite understand. Someone died. So what.
"Well, let's drink to the departed."
He looked at me with his round eyes and only then did I feel as if a string had snapped inside my body. I remember that I got up and leaned against the table. I looked down at him.
"Kirill?" The silver web was before my eyes and I could hear it cracking again as it tore. And through the eerie sound of the cracking I could hear Dick's voice as though he were in another room.
"Heart attack. They found him in the shower, naked. Nobody knows what's happened. They asked about you. I told them you were in perfect shape."
"What's to understand? It's the Zone."
"Sit down. Sit down and have a drink."
"The Zone," I repeated. I couldn't stop saying it. "The Zone, the Zone. . . ."
I couldn't see anything around me except for the silver web. The whole bar was caught in the web and as people moved around, the web crackled softly as they touched it. The Maltese boy was standing in the middle. His childlike face was surprised –– he didn't understand a thing.
"Little boy," I said gently. "How much do you need? Will a thousand be enough? Here, take it. Take it!" I shoved the money at him and started shouting: "Go to Ernest and tell him that he's a bastard and scum. Don't be afraid! Tell him! He's a coward, too. Tell him and then go straight to the station and buy a ticket for Malta! Don't stop anywhere." I don't remember what else I shouted. I do remember ending up in front of the bar and Ernest giving me a glass of soda.
"You're in the money today?" he asked.
"Yes, I've got some."
"How about a little loan? I have to pay my taxes tomorrow."
I realized that I had a bundle of money in my hand. I looked at the wad and muttered:
"That means he didn't take it. Creon of Malta is a proud young man, it seems. Well, it's out of my hands. Whatever happens now is fate."
"What's the matter with you?" my pal Ernie asked. "Had a little too much?"
"Nope, I'm fine," I said. "Perfect shape. Ready for the showers."
"Why don't you head on home? You've had a little too much."
"Kirill died." I said to him.
"Which Kirill? The one-armed one?"
"You're one-armed yourself, you bastard. You couldn't make one man like Kirill from a thousand like you. You rat, you son of a bitch, you lousy scum bastard. You're dealing in death, you know that? You bought us all with your dough. You want to see me tear your little shop apart?"
Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 8th, 2017 11:05 pm (UTC)
или вот еще проблемы с переводом
"You flatter me. But still, what advice would you give the Almighty?
What, in your opinion, would the Almighty have to do so that you'd be able
to say: the world is now truly good and beautiful?"
Budach smiled approvingly, leaned comfortably back in his armchair and
folded his hands across his stomach. Full of interest and anticipation, Kyra
peered into the physician's face.
"All right then," he said, "if you so desire. I would tell the
Almighty: 'Great Creator, I do not know your plan; maybe it's simply not
your intention to make mankind good and happy. Nevertheless, I beg you: let
it happen--it would be so easy for you to accomplish--that all men have
sufficient bread, meat, and wine! Provide them with shelter and clothing,
let hunger and want disappear from the face of the earth, and all that
separates men from each other."
'That would be all?" asked Rumata.
"Does it seem too little to you?"
Rumata shook his head slowly from side to side.
"God would answer you: This would be no blessing for mankind. For the
strong of your world take away from the weak whatever I gave them and the
weak would be as poor as before."
"I would beg God to protect the poor. "Enlighten the cruel rulers,' I
would say."
"Cruelty is a mighty force. Once the rulers rid themselves of their
cruel ways they would lose their power. And other cruel men would take their
place."

Edited at 2017-01-08 11:11 pm (UTC)
Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 8th, 2017 11:10 pm (UTC)
2
Budach's friendly face grew suddenly somber.
"Then punish the cruel men," he said with determination, "and lead them
away from the path of evil, so that the strong may not be cruel to their
weaker brothers."
"It is man's nature to be weak from the moment he is born. He will only
grow strong when there is no one stronger than he is. And if the cruel ones
among the strong are punished and removed from their ranks, they will simply
be replaced by the relatively stronger ones from among the throng of the
weak. And the newly strong ones will become cruel in their turn. That would
mean that eventually all men would have to be punished, and this I do not
want to do."
"You have greater insight, Almighty Lord. Therefore arrange that
mankind will obtain all they need and thus avoid that they will rob each
other of whatever you gave them."
'This solution wouldn't be a blessing for mankind either," sighed
Rumata. "They would not reap profit from this. For if they obtain everything
from my hand without any effort on their part, they will forget what it is
to work and labor; they will lose their taste for living. As time goes on
they'll become domestic animals whom I will have to feed and clothe--and
that for all eternity."
"Don't give them everything at once!" said Budach excitedly. "Give it
to them slowly, gradually!"
"Gradually mankind will take everything they need anyhow."
Budach's smile became embarrassed.
"Now I can see that things are not quite so simple," he said. "I've
never really thought about the problems ... I believe we have discussed all
possibilities now. However," he leaned forward, "there exists still another
possibility: Ordain that mankind will love work and knowledge above all,
that work and wisdom will be regarded by them as their sole reason for
being!"
Yes, thought Rumata, we've already considered such experiments. Mass
hypno-induction, positive remoralization, exposure to hypnotic radiation
from three equatorial satellites ...
This is an alternative I might choose perhaps," he said. "But could it
be justified if I were to rob mankind of its history? Does it make sense to
replace one type of man with another? Would this not mean in the end that
one would wipe this mankind off the face of the earth and create another in
its place?"
Budach frowned and remained silent, busy with his own thoughts. From
below the windows came again the melancholy groaning of heavily laden carts.
Suddenly Budach spoke softly:
"Then, oh, Lord, remove us from the face of the earth and create us
anew, make us better men this time, more perfect beings. Or, better
still--leave us the way we are, but ordain that we can follow our own path!"
"My heart is heavy with sorrow," Rumata said slowly, "but this is not
within my power."
Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 8th, 2017 11:56 pm (UTC)
Дядя Сережа! вот еще проблемы с переводом, все что смог
Nick Rimer laughed, Nick winked at the boy Til.
Grain returned to the air. Big followed him, ready to jerk — when crazy Nick and the stranger Peter, merged together, will let him fall. Perhaps it was a symbol that allows the Grain to germinate — the fall.
Peter Gromov caught Grain.
Nick Rimer let him fall.
The ball of fire, scattering sparks, dived into shaggy "straw" carpet.
The second I squeezed in the hand.
Big fell to his knees, stretched his hands following the Grain. Cracked torn the fabric of the carpet. Shiny, smooth floor was clean. No Grain. Nothing.
Just a subtle something grows through stone and plastic, metal and wood through the Home of nick and big, the Tag and Ghana, Cutty and Feather. Piercing the planet, tightening its dense network of Gates.
— Goodbye, Nikki, — I whispered. — Goodbye, Nick Rimer. You have done your duty.
He was no longer in me.
Nick Rimer went along with his Grain. Returned Home, which is planet Shadow. Back for good.
— What have you done! It's irreversible, Rimer!
He knew — I agreed. He has long held. But it's his choice, commander of BiH.
The big rose. He was standing in a tiny, slowly expanding spot of the Gate. Nothing happened, and I wasn't surprised — commander big loved their country for what it is. And I love the Ground, by the way.
— Children, leave immediately, ' he whispered. — All to evacuate to the dome. Fast!
Through the door came the noise. Yes, big entered the room alone, only watched. Oh, what is going on!
And what else will happen in the prosperous, United, mighty Homeland!
— Kids, come on out! cried big, not taking from me hating the look.
He does not understand? The gates already spread to the whole center of the room. To exit, the boys will have to go through them. Maybe it's they can.
But somehow I don't think so. Thiel, Creek, fall, Lucky — look. Decide. You already feel the Gate.
So, they call you.
— You answer, ' said big. — I may be wrong... let me be punished, but you will answer! You can't leave!
As if he considered himself able to cope with me. Well, maybe. You never know what is taught regressors?
I laughed, stepped forward to the center of the Gate. The world is enveloped in a white glow.
Do you think that big? In vain.
Иван Селиверстов
Jan. 9th, 2017 12:16 am (UTC)
еще одна проблема с переводом
– Here sad and lonely, ' said the steward. – Talk to me, stranger.

Martin never would make up stories ahead of time. Partly out of superstition – it seemed to him that a fictional story might in some mystical way to "materialize", to become known to other travelers. Partly from this feeling that Klyuchnik valued improvisation.

– I want to tell you about the man and his dream, ' said Martin. – It was an ordinary person living on the planet Earth. And dream he was an ordinary, simple, another would dream it is not considered... a cozy house, small car, lovely wife and nice kids. Man could not only dream, but to work. He built his house, and the house was not too small. Met a girl he loved, and she loved him. The man bought the machine – so you can go on the trip and quickly return home. He even bought another car for the wife, so that she is not too bored without him. They had children: not one, not two, but four beautiful, smart children who loved their parents.

The housekeeper listened. Sitting on the couch in one of the small cantenac Moscow Station and listened carefully to Martin.

And that's when the dream was fulfilled, 'continued Martin,' he suddenly felt lonely. Loved his wife, adored his children, the house was cozy and all the roads of the world were open to him. But something was missing. And once, on a dark autumn night, when the cold winds blew the last leaves from the trees, the man went to the balcony of his house and looked around. He was looking for his dream, without which it has become so hard to live. But the dream of the house turned into a brick wall and no longer be a dream. All roads lay before him, and the car was just welded together pieces of painted iron. Even the woman sleeping in his bed, was an ordinary woman, not a dream about love. Even the children, whom he loved, became a common children, and not the dream of the children. And people thought it would be good to get out of my home, to kick to the wing of a luxury car, waved his wife to kiss the children and leave forever...

Martin took a breath. Klyuchnik loved the pause, but it was not even that Martin did not know how to finish your story.

– Is he gone? asked the steward, and Martin learned how to respond.

– No. He went into the bedroom, lay down beside his wife and fell asleep. Not immediately, but still asleep. And no longer tried to get out of the house when the autumn wind plays with fallen leaves. The man suffered what some learn in childhood, but many do not understand and in old age. He realized that you can not dream achievable. Since then, he tried to come up with a new dream, a real one. Of course, it did not work. But he had dreamed this dream.

– This is a very old story, – thoughtfully said the housekeeper. Old and sad. But you dispelled my sadness, traveler. Enter the Gates and begin your journey.


Edited at 2017-01-09 12:19 am (UTC)
julia519973
Jan. 9th, 2017 02:20 am (UTC)
Ещё до Спивак нашлась группка энтузиастов, которая перевела пьесу и выложила файлы в Контакте. Перевод пристойный, но сюжет... тьфу, тьфу и ещё раз тьфу! И так думаем не только мы с дочкой, некоторые поттероманы, с которыми мы разговаривали, тоже называют сей опус кошмаром. Мы уж молчим про чернокожую Гермиону. Я "Проклятое дитя" по-английски не читала, а вот семь книг о самом Гарри Поттере читаю сейчас - уже до 6-й книги дошла. И в подлиннике указаны только 4 чернокожих персонажа - Дин Томас, Анджелина Джонсон, Кингсли Бруствер и Блейз Забини. В "Росмэне" тоже налажали малость. Зачем было называть Снейпа Снеггом - в упор не понимаю. И вот эти обнимашки в пьесе тоже в упор не пойму. Развелось Дамблдоров!
rudasov
Jan. 9th, 2017 04:44 am (UTC)
А Дин Томас разве тоже? Мне казалось, черным был тот паренек, с которым Фред и Джордж дружили, Ли Джордан.
julia519973
Jan. 9th, 2017 04:51 am (UTC)
Ох, про Ли Джордана забыла. И он был чёрным, и Дин Томас. В первой книге, когда идёт распределение и вызывают Дина Томаса, говорится, что к табуретке подошёл чёрный мальчик ростом выше Рона. А что касается Забини, то в подлиннике он "black boy", т.е., чернокожий, а в переводе "Росмэн" он "черноволосый", хотя в подлиннике черноволосые везде "dark-haired".
ds_mok
Jan. 9th, 2017 09:30 am (UTC)
Да пофигу! Правда дочь огорчена...
Но тоже пофигу. Пусть английский учит, "только за то что им разговаривал Гарри"
Olga Bazarkina
Jan. 9th, 2017 02:06 pm (UTC)
А кто такая Маша Спивак? (Ну чисто на случай, если попадется вдруг крутилка времени)
Ольга Горобченко
Jan. 9th, 2017 03:23 pm (UTC)
С учётом того, что Роулинг повелась на россказни про сирийскую девочку Банану - она вполне могла и лично эту чушь выродить.
nosy_stranger
Jan. 11th, 2017 03:45 pm (UTC)
Не удержусь, но выскажусь.
Сергей,

Я конечно понимаю, что тебе глубоко накакать на мнение бывшего друга, но не могу не высказать его.

Я с тобой в корне не согласен. Маша Спивак - шикарный переводчик и тонко чувствующий текст литератор. Её переводы всех книг поттерианы - потрясающи. Как раз тот случай, когда без сотворчества не получится адекватного восприятия истории на другом языке. Так переводил Заходер, так переводил Чуковский и иже с ними... Смакуя Машины переводы, уже по прочтении оригиналов, я получал истинное наслаждение, потому как владея свободно английским, уж поверь, я в состоянии оценить перевод. Ну и разумеется, этот дикий ужас "Росмэна", надо признать, очень выгодно оттенял работу Марии.

Что касается названий и имён - это всего-навсего вопрос привычки. Разумеется, подавляющее большинство привыкло к росмэновским вариантам, а люди всегда плохо воспринимают что-то новое и непривычное. :) Даже если они сами писатели... Словотворчество же, мне наоборот дико понравилось и развеселило, ибо передавало не букву, а дух самой книги Роулинг (имхо разумеется), даже обидно, что ты этого не видишь... но хозяин - бай, как говорится :) ой, то есть барин, кончно же!! :)

Ну и наконец, по поводу самой пьесы, мне кажется, что она явно слабовата. И дело прежде всего в ней, а не в переводе, каким бы он ни был.

Dixi.

П.С. Все сказанное, естесственно, сугубое имхо.
Alex Aao
Jan. 11th, 2017 11:41 pm (UTC)
Буздуган
Я даже знаю ее девичью фамилию. )
Kot Ivan
Jan. 15th, 2017 09:28 pm (UTC)
"вышивать крестиком, выжигать выжигателем, выпиливать лобзиком, взрывать плутонием"
Крестить крестиком, вышивать вышиватником, выжигать выжигателем, лобзать лобзиком, плутовать плутонием!
lifeisjustlife
Feb. 4th, 2017 10:50 am (UTC)
Отлично! :-))))
Анатолий Васильев
Jan. 17th, 2017 06:43 pm (UTC)
Мэри Харддринкинг
Так вот оказывается кто автор этих ужасных переводов! Помню когда читал книги из серии о Гарри Поттере одни были в нормальном переводе, а в других была вся эта жуть которая очень раздражала. Злодиус Злей вместо Северуса Снейпа, профессор Белка и прочий ужас.
Оказывается это Маша Спивак, хотя точнее будет Мэри Харддринкинг.
rebus_x
Jan. 20th, 2017 03:57 am (UTC)
У Спивак нету не только чувства слова, а и просто владения русским языком, которое так необходимо переводчику. Хотя бы порядок слов в предложении изменить с английского на русский можно же... наверное...
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