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Bridging technical expertise and linguistic precision: over a decade of excellence in English-Portuguese and German-Portuguese translation.
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Rates per language pair: English to Portuguese - Standard rate: 0.07 USD per word French to Portuguese - Standard rate: 0.07 USD per word German to Portuguese - Standard rate: 0.07 USD per word Portuguese to English - Standard rate: 0.07 USD per word
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Sample translations submitted: 2
German to Portuguese: Artikel: ein sonderbares Unternehmen (excerpt) General field: Art/Literary
Source text - German Ende 1799 wurde die literarische Welt nicht nur in Weimar von der Nachricht überrascht, dass Goethe Voltaires Mahomet-Drama ins Deutsche übersetzt habe und auf der Hofbühne aufführen zu lassen gedenke. Warum, so rätselte man, war die Wahl des Dichters ausgerechnet auf denjenigen Text Voltaires gefallen, in dem der Begründer des Islam als zynischer Tyrann und Betrüger dargestellt wird – und warum hatte sich Goethe überhaupt der französischen klassischen Tragödie zugewendet, einer Gattung also, die in Deutschland schon seit Lessings Hamburgischer Dramaturgie (1767) als historisch über- holt galt? Hatte nicht Goethe selbst als Stürmer und Dränger in seiner Rede zum Shäkespeare-Tag (1771) gefordert, dem französischen „regelmäßigen Theater zu entsagen“1, dessen starre Lehre von den drei Einheiten ihm als „kerkermäßig ängstlich“2 und als „lästige Fesseln unsrer Einbildungskraft“3 vorgekommen war und aus dessen Einschränkung und Langeweile nur Shake- speare und seine wahre Schilderung der menschlichen Natur befreie?
Translation - Portuguese Ao fim de 1799, não foi apenas em Weimar que o mundo literário se surpreendeu com a notícia de que Goethe teria traduzido o drama voltairiano Maomé para o Alemão e cogitado permitir sua encenação no Teatro da Corte. Por que, questionava-se então, havia a escolha do poeta recaído justamente sobre aquele texto de Voltaire, no qual o fundador do Islã é representado como um tirano cínico e um trapaceiro – e por que teria Goethe se dedicado à tragédia francesa clássica, um gênero considerado ultrapassado na Alemanha desde o lançamento da Dramaturgia de Hamburgo (1767) de Lessing? Não havia o próprio Goethe, enquanto membro do movimento Sturm und Drang (Tempestade e Ímpeto), reivindicado aos franceses, em seu Discurso para o dia de Shakespeare (1771), que “renunciassem ao teatro regular”[1], cuja rígida doutrinação sobre as três unidades ele percebia como “aprisionantes”[2] e como “pesados grilhões sobre a imaginação”[3] e de cuja restrição e tédio apenas Shakespeare com sua narração verdadeira da natureza humana libertaria?
English to Portuguese: Excerpt from Nog, a novel by Rudolph Wurlitzer General field: Art/Literary
Source text - English I have money and I can make money. I want to say that now. I'm no reprobate, nor am I a drain on anyone. My great aunt left me two thousand a year, and I have, or had, an octopus and a truck. A man sold me the octopus and truck in Oregon. I met him in a bar in one of those logging towns on the Coast where the only attractive spot is the village dump, which at least has the advantage of facing the sea. Nog, he was apparently of Finnish extraction, was one of those semi-religious lunatics you see wandering around the Sierras on bread and tea, or gulping down peyote in Nevada with the Indians. He was dressed in black motorcycle boots, jeans and an old army shirt with sergeant chevrons still on the sleeves. His face was lean and hatchet-edged, with huge fuzzy eyes sunk deep in his skull like bullet holes. He kept complaining about a yellow light that had lately been streaming out of his chest from a spot the size of a half dollar. We drank and talked about the spot and the small burning sensation it gave him early in the morning and about his octopus. He had become disillusioned about traveling with the octopus and had begun having aggressive dreams about it. He wanted to sell it. We bought a bottle and walked out beyond the town into logged-off hills that looked like old battlefields. A low mist hung over a struggling second growth of redwood and Douglas fir. The tracks of giant caterpillar tractors wound everywhere. Pits and ditches were scattered about like shell holes. Thousands of frogs croaked and salamanders hung suspended between lids of green slime and rotting logs. I felt vaguely elated, like a witness to some ancient slaughter.
Nog lived in what had once been a water tank in the middle of a rough field. The octopus was there, all right. It was sitting inside a bathysphere on a truck bed. Nog had built a mold out of plaster of Paris for the tentacles and another one for the obese body with its parrot-like beak and bulging eyes. Then he had poured liquid latex rubber into the molds. The bathysphere was carefully fashioned out of a large butane gas tank and stolen pieces of metal from a nearby bridge. There were three portholes from which you could watch the octopus move its eight tentacles around in the bubbling water. Nog had been traveling to all the state and county fairs through the West and Midwest, charging kids a dime and adults a quarter. Most people believed the octopus was real, but whenever there was a loud doubt Nog would tell them the truth. He would never give money back, and occasionally there would be fights. In Bird City, Utah, the bathysphere had been tipped over by three men who had just been on a losing softball team. He was weary of the whole thing, he kept repeating. We sat down on a bench in front of his house, and he filled me in on octopus lore. The crowd appreciated the devilfish myth the most, and it was important to tell them how dangerous octopi are and how they can drown and mangle a human or sink a small boat. One should never tell them the truth, which is that octopi are quite friendly. I refused any more information. We sat quietly and it grew dark. Finally Nog said that he had stopped knowing how to entertain himself. He said he guessed that was my trouble, too, but that I should take a chance with the octopus. He suggested I transform it into a totem that I didn't mind seeing every day.
I bought the octopus, and for a year I traveled through the country with it.
Translation - Portuguese Eu tenho dinheiro e sei ganhar dinheiro. Quero dizer isso agora. Não sou um réprobo, tampouco o sanguessuga de ninguém. A minha tia-avó me deixou dois mil por ano, e eu tenho, ou tinha, um polvo e umacaminhonete. Um homem me vendeu o polvo e a caminhonete em Oregon. Eu o conheci num bar numa daquelas cidades madeireiras do litoral em que o único lugar atraente é o lixão, que pelo menos tem a vantagem de ficar de frente para o mar. Nog, aparentemente de ascendência finlandesa, era um daqueles religiosos semilunáticos que a gente vê circular pela Sierras à base de chá e pão, ou gorgolejando com peiote no meio dos índios em Nevada. Ele calçava botas negras de motociclista e vestia jeans e uma camisa velha do exército com as mangas ainda bordadas com divisas de sargento. O rosto dele era fino e acabava na forma da lâmina de uma machadinha, com olhos enormes e nebulosos afundados no crânio como se fossem buracos de bala. Ele ficava reclamando sobre uma luz amarela que vinha emanando do seu peito a partir de um ponto mais ou menos do tamanho de uma moeda. Nós bebemos e falamos sobre esse ponto e sobre a leve sensação de queimação que dava nele de manhã cedinho e sobre o polvo dele. Ele tinha se desiludido disso de viajar com o polvo e começara a ter sonhos agressivos a respeito. Queria vender o polvo. Compramos uma garrafa e andamos para além da cidade e por colinas desmatadas que pareciam velhos campos de batalha. Uma neblina baixa encobria um esforçado bosque de sequoias e pinheirosreflorestados. O lugar todo bem amarrado pelas marcas das esteiras dos tratores. Poços e fossas espalhados por aí como crateras de explosões. Milhares de sapos coaxavam e salamandras pendiam suspensas entre lodo esverdeado e toras podres. Eu me sentia vagamente eufórico, como se fosse testemunha de algum massacre ancestral.
Nog vivia no que um dia tinha sido um tanque d’água no meio de um descampado. Claro que o polvo estava lá. Estava esperando dentro de uma batisfera na caçamba de uma caminhonete. Nog tinha construído um molde de massa plástica de gesso para os tentáculos e outro para o corpo obeso com seu bico semelhante ao do papagaio e seus olhos esbugalhados. Depois tinha despejado látex líquido dentro dos moldes. A batisfera fora cuidadosamente montada a partir de um grande tanque de gás butano e peças metálicas roubadas de uma ponte próxima. Havia três escotilhas pelas quais dava para ver o polvo mexer os oito tentáculos por entre as bolhas d’água. Nog vinha passando por todas as feiras estaduais do Oeste e Centro-Oeste, cobrando dez centavos das crianças e vinte e cinco dos adultos. A maior parte das pessoas acreditava que se tratava realmente de um polvo, mas sempre que a dúvida se alongava Nog dizia a verdade. Ele nunca devolvia o dinheiro, o que acabava causando algumas brigas. Em Bird City, Utah, a batisfera foi tombada por três homens de um time de softbol que acabara de perder. Ele ficava repetindo que estava cansado disso tudo. Sentamo-nos num banco na frente da casa dele e ele me botou por dentro das manhas do polvo. As pessoas gostavam sobremaneira do mito do diabo marinho, e era importante dizer como os polvos são perigosos e como eles podem afogar e esquartejar um humano ou afundar um bote. A gente nunca pode dizer a verdade, que se resume ao fato de que os polvos são bastante amistosos. Eu recusei maiores informações. Ficamos sentados em silêncio e escureceu. Finalmente, Nog disse que tinha deixado de saber como se divertir sozinho. Ele disse que achava que o meu problema também era esse, mas que eu devia tentar a sorte com o polvo. Ele sugeriu que eu o transformasse num totem que eu não me importasse de ver todos os dias.
Comprei o polvo e, por um ano, viajei pelo país com ele.
My name is Tiago Santos Lima. I am a freelance translator with over 10 years of experience in the DE>PT(BR), EN>PT(BR), and FR>PT(BR) pairs.
My translation work has taken me through a variety of fields, from law and technology to engineering and academia. I’ve worked on everything from user manuals and safety data sheets to internal reports and technical documentation, often for clients in the automotive, construction, and energy sectors. In the marketing realm, I’ve helped localize campaigns and brand content for names like Disney, Siemens, Bopla, and Nestlé, typically through long-term agency partnerships.
I also have experience translating patents and legal documents from my time at Bhering Advogados, a respected Brazilian IP law firm. I hold a Law degree and am licensed to practice law in Brazil, which supports my legal translation work with solid domain knowledge and terminological accuracy. Additionally, I provide human translation, proofreading, and MTPE services for academic and corporate clients.
Based in Curitiba, Brazil, I hold a Law degree and a Master’s in Translation Studies from the Federal University of Paraná, where I produced an annotated translation of Nog by Rudolph Wurlitzer under the supervision of renowned translator Caetano Galindo.
I gained near-native fluency in English while living in the U.S., and developed advanced German during a two-year stay in Berlin, following studies at the Goethe-Institut. I studied French at Alliance Française and continue to cultivate it through a strong interest in literature.
Tiago Lima 
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