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Freelance translator and/or interpreter, Verified site user
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Services
Translation, Editing/proofreading, Copywriting
Expertise
Specializes in:
Gaming/Video-games/E-sports
Cinema, Film, TV, Drama
Also works in:
Comics/Manga/Graphic novels
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Rates
French to English - Rates: 0.08 - 0.15 EUR per word / 28 - 35 EUR per hour
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French to English: Le Temps Vert by Josette Clotis General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - French Un soir, - un soir d'été, lourd comme la dalle d'un sépulcre, - ma tante Marie me prit dans ses bras et me serra très fort contre elle.
- Ménude, pécaïre, ménudette...
Des larmes chaudes coulaient de ses yeux jusqu'à mon visage, plutôt des larmes de fièvre que les larmes d'un vrai chagrin. Elle mordillait sa lèvre en reniflant, écartait machinalement du bout du doigt une boucle de cheveux fins à sa joue mouillée et sa voix s'étranglait dans sa gorge.
- Pobre ménude.
Quand la nuit vint on alluma un cierge, grand comme un malheur, diaphane comme une chair, la lueur dansante de la flamme donnait aux choses des apparences fantastiques. Les femmes, qui depuis le matin erraient par la maison, s'agenouillèrent avec des signes de cross. Des hommes entrèrent un à un, tous les hommes du village. Ils avaient leur moustache encore humide de vin, et, parce qu'ils s'étaient décoiffés, ils ne savaient que faire de leur chapeau crasseux entre leurs doigts.
Cette obscurité, ces chuchotements, ces allées et venues étranges, tout cela me fit grande peur ; je me mis à pleurer, dans mon coin, de toute ma force. Ma tante Marie courut à moi, me dit mille paroles douces, en me caressant le visage de ses mains qui sentaient l'aspic. Elle me fit asseoir dans l'endroit le plus sombre de la pièce, jeta entre mes petites jambes, emboudinées de laine bleu, une poignée de châtaignes séches, et je restai là à grignoter avec un bruit de souris, toute seule, toute seule, toute seule...
Cette fin d'été fut encombrée d'hommes noirs aux visages sévères, qui discutaient et questionnaient ma mère sans délicatesse, brandissaient des papiers sous les yeux de mes oncles qui se cachaient pour dire qu'ils étaient bien contents. Parfois on échangaient des paroles un peu vives, mais tout se terminait dans un bruit de verres entre choqués et une odeur de gros vin rouge.
Nous ne voyions plus mon père, parce que, on nous l'avait dit, il était MORT. Depuis un assez long temps déjà, blessé dans un accident, il n'apparaissait plus dans la salle de l'auberge que tenait ma mère, où, auparavant, s'usaient ses journées, les coudes sur la table, devant un de ces mêmes gros verres qui font tant de bruit quand on trinque, un verre toujours vidé, toujours plein. Chaque matin et chaque soir, on nous hissait l'une après l'autre jusqu'à son lit tout calfeutré de vieilles satinettes. La dernière fois, il n'avait pas répondu à notre petit baiser sans affection, son grand visage de Vercingétorix demeuré rigide et clos.
C'est parce qu'il était MORT.
Translation - English One evening, - a summer evening, heavy as a tombstone, - my aunt Marie took me in her arms and held me tight against her.
"Little one, poor dear, poor little thing..."
Hot tears ran from her eyes onto my face, more like fever tears than tears of real grief. She bit her lip, sniffing, with a fingertip she mechanically removed a curl of fine hair from her wet cheek and her voice choked in her throat.
"Poor little one."
When night came we lit a candle, as big as sorrow, translucent like flesh, the dancing light of the flame gave things a fantastical appearance. The women, who had roamed the house since morning, knelt, making signs of the cross. The men entered, one by one, all the men of the village. Their moustaches still damp with wine, tousled and not knowing what to do with their hats, greasy between their fingers.
This darkness, these whispers, these strange comings and goings, all made me afraid. I began to cry, in the corner, with all my force.
My aunt Marie ran to me, speaking a thousand soft words, caressing my face with hands that smelled of aspic. She sat me in the darkest corner of the room and threw a handful of chestnuts onto my little legs, bulging in blue wool, and I stayed there, nibbling and crunching like a mouse, alone, alone, alone.
This summers end was full of black-clad men with severe faces, who discussed and questioned my mother without delicacy, brandishing papers at my uncles, who hid their eyes to show they were well satisfied. Sometimes they exchanged heated words, but everything ended with a clinking of glasses and the smell of rough, red wine.
We didn't see my father anymore, because, they had told us, he was DEAD. Already, for a long time, hurt in an accident, he hadn't appeared in the taproom of the inn that my mother kept, where before he had spent his days, elbows on the table, in front of one of those same heavy glasses which made so much noise when we clinked them, a glass always emptied, always full. Each morning and each evening, they hauled us, one after the other, to his bed, sealed up with old, shiny covers. The last time, he hadn't responded to our affectionless little kiss, his great Vercingétorix face remained rigid and closed.
It's because he was DEAD.
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Experience
Years of experience: 10. Registered at ProZ.com: Sep 2017.
A professional translator since 2017, I'm the mother of two and the wife of one Frenchman.
Whilst I've translated various texts including brochures, contracts, psychological reports, scripts, I am specialised in game localisation.
In 2018 I localised my first game, the award-winning interactive, graphic novel "Seers Isle" and I have since localised two more games, "Along the Edge" and "Across the Grooves" for the same developer. I am currently working on their next release "End of Lines".
I have also recently localised "Goetia 2", "Fête de Famille", "Edgar, Bokbok in Boulzac", and "To Hell With the Ugly", as well as working on various other game projects as part of an agency team.
Apart from translating I've worked as an English teacher in France for three years, and spent thirteen years working in the casino industry, including five years onboard cruise ships.
At university, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I studied creative writing, literature and film.
As the parent of an autistic child I've done a great deal of reading on autism. My other interests are cooking, history and a bit of scuba-diving if the water's not too cold.
Expertise