Ex 308/ Anna, Ouma, Kristien and others...
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Message de here4u posté le 01-10-2025 à 12:09:42 (S | E | F)
Hello dears,
New month, and new translation. At first reading, this text may look difficult
to understand, but after a few more readings, pieces fall right into place, and
everything will be OK, I'm sure...
I give you THE FORCE!
Translate into French:
Anna's call came at the most mundane of times, just past noon on Saturday.
Bad news is supposed to come at night, when one is vulnerable and unprepared;
not in the middle of an early spring day when life seems bountiful and to die
absurd. I was sitting on the toilet reading the paper; Michael took the call as
he was within reaching distance, being in what passes for a kitchen, rustling
up lunch-he is much more adept at it than I am, which may be one of the reasons
I have put up with him for longer than with any of his predecessors. (That, and
the fact that he's Michael, not Mike; I'm allergic to Mikes and Nicks and Dicks.
Not, I should add that marriage, for me at least, is on the cards, not even
after three years of sharing a fair amount of our waking and most of our sleeping
hours. Michael has no axes to grind, no cause to espouse-his predecessors used
at least to be into Anti-apartheid; his only passion, except for me I hope, is
Shakespeare.)
"Somebody called Anna on the phone," he announced from the door. "She
said 'Ah-na' frightful Afrikaans accent. I told her you were involved in a matter
which requires your undivided attention but she said it's important."
"My sister!"
"I didn't know you had a sister." He sounded hurt.
"She's a part of a past I've written off."
"And now it's catching up with you."
"No," I said. "I won't let it." But I felt more apprehensive than I dared
let on. I picked up the telephone. "Anna? It's Ouma, isn't it?" Because it was the
one thing I'd always feared; this was the phantom limb which one day would begin
to ache again.
André Brink, Imaginings of Sand.
Cet exercice est un
et sa correction sera en ligne le
mercredi 15 octobre 2025. Courage !
Message de here4u posté le 01-10-2025 à 12:09:42 (S | E | F)
Hello dears,
New month, and new translation.
At first reading, this text may look difficult to understand, but after a few more readings, pieces fall right into place, and
everything will be OK, I'm sure...
I give you THE FORCE!
Translate into French:
Anna's call came at the most mundane of times, just past noon on Saturday.
Bad news is supposed to come at night, when one is vulnerable and unprepared;
not in the middle of an early spring day when life seems bountiful and to die
absurd. I was sitting on the toilet reading the paper; Michael took the call as
he was within reaching distance, being in what passes for a kitchen, rustling
up lunch-he is much more adept at it than I am, which may be one of the reasons
I have put up with him for longer than with any of his predecessors. (That, and
the fact that he's Michael, not Mike; I'm allergic to Mikes and Nicks and Dicks.
Not, I should add that marriage, for me at least, is on the cards, not even
after three years of sharing a fair amount of our waking and most of our sleeping
hours. Michael has no axes to grind, no cause to espouse-his predecessors used
at least to be into Anti-apartheid; his only passion, except for me I hope, is
Shakespeare.)
"Somebody called Anna on the phone," he announced from the door. "She
said 'Ah-na' frightful Afrikaans accent. I told her you were involved in a matter
which requires your undivided attention but she said it's important."
"My sister!"
"I didn't know you had a sister." He sounded hurt.
"She's a part of a past I've written off."
"And now it's catching up with you."
"No," I said. "I won't let it." But I felt more apprehensive than I dared
let on. I picked up the telephone. "Anna? It's Ouma, isn't it?" Because it was the
one thing I'd always feared; this was the phantom limb which one day would begin
to ache again.
André Brink, Imaginings of Sand.
Cet exercice est un
et sa correction sera en ligne lemercredi 15 octobre 2025. Courage !
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