kui mitmekesine on keel

Hakkasin täna üht uut hispaaniakeelset raamatut lugema ja ehmatasin täitsa ära – noortele suunatud raamat ja mina saan aru enamvähem poolest mõttest ja sedagi mitte korralikult. Mõtlesin, et mind on tabanud ajurabandus ja otsisin ingliskeelse (originaal-) teksti välja. Ütleme nii, et ma tunnen end kohe hulga rahulikumalt.😀

THE RAIN POURED down on London so hard that it seemed that it was dancing spray, every raindrop contending with its fellow for supremacy in the air and waiting to splash down. It was a deluge. The drains and sewers were overflowing, throwing up – regurgitating, as it were – the debris of muck, slime and filth, the dead dogs, the dead rats, cats and worse; bringing back up to the world of men all those things that they thought they had left behind them; jostling and gurgling and hurrying towards the overflowing and always hospitable river Thames; bursting its banks, bubbling and churning like some nameless soup boiling in a dreadful cauldron; the river itself gasping like a dying fish. But those in the know always said about the London rain that, try as it might, it would never, ever clean that noisome city, because all it did was show you another layer of dirt. And on this dirty night there were appropriately dirty deeds that not even the rain could wash away.

A fancy two-horse coach wallowed its way along the street, some piece of metal stuck near an axle causing it to be heralded by a scream. And indeed there was a scream, a human scream this time, as the coach door was flung open and a figure tumbled out into the gushing gutter, which tonight was doing the job of a fountain. Two other figures sprang from the coach, cursing in language that was as colourful as the night was dark and even dirtier. In the downpour, fitfully lit by the lightning, the first figure tried to escape but tripped, fell and was leaped upon, with a cry that was hardly to be heard in all the racket, but which was almost supernaturally counterpointed by the grinding of iron, as a drain cover nearby was pushed open to reveal a struggling and skinny young man who moved with the speed of a snake.

7 kommentaari

  1. Meenutab kuidas ma nägin Mersey jões surnud koera. Mis pealkiri on? (Tekst on küll väga verboosne, tõesti)

  2. “Dodger”? Seal üritas Pratchett Dickensi stiili järele aimata, mis seletab arhaisme.

  3. a muidu meenus mulle, et selline hisp. lasteraamat nagu “Manolito Prillipapa” oli hiigla nunnu – niipalju, kui ma seda eesti keeles lugenud olen. Manolito-lugusid pidi olemas olema tunduvalt rohkem kui eesti keelde tõlgitud. Ma täitsa soovitaks.

  4. Ma sattusin eelmisel suvel Cloud Atlast lugema – esimese lehe järel olin ahastuses – kas ma olen inglise keele TÄIESTI ära unustand või mis?? Siis arvasin, et ehk on kõrguse mõju, olin Lenini baaslaagris. Lõpuks selgus, et raamatu esimeses “loos” on samuti arhaism arhaismist kinni. Ja veel lõpumaks selgus, et mitte arhaismid, vaid… eee… futurismid?

  5. “Kellavärgiga apelsin” tundub kah üks hea teos, mille peale oma keeleoskuse üle paanikasse sattuda.

  6. … ja “Trainspotting” ?😛


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