конкурс переводчиков


Для перевода с английского языка предлагаются два задания:
1.Перевод лимериков (3-4 на выбор). Для более успешного перевода вам предлагается дополнительная информация о лимериках, их истории, форме и особенностях стиля. Выбирайте любые – и вперед.
2. Перевод одной части из книги Дж. Микеша «How to be an alien». В файле несколько частей, выбирайте то, что вам больше понравится. В начале дана информация об авторе. Главное - сохранить оттенок иронии, передать игру слов и авторское отношение. Надеюсь, получите удовольствие хотя бы от чтения.
Limericks
The form of poetry referred to as Limerick poems have received incredibly bad press and dismissed as not having a rightful place amongst what is seen as 'cultivated poetry'. The reason for this is three-fold:
The content of many limericks is often of a bawdy and humorous nature.
A Limerick as a poetry form is by nature simple and short - limericks only have five lines.
And finally the somewhat dubious history of limericks have contributed to the critics attitudes.
Limericks - The History Variants of the form of poetry referred to as Limerick poems can be traced back to the fourteenth century English history. Limericks were used in Nursery Rhymes and other poems for children. But as limericks were short, relatively easy to compose and bawdy or sexual in nature they were often repeated by beggars or the working classes in the British pubs and taverns of the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventh centuries. The poets who created these limericks were therefore often drunkards! Limericks were also referred to as dirty.Where does the term 'Limerick' come from? The word derives from the Irish town of Limerick. Apparently a pub song or tavern chorus based on the refrain "Will you come up to Limerick?" where, of course, such bawdy songs or 'Limericks' were sung.Limericks - The form  Limericks consist of five anapaestic lines.Lines 1, 2, and 5 of Limericks have seven to ten syllables and rhyme with one another. Lines 3 and 4 of Limericks have five to seven syllables and also rhyme with each other.Limericks - A Defence - Shakespeare even wrote Limericks! Admittedly the content of Limericks can often verge on the indecent, the dirty, or even the obscene, but they make people laugh! Limericks are easy to remember! Limericks are short and no great talent is necessary to compose one - Limericks are a form of poetry that everyone feels happy to try (especially when inebriated!). Limericks as a form of poetry has survived the test of time dating back for centuries! And whilst the poetic and literary skills of Shakespeare are not necessary for the composition of a limerick the great Bard himself did in fact write limericks which can be found in two of his greatest plays - Othello and King Lear.The Limericks of Edward Lear - Limericks are Fun!! Edward Lear's Book of Nonsense included the poetry form of Limericks. His work with limericks were, however, was not in any way indecent and this particular book proved to be extremely popular in the nineteenth century and this was contributed to by the humorous magazine Punch which started printing examples of limericks leading to a craze by its readers. The first edition of Edward Lear's Book of Nonsense was published by Thomas McLean on 10th February 1846. There were altogether seventy-two limericks in two volumes which sold at 3s 6d each. These limericks have proven to be extremely popular with children.
Limericks by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense 
Limericks
Limericks by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense 

LimerickThere was an Old Man with a beard,Who said, 'It is just as I feared!Two Owls and a Hen,Four Larks and a Wren,Have all built their nests in my beard!' LimerickThere was an Old Man in a tree,Who was horribly bored by a Bee;When they said, 'Does it buzz?'He replied, 'Yes, it does!''It's a regular brute of a Bee!'

LimerickThere was an Old Man of Kilkenny,Who never had more than a penny;He spent all that money,In onions and honey,That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny. LimerickThere was an Old Man with a flute,A sarpint ran into his boot;But he played day and night,Till the sarpint took flight,And avoided that man with a flute.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Man of Vienna,Who lived upon Tincture of Senna;When that did not agree,He took Camomile Tea,That nasty Old Man of Vienna. LimerickThere was an Old Person whose habits,Induced him to feed upon rabbits;When he'd eaten eighteen,He turned perfectly green,Upon which he relinquished those habits.

LimerickThere was a Young Lady whose eyes,Were unique as to colour and size;When she opened them wide,People all turned aside,And started away in surprise. LimerickThere was an Old Man of the WrekinWhose shoes made a horrible creakingBut they said, 'Tell us whether,Your shoes are of leather,Or of what, you Old Man of the Wrekin?'
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Man who supposed,That the street door was partially closed;But some very large rats,Ate his coats and his hats,While that futile old gentleman dozed. LimerickThere was a Young Lady of Dorking,Who bought a large bonnet for walking;But its colour and size,So bedazzled her eyes,That she very soon went back to Dorking.

LimerickThere was an Old Man of Columbia,Who was thirsty, and called out for some beer;But they brought it quite hot,In a small copper pot,Which disgusted that man of Columbia. LimerickThere was an Old Person of Buda,Whose conduct grew ruder and ruder;Till at last, with a hammer,They silenced his clamour,By smashing that Person of Buda.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Man of the West,Who wore a pale plum-coloured vest;When they said, 'Does it fit?'He replied, 'Not a bit!'That uneasy Old Man of the West. LimerickThere was a Young Lady of Norway,Who casually sat on a doorway;When the door squeezed her flat,She exclaimed, 'What of that?'This courageous Young Lady of Norway.

LimerickThere was on Old Man of the Isles,Whose face was pervaded with smiles;He sung high dum diddle,And played on the fiddle,That amiable Man of the Isles. LimerickThere was a Young Person of Crete,Whose toilette was far from complete;She dressed in a sack,Spickle-speckled with black,That ombliferous person of Crete.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Person of Hurst,Who drank when he was not athirst;When they said, 'You'll grw fatter,'He answered, 'What matter?'That globular Person of Hurst. LimerickThere was an Old Lady of Chertsey,Who made a remarkable curtsey;She twirled round and round,Till she sunk underground,Which distressed all the people of Chertsey.

LimerickThere was an Old Man with a gong,Who bumped at it all day long;But they called out, 'O law!You're a horrid old bore!'So they smashed that Old Man with a gong. LimerickThere was an Old Man in a tree,Who was horribly bored by a Bee;When they said, 'Does it buzz?'He replied, 'Yes, it does!''It's a regular brute of a Bee!'
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was a Young Person of Smyrna,Whose Grandmother threatened to burn her;But she seized on the cat,And said, 'Granny, burn that!You incongruous Old Woman of Smyrna!' LimerickThere was an Old Person of Chili,Whose conduct was painful and silly,He sate on the stairs,Eating apples and pears,That imprudent Old Person of Chili.

LimerickThere was an Old Man on a hill,Who seldom, if ever, stood still;He ran up and down,In his Grandmother's gown,Which adorned that Old Man on a hill. LimerickThere was a Young Lady whose chin,Resembled the point of a pin;So she had it made sharp,And purchased a harp,And played several tunes with her chin.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was a Young Lady whose bonnet,Came untied when the birds sate upon it;But she said: 'I don't care!All the birds in the airAre welcome to sit on my bonnet!' LimerickThere was an Old Man of Madras,Who rode on a cream-coloured ass;But the length of its ears,So promoted his fears,That it killed that Old Man of Madras.

LimerickThere was a Young Lady of Ryde,Whose shoe-strings were seldom untied.She purchased some clogs,And some small spotted dogs,And frequently walked about Ryde. LimerickThere was an Old Man of Peru,Who never knew what he should do;So he tore off his hair,And behaved like a bear,That intrinsic Old Man of Peru.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Man of Moldavia,Who had the most curious behaviour;For while he was able,He slept on a table.That funny Old Man of Moldavia. LimerickThere was an Old Man in a boat,Who said, 'I'm afloat, I'm afloat!'When they said, 'No! you ain't!'He was ready to faint,That unhappy Old Man in a boat.

LimerickThere was a Young Lady of Portugal,Whose ideas were excessively nautical:She climbed up a tree,To examine the sea,But declared she would never leave Portugal. LimerickThere was an Old Man with a nose,Who said, 'If you choose to suppose,That my nose is too long,You are certainly wrong!'That remarkable Man with a nose.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Man of Kilkenny,Who never had more than a penny;He spent all that money,In onions and honey,That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny. LimerickThere was an Old Person of Ischia,Whose conduct grew friskier and friskier;He dance hornpipes and jigs,And ate thousands of figs,That lively Old Person of Ischia.

LimerickThere was an Old Person of Dover,Who rushed through a field of blue Clover;But some very large bees,Stung his nose and his knees,So he very soon went back to Dover. LimerickThere was an Old Man of Marseilles,Whose daughters wore bottle-green veils;They caught several Fish,Which they put in a dish,And sent to their Pa' at Marseilles.
Limericks by Edward Lear

LimerickThere was an Old Person of Basing,Whose presence of mind was amazing;He purchased a steed,Which he rode at full speed,And escaped from the people of Basing. LimerickThere was an Old Person of Cadiz,Who was always polite to all ladies;But in handing his daughter,He fell into the water,Which drowned that Old Person of Cadiz.

LimerickThe was a Young Lady of Bute,Who played on a silver-gilt flute;She played several jigs,To her uncle's white pigs,That amusing Young Lady of Bute. LimerickThere was an Old Man of Quebec,A beetle ran over his neck;But he cried, 'With a needle,I'll slay you, O beadle!'That angry Old Man of Quebec.

Limericks in English
There was an Old Man of the West,Who wore a pale plum-coloured vest;When they said: "Does it fit?"He replied: "Not a bit!"That uneasy Old Man of the West.~~~~~There was an Old Lady of Prague,Whose language was horribly vague;When they said: "Are there caps?"She answered: "Perhaps!"That oracular Lady of Prague.~~~~~There was an Old Man of Peru,Who dreamt he was eating his shoe.He awoke in the nightIn a terrible frightAnd found it was perfectly true!~~~~~There was an Old Owl lived in an oak.The more he heard, the less he spoke.The less he spoke, more he heard.Follow the example of that wise old bird.~~~~~There was an Old Man of Pekin,Who sat on the point of a pin,He jumped up in pain,Then sat down again.That silly old man of Pekin.~~~~~Said a Booklover fellow from Siam:"I frequently read Omar Khayyam.His morals depress.Butt neverthelessHe is almost as clever as I am".~~~~~There was an Old Man who said:"How shall I flee from this horrible cow?I shall sit on this stile,And continue to smile,Which may soften the heart of that cow".~~~~~An amoeba named Sam and his brother Were having a drink with each other;In the midst of their quaffingThey split their sides laughing.And each of them now is a mother. There was an old lady who saidWhen she found a thief under her bed:"Get up from the floor;You are too near the door,And you may catch a cold in your head."~~~~~There once was a student named Bessor,Whose knowledge grew lessor and lessor,It at last grew so smallHe knew nothing at all,And today he’s a college professor.~~~~~There was a nice lady of NigerWho smiled as she rode on a tiger.They returned from the rideWith the lady inside,And a smile on the face of the tiger.~~~~~There was a young person, whose historyWas always considered a mystery;He sat in a ditch, no one knew which,And composed a small treatise on history.~~~~~There was a Young Lady of TurkeyWho wept when the weather was murky;When the day turned out fine,She ceased to repine,That capricious Young Lady of Turkey.~~~~~There was an old lady of Harrow,Whose views were exceedingly narrow.At the end of her pathsShe built two bird bathsFor the different sexes of sparrow.~~~~~There was an Old Person of Ewell,Who chiefly subsisted on gruel;But to make it more niceHe inserted some mice,Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell.~~~~~There was an Old Man of the South,Who had an immederate mouth;But in swallowing a dish,That was quite full of fish,He was choked, that Old Man of the South.
Лимерики на русском (подражание Агнии Барто)
Как-то в Дерри в предпраздничной давкеМолли бросила зайца на лавке.С лавки слезть он не смог,И под ливнем промок,И кричал всем, что Молли мерзавка.~~~~~Наш племянник по имени ДжонниОбожает лохматого пони.Расчесал ему гриву,Напоил его пивомИ отправился в гости наш Джонни. Как-то в Керри бычок выпил лишку.На забор влез он, словно мальчишка,И идет он, качается,А забор уж кончается,Упадет он: не надо пить слишком!~~~~~Наша Пегги безудержно плачет:В речку Банн уронила свой мячик.Тише, Пегги, не плачь!Не утонет твой мяч:По волнам океана он скачет.
Проза
How to be an Alien (1946) was the second book by George Mikes and is the most famous of the 44 he wrote.[1] By its 32nd impression in 1966 it had sold over 300,000 copies.[2] It poked gentle fun at the English and their relationship with foreigners, written from his perspective as a fresh immigrant from Hungary. The book is characterised by much humour, affection and a total lack of rancour or bitterness. Mikes demonstrated not only his knowledge of English society but an insight into the English language. It is in two parts. The first part "How to be a General Alien" deals with such important English topics as the weather, tea, how not to be clever (since it is considered bad manners), how to compromise, and queueing (according to Mikes, the national passion). The chapter entitled "Sex" is in its entirety as follows.
Continental people have sex lives: the English have hot water bottles.
The second part, "How to be a Particular Alien" describes particular occupations from BloomsburyIntellectual to bus driver, finishing with how to be a Naturalised citizen, which includes the eating ofporridge for breakfast, and alleging that you like it.
It was adopted for English language teaching in the Penguin Readers series. A UK television programme based on the book and with the same title was broadcast in 1964, featuring Frank Muirand Denis Norden, with the voices of Ronnie Barker and June Whitfield.[3]How to Plan a Town
Britain, far from being a "decadent democracy," is a Spartan country. This is mainly due to the British way of building towns, which dispenses with the reasonable comfort enjoyed by all the other weak and effeminate peoples of the world.
Mediaeval warriors wore steel breast-plates and leggings not only for defence but also to keep up their fighting spirit; priests of the Middle Ages tortured their bodies with hair-shirts; Indian yogis take their daily nap lying on a carpet of nails to remain fit. The English plan their towns in such a way that these replace the discomfort of steel breast-plates, hair-shirts and nail-carpets.
On the Continent doctors, lawyers, booksellers - just to mention a few examples - are sprinkled all over the city, so you can call on a good or at least expensive doctor in any district. In England the idea is that it is the address that makes the man. Doctors in London are crowded into Harley Street, solicitors into Loncoln's Inn Fields, second-hand book-shops in Charing Cross Road, newspaper offices in Fleet Street, tailors in Saville Row, car-merchants in Great Portland Street, theatres around Piccadilly Circus, cinemas in Leicester Square, etc. If you have a chance of replanning London you can greatly improve on this idea. All green-grocers should be placed in Hornsey Lane (N.6), all butchers in Mile End (E.1), and all gentlemen's conveniences in Bloomsbury (W.C.).
Now I should like to give you a little practical advice on how to build and English town.
You must understand that an English town is a vast conspiracy to mislead foreigners. You have to use century-old little practices and tricks.
First of all, never build a street straight. The English love privacy and do not want to see one end of the street from the other end. Make sudden curves in the street and build them S-shaped too; the letters L, T, V, Y, W and O are also becoming increasingly popular. It would be a fine tribute to the Greeks to build a few [phi] and [theta]-shaped streets; it would be an ingenious compliment to the Russians to favour the shape of [reversed-R], and I am sure the Chinese would be more than flattered to see some [chinese-character]-shaped thoroughfares.
Never build the houses of the same street in a straight line. The British have always been a freedom-loving race and the "freedom to build a muddle" is one of their most ancient civic rights.
Now there are further camouflage possibilities in the numbering of houses. Primitive continental races put even numbers on one side, odd numbers on the other, and you always know that small numbers start from the north or west. In England you have this system, too; but you may start numbering your houses at one end, go up to a certain number on the same side, then continue on the other side, going back in the opposite direction.
You may leave out some numbers if you are superstitious; and you may continue the numbering in a side-street; you may also give the same number to two or three houses.
But this is far from the end. Many people refuse to have numbers altogether, and they choose house names. It is very pleasant, for instance, to find a street with three hundred and fifty totally similar bungalows and look for "The Bungalow." Or to arrive in a street where all the houses have a charming view of a hill and try to find "Hill View." Or search for "Seven Oaks" and find a house with three apple-trees.
Give a different name to the street whenever it bends; but if the curve is so sharp that it really makes two different streets, you may keep the same name. On the other hand, if owing to neglect, a street has been built in a straight line it must be called by many different names (High Holborn, Notting Hill Gate, Oxford Street, Bayswater Road, Notting Hill Gate, Holland Park, and so on).
As some cute foreigners would be able to learn their way about even under such circumstances, some further precautions are necessary. Call streets by various names: street, road, place, mews, crescent, avenue, rise, lane, way, grove, park, gardens, alley, arch, path, walk, broadway, promenade, gate, terrace, vale, view, hill, etc. [ HYPERLINK "http://f2.org/humour/howalien.html" \l "foot3" 3]
Now two further possibilities arise:
gather all sorts of streets and squares of the same name in one neighbourhood: Belsize Park, Belsize Street, Belsize Road, Belsize Gardens, Belsize Green, Belsize Circus, Belsize Yard, Belsize Viaduct, Belsize Arcade, Belsize Heath, etc.
Place a number of streets of exactly the same name in different districts. If you have about twenty Princes Squares and Warwick Avenues in the town, the muddle - you may claim without immodesty - will be complete.
Street names should be painted clearly and distinctly on large boards. Then hide these boards carefully. Place them too high or too low, in shadow and darkness, upside down and inside out, or, even better, lock them up in a safe place in your bank, otherwise they may give people some indication about the names of the streets.
In order to break down the foreigners' last vestige of resistance and shatter their morale, one further trick is advisable: introduce the system of squares - real squares, I mean - which run into fours streets like this:
[-- Diagram of two adjacent squares, each side of one labelled "Princes Square", each side of the other labelled "Leicester Square". The street between them has a different name on each side of the street. --]
With this simple device it is possible to build a street of which the two sides have different names.
P.S. - I have been told that my above-described theory is all wrong and is only due to my Central European conceit, because the English do not care for the opinions of foreigners. In every other country, it has been explained, people just build streets and towns following their own common sense. England is the only country where there is a Ministry of Town and Country Planning. That is the real reason for the muddle.
How Not to be Clever"You foreigners are so clever," said a lady to me some years ago. First, thinking of the great amount of foreign idiots and half-wits I had had the honour of meeting, I considered this remark exaggerated but complimentary.
Since then I have learnt that it was far from it. These few words expressed the lady's contempt and slight disgust for foreigners.
If you look up the word clever in any English dictionary, you will find that the dictionaries are out of date and mislead you on this point. According to the Pocket Oxford Dictionary, for instance, the word means quick and neat in movement ... skillful, talented, ingenious. Nuttall's Dictionary gives these meanings: dexterous, skillful, ingenious, quick or ready-witted, intelligent. All nice adjectives, expressing valuable and estimable characteristics. A modern Englishman, however, uses the word clever in the sense: shrewd, sly, furtive, surreptitious, treacherous, sneaking, crafty, un-English, un-Scottish, un-Welsh.
In England it is bad manners to be clever, to assert something confidently. It may be your own personal view that two and two make four, but you must not state it in a self-assured way, because this is a democratic country and others may be of a different opinion.
A continental gentleman seeing a nice panorama may remark:
"This view reminds me of Ultrecht, where the peace treaty concluding the War of Spanish Succession was signed on the 11th April, 1713. The river there, however, recalls the Guadalquivir, which rises in the Sierra de Cazorla and flows south-west to the Atlantic Ocean and is 650 kilometres long. Oh rivers ... what did Pascal say about them? 'Les rivières sont les chemins qui marchent ...' "
This pompous, showing-off way of speaking is not permissible in England. The Englishman looking at the same view would remain silent for two or three hours and think about how to put his profound feelings into words. The he would remark:
"It's pretty, isn't it?"
An English professor of mathematics would say to his maid checking up the shopping list:
"I'm no good at arithmetic, I'm afraid. Please correct me, Jane, if I am wrong, but I believe the square root of 97344 is 312."
And about knowledge. An English girl, of course, would be able to learn just a little more about, say, geography. But it is just not "chic" to know whether Budapest is the capital of Roumania, Hungary of Bulgaria. And if she happens to know that Budapest is the capital of Roumania, she should at least be perplexed if Bucharest is mentioned suddenly.
It is so much nicer to ask, when someone speaks of Barbados, Banska Bystrica or Fiji: "Oh, those little islands ... Are they British?" (They usually are.)
How to be RudeIt is easy to be rude on the Continent. You just shout and call people names of a zoological character.
On a slightly higher level you may invent a few stories against your opponents. In Budapest, for instance, when a rather unpleasant-looking actress joined a nudist club, her younger and prettier colleagues spread the story that she had been accepted only under the condition that she wear a fig-leaf on her face. Or in the same city there was a painter of limited abilities who was a most successful card-player. A colleague of his remarked once: "What a spendthrift! All the money he makes on industrious gambling at night, he spends on his painting during the day."
In England rudeness has quite a different technique. If somebody tells you an obviously untrue story, on the Continent you would remark "You are a liar, Sir, and a rather dirty one at that." In England you just say "Oh, is that so?" Or "That's rather an unusual story, isn't it?"
When some years ago, knowing ten words of English and using them all wrong, I applied for a translator's job, my would-be employer (or would-not-be employer) softly remarked: "I am afraid your English is somewhat unorthodox." This translated into any continental language would mean: Employer (to the commisionaire): "Jean, kick this gentleman down the steps!"
In the last century, when a wicked and unworthy subject annoyed the Sultan of Turkey or the Czar of Russia, he had his head cut off without much ceremony; but when the same happened in England, the monarch declared: "We are not amused"; and the whole British nation even now, a century later, is immensely proud of how rude their Queen was.
Terribly rude expressions (if pronounced grimly) are: "I am afraid that ...," "unless ...," "nevertheless ...," "How queer ...," and "I am sorry, but ..."
It is true that quite often you can hear remarks like: "You'd better see that you get out of here!" Or "Shut your big mouth!" Or "Dirty pig!" etc. These remarks are very un-English and are the results of foreign influence. (Dating back, however, to the era of the Danish invasion.) The LanguageWhen I arrived in England I thought I knew English. After I'd been here an hour I realised that I did not understand one word. In the first week I picked up a tolerable working knowledge of the language and the next seven years convinced me gradually bur thoroughly that I would never know it really well, let alone perfectly. This is sad. My only consolation being that nobody speaks English perfectly.
Remember that those five hundred words an average Englishman uses are far from being the whole vocabulary of the language. You may learn another five hundred and yet another five thousand and yet another fifty thousand and still you may come across a further fifty thousand you have never heard before, and nobody else either.
If you live here long enough you will find out to your great amazement that the adjective nice is not the only adjective that the language possesses, in spite of the fact that in the first three years you do not need to learn any other adjectives. You can say the weather is nice, a restaurant is nice, Mr. Soandso is nice, Mrs. Soandso's clothes are nice, you had a nice time, and all this will be very nice.
Then you have to decide on your accent. You will have your foreign accent, all right, but many people like to mix it with something else. I knew a Polish Jew who had a strong Yiddish-Irish accent. People found it fascinating though slightly exaggerated. The easiest way to give the impression of having a good accent or no foreign accent is to hold an unlit pipe in your mouth, to mutter between your teeth and finish all your sentences with the question: "isn't it?" People will not understand much, but they are accustomed to that and they will get a most excellent impression.
I have known quite a number of foreigners who tried hard to acquire an Oxford accent. The advantage of this is that you give the impression of being permanently in the company of Oxfords dons and lecturers on mediaeval numismatics; the disadvantage is that the permanent singing is rather a strain on your throat and that it is a type of affectation that even many English people find hard to keep up incessantly. You may fall out of it, speak naturally, and then where are you?
The Mayfair accent can be highly recommended, too. The advantages of Mayfair English are that it unites the affected air of the Oxford accent with the uncultured flavour of a half-educated professional hotel-dancer.
The most successful attempts, however, to put on a highly cultured air have been made on the polysyllabic lines. Many foreigners who have learnt Latin and Greek in school discover with amazement and satisfaction that the English language has absorbed a huge amount of ancient latin and Greek expressions, and they realise that (a) it is much easier to learn these expressions than the much simpler English words; (b) that these words as a rule are interminably long and make a simply superb impression when talking to the greengrocer, the porter and the insurance agent.
Imagine, for instance, that the porter of the block of flats where you live remarks sharply that you must not put your dustbin out in front of your door before 7:30 a.m. Should you answer "please don't bully me," a loud and tiresome argument may follow, and certainly the porter will be proved right, because you are sure to find a clause in your contract (small print, bottom of last page) that the porter is always right and you owe absolute allegiance and unconditional obedience to him. Should you answer, however, with these words: "I repudiate your petulant expostulations," the argument will be closed at once, the porter will be proud of having such a highly cultured man in the block, and from that day onwards you may, if you please, get up at four o'clock in the morning and hang your dustbin out the window.
But even in Curzon Street society, if you say, for instance, that you are a tough guy they will consider you a vulgar, irritating and objectionable person. Should you declare, however, that you are an inquisitorial and peremptory homo sapiens, they will have no idea what you mean, but they will feel in their bones that you must be something wonderful.
When you know all the long words it is advisable to start learning some of the short ones too.
You should be careful when using these endless words. An acquaintance of mine once was fortunate enough to discover the most impressive word notalgia for back-ache. Mistakenly, however, he declared in a large company:
"I have such a nostalgia.""Oh, you want to go home to Nizhne-Novgorod?" asked his most sympathetic hostess."Not at all," he answered. "I just cannot sit down."
Finally, there are two important points to remember:
Do not forget that it is much easier to write in English than to speak in English, because you can write without a foreign accent.
In a bus and in other public places it is more advisable to speak softly in good German than to shout in abominable English.
Anyway, this whole language business is not at all easy. After spending eight years in this country, the other day I was told by a very kind lady: "But why do you complain? You really speak a most excellent accent without the slightest English."
TeaThe trouble with tea is that originally it was quite a good drink.
So a group of the most eminent British scientists put their heads together, and made complicated biological experiments to find a way of spoiling it.
To the eternal glory of British science their labour bore fruit. They suggested that if you do not drink it clear, or with lemon or rum and sugar, but pour a few drops of cold milk into it, and no sugar at all, the desired object is achieved. Once this refreshing, aromatic, oriental beverage was successfully transformed into colourless and tasteless gargling-water, it suddenly became the national drink of Great Britain and Ireland - still retaining, indeed usurping, the high-sounding title of tea.
There are some occasions when you must not refuse a cup of tea, otherwise you are judged an exotic and barbarous bird without any hope of ever being able to take your place in civilised society.
If you are invited into an English home, at five o'clock in the morning you get a cup of tea. It is either brought in by a heartily smiling hostess or an almost malevolently silent maid. When you are disturbed in your sweetest morning sleep you must not say: "Madame (or Mabel), I think you are a cruel, spiteful and malignant person who deserves to be shot." On the contrary, you have to declare with your best five o'clock smile: "Thank you so much. I do adore a cup of early morning tea, especially early in the morning." If they leave you alone with the liquid, you may pour it down the washbasin.
Then you have tea for breakfast; then you have tea at 11 o'clock in the morning; then after lunch; then you have tea for tea; then after supper; and again at 11 o'clock at night.
You must not refuse additional cups of tea under the following circumstances: if it is hot; if it is cold; if you are tired; if anybody thinks you might be tired; if you are nervous; if you are gay; before you go out; if you are out; if you have just returned home; if you feel like it; if you do not feel like it; if you have had no tea for some time; if you have just had a cup.
You definitely must not follow my example. I sleep at five o'clock in the morning; I have coffee for breakfast; I drink innumerable cups of black coffee during the day; I have the most unorthodox and exotic teas even at tea-time.
The other day, for instance - I just mention this as a terrifying example to show you how low some people can sink - I wanted a cup of coffee and a piece of cheese for tea. It was one of those exceptionally hot days and my wife (once a good Englishwoman, now completely and hopelessly led astray by my wicked foreign influence) made some cold coffee and put it in the refrigerator, where it froze and become one solid block. On the other hand, she left the cheese on the kitchen table, where it melted. So I have a piece of coffee and a glass of cheese.
Тексты для перевода с немецкого языка на русский:
"Das Märchen vom Glück " von Erich Kästner
Siebzig war er gut und gern, der alte Mann, der mir in der verräucherten Kneipe gegenübersaß.Sein Schopf sah aus, als habe es darauf geschneit, und die Augen blitzten wie eine blank gefegte Eisbahn. „Oh, sind die Menschen dumm“, sagte er und schüttelte den Kopf, dass ich dachte,gleich müssten Schneeflocken aus seinem Haar aufwirbeln. „Das Glück ist ja schließlich keine Dauerwurst, von der man sich täglich seine Scheibe herunterschneiden kann!“„Stimmt“, meinte ich, „das Glück hat ganz und gar nichts Geräuchertes an sich. Obwohl …“ „Obwohl!?“„Obwohl gerade Sie aussehen, als hinge bei Ihnen zu Hause der Schinken des Glücks im Rauchfang.“ „Ich bin eine Ausnahme“, sagte er und trank einen Schluck. „Ich bin die Ausnahme. Ichbin nämlich der Mann, der einen Wunsch freihat.“ Er blickte mir prüfend ins Gesicht, und dann erzählte er seine Geschichte.„Das ist lange her“,begann er und stützte den Kopf in beide Hände,„sehr lange. Vierzig Jahre. Ich war noch jung und litt am Leben wie an einer geschwollenen Backe.Da setzte sich, als ich eines Mittags verbittert auf einer grünen Parkbank hockte, ein alter Mannneben mich und sagte beiläufig: ‚Also gut. Wir haben es uns überlegt. Du hast drei Wünsche frei.‘ Ich starrte in meine Zeitung und tat, als hätte ich nichts gehört. ‚Wünsch dir, was du willst‘, fuhr er fort, ‚die schönste Frau oder das meiste Geld oder den größten Schnurrbart, das ist deine Sache. Aber werde endlich glücklich! Deine Unzufriedenheit geht uns auf die Nerven.‘Er sah aus wie der Weihnachtsmann in Zivil. Weißer Vollbart, rote Apfelbäckchen, Augenbrauen wie aus Christbaumwatte. Gar nichts Verrücktes. Vielleicht ein bisschen zu gutmütig. Nachdem ichihn eingehend betrachtet hatte, starrte ich wieder in meine Zeitung.‚Obwohl es uns nichts angeht, was du mit deinen drei Wünschen machst‘, sagte er ‚wäre es natürlich kein Fehler, wenn du dir die Angelegenheit vorher genau überlegtest. Denn drei Wünsche sind nicht vier Wünsche oder fünf, sondern drei. Und wenn du hinterher noch immer neidisch und unglücklich wärst, könnten wir dir und uns nicht mehr helfen.‘ Ich weiß nicht, ob Sie sich in meine Lage versetzen können. Ich saß auf einer Bank und haderte mit Gott und der Welt. In der Ferne klingelten die Straßenbahnen. DieWachtparade zog irgendwo mit Pauken und Trompeten zum Schloss. Und neben mir saß nun dieser alte Quatschkopf!“„Sie wurden wütend?“„Ich wurde wütend. Mir war zumute wie einem Kessel kurz vorm Zerplatzen. Und als er seinweiß wattiertes Großvatermündchen von neuem aufmachen wollte, stieß ich zornzitternd hervor:‚Damit Sie alter Esel mich nicht länger duzen, nehme ich mir die Freiheit, meinen ersten undinnigsten Wunsch auszusprechen: Scheren Sie sich zum Teufel!‘ Das war nicht fein und höflich,aber ich konnte einfach nicht anders. Es hätte mich sonst zerrissen.“„Und?“ „Was, und?“„War er weg?“„Ach so! Natürlich war er weg! Wie fortgeweht. In der gleichen Sekunde. In nichts aufgelöst. Ichguckte sogar unter die Bank. Aber dort war er auch nicht. Mir wurde ganz übel vor lauter Schreck. Die Sache mit den Wünschen schien zu stimmen! Und der erste Wunsch hatte sich bereits erfüllt!Du meine Güte! Und wenn er sich erfüllt hatte, dann war der gute, liebe, brave Großpapa, wer er nun auch sein mochte, nicht nur weg, nicht nur von meiner Bank verschwunden, nein, dannwar er beim Teufel! Dann war er in der Hölle.‚Sei nicht albern‘, sagte ich zu mir selber. ‚Die Hölle gibt es ja gar nicht, und den Teufel auch nicht.‘ Aber die drei Wünsche, gab's denn die? Und trotzdem war der alte Mann, kaum hatte ich'sgewünscht, verschwunden … Mir wurde heiß und kalt. Mir schlotterten die Knie. Was sollte ichmachen? Der alte Mann musste wieder her, ob's nun eine Hölle gab oder nicht. Das war ich ihmschuldig. Ich musste meinen zweiten Wunsch dransetzen, den zweiten von dreien, o ich Ochse!Oder sollte ich ihn lassen, wo er war? Mit seinen hübschen, roten Apfelbäckchen? ‚Bratapfelbäckchen‘, dachte ich schaudernd. Mir blieb keine Wahl. Ich schloss die Augen und flüsterte ängstlich:‚Ich wünsche mir, dass der alte Mann wieder neben mir sitzt!‘ Wissen Sie, ich habe mir jahrelang,bis in den Traum hinein, die bittersten Vorwürfe gemacht, dass ich den zweiten Wunsch aufdiese Weise verschleudert habe, doch ich sah damals keinen Ausweg. Es gab ja keinen.“„Und?“„Was‚ und?“ „War er wieder da?“„Ach so! Natürlich war er wieder da! In der nämlichen Sekunde. Er saß wieder neben mir, alswäre er nie fortgewünscht gewesen. Das heißt, man sah's ihm schon an, dass er … dass er irgendwo gewesen war, wo es verteufelt, ich meine, wo es sehr heiß sein musste. O ja. Die buschigen,weißen Augenbrauen waren ein bisschen verbrannt. Und der schöne Vollbart hatte auch etwas gelitten. Besonders an den Rändern. Außerdem roch's wie nach versengter Gans. Er blickte mich vorwurfsvoll an. Dann zog er ein Bartbürstchen aus der Brusttasche, putzte sich Bart und Brauen und sagte gekränkt: ‚Hören Sie, junger Mann, fein war das nicht von Ihnen!‘ Ich stotterte eine Entschuldigung. Wie Leid es mir täte. Ich hätte doch nicht an die drei Wünschegeglaubt. Und außerdem hätte ich immerhin versucht, den Schaden wieder gutzumachen. ‚Das istrichtig‘, meinte er. ‚Es wurde aber auch die höchste Zeit.‘ Dann lächelte er. Er lächelte sofreundlich, dass mir fast die Tränen kamen.Nun haben Sie nur noch einen Wunsch frei‘, sagte er. ‚Den dritten. Mit ihm gehen Sie hoffentlich einbisschen vorsichtiger um. Versprechen Sie mir das?‘ Ich nickte und schluckte. ‚Ja‘, antworteteich dann, ‚aber nur, wenn Sie mich wieder duzen.‘ Da musste er lachen. ‚Gut, mein Junge‘,sagte er und gab mir die Hand. ‚Leb wohl. Sei nicht allzu unglücklich. Und gib auf deinen letzten Wunsch acht.‘ ‚Ich verspreche es Ihnen‘, erwiderte ich feierlich. Doch er war schon weg.Wie fortgeblasen.“„Und?“„Was‚ und?“ „Seitdem sind Sie glücklich?“„Ach so. Glücklich?“Mein Nachbar stand auf, nahm Hut und Mantel vom Garderobenhaken, sah mich mit seinen blitzblanken Augen an und sagte:„Den letzten Wunsch hab' ich vierzig Jahre lang nicht angerührt. Manchmal war ich nahe daran.Aber nein. Wünsche sind nur gut, solange man sie noch vor sich hat. Leben Sie wohl.“Ich sah vom Fenster aus, wie er über die Straße ging. Die Schneeflocken umtanzten ihn. Und er hatte ganz vergessen, mir zu sagen, ob wenigstens er glücklich sei. Oder hatte er mir absichtlich nichtgeantwortet?Das ist natürlich auch möglich.(Kästner, Erich: Der tägliche Kram. Chansons und Prosa. Frankfurt/Main: Fischer 1979. S. 137 – 139)
Die Entwicklung der Menschheit von Erich Kästner
Einst haben die Kerls auf den Bäumen gehockt,behaart und mit böser Visage.Dann hat man sie aus dem Urwald gelocktund die Welt asphaltiert und aufgestockt,bis zur dreißigsten Etage.
Da saßen sie nun, den Flöhen entflohn,in zentralgeheizten Räumen.Da sitzen sie nun am Telefon.Und es herrscht noch genau derselbe Tonwie seinerzeit auf den Bäumen.
Sie hören weit. Sie sehen fern.Sie sind mit dem Weltall in Fühlung.Sie putzen die Zähne. Sie atmen modern.Die Erde ist ein gebildeter Sternmit sehr viel Wasserspülung.
Sie schießen die Briefschaften durch ein Rohr.Sie jagen und züchten Mikroben.Sie versehn die Natur mit allem Komfort.Sie fliegen steil in den Himmel emporund bleiben zwei Wochen oben.
Was ihre Verdauung übrigläßt,das verarbeiten sie zu Watte.Sie spalten Atome. Sie heilen Inzest.Und sie stellen durch Stiluntersuchungen fest,daß Cäsar Plattfüße hatte.
So haben sie mit dem Kopf und dem MundDen Fortschritt der Menschheit geschaffen.Doch davon mal abgesehen undbei Lichte betrachtet sind sie im Grundnoch immer die alten Affen.  
Sommer von Ilse Kleberger
Weißt du, wie der Sommer riecht?
Nach Birnen und nach Nelken,
nach Äpfeln und Vergißmeinnicht,
die in der Sonne welken,
nach heißem Sand und kühler See
und nassen Badehosen,
nach Wasserball und Sonnenkrem,
nach Straßenstaub und Rosen.
Weißt du, wie der Sommer schmeckt?
Nach gelben Aprikosen
und Walderdbeeren, halb versteckt
zwischen Gras und Moosen,
nach Himbeereis, Vanilleeis
und Eis aus Schokolade,
nach Sauerklee vom Wiesenrand
und Brauselimonade.
Weißt du, wie der Sommer klingt?
Nach einer Flötenweise,
die durch die Mittagsstille dringt:
Ein Vogel zwitschert leise,
dumpf fällt ein Apfel in das Gras,
der Wind rauscht in den Bäumen.
Ein Kind lacht hell, dann schweigt es schnell
und möchte lieber träumen.
                               
                                 Frühling
Die Amsel singt
und dein Gummiball springt.
Die Sonne flirrt
und dein Springseil schwirrt.
Der Apfelbaum blüht
und dein Rollschuh zieht
eine schnurgerade Bahn.

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