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9 Приложение- примеры английских адаптаций

9 Приложение- примеры английских адаптаций

 

9.1 Отрывок из рассказа О’Генри «Дары волхвов» (The gift of the Magi)

 

Level 2 – адаптация Дианы Моуэт (Diane Mowat, Oxford University Press)

 

Levels 5, 3, 1 адаптация Д.Мещерякова

 

Original

 

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

Level 5

 

Della finished crying and took care of her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out at a gray cat walking on a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every cent for months, with this result.  Twenty dollars a week isn’t a lot of money. She spent more money than she had calculated. It is a usual thing. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim.  She had spent many hours planning for something nice for him. Something fine and unusual — something just worthy of Jim.

Level 3

 

Della finished crying and washed her cheeks. She stood by the window and looked out at a gray cat walking on a gray wall in a gray backyard. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every cent for many months.  Twenty dollars every week isn’t a lot of money. She spent more money than she had thought. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim.  She had wanted very much for something nice for him. Something fine and unusual — something just for Jim.

Level 2

 

Delia stopped crying and she washed her face. She stood by the window, and looked out at a grey cat on a grey wall in the grey road. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and she had only one dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy Jim a Christmas present. Her Jim. She wanted very much to buy him something really fine, something to show how much she loved him.

Level 1

Delia stops crying and she washes her face. She stands in front of the window, and looks at a grey cat in the grey road. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, but she has only one dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy Jim a Christmas present. She wants to buy him something fine. She wants to show her love.

9.2 Отрывок из «Приключения Тома Сойера» Марка Твена

 

Original

 

A Отрывок полностью

 

SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and

fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if

the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in

every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom

and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond

the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far

enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a

long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and

a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board

fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a

burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost

plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant

whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed

fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at

the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from

the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom’s eyes, before, but

now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at

the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there

waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting,

skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred

and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an

hour—and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:

«Say, Jim, I’ll fetch the water if you’ll whitewash some.»

Jim shook his head and said:

«Can’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an’ git dis water

an’ not stop foolin’ roun’ wid anybody. She say she spec’ Mars Tom gwine

to ax me to whitewash, an’ so she tole me go ‘long an’ ‘tend to my own

business—she ‘lowed _she’d_ ‘tend to de whitewashin’.»

«Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That’s the way she always talks.

Gimme the bucket—I won’t be gone only a a minute. _She_ won’t ever

know.»

«Oh, I dasn’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis she’d take an’ tar de head off’n me.

‘Deed she would.»

«_She_! She never licks anybody—whacks ’em over the head with her

thimble—and who cares for that, I’d like to know. She talks awful, but

talk don’t hurt—anyways it don’t if she don’t cry. Jim, I’ll give you a

marvel. I’ll give you a white alley!»

Jim began to waver.

«White alley, Jim! And it’s a bully taw.»

«My! Dat’s a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I’s powerful

‘fraid ole missis—«

«And besides, if you will I’ll show you my sore toe.»

Jim was only human—this attraction was too much for him. He put down

his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing

interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he

was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was

whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with

a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.

But Tom’s energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had

planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys

would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and

they would make a world of fun of him for having to work—the very

thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and

examined it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange

of _work_, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour

of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and

gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless

moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,

magnificent inspiration.

He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in

sight presently—the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been

dreading. Ben’s gait was the hop-skip-and-jump—proof enough that his

heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and

giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned

ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As

he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned

far over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp

and circumstance—for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered

himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and

engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own

hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:

«Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!» The headway ran almost out, and he

drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.

«Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!» His arms straightened and stiffened

down his sides.

«Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!

Chow!» His right hand, mean-time, describing stately circles—for it was

representing a forty-foot wheel.

«Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!»

The left hand began to describe circles.

«Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on

the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling!

Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! _lively_ now! Come—out with

your spring-line—what’re you about there! Take a turn round that stump

with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now—let her go! Done with

the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH’T! S’H’T! SH’T!» (trying the

gauge-cocks).

Tom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared

a moment and then said: «_Hi-Yi! You’re_ up a stump, ain’t you!»

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then

he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as

before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom’s mouth watered for the

apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:

«Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?»

Tom wheeled suddenly and said:

«Why, it’s you, Ben! I warn’t noticing.»

«Say—I’m going in a-swimming, I am. Don’t you wish you could? But of

course you’d druther _work_—wouldn’t you? Course you would!»

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:

«What do you call work?»

«Why, ain’t _that_ work?»

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

«Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits Tom

Sawyer.»

«Oh come, now, you don’t mean to let on that you _like_ it?»

The brush continued to move.

«Like it? Well, I don’t see why I oughtn’t to like it. Does a boy get a

chance to whitewash a fence every day?»

 

В Отрывок, сокращенный до содержания адаптации

 

SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and

fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if

the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in

every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom

and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond

the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far

enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a

long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and

a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board

fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a

burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost

plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant

whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed

fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at

the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from

the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom’s eyes, before, but

now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at

the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there

waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting,

skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred

and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an

hour—and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:

«Say, Jim, I’ll fetch the water if you’ll whitewash some.»

Jim shook his head and said:

«Can’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an’ git dis water

an’ not stop foolin’ roun’ wid anybody. She say she spec’ Mars Tom gwine

to ax me to whitewash, an’ so she tole me go ‘long an’ ‘tend to my own

business—she ‘lowed _she’d_ ‘tend to de whitewashin’.»

But Tom’s energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had

planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys

would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and

they would make a world of fun of him for having to work—the very

thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and

examined it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange

of _work_, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour

of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and

gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless

moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,

magnificent inspiration.

He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in

Sight.

Tom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to [him]. Ben stared

a moment and then said:

«_Hi-Yi! You’re_ up a stump, ain’t you!»

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then

he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as

before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom’s mouth watered for the

apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:

«Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?»

Tom wheeled suddenly and said:

«Why, it’s you, Ben! I warn’t noticing.»

«Say—I’m going in a-swimming, I am. Don’t you wish you could? But of

course you’d druther _work_—wouldn’t you? Course you would!»

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:

«What do you call work?»

«Why, ain’t _that_ work?»

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

«Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits Tom

Sawyer.»

«Oh come, now, you don’t mean to let on that you _like_ it?»

The brush continued to move.

«Like it? Well, I don’t see why I oughtn’t to like it. Does a boy get a

chance to whitewash a fence every day?»

 

Level 1 (300 words) Penguin Readers Адаптация Жаклин Кель (Jacqueline Kehl) Издатели серии: Andy Hopkins and Jocelyn Potter

 

Saturday morning, Tom was not happy, but he started to paint the fence. His friend Jim was in the street.

Tom asked him, «Do you want to paint?»

Jim said, «No, I can’t. I’m going to get water.»

Then Ben came to Tom’s house. He watched Tom and said, «I’m going to swim today. You can’t swim because you’re working.»

Tom said, «This isn’t work. I like painting.»

 

Stage 1 (400 Words) Oxford University Press, адаптация Ника Балларда (Nick Bullard)

 

Saturday was a beautiful day. It was summer and the sun was hot and there were flowers in all the gardens. It was a day for everybody to be happy.

Tom came out of his house with a brush and a big pot of white paint in his hand. He looked at the fence; it was three metres high and thirty metres long. He put his brush in the paint and painted some of the fence. He did it again. Then he stopped and looked at the fence, put down his brush and sat down. There were hours of work in front of him and he was the unhappiest boy in the village.

Alter ten minutes Tom had an idea, a wonderful idea. He took up the brush again and began work. He saw his friend Joe Harper in the street, but he didn’t look at him. Joe had an apple in his hand. He came up to Tom and looked at the fence.

‘I am sorry, Tom.’ Tom   said nothing. The paint brush moved up and down.

‘Working for your aunt?’ said Joe. ‘I’m going down to the river. I’m sorry you can’t come with me.’

Tom put down his brush. ‘You call this work?’ he said.

‘Painting a fence?’ said Joe. ‘Of course it’s work!’

‘Perhaps it is and perhaps it isn’t. But I like it,’ said Tom. ‘I can go to the river any day. I can’t paint a fence very often.’


Оглавление

1 Переводить или не переводить?
2 Английский язык проще русского
3 Как это сказать?
4 Способы упрощения английской речи
5 Иерархическая структура словарного запаса в английском языке
6 Иерархия английских времени и упрощение
7 Формально – неформально в английском языке
8 Выводы
9 Приложение — примеры английских адаптаций

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