Sabine Sur - English to French translator. Translation services in IT (Information Technology) - Legal, patent, voiceover, subtitling, foods/beverage, arts, literature, drama accuracy, efficiency, flexibility

Member since Jan '06

Working languages:

English to French
Italian to French

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Not available (auto-adjusted)

November 2009

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Sabine Sur
Clarity, concision, style

Local time: 22:07 CET (GMT+1)

Native in: French

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3 Positive entries

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Freelancer

Translation, Editing/proofreading, Website localization, Voiceover (dubbing), Subtitling

Specializes in:
IT (Information Technology)	Law (general)
Management

Questions answered: 29, Questions asked: 0 Easy / 0 PRO, PRO-level points: 35

Sample translations submitted: 2

English to French: Flash fiction - nouvelle brève Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - English Break and solo I have been living with my parents' ghosts for over a year now. I like it a lot. They were not here that much when they were alive, so it doesn't make much difference, and then their death was an accident: premature and unfair. It’s only justice that they should be here with me. We can catch up on a lot of things now, although we can't have family meals (they can't eat or drink, obviously). I wish you could see them, but I'm the only one who can. My father is somehow faded, like the yellowish illustrations of the old children’s books he loved, and my mother is just a mesh of clashing colours put together, like a very myopic person’s vision. Sometimes the only thing that comes through is their voice, thin and soppy for my father, crystal-clear and angry for my mother. When they came back from the dead, they told me they had to finish a matter of the utmost importance: their novel, begun 15 years previously. But I couldn't stand the thought of having them come back and not pay any attention to me. It would have been like losing them a second time. The catch is, now they need me. They want me to write under their dictation. So, whenever I want, I can force them to listen to me. I especially enjoy forcing them to listen when I'm practising my scales. I'm so exciting to look at when I'm practising. I am precise, concentrated and passionate; I listen intensely to the music and my voice, anyway, is so beautiful you could hear me going on forever. At least that's what I would like them to think. But I have never succeeded in convincing them so far. My mother grumbles “OK” and my father, snapping to attention, says “Are you done already? My.” When I try to explain what music and singing means to me, they just stare with their black eyes wide. So, usually, I just give up and write for an hour or so, before telling them I'm too tired to go on. Then, they slide away discontentedly along the corridor and I can hear them jabbering about me (I think). But last night I attempted something new. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I disappointed them because I, their only child, had not been caring enough. I decided to adopt a new attitude: stop fishing for compliments and just do what they expect me to do. I opened my door and shouted for them to come. They entered my room with a melancholy air. I told them that I was ready to write whatever they wanted, for as long as they wanted, that I wouldn't even stop to eat or drink. And I did. I wrote for hours, my hand and my back aching, head bent, eyes burning. Their novel is finished. I turned to them, beaming, to receive compliments, or just share in their joy, but the moment I caught a glimpse of their face, they were gone. Now I just sit here alone, in this room, thinking of them, wondering if I should have been more loving to please them or just as insensitive as they were.	Translation - French Pause et soupir Je vis avec les fantômes de mes parents depuis plus d’un an. Cela me plaît beaucoup. Ils n’étaient pas souvent là quand ils étaient vivants, alors cela ne change pas grand-chose et de toute façon, leur mort était accidentelle. Qu'ils soient ici, avec moi, ce n'est que justice. À présent, nous pouvons rattraper le temps perdu et renouer nos liens, bien que nous ne puissions pas partager nos repas (ils ne peuvent ni manger ni boire, bien sûr). J'aimerais que vous les voyiez, mais ils ne se montrent qu'à moi. Mon père est comme délavé, comme les illustrations jaunies des livres pour enfants qu’il aimait tant, ma mère est un kaléidoscope de couleurs opposées, semblable à la vision d’une personne très myope. Parfois, la seule chose que je perçois d’eux est leur voix, fluette et molle pour mon père, cristalline et rageuse pour ma mère. Quand ils sont revenus d’entre les morts, ils m’ont dit qu’ils devaient finir un travail de la plus haute importance : leur roman, commencé quinze ans plus tôt. Mais je ne pouvais supporter de les voir revenir sans s’intéresser à moi. Cela aurait été comme les perdre une seconde fois. J’ai un atout : maintenant, ils ont besoin de moi. Ils veulent que j’écrive sous leur dictée. Alors, dès que j’en ai envie, je peux les forcer à m’écouter. J’aime particulièrement les forcer à m’écouter quand je fais mes vocalises. C’est passionnant de m'observer quand je vocalise. Ma précision, ma concentration, ma fougue ; j'écoute intensément l'harmonie et ma voix, de toute façon, est si belle qu’on ne se lasserait jamais de m’entendre. Du moins, j'aimerais qu'ils le pensent. Mais jusqu’ici, je ne les ai pas convaincus. Ma mère grommelle : « D’accord » et mon père, sortant d'une rêverie, demande : « Tu as fini ? Eh bien. » Quand je tente de leur expliquer ce que la musique et le chant représentent pour moi, ils me fixent avec leurs énormes yeux noirs. À ce moment, d’habitude, j’abandonne et j’écris pendant à peu près une heure, avant de leur dire que la fatigue m’empêche de continuer. Mécontents, ils s’en vont en glissant dans le couloir et je les entends se plaindre à mon sujet (je crois). Mais hier soir, j’ai tenté une nouveauté. Peut-être le problème venait-il de moi. Peut-être les décevais-je parce que je ne faisais pas assez attention à eux, moi, leur enfant unique. J’ai résolu d’adopter une nouvelle attitude : arrêter de quêter les compliments et me contenter de faire ce qu’ils attendent. J’ai ouvert ma porte et les ai appelés bruyamment. Ils sont entrés dans ma chambre avec mélancolie. Je leur ai dit que j’allais écrire tout ce qu’ils voulaient, aussi longtemps qu’ils le voulaient, sans même m’arrêter pour manger ou boire. Je l’ai fait. J’ai écrit pendant des heures, la main et le dos douloureux, tête penchée, yeux larmoyants. Leur roman est fini. Avec bonheur, j’ai voulu les regarder, attendant leurs compliments, ou attendant de partager leur joie. Mais au moment où j'ai entr'aperçu leurs visages, ils étaient partis. Maintenant, je reste là, dans l’appartement vide, je pense à eux, je me demande si j’aurais dû manifester plus d’affection pour leur plaire ou montrer autant d’insensibilité qu’eux.
English to French: Elizabeth Gilbert on creativity : TED Talk subtitles
Source text - English TED Talks invite a variety of speakers to speak about a specific subject in their area of expertise. Translations are done on a voluntary basis and proofread before they are published online. In this talk, Elizabeth Gilbert talks about a new way of considering creativity.	Translation - French If you want to watch this 20-minute video, go to this url : http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html, click on the drop-down 'languages' box below the screen and select 'French (France)' to have French subtitles.

MA-Université Paris 10

Years of translation experience: 8. Registered at ProZ.com: Jun 2005. Became a member: Jan 2006.

N/A

Frontpage, Microsoft Excel, Microsoft Word, OmegaT, Powerpoint, SDL TRADOS, SDLX

http://www.ted.com/profiles/view/id/245284

English (PDF), English (PDF)

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About me

Sabine Sur - translator

Linguistic abilities:

English - bilingual

Italian - fluent

Computer skills:

PC and Mac environment
MS Office,
Mac, TRADOS, OpenOffice, OmegaT

Keywords: Legal, patent, voiceover, subtitling, foods/beverage, arts, literature, drama accuracy, efficiency, flexibility

Profile last updated
Oct 15

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Sabine Sur - translator

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