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English to Italian: Contract agreement General field: Law/Patents
Source text - English The Pursuer having contracted with the Defender with the latter to pay to it hire overpaid and bunkers consumed during periods of off-hire, and the sum sued for being the value of such hire and consumed bunkers, decree should be pronounced as first concluded for.
The Pursuer being the owner of the bunkers presently aboard the said vessel, and entitled to possession thereof, decree should be pronounced as second concluded for.
Alternatively to 2 above, the Pursuer being entitled to payment of the value of the said bunkers in lieu of delivery of the same in compensation for the use by the Defender of its property and redress of the unjust enrichment of the Defender which would otherwise ensue, decree should be pronounced as third concluded for.
Translation - Italian Avendo l'Attore concordato con il Convenuto che quest'ultimo gli corrispondesse il corrispettivo del noleggio maggiorato e del consumo dei serbatoi durante i periodi di mancato noleggio e la somma così richiesta viene a coincidere con il valore dei soprammenzionati noleggio e consumo dei serbatoi, si richiede in prima istanza che venga emesso il relativo decreto.
Essendo l'Attore il proprietario dei serbatoi attualmente a bordo di detto natante e pertanto titolato al possesso dei medesimi, se ne richiede in seconda istanza che venga emesso il relativo decreto.
In alternativa al punto 2 di cui sopra, poiché all'Attore è riconosciuto il diritto al pagamento del valore di detti serbatoi in luogo della consegna degli stessi a titolo di risarcimento per l'uso fatto da parte del Convenuto delle sue proprietà ed a titolo di riparazione dell'ingiusto arricchimento del Convenuto che altrimenti ne deriverebbe, se ne richiede in terza istanza che venga emesso il relativo decreto.
English to Italian: Vivaldi's Girls General field: Art/Literary
Source text - English He now rests beneath the soft brown earth.
As I stare down at the newly shoveled mound at my feet, the notes of his last composition come back to me. I recall our meeting last night as I sat in a small chair next to the fire in his study. We chatted as if we were friends; he smiled and told small anecdotes, mostly about himself, and I had to hide my bitterness from him.
Once more I am alone with him. The gravediggers are gone; all his girls and all his bootlickers have left me alone on this little hill in the Bürgerspital Cemetery to pay my last respects. But respect left long ago; I am here to look down on him one last time.
He can no longer bother me with his arrogant stories. My mind is fixed on revenge – not the impulsive revenge that sparks an explosion of anger, but the type of revenge that is eternal. I look up at the blue sky and hope. Perhaps the angels who came for him when his breath failed for the last time recognized him. Perhaps they saw the face that the heavens had warned them about. Perhaps they then cast him down rather than lifted him up.
Last night, I stared at him in the dim light of the candelabra on the piano as his head rocked gently with the rhythm of the music. The melody that he had written was soft, mournful, and
– I admitted to myself – lovely. The vibrations that rose from the pianoforte created gentle movements in the air, weaving their way toward me. His great talent had always been making each person in a room believe he was the audience for whom the music was composed.
But when I looked at Antonio and saw the thin smile on his lips, I was reminded once again that he only played for himself.
I shifted in the chair and crossed my weakened left leg over the other, settling once again just as he too shifted toward the lower register of the instrument, softly caressing the keys and gently sliding his fingers off the edge of the ivory.
I was there last night because he had just composed this new sheet of music and he had summoned me to his poor one-room flat near Stephansplatz to hear it. Antonio had an insatiable need for approval, and I supplied the audience so that he could prove that he was still the genius that the world remembered. He didn’t claim it was his masterpiece, but he wanted an endorsement from someone, and I happened to be in Vienna at the time. I smiled impatiently and accepted, but I had my own personal reasons for visiting him.
For an hour after I arrived, we sat and passed the news of the day with inconsequential stories, neither of us particularly interested in such small talk but using our back-and-forth conversation as a swordsman might parry his opponent’s jabs until the right opening offered itself.
The candle flickered and the short stubs of wood in the fireplace crackled. Warmth wasn’t needed inside this room, not in July, but the low flames from the hearth threw off a dim and meager glow in the room, enough to light his face and the keys of the piano that his fingers rested upon.
Our talk that evening had been as one between men of an advanced age who shared memories of life and time. If a stranger had stood in his doorway that evening he would be forgiven for thinking that Antonio and I were friends. But de- spite our years in each other’s company, friendship was not the reason we were drawn together.
The truth was that we both loved the same woman. She was only one of his ‘adventures.’ But she was my wife, a girl that I had loved since her birth in my twenty-first year. A young child I had watched grow into womanhood, whose sparkling eyes and long blond tresses endangered any man who caught her in his gaze.
Despite all her suitors, she chose me, a man with a gimpy leg, thinning gray hair, and many more years on earth than hers. And the miracle of it was, she loved me.
But she was also in love with the music he created. It enchanted her, and he used these sonorous tunes to lure Rachel just as he had lured other young girls into his arms.
In the end, I was the one who would have to make Antonio Vivaldi pay for his sins.
Translation - Italian Riposa ora sotto la molle terra bruna.
Mentre guardo in basso, verso il tumulo appena spalato ai miei piedi, si fanno strada verso di me le note della sua ultima composizione. Ricordo il nostro incontro, l’altra sera, mentre sedevo accanto al fuoco nel suo studio. Chiacchieravamo come se fossimo amici; lui sorridendo raccontava aneddoti, soprattutto su se stesso, mentre io dovevo impegnarmi per dissimulare il mio astio.
Ancora una volta sono solo con lui. I becchini se ne sono andati; tutte le sue ragazze, gli adulatori, mi hanno lasciato da solo su questa collinetta nel cimitero di Bürgerspital per porgergli rispettosamente l’ultimo saluto. Ma il rispetto se ne è andato da un pezzo: sono qui per guardarlo un’ultima volta dall’alto.
Ora non può più tediarmi con le sue storie arroganti. La mia mente è concentrata sulla vendetta, non quella impulsiva che si accende in un’esplosione di rabbia, ma quel tipo di vendetta che dura in eterno. Guardo in alto verso il cielo azzurro e spero. Forse gli angeli che sono accorsi al suo cospetto quando il respiro gli è venuto a mancare per l’ultima volta l’hanno riconosciuto. Forse hanno visto il volto da cui i cieli li avevano messi in guardia. Forse allora lo hanno scagliato giù, in basso, invece di innalzarlo.
L’altra sera lo fissavo al pianoforte alla luce fioca dei candelabri, mentre la testa gli oscillava dolcemente al ritmo della musica. La melodia che aveva composto era delicata, struggente e – dovevo ammetterlo – incantevole. Le vibrazioni che si riverberavano dal pianoforte creavano nell'aria lievi volute che si facevano strada verso di me. Il suo grande talento aveva sempre indotto chiunque si trovasse nella stanza a credere di essere lui il pubblico per il quale la musica era stata composta.
Ma quando guardai Antonio e vidi il lieve sorriso che gli increspava le labbra, ricordai ancora una volta che lui suonava solo per se stesso.
Mi spostai sulla sedia, incrociando la gamba sinistra, quella zoppa, sull’altra, accomodandomi di nuovo mentre lui a sua volta si portava sul registro grave dello strumento, accarezzando dolcemente i tasti e facendo scivolare delicatamente le dita dal bordo d’avorio.
Ero lì, l’altra sera, perché Antonio aveva appena finito di comporre la nuova partitura e mi aveva invitato ad ascoltarla nel suo misero appartamento di una sola stanza nei pressi di Stephansplatz. Aveva un insaziabile bisogno di approvazione e io gli fornivo quel pubblico a cui poter dimostrare di essere ancora il genio che il mondo ricordava. Non che la considerasse il suo capolavoro, ma cercava l’apprezzamento di una qualunque persona e il caso volle che in quel periodo io mi trovassi a Vienna. Sorridendo spazientito avevo accettato, ma le ragioni che avevo per fargli visita erano altre.
Dopo il mio arrivo rimanemmo seduti un’ora buona passando in rassegna le notizie e le storielle del giorno: nessuno era particolarmente interessato a ciò che si diceva in giro, ma usavamo la conversazione come lo spadaccino che para i colpi dell’avversario aspettando un’occasione propizia per lanciare l’affondo.
La candela tremolava e dei piccoli ceppi crepitavano nel camino. Non era certo necessario riscaldare la stanza, a luglio, ma le fiamme basse del focolare emettevano un bagliore fioco e scarno sufficiente a illuminare il suo viso e i tasti del pianoforte su cui poggiavano le dita.
Quella sera la nostra conversazione era simile a quella di due uomini di una certa età che si fossero trovati a condividere il tempo e i ricordi di una vita. Un estraneo che in quel momento fosse stato sull’uscio sarebbe stato indotto a pensare che Antonio e io fossimo amici, e non lo si sarebbe potuto biasimare. Ma, nonostante gli anni trascorsi insieme, non era stata l’amicizia a riunirci.
La verità era che amavamo entrambi la stessa donna. Per lui era una delle tante “avventure”, ma per me era la mia sposa, la donna che avevo amato sin da quando, a ventun anni, l’avevo vista in fasce. La bambina che avevo visto crescere e diventare donna, i cui occhi scintillanti e le cui lunghe trecce bionde mettevano in pericolo ogni uomo che avesse la ventura di incrociare il suo sguardo.
Eppure, tra tanti pretendenti, lei aveva scelto me, un uomo con una gamba claudicante, i capelli grigi e radi, e molti anni più di lei. E il miracolo, in tutto questo, era che mi amasse.
Ma amava anche la sua musica. Ne era stregata, e lui usava quelle melodie per adescare Rachel proprio come aveva adescato le altre giovani.
Alla fine, ero io colui che avrebbe dovuto far pagare Antonio Vivaldi per i suoi peccati.
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Translation education
Master's degree - University of Bologna
Experience
Years of experience: 24. Registered at ProZ.com: Sep 2012.
Credentials
Spanish to Italian (Università di Bologna, Scuola Superiore di Lingue Moderne per Interpreti e Traduttori, verified) English to Italian (Università di Bologna, Scuola Superiore di Lingue Moderne per Interpreti e Traduttori, verified)
UNI 11591:2022 Certified Italian Translator and Interpreter
#Certificate: TRAINT2025-00030
VATID: IT01819510932
Certified member ofAITI(Associazione Italiana
Traduttori e Interpreti) #218075
Registered in the "Role of assessors and experts" as Italian Translator and Interpreter at the ChamberofCommerceofVenice (#630).
Language pairs: English<>Italian, Spanish<>Italian
Professional Summary
Certified professional Italian translator and interpreter with a high-profile academic
background and excellent communication and organization skills. Quality-oriented, dedicated
and reliable.
Fields of expertise
Corporate (Legal, Finance & Marketing)
and Literary
Education
I'm Level 8 in the Framework for Qualifications of the European Higher Education Area (EQF): knowledge at the most advanced frontier of Italian Translation and Interpretation.
- PostgraduateMaster’s program of Conference Interpreting, Higher Education Institution Ag. TuttoEuropa, Torino, Italy, 2025
- II-Level Professional Master's Program of Translation and Editing, University of Siena, Italy, 2020
- Postgraduate Master’s program of Consecutive Interpreting 2017/2018, S.S.I.T. ScuolaSuperiorediInterpretieTraduttori of Pescara, Italy
- MA in English and Spanish, University of Bologna, Italy, 2004
- Overseas Exchange Program, University of Western Australia, Perth, 2002), Faculty of Arts
- Erasmus Exchange Program, University
of Granada, Spain, 2000), Faculty of Humanities
Prizes and scholarships
- Collaboration with Marsilio Editori, Venice,
Italy.
- Consulate General of Italy,
Miami, USA, 2005: MAE-CRUI traineeship granted to the most talented Italian graduates.
Experience
Freelance translator and
interpreter since 2004, before in the US and Spain, and now in
Italy.
Publications
- D.P. Rosano, Le ragazze di Vivaldi, Next Chapter, 2021
- Elisabeth Wilson, The legacy lives on from “Jacqueline du Pré”, Kilig #0, Del Vecchio editore, 2020
- Nancy B. Reich, La musicista, Kilig #1, Del Vecchio editore, 2019
- Geetanjali Mukherjee, Da Auden a Yeats: Analisi critica di 30 poesie selezionate, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2019
- Leroy Vincent, Heartbreak hotel: storie vere di separazioni, ECONO Publishing, 2018
- Ellyn Peirson, Antonia of Venice, Magnum Opus - A Next Chapter Imprint, 2014 (*In progress)
- UNI 11591:2022 Certified Translator, certificate number TRAINT2025:00030.
-Registered in the "Role of assessors and experts" in the field of English/Spanish>Italian Translation and Interpretation at theChamberofCommerceofVenice(n. 630).
- Certified member of AITI #218075 (https://aiti.org/it/profilo/alessandra-sandrin)
- Member of the Proz Certified Translators Network both for EN>IT and ES>IT (https://www.proz.com/translator/1647020)
- Member of the ATA Mastermind group "Literary and academic translation"
CPD
I am committed to CPD (Continuing Professional Development), and over the years I have attended countless conferences, workshops and webinars about linguistics, including:
- 2024, FreedominTranslation, AITI seminar, Università Federico II, Naples, Italy
- 2024, Translation and AI, AITI training, Udine, Italy
Expertise 
