Working languages:
English to Norwegian (Bokmal)
Norwegian (Nynorsk) to English
Norwegian (Bokmal) to English

Mirjam Graham
Effective and reliable

Local time: 05:34 MDT (GMT-6)

Native in: Norwegian Native in Norwegian
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This person has won one or more ProZ.com translation contests
Account type Freelance translator and/or interpreter
Data security Created by Evelio Clavel-Rosales This person has a SecurePRO™ card. Because this person is not a ProZ.com Plus subscriber, to view his or her SecurePRO™ card you must be a ProZ.com Business member or Plus subscriber.
Affiliations This person is not affiliated with any business or Blue Board record at ProZ.com.
Services Editing/proofreading, Subtitling
Expertise
Specializes in:
Medical: CardiologyMedical: Instruments
Media / MultimediaMedical: Health Care
Poetry & LiteratureConstruction / Civil Engineering


Rates
English to Norwegian (Bokmal) - Standard rate: 0.12 USD per word
Norwegian (Nynorsk) to English - Standard rate: 0.12 USD per word
Norwegian (Bokmal) to English - Standard rate: 0.12 USD per word
English to Norwegian - Standard rate: 0.12 USD per word
Norwegian to English - Standard rate: 0.12 USD per word

KudoZ activity (PRO) PRO-level points: 13, Questions answered: 9
Portfolio Sample translations submitted: 2
This entry won a contest English to Norwegian: 7th ProZ.com Translation Contest - Entry #5024
Source text - English
Winters used to be cold in England. We, my parents especially, spent them watching the wrestling. The wrestling they watched on their black-and-white television sets on Saturday afternoons represented a brief intrusion of life and colour in their otherwise monochrome lives. Their work overalls were faded, the sofa cover—unchanged for years—was faded, their memories of the people they had been before coming to England were fading too. My parents, their whole generation, treadmilled away the best years of their lives toiling in factories for shoddy paypackets. A life of drudgery, of deformed spines, of chronic arthritis, of severed hands. They bit their lips and put up with the pain. They had no option but to. In their minds they tried to switch off—to ignore the slights of co-workers, not to bridle against the glib cackling of foremen, and, in the case of Indian women, not to fret when they were slapped about by their husbands. Put up with the pain, they told themselves, deal with the pain—the shooting pains up the arms, the corroded hip joints, the back seizures from leaning over sewing machines for too many years, the callused knuckles from handwashing clothes, the rheumy knees from scrubbing the kitchen floor with their husbands' used underpants.

When my parents sat down to watch the wrestling on Saturday afternoons, milky cardamon tea in hand, they wanted to be enter­tained, they wanted a laugh. But they also wanted the good guy, just for once, to triumph over the bad guy. They wanted the swaggering, braying bully to get his come-uppance. They prayed for the nice guy, lying there on the canvas, trapped in a double-finger interlock or clutching his kidneys in agony, not to submit. If only he could hold out just a bit longer, bear the pain, last the course. If only he did these things, chances were, wrestling being what it was, that he would triumph. It was only a qualified victory, however. You'd see the winner, exhausted, barely able to wave to the crowd. The triumph was mainly one of survival.
Translation - Norwegian
Vintrene var ofte kalde i England. Vi, og foreldrene mine i særdeleshet, fikk tiden til å gå med å se på bryting. Brytekampene de så på den svart-hvite tv-skjermen lørdags ettermiddag representerte et kort glimt av liv og farge i deres ellers monotone liv. Arbeidstøyet deres hadde bleknet, sofatrekket - som ikke hadde blitt skiftet på år og dag - hadde bleknet, og det minnet de hadde av de menneskene de hadde vært før de kom til England, holdt også på å blekne. Mine foreldre og hele deres generasjon tilbrakte de beste årene av sitt liv i tredemøllen, med hardt fabrikkarbeid for en luselønn. Et liv med slit og strev, deformerte ryggrader, kronisk gikt, arbeidsslitte hender. De bet tennene sammen og holdt ut smerten. De hadde ikke noe annet valg. I tankene prøvde de å koble ut - å ignorere det når de ble oversett av kolleger, å ikke motsette seg formennenes oljeglatte tomprat, og i de indiske kvinnenes tilfelle; å ikke sørge om mennene slo dem. Hold ut smerten, sa de til seg selv, bare lev med den - de ilende smertene oppover armene, de nedslitte hofteleddene, krampetakene i ryggen etter å ha sittet lent over symaskinene i for mange år, tykkhudede knokler etter klesvask for hånd, de giktiske knærne etter å ha skrubbet kjøkkengulvet med mannens utslitte undertøy.

Når foreldrene mine satte seg ned lørdags ettermiddag for å se på bryting, med hver sin kardemommete med melk, da ville de underholdes, de ville le. Men de ville også at den gode mannen bare for en gangs skyld skulle vinne over den slemme. De ville at den vaggende, brautende bølla skulle få sin bekomst. De ba for den gode mannen når han lå på matta fanget i en dobbeltfinger-takling, eller grep etter nyrene i smerte, at han ikke ville gi seg. Hvis han bare kunne holde ut litt lenger, holde ut smerten, stå løpet ut. Hvis bare han kunne dét, var sjansene hva bryting angår gode for at han ville vinne. Det var likevel bare en kvalifisert seier. Du kunne se vinneren helt utslitt, knapt nok i stand til å vinke til publikum. Triumfen var i grunnen å ha overlevd.
This entry won a contest English to Norwegian: 5th ProZ.com Translation Contest - Entry #2764
Source text - English
All travel is now merely a means of moving a camera from place to place, all travellers are ruled by the all-powerful lens. Visitors old-fashioned enough to wish only to stand and look with their anachronistic eyes are shoved aside by the photographers, who take it for granted that while they do their ritual focusing, nothing else may move or cross their vision. Those peculiar souls without a camera must step aside for those more properly occupied, must wait while the rituals take place, and must bide their time while whole coaches stop and unleash upon the landscape the Instamatic God. And the populations of whole countries seeing themselves cannibalised, swallowed up, vacuumed into the black-ringed staring eye, wrench what they can from the cannibals. You want picture my house, my camel? You pay.

None of this would matter, perhaps, if anything worthwhile was being accomplished. If all the constant busyness and clicking produced, at its end, what had not existed before, images of beauty captured or truth told. But, sadly, this isn't so. The camera is simply graffiti made respectable.

The camera is the means by which we stamp ourselves on everything we see, under cover of recording the Wonders of the World already wonderfully
recorded by professionals and on sale at every corner bookshop and newsagent. But what use to show Aunt Maud, back home, postcards of the Tuscan landscape, since we are not in the picture to prove that we were there?

No stretch of rocks has verity unless I am within it. No monument exists
but for my wife, leaning against it. No temple is of interest without my face beside it, grinning. With my camera I appropriate everything beautiful, possess it, shrink it, domesticate it, and reproduce it on my blank sitting-room wall to prove to a selected audience of friends and family the one absolutely vital fact about these beauties: I saw them, I was there, I photographed them, and, ergo, they are.

from "Amateur Photography: the World as it isn't and our Fred" by Jill Tweedie in the Guardian
Translation - Norwegian
All reising nå er bare en metode for å flytte et kamera fra sted til sted, alle reisende blir regjert av den allmektige linsen. Besøkende som er gammeldagse nok til å bare ønske å stå og se med anakronistiske øyne, blir skuffet til side av fotografene, som tar det som en selvfølge at når de gjør sitt fokuseringsrituale, kan intet annet bevege seg eller krysse deres synsfelt. Sære kameraløse sjeler må gå til siden for slike som er opptatt med viktigere ting; de må vente mens ritualene pågår og avvente sin tid, mens hele busser stopper og slipper denne Selvutløsers Gud løs på landskapet. Og befolkningen som i hele land ser seg kannibalisert, slukt, sugd inn i det svartringede, stirrende øyet, vrir hva de kan ut av kannibalene. Du ønske bilde mitt hus, min kamel? Du betale.

Ingenting av dette hadde kanskje gjort noe, om en fikk noe av verdi ut av det. Om bare all denne vedvarende travelheten og knipsingen til sist hadde produsert noe som ikke eksisterte tidligere, skjønnhet fanget inn i et bilde eller sannheten uttrykt. Men akk, dette er ikke tilfelle. Kameraet er simpelthen graffiti i respektabel form.

Kameraet er metoden vi bruker for å stemple oss selv på alt vi ser, under dekke av å forevige verdens undere, som allerede er blitt vidunderlig foreviget av profesjonelle og er til salgs på hvert gatehjørne, hos bokhandlere og nyhetsselgere. Men hva nytte har det å vise tante Anna der hjemme postkort av det tuskanske landskap, når vi ikke er på bildet som bevis på at vi var der?

Intet klippelandskap har troverdighet med mindre jeg er i det. Intet monument eksisterer med mindre min kone står og lener seg mot det. Intet tempel er interessant uten mitt glisende fjes ved siden. Med kameraet kaprer jeg alt vakkert, tar det i eie, krymper det, temmer det, og reproduserer det på min udekorerte stuevegg for å bevise for et utvalgt publikum av venner og familie det eneste absolutt vitale faktum om disse skjønnhetene: Jeg så dem, jeg var der, jeg fotograferte dem, og ergo, de er.

Experience Years of experience: 24. Registered at ProZ.com: Sep 2007.
ProZ.com Certified PRO certificate(s) N/A
Credentials N/A
Memberships N/A
Software Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Excel, Microsoft Word
CV/Resume CV/Resume (DOC)
Contests won 5th ProZ.com Translation Contest: English to Norwegian
7th ProZ.com Translation Contest: English to Norwegian
Professional practices Mirjam Graham endorses ProZ.com's Professional Guidelines (v1.0).
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Keywords: medicine, medical, medisin, norsk-engelsk, engelsk-norsk, english-norwegian, norwegian-english, native speaker, rask service, fast service


Profile last updated
Nov 25, 2014