Sometimes battered hampers

There, you see, nothing was lost in the process of real translation.

Incarnadine was not the word

Incarnadine was not the word, but it was the word from which we wrung the bloody red that we needed in the words that thrust the end of the novel into the universe with all that which preceded it. It is a pity my Macbeth faltered just when it would have been nice to toss... Continue Reading →

mini bio:

I have been working hard on my miniature biography. It has taken me thirty years (thirty-one, actually) to produce this.

Life-cycle of a translator

I chatted with a translator colleague my age via the Facebook chat box earlier this week, and was most amused to read our previous conversation about three months prior. For there, among incredibly witty self-deprecating remarks about the dubious delights of menopause, there were a couple of remarks about translation. I was wondering why a... Continue Reading →

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