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French to English
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Sample translations submitted: 1
French to English: Les Rebuts- nouvelle tirée du roman "Les confidences" de Marie Nimier General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - French Les Rebuts
Je ne comprends pas tout de suite sa profession. Rebuts. Le monsieur qui vient de s’asseoir sur la chaise en face de moi travaille aux rebuts, comme on appelait autrefois ce service de la poste basé à Libourne – ou plutôt je travaillais là-bas, corrige t-il, parce que depuis longtemps, je suis à la retraite. C’est à Libourne également que se trouve le secrétariat du Père Noël, plus de deux millions de lettres chaque hiver tout de même, mais moi, j’étais dans le concret. Ma mission consistait à ouvrir les enveloppes dont les adresses étaient invalides ou in déchiffrables et d’analyser leur contenu dans l’espoir d’identifier leurs destinataires ou leurs expéditeurs. On n’avait pas le Net à l’époque, juste nos yeux. Chaque courrier égaré était un défi. On se faisait un point d’honneur à le remettre sur les rails.
C’est dans ce cadre précis que j’ai pris rendez-vous. J’ai pensé que vous seriez sensible à ma démarche. J’ai toujours accompli mon travail avec intégrité, respectant scrupuleusement les règles du service public. Quand vous tombez sur de l’argent liquide, c’est primordial, l’intégrité. Si l’argent est considéré comme perdu, au bout d’un an et un jour, il est transmis à la Banque de France. Et les lettres, brûlées au bout de trois mois. Ça passe vite, trois mois. Vous voyez où je veux en venir.
Non, je n’ai rein volé, ce n’est pas du tout mon genre de voler.
J’ai juste mis un pli de côté, disons que je l’ai réservé.
Un pli, en trente-huit ans d’exercice.
Je ne pouvais pas supporter qu’il soit détruit.
C’était une enveloppe en kraft moucheté de format C5 avec une étiquette partiellement endommagée, l’adresse du destinataire était illisible. Les timbres représentaient des bonsaïs de différents types, collés bien droit. Le tampon indiquait qu’elle avait été envoyée d’Hôh Chi Minh-Ville en mars 1998.
Dans le milieu, tout le monde connaît la poste centrale d’Hôh Chi Minh-Ville conçue par Gustave Eiffel à l’époque de l’Indochine française, c’est sans doute cet aspect des choses qui d’abord retenu mon attention. Et puis il y avait le souvenir des grandes manifestations contre la guerre du Vietnam où beaucoup d’entre nous avaient fait leurs premiers pas de militants. Disons nous étions sensibilisés, alors, ce courrier, Je l’ai ouvert avec un soin particulier.
J’ai introduit mon coupe-papier dans le rabat, une odeur de moisi s’est échappée. J’ai glissé ma main, c’était doux et épais. L’enveloppe contenait un carré de coton léger avec trois violettes brodées sur le côté, un lange très précisément, et une photo en noir et blanc représentant une enfilade de lits métalliques à barreaux. Je ne pouvais pas me détacher de cette image. La pièce carrelée, au fonds de draps qui sèchent. Des ventilateurs, tout du long. Des appliques aussi pour la lumière. Et les petits lits, tous vides, sauf au milieu dans lequel dormait un nourrisson, jambes nues repliées et les mains grandes ouvertes posées de chaque côté de son corps, comme pour tendre ses bras à qui voudrait de lui. Au dos de la photo, quelqu’un avait écrit en français : Ne pas laver les vêtements dans la machine s’il vous plaît, cela peut donner le tournis au bébé.
Cette phrase m’a bouleversé. Elle disait que cet enfant avait été aimé.
Ce que j’attends de vous ? Que vous écriviez dans votre livre : Si vous êtes susceptible d’être le destinataire d’un courrier envoyé le 26 mars 1998 de la poste centrale d’Hô Chi Minh-Ville, contactez le site des confidences, qui transmettra.
Translation - English Dead Letters
I do not immediately understand his profession: dead letters. The man who has just sat down in the chair opposite me works in the dead letter industry, as the postal service in Libourne was once known, or rather, used to work there, correcting himself; I’ve been retired for a long time now. It is also at Libourne that you will find Santa Claus’ secretary, more than two million letters each winter! Me however, I worked with the real thing. My mission consisted of, opening envelopes whose addresses were invalid, or illegible and analysing their content, in the hope of identifying their recipients, or senders. We didn’t have any Internet at the time, just our eyes. Each lost letter presented a challenge.
It was in this precise context that I made an appointment with you.
I thought that you would be sympathetic to my decision.
I always executed my work with integrity, scrupulously respecting the rules of the public service. When you would come upon cash, integrity is essential. If the money was considered lost, at the end of one year and one day, it was sent to la Banque de France. At the end of three months the letters were burnt. Three months passes quickly. Do you see where I am going with this?
No, I never stole anything; it’s not my character to steal.
I just put a letter aside, or let’s say I kept it.
One single letter in 38 years of service.
I couldn’t accept the possibility of it being destroyed.
It was a speckled A4 kraft paper envelope. The label was partially damaged and the address was illegible. The stamps depicted different bonsai trees and were stuck upright onto the envelope. The rubber stamp revealed it had been sent from Ho Chi Minh City in March 1998.
In this line of work, everyone is familiar with the central post office of Ho Chi Minh City, designed by Gustave Eiffel during the time of French Indochina. It was, without doubt what originally caught my attention. Then, there were also the memories of the large protests opposing the Vietnam War where many of us had taken our first steps as activists. In other words, we had been sensitised to it. So, I opened this letter with particular caution.
I inserted my letter opener beneath the flap; a musty smell escaped. I slid my hand in. It felt soft and thick. The envelope contained a square of light cotton with three violets embroidered on the side; it was a cloth nappy and a black and white photo of a row of metallic barred beds. I couldn’t tear myself away from the image. The room was tiled, to the rear of which were sheets drying. There were fans and wall lights the length of the room. The little beds were all empty, except for one in the middle where an infant lay sleeping. Their bare legs folded up, their hands open wide either side of their body, as if to reach out to anyone who would want them. On the back of the photo someone had written in French: Please do not machine wash the baby’s clothes; it might give them dizziness.
This sentence deeply moved me; it meant this child had been loved.
What do I want from you? That you write in your book: if you are likely to be the intended recipient of a letter sent March 26th in 1998 from the central post office of Ho Chi Minh City, contact the Confidences site who will inform me.
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Master's degree - National University Galway
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Years of experience: 1. Registered at ProZ.com: Apr 2018.
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I have a first class masters degree in French Translation. Over the course of my studies I have gained experience translating a variety of source documents including medical, legal, journalistic and literary texts. I also have experience working with subtitling software (Visual Sub Sync). I subtitled an interview with the French writer Michel Déon for Michel Déon conference in 2017. My thesis was an annotated translation of a French novel.
I have excellent written and spoken proficiency in both English and French, I have spent two years working as an English language teacher in France;in a French lycée in Calais and at the Université of Aix-Marseille.
I guarantee to deliver translation services to a high standard and timely fashion.
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