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Cлово "INSOMNIA"
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Входимость: 2. Размер: 59кб.
Часть текста: the propped-up, imprisoned, decrepit lady herself may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to groupfrom a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the green bank where he laya banked banker so to speakwas not in a dead faint, but was comfortably and methodically recovering from a mild heart attack or its possibility; and, finally, that the laprobe on the sidewalk (where she had so often pointed out to me with disapproval the crooked green cracks) concealed the mangled remains of Charlotte Humbert who had been knocked down and dragged several feet by the Beale car as she was hurrying across the street to drop three letters in the mailbox, at the corner of Miss Opposite’s lawn. These were picked up and handed to me by a pretty child in a dirty pink frock, and I got rid of them by clawing them to fragments in my trouser pocket. Three doctors and the Farlows presently arrived on the scene and took over. The widower, a man of exceptional self-control, neither wept nor raved. He staggered a bit, that he did; but he opened his mouth only to impart such information or issue such directions as were strictly necessary in connection with the identification, examination and disposal of a dead woman, the top of her head a porridge of bone, brains, bronze hair and blood. The sun was still a blinding ...
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Часть текста: of legshow. This, then, was the hermetic vision of her which I had locked inafter satisfying myself that the door carried no inside bolt. The key, with its numbered dangler of carved wood, became forthwith the weighty sesame to a rapturous and formidable future. It was mine, it was part of my hot hairy fist. In a few minutessay, twenty, say half-an-hour, sicher its sicher as my uncle Gustave used to sayI would let myself into that “342” and find my nymphet, my beauty and bride, imprisoned in her crystal sleep. Jurors! If my happiness could have talked, it would have filled that genteel hotel with a deafening roar. And my only regret today is that I did not quietly deposit key “342” at the office, and leave the town, the country, the continent, the hemisphere,indeed, the globethat very same night. Let me explain. I was not unduly disturbed by her self-accusatory innuendoes. I was still firmly resolved to pursue my policy of sparing her purity by operating only in the stealth of night, only upon a completely anesthetized little nude. Restraint and reverence were still my motto-even if that “purity” (incidentally, thoroughly debunked by modern science) had been slightly damaged through some juvenile erotic experience, no doubt homosexual, at that accursed camp of hers. Of course, in my old-fashioned, old-world way, I, Jean-Jacques Humbert, had taken for granted, when I first met her, that she was as...
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Часть текста: desires and insomnias of which enough has been said. Knowing me by now, the reader can easily imagine how dusty and hot I got, trying to catch a glimpse of nymphets (alas, always remote) playing in Central Park, and how repulsed I was by the glitter of deodorized career girls that a gay dog in one of the offices kept unloading upon me. Let us skip all that. A dreadful breakdown sent me to a sanatorium for more than a year; I went back to my workonly to be hospitalized again. Robust outdoor life seemed to promise me some relief. One of my favorite doctors, a charming cynical chap with a little brown beard, had a brother, and this brother was about to lead an expedition into arctic Canada. I was attached to it as a “recorder of psychic reactions.” With two young botanists and an old carpenter I shared now and then (never very successfully) the favors of one of our nutritionists, a Dr. Anita Johnsonwho was soon flown back, I am glad to say. I had little notion of what object the expedition was pursuing. Judging by the number of meteorologists upon it, we may have been tracking to its lair (somewhere on Prince of Wales’ Island, I understand) the wandering and wobbly north magnetic pole. One group, jointly with...
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Часть текста: с прозаическими произведениями 99 и как вставные номера в их составе 100 . Бегство из фашистской Германии, а затем судорожные попытки найти себе применение в Англии и удержаться на плаву во Франции завершились в конце концов в 1940 г. неслыханной удачей: «образовалась», пусть на первых порах и временная, преподавательская работа в Америке, с переездом туда всей семьи. Судьба решила повторить сценарий двадцатилетней давности. Снова Набоковым удалось ускользнуть от смертельной опасности да еще с внезапно заболевшим сыном в самый последний момент. И снова морским путем: на этот раз на корабле, перевозившем еврейских беженцев в Соединенные Штаты. 20 мая 1940 г. судно «Шамплен», миновав статую Свободы, причалило в нью-йоркском порту у Французской линии. Настоящее эмоциональное потрясение, которое испытал новоявленный американец, замечательно передал во втором томе его биографии Б. Бойд, приведя в эпиграфе восторженное признание самого писателя: «В Америке я счастливее, чем в любой другой стране. В интеллектуальном отношении Америка стала моим домом. Вторым домом в подлинном смысле слова» («Твердые убеждения») и подытожив от себя: «После двадцатилетнего маяния по Европе без гражданства, без защиты от всяческой пограничной бюрократии Америка показалась Набокову пробуждением от кошмарного сна к дивному рассвету» 101 . Правда, верный истине биограф тут же оговаривается: «Для Набокова как писателя 1940 год нес за собой еще худшие муки, чем 1919-й, когда ему пришлось навсегда покинуть Россию. Тогда он боялся, что в негостеприимной атмосфере изгнания не сможет...
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Часть текста: (японского, польского, немецкого) языка. Да все как-то недосуг. Со своим бы управиться. Вот и читаешь переводы. Это что касается потребностей читателя. А что требуется от переводчика? Задача его, как я себе представляю, в том, чтобы по возможности точнее, “ближе к тексту”, передать звучание и мысль, “рифму и разум” (ну и ритмическое построение тоже, но это не самое сложное). Передать и то и другое в безупречной полноте по понятным причинам невозможно. Случаются, конечно, удачи, но они редки. Один из лучших известных мне примеров дан самим Набоковым в последних строках его английской поэмы “An Evening of Russian Poetry” (“Вечер русской поэзии”): Bessonnitza, tvoy vzor oonil i strashen; lubov moya, otstoopnika prostee. (Insomnia, your stare is dull and ashen, my love, forgive me this apostasy.) Впрочем, это, боюсь, нельзя по чистой совести причислить к переводам как таковым — тут все, скорее, было продумано заранее. В итоге переводчику приходится сочинять нечто компромиссное. Совсем уходить куда-то далеко от звучания и ритма — перед собой стыдно, да и перед отечественным читателем тоже, ведь он, как ни крути, еще со времен Жуковского, если не с более ранних, приучен к рифмованным переводам рифмованных стихов и навряд ли в обозримом будущем согласится с Набоковым в том, что “единственная цель и оправдание перевода — дать наиболее точные из возможных сведения, а для этого годен лишь буквальный перевод, причем с комментарием”. Уходить же совсем от смысла стыдно перед любимым автором — любимым, потому что без любви ничего хоть сколько-нибудь путного не родишь — и, опять же, перед собой. Есть еще третий путь, коим и Пушкин хаживал...
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Часть текста: на английском языке. Time, 1969 г. Time [1969] Before coming to Montreux in mid-March, 1969, Time reporters Martha Duffy and R. Z. Sheppard sent me a score of questions by telex. The answers, neatly typed out, were awaiting them when they arrived, whereupon they added a dozen more, of which I answered seven. Some of the lot were quoted in the May 23, 1969, issue-- the one with my face on the cover. There seem to be similarities in the rhythm and tone of Speak, Memory and Ada, and in the way you and Van retrieve the past in images. Do you both work along similar lines? The more gifted and talkative one's characters are, the greater the chances of their resembling the author in tone or tint of mind. It is a familiar embarrassment that I face with very faint qualms, particularly since I am not really aware of any special similarities-- just as one is not aware of sharing mannerisms with a detestable kinsman. I loathe Van Veen. The following two quotations seem closely related: "I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. " (Speak, Memory) and "pure time, perceptual time, tangible time, time...
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Часть текста: Book Review. The following letter awaited him downstairs. "Welcome! I have devoted a lot of pleasurable time to answering in writing the questions sent to me by your London office. I have done so in a concise, stylish, printable form. Could I please ask you to have my answers appear in The New York Times Book Review the way they are prepared here? (Except that you may want to interrupt the longer answers by several inserted questions). That convenient method has been used to mutual satisfaction in interviews with Playboy, The Paris Review, Wisconsin Studies, Le Monde, La Tribune de Genève, etc. Furthermore, I like to see the proofs for checking last-minute misprints or possible little flaws of fact (dates, places). Being an unusually muddled speaker (a poor relative of the writer) I would like the stuff I prepared in typescript to be presented as direct speech on my part, whilst other statements which I may stammer out in the course of our chats, and the gist of which you might want to incorporate in The Profile, should be used, please, obliquely or paraphrastically, without any quotes. Naturally, it is for you to decide whether the background material should be kept separate in its published form from the question-and-answer section. I am leaving the attached material with the concierge because I think you might want to peruse it before we meet. I am very much looking forward to seeing you. Please give me a ring when you are ready." The text given below is that of the...
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Часть текста: then thwart me, leaving me with a dull pain in the very root of my being. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and how to do it, without impinging on a child’s chastity; after all, I had had some experience in my life of pederosis; had visually possessed dappled nymphets in parks; had wedged my wary and bestial way into the hottest, most crowded corner of a city bus full of straphanging school children. But for almost three weeks I had been interrupted in all my pathetic machinations. The agent of these interruptions was usually the Haze woman (who, as the reader will mark, was more afraid of Lo’s deriving some pleasure from me than of my enjoying Lo). The passion I had developed for that nymphetfor the first nymphet in my life that could be reached at last by my awkward, aching, timid clawswould have certainly landed me again in a sanatorium, had not the devil realized that I was to be granted some relief if he wanted to have me as a plaything for some time longer. The reader has also marked the curious Mirage of the Lake. It would have been logical on the part of Aubrey McFate (as I would like to dub that devil of mine) to arrange a small treat for me on the promised beach, in the presumed forest. Actually, ...
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Часть текста: to both acclaim and abuse as the world-renowned author of a sensational bestseller. In the aftermath of this cause celebre, do you ever regret having written Lolita? On the contrary, I shudder retrospectively when I recall that there was a moment, in 1950, and again in 1951, when I was on the point of burning Humbert Humbert's little black diary. No, I shall never regret Lolita. She was like the composition of a beautiful puzzle-- its composition and its solution at the same time, since one is a mirror view of the other, depending on the way you look. Of course she completely eclipsed my other works-- at least those I wrote in English: The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, Bend Sinister, my short stories, my book of recollections; but I cannot grudge her this. There is a queer, tender charm about that mythical nymphet. Though many readers and reviewers would disagree that her charm is tender, few would deny that it is queer-- so much so that when director Stanley Kubrick proposed his plan to make a movie of Lolita, you were quoted as saying, "Of course they'll have to change the plot. Perhaps they will make Lolita a dwarfess. Or they will make her 16 and Humbert 26. " Though you finally wrote the screenplay yourself, several reviewers took the film to task for watering down the central relationship. Were you satisfied with the final product? I thought the movie was absolutely first-rate. The four main actors deserve the very highest praise. Sue Lyon bringing that breakfast tray or childishly pulling on her sweater in the car-- these are moments of unforgettable acting and directing. The killing of Quilty is a masterpiece, and so is the death of Mrs. Haze. I must point out, though, that I had nothing to do with the actual production. If I had, I might have insisted on stressing certain things that were not stressed-- for example, the different motels at...
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Часть текста: написанная Эндрю Фильдом биография Набокова, пестревшая неточностями, вздорными домыслами и нелепыми искажениями фактов. Всего через несколько дней после того, как Набоков начал читать рукопись Фильда, он известил вице‑президента издательства «McGraw‑Hill», с которым имел постоянный контракт, что берется за новый роман, причем, не исписав еще ни единой карточки, Набоков уже знал, что книга составит около 240 страниц и что он завершит ее к лету 1974 года. Вполне возможно, впрочем, что те или иные сюжетные линии будущего романа Набоков обдумывал задолго до этого: в декабре 1970 года, разыгрывая Фильда, приехавшего в Монтрё собирать материалы для биографии, Набоков просил его напомнить, что он должен рассказать ему о своей дочери и бывшей жене . Невежество и самоуверенность были отягчены у Фильда мечтой о сенсации, в центре которой он мог бы оказаться, выведав какой‑нибудь биографический secret absolu Набокова; однако его намеки, к примеру на то, что отец писателя мог быть незаконнорожденным сыном Александра II, а значит, что в жилах самого Набокова текла царская кровь, доказывали лишь, что жизнь порой в самом деле подражает литературе (поскольку история о сомнительном биографе была изложена уже в первом английском романе Набокова) и что она, описав круг,...