translators-from-england

""Lest that by any means When I have preached to others I myself Should be a castaway." If some one now Would take that text and preach to us that preach — * * * Yes I preach to others And am—I know not what—a castaway? No, but a man who feels his heart asleep, As he might feel his hand or foot. The limb Will not awake without a little shock, A little pain perhaps, a nip or blow, And that one gives and feels the waking pricks. But for one's heart I know not. I can give No shock to make mine prick."

"Let's number out the hours by blisses, And count the minutes by our kisses."

"There are so many interesting Brazilian writers I’d like to get my hands on. The ' Best Young Brazilian Novelists a few years back identified twenty writers aged under forty, and there’s a lot there still waiting for the to welcome them in. For that collection, I translated short work by two of those writers, and , both of whom deserve full English-language books; there’s another on that list, , who’s bound to be discovered by the English-speaking world before long. And there are a lot of Brazilian writers I have already translated but of whom I’d like to do a lot more — I’ve done one extraordinary short novel by and would love to do a second, I’d like to do more , too, and so many others…"

"Once you’ve agreed what makes a in the first place (which isn’t as easy as one might think…), I think the basic measures of quality for children’s fiction are the same as for adult fiction. How well ted, how well imagined, the commitment to a voice and the skill in realizing it, the aliveness of the s, the vividness of the world, the originality and wit and surprise and charm and everything else that demanding readers look for in great writing. Books for younger children tend to be heavily illustrated, in a way that most adult books aren’t (more’s the pity…), a fact that of course brings with it a whole other set of ways in which a book can succeed or fail. (The illustrations and their relationship to the text aren’t, of course, minor factors incidental to the substance of the book, they are among the hardest things to get perfectly right.)"

"Time is a feather'd thing, And, whilst I praise The sparklings of thy looks and call them rays, Takes wing, Leaving behind him as he flies An unperceivèd dimness in thine eyes."

"has a , and deserves it. But while she doesn’t need any recognition from me, I’ve just given the team behind her book a prize: the £2,000 . Why? Well, I thought was stunning. But my Russian is terrible, so I only read it in 2016, when it was published in English, through the work of translator Bela Shayevich and editor Jacques Testard. Nobody is likely ever to give the literature Nobel to a translator or editor – so my prize has gone to them. One of our shortlisted books, ', was the first work of modern published in the UK. In 2017, working with the and with support from the , I established the TA first translation prize, using my €25,000 (£22,000) winnings from another award, the . Its aim was to highlight the work of translators new to the profession, and of the editors who work with them. Literary translation is a difficult profession to break into. Plenty of people want to do it, but in the insular , there’s regrettably little work to go around, and it’s easier for publishers to entrust their books to already-known translators who are seen as less of a risk."

"Mr. John Rogers, minister of the gospel in London, was the first martyr in Queen Mary's reign, and was burnt at Smithfield, February 14, 1554.—His wife, with nine small children, and one at her breast, followed him to the stake, with which sorrowful sight he was not in the least daunted, but with wonderful patience died courageously for the gospel of Jesus Christ."

"John Rogers was educated at Cambridge, and was afterward many years chaplain to the merchant adventurers at Antwerp in Brabant. Here he met with the celebrated martyr William Tyndale, and Miles Coverdale, both voluntary exiles from their country for their aversion to popish superstition and idolatry. They were the instruments of his conversion; and he united with them in that translation of the Bible into English, entitled "The Translation of Thomas Matthew." From the Scriptures he knew that unlawful vows may be lawfully broken; hence he married, and removed to Wittenberg in Saxony, for the improvement of learning; and he there learned the Dutch language, and received the charge of a congregation, which he faithfully executed for many years. On King Edward's accession, he left Saxony to promote the work of reformation in England; and, after some time, Nicholas Ridley, then bishop of London, gave him a prebend in St. Paul's Cathedral, and the dean and chapter appointed him reader of the divinity lesson there. Here he continued until Queen Mary's succession to the throne, when the Gospel and true religion were banished, and the Antichrist of Rome, with his superstition and idolatry, introduced.The circumstance of Mr. Rogers having preached at Paul's cross, after Queen Mary arrived at the Tower, has been already stated. He confirmed in his sermon the true doctrine taught in King Edward's time, and exhorted the people to beware of the pestilence of popery, idolatry, and superstition. For this he was called to account, but so ably defended himself that, for that time, he was dismissed. The proclamation of the queen, however, to prohibit true preaching, gave his enemies a new handle against him. Hence he was again summoned before the council, and commanded to keep to his house. He did so, though he might have escaped; and though he perceived the state of the true religion to be desperate. He knew he could not want a living in Germany; and he could not forget a wife and ten children, and to seek means to succor them. But all these things were insufficient to induce him to depart, and, when once called to answer in Christ's cause, he stoutly defended it, and hazarded his life for that purpose.After long imprisonment in his own house, the restless Bonner, bishop of London, caused him to be committed to Newgate, there to be lodged among thieves and murderers.After Mr. Rogers had been long and straitly imprisoned, and lodged in Newgate among thieves, often examined, and very uncharitably entreated, and at length unjustly and most cruelly condemned by Stephen Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, the fourth day of February, in the year of our Lord 1555, being Monday in the morning, he was suddenly warned by the keeper of Newgate's wife, to prepare himself for the fire; who, being then sound asleep, could scarce be awaked. At length being raised and awaked, and bid to make haste, then said he, "If it be so, I need not tie my points." And so was had down, first to bishop Bonner to be degraded: which being done, he craved of Bonner but one petition; and Bonner asked what that should be. Mr. Rogers replied that he might speak a few words with his wife before his burning, but that could not be obtained of him.When the time came that he should be brought out of Newgate to Smithfield, the place of his execution, Mr. Woodroofe, one of the sheriffs, first came to Mr. Rogers, and asked him if he would revoke his abominable doctrine, and the evil opinion of the Sacrament of the altar. Mr. Rogers answered, "That which I have preached I will seal with my blood." Then Mr. Woodroofe said, "Thou art an heretic." "That shall be known," quoth Mr. Rogers, "at the Day of Judgment." "Well," said Mr. Woodroofe, "I will never pray for thee." "But I will pray for you," said Mr. Rogers; and so was brought the same day, the fourth of February, by the sheriffs, towards Smithfield, saying the Psalm Miserere by the way, all the people wonderfully rejoicing at his constancy; with great praises and thanks to God for the same. And there in the presence of Mr. Rochester, comptroller of the queen's household, Sir Richard Southwell, both the sheriffs, and a great number of people, he was burnt to ashes, washing his hands in the flame as he was burning. A little before his burning, his pardon was brought, if he would have recanted; but he utterly refused it. He was the first martyr of all the blessed company that suffered in Queen Mary's time that gave the first adventure upon the fire. His wife and children, being eleven in number, ten able to go, and one sucking at her breast, met him by the way, as he went towards Smithfield. This sorrowful sight of his own flesh and blood could nothing move him, but that he constantly and cheerfully took his death with wonderful patience, in the defence and quarrel of the Gospel of Christ."

"The Hermit-Fish, unarm’d by Nature left, Helpless, and weak, grow strong by harmless Theft. Fearful they strowl, and look with panting Wish For the cast Crust of some new-cover’d Fish; Or such as empty lie, and deck the Shore, Whose first and rightful Owners are no more. They make glad Seizure of the vacant Room, And count the borrow’ d Shell their native Home; Screw their soft Limbs to fit the winding Case, And boldly herd with the Crustaceous Race. Careless they enter the first empty Cell; Oft find the plaited Wilk’s indented Shell; And oft the deep-dy’d Purple forc’d by Death To Stranger-Fish the painted Home bequeath. The Wilk’s etch’d Coat is most with Pleasure worn, Wide in Extent, and yet but lightly born. But when they growing more than fill the Place, And find themselves hard-pinch’d in scanty Space, Compell’d they quit the Roof they lov’d before, And busy search around the pebbly Shore, Till a commodious roomy Seat be found, Such as the larger Cockles living own’d. Oft cruel Wars contending Hermits wage, And long for the disputed Shell engage. The strongest will the doubtful Prize possess, Pow’r gives him Right, and All the Claim confess."

"Of Nature’s Chain how regular the Links! Matter by slow Gradations downward sinks; And intermediate Changes gently pass From lightsome Æther to the dullest Mass. Or climb by the same Steps from lumpish Clay To the bright Liquid, and the fine-spun Ray. Dissolving Earth in fluid Moisture glides, And Rocks transform’d flow down in silver Tides. Dilating Streams in vap’ry Columns rise, And sweating Seas will gild the distant Skies. Dispersing Clouds to nobler Forms aspire, Refine to Æther, or ferment to Fire. Things only differ as condense, or rare. Impurer Skies will thicken into Air; Air when too gross will falling Drops increase, And hang in lucid Pearls on weeping Trees. The glewy Substance, that no longer flows, Stagnates to Slime; and slimy Matter grows To earthly Mould; that hard’ning turns to Stone. So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One."

"Strange the Formation of the Eely Race, That know no Sex, yet love the close Embrace. Their folded Lengths they round each other twine, Twist am’rous Knots, and slimy Bodies joyn; Till the close Strife brings off a frothy Juice, The Seed that must the wriggling Kind produce. Regardless they their future Offspring leave, But porous Sands the spumy Drops receive. That genial Bed impregnates all the Heap, And little Eelets soon begin to creep. Half-Fish, Half-Slime they try their doubtful strength, And slowly trail along their wormy Length. What great Effects from slender Causes flow! Congers their Bulk to these Productions owe: The Forms which from the frothy Drop began, Stretch out immense, and eddy all the Main."

"I sing the Natives of the boundless Main, And tell what Kinds the wat'ry Depths contain. Thou, Mighty Prince, whom farthest Shores obey, Favour the Bard, and hear the humble Lay; While the Muse shows the liquid Worlds below, Where throng'd with busie Shoals the Waters flow; Their diff'ring Forms and Ways of Life relates; And sings their constant Loves, and constant Hates; What various Arts the finny Herds beguile, And each cold Secret of the Fishers Toil. Intrepid Souls! who pleasing Rest despise, To whirl in Eddies, and on Floods to rise; Who scorn the Safety of the calmer Shore, Drive thro' the working Foam, and ply the lab'ring Oar. Th' Abyss they fathom, search the doubtful Way, And through obscuring Depths pursue the Prey."

"Far worse unhappy D[iape]r succeeds, He search’d for coral, but he gather’d weeds."

"The Lamprey, glowing with uncommon Fires, The Earth-bred Serpents purfled Curls admires. He no less kind makes amorous Returns, With equal Love the grateful Serpent burns. Fixt on the Joy he bounding shoots along, Erects his azure Crest, and darts his forky Tongue. Now his red Eye-balls glow with doubled Fires; Proudly he mounts upon his folded Spires, Displays his glossy Coat, and speckled Side, And meets in all his Charms the wat’ry Bride. But lest he cautless might his Consort harm, The gentle Lover will himself disarm, Spit out the venom’d Mass, and careful hide In cranny’d Rocks, far from the washing Tide; There leaves the Furies of his noxious Teeth, And putrid Bags, the pois’nous Fund of Death. His Mate he calls with softly hissing Sounds; She joyful hears, and from the Ocean bounds. Swift as the bearded Arrow’d Hast she flies, To own her Love, and meet the Serpent’s Joys. At her approach, no more the Lover bears Odious Delay, nor sounding Waters fears. Onward he moves on shining Volumes roll’d, The Foam all burning seems with wavy Gold. At length with equal Hast the Lovers meet, And strange Enjoyments slake their mutual Heat. She with wide-gaping Mouth the Spouse invites, Sucks in his Head, and feels unknown Delights. When full Fruition has asswag’d Desire, Well-pleas’d the Bride will to her Home retire. Tir’d with the Strife the Serpent hies to Land, And leaves his Prints on all the furrow’d Sand; With anxious Fear seeks the close private Cleft, Where he in Trust th’important Secret left. From the stain’d Rock he sucks the pois’nous Heaps, Feels his returning Strength, and hissing leaps; With brandish’d Tongue the distant Foe defies, And darts new Light’nings from his Blood-shot Eyes. But if some Swain mean while observing spies Where odious Spume, and venom’d Spittle lies, And while the Serpent wooes, from neighb’ring Seas The cleansing Waters to the Rock conveys; The Serpent comes, and finds his Treasure gone, Looks sorrowing round, and blames the faithless Stone; Disarm’d no more his wonted Pleasure takes, Curls in the Grass, or hisses in the Brakes. He creeps with Shame a tawdry speckled Worm, And prides no longer in his beauteous Form. On the same Rock with Head reclin’d he lies, And, where he lost his Arms, despairing dies."

"Then from the teeming Filth, and putrid Heap, Like Summer Grubs, the little Slime-Fish creep. Devour'd by All the passive Curse they own, Opprest by ev'ry Kind, but injure none. Harmless they live, nor murd'rous Hunger know, But to themselves their mutual Pleasures owe; Each other lick, and the close Kiss repeat; Thus loving thrive, and praise the luscious Treat. When they in Throngs a safe Retirement seek, Where pointed Rocks the rising Surges break, Or where calm Waters in their Bason sleep, While chalky Cliffs o’erlook the shaded Deep, The Seas all gilded o’er the Shoal betray, And shining Tracks inform their wand’ring Way. As when soft Snows, brought down by Western Gales, Silent descend and spread on all the Vales; Add to the Plains, and on the Mountains shine, While in chang’d Fields the starving Cattle pine; Nature bears all one Face, looks coldly bright, And mourns her lost Variety in White, Unlike themselves the Objects glare around, And with false Rays the dazzled Sight confound: So, where the Shoal appears, the changing Streams Lose their Sky-blew, and shine with silver Gleams."

""Clearly the rest I behold of the dark-ey'd sons of Achaia; Known to me well are the faces of all; their names I remember; Two, two only remain, whom I see not among the commanders, Castor fleet in the car—Polydeukes brave with the cestus— Own dear brethren of mine—one parent lov'd us as infants. Are they not here in the host, from the shores of lov'd Lacedæmon, Or, tho' they came with the rest in ships that bound thro' the waters, Dare they not enter the fight or stand in the council of Heroes, All for fear of the shame and the taunts my crime has awaken'd?" So said she;—they long since in Earth's soft arms were reposing, There, in their own dear land, their Father-land, Lacedæmon."

"The cause of undertaking a work of this kind was a good will in this scribling age not to do nothing, and a disproportion in the powers of my mind, nothing of mine owne invention being able to passe the censure of mine owne judgement, much less, I presumed, the judgement of others.... If thy stomacke be so tender as thou canst not disgest Tacitus in his owne stile, thou art beholding to one who gives thee the same food, but with a pleasant and easie taste."

"At the time the was formed the main interest in birds lay in whether they or their eggs were good to eat, or in their possibilities as a source of amusement at which to blaze off a gun."

"The can readily be distinguisedh from the true wild Swans, the and the , for it arches its neck much more and its bill is reddish orange with a protruding black knob at the base ..."

"Wrens do not appear to indulge to any great extent, though they appreciate drinking water. It should be remembered that if birds have plenty to drink in summer they are less likely to make attacks on fruit."

"Woe be unto those who pray, and who are negligent at their prayer who play the hypocrites, and deny necessaries to the needy."

"Your God is one God, there is no God but He, the most merciful."

"Whosoever flieth from his country for the sake of God’s true religion, shall find in the earth many forced to do the same, and plenty of provisions."

"O unbelievers, I will not worship that which ye worship, nor will ye worship that which I worship. ... Ye have your religion, and I my religion."

"Fight for the religion of God."

"Turn, therefore, thy face towards the holy temple of Mecca, and wherever ye be, turn your faces towards that place."

"As for him who voluntarily performeth a good work, verily God is grateful and knowing."

"Of his mercy he hath made for you the night and the day, that ye may rest in the one, and may seek to obtain provision for yourself of his abundance, by your industry, in the other."

"Wherever ye be, God will bring you all back at the resurrection."

"If God should punish men according to what they deserve, he would not leave on the back of the earth so much as a beast."

"O men, ... respect women who have borne you."

"God obligeth no man to more than he hath given him ability to perform."

"O true believers, take your necessary precautions against your enemies, and either go forth to war in separate parties, or go forth all together in a body."

"Wheresoever ye be, death will overtake you, although ye be in lofty towers."

"Let not thy hand be tied up to thy neck, neither open it with an unbounded expansion, lest thou become worthy of reprehension, and be reduced to poverty."

"God loveth not the speaking ill of any one in public."

"The heavenly soyle, to Gods and Starres and Planets first he gave. The waters next both fresh and salt he let the fishes have. The suttle ayre to flickring fowles and birdes he hath assignde. The earth to beasts both wilde and tame of sundrie sort and kinde. Howbeit yet of all this while, the creature wanting was, Farre more devine, of nobler minde, which should the residue passe In depth of knowledge, reason, wit, and high capacitie, And which of all the residue should the Lord and ruler bee. Then eyther he that made the worlde, and things in order set, Of heavenly seede engendred Man: or else the earth as yet Yong, lustie, fresh, and in hir floures, and parted from the skie, But late before, the seede thereof as yet held inwardlie. The which Prometheus tempring straight with water of the spring, Did make in likenesse to the Gods that governe everie thing."

"Peneian Daphne was the first where Phebus set his love, Which not blind chaunce but Cupids fierce and cruel wrath did move."

"The serpent Python so forswolne, whose filthie wombe did hide So many acres of the grounde in which he did abide."

"Of shapes transformde to bodies straunge, I purpose to entreate."

"Before the Sea and Lande were made, and Heaven that all doth hide, In all the worlde one onely face of nature did abide, Which Chaos hight, a huge rude heape, and nothing else but even A heavie lump and clottred clod of seedes togither driven, Of things at strife among themselves, for want of order due."

"There from hys quiver full of shafts two arrowes did he take Of sundrie workes: t'one causeth Love, the tother doth it slake. That causeth love, is all of golde with point full sharpe and bright, That chaseth love is blunt, whose stele with leaden head is dight."

"Forasmuch as the Ceremonie of bringing of our Freewill offeringes to a place chosen for that purpose is done away, if wee intend to offer such sacrifices as may bee acceptable to God, every [one] of us must doe almesdeedes according to his abilitie, and thinke thus with himselfe: "Go too, my God hath given mee chaunge of meates, I eate one kinde of porredge to day and another kinde to morrowe, and yet might I content my selfe all my lyfe long with bread and water. But God of his bounteousnesse giueth mee moreover what meates soever I lyke of best, yea and chaunge of them also; so as if I bee weary of one meate, I may take another according to my abilitie. Seeing then that he dealeth so with me, what an unthankfulnesse is it for mee to despise him that sheweth himselfe so liberall towardes mee?" True it is that our so dooing is neither here nor there (as they say,) in respect of God: the service that wee doe him doth neither amend him nor appaire him: but he giveth us the poore among us, to bee succored at our handes, to the ende that none of us should so glutte himselfe by cramming his owne bellie, as to despise others that are in necessitie, but that wee shoulde bee well advised to make an offering unto God of the thinges that he hath put into our handes, and that the same might become holy by that meanes."

"With skill, heede, and judgment, this worke must be read, For else to the Reader it standes in small stead."

"The Lawrell to his just request did seeme to condescende, By bowing of hir newe made boughs and tender braunches downe, And wagging of hir seemely toppe, as if it were hir crowne."

"Though it is the most beautiful book in the language, I am not citing it for decorative purposes but for the narrative quality."

"Well" (quoth Apollo) "though my Feere and spouse thou can not bee, Assuredly from this tyme forth yet shalt thou be my tree."

"Hope made Apollo swift, And feare did make the Mayden fleete devising how to shift. Howebeit he that did pursue of both the swifter went, As furthred by the feathred wings that Cupid had him lent."

"And even as when the greedie Grewnde doth course the sielie Hare, Amiddes the plaine and champion fielde without all covert bare, Both twaine of them doe straine themselves and lay on footemanship, Who may best runne with all his force the tother to outstrip, The t'one for safetie of his lyfe, the tother for his pray, The Grewnde aye prest with open mouth to beare the Hare away, Thrusts forth his snoute and gyrdeth out and at hir loynes doth snatch, As though he would at everie stride betweene his teeth hir latch."

""O let the earth devour me quicke, on which I seeme too fayre, Or else this shape which is my harme by chaunging straight appayre." This piteous prayer scarsly sed: hir sinewes waxed starke, And therewithall about hir breast did grow a tender barke. Hir haire was turned into leaves, hir armes in boughes did growe, Hir feete that were ere while so swift, now rooted were as slowe. Hir crowne became the toppe, and thus of that she earst had beene, Remayned nothing in the worlde, but beautie fresh and greene. Which when that Phoebus did beholde (affection did so move) The tree to which his love was turnde he coulde no lesse but love."