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Russian to English: Oblomov General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - Russian В Гороховой улице, в одном из больших домов, народонаселения которого стало бы на целый уездный город, лежал утром в постели, на своей квартире, Илья Ильич Обломов.
Это был человек лет тридцати двух-трех от роду, среднего роста, приятной наружности, с темно-серыми глазами, но с отсутствием всякой определенной идеи, всякой сосредоточенности в чертах лица. Мысль гуляла вольной птицей по лицу, порхала в глазах, садилась на полуотворенные губы, пряталась в складках лба, потом совсем пропадала, и тогда во всем лице теплился ровный свет беспечности. С лица беспечность переходила в позы всего тела, даже в складки шлафрока.
Иногда взгляд его помрачался выражением будто усталости или скуки, но ни усталость, ни скука не могли ни на минуту согнать с лица мягкость, которая была господствующим и основным выражением, не лица только, а всей души, а душа так открыто и ясно светилась в глазах, в улыбке, в каждом движении головы, руки. И поверхностно наблюдательный, холодный человек, взглянув мимоходом на Обломова, сказал бы: «Добряк должен быть, простота!» Человек поглубже и посимпатичнее, долго вглядываясь в лицо его, отошел бы в приятном раздумье, с улыбкой.
Цвет лица у Ильи Ильича не был ни румяный, ни смуглый, ни положительно бледный, а безразличный или казался таким, может быть, потому, что Обломов как-то обрюзг не по летам: от недостатка ли движения или воздуха, а может быть, того и другого. Вообще же тело его, судя по матовому, чересчур белому свету шеи, маленьких пухлых рук, мягких плеч, казалось слишком изнеженным для мужчины.
Движения его, когда он был даже встревожен, сдерживались также мягкостью и не лишенною своего рода грации ленью. Если на лицо набегала из души туча заботы, взгляд туманился, на лбу являлись складки, начиналась игра сомнений, печали, испуга, но редко тревога эта застывала в форме определенной идеи, еще реже превращалась в намерение. Вся тревога разрешалась вздохом и замирала в апатии или в дремоте.
Translation - English In his apartment on Gorokhovaya Street, which was located in one of those large buildings that could house the population of an entire provincial town, a man by the name of Ilya Ilyich Oblomov lay in bed one morning.
He was about thirty-two or thirty-three years old, of average height and pleasant appearance, with dark-grey eyes and features unmarked by any specific idea or any attentiveness. A thought would roam his face like an unfettered bird, now flittering in his eyes, then perching on his half-open lips, lurking in the furrows of his brow until it disappeared completely and his face took on an even hue of unconcern. This lack of concern spread from his face to all the contours of his body and even into the folds of his nightgown.
Sometimes a look of tiredness or boredom would obscure his gaze, but neither tiredness nor boredom were able to rid his manner of the gentleness that was the chief and ruling expression not only of his face, but of his entire soul, so plainly and brightly did that soul shine in his eyes and his smile, in every movement of his head and hands. A superficially observant, cold person who caught a passing glance of him would say: “He must be a kind-hearted but simple soul!” But if someone more perceptive and sympathetic were to look into his face long and hard, that person would walk away with a smile, in pleasant contemplation.
Ilya Ilyich’s complexion was neither rosy nor swarthy, nor positively pale; it seemed instead to be nondescript, perhaps because Oblomov had somehow grown flabby beyond his years, whether from lack of activity or fresh air, or maybe for both these reasons. Judging from the dull, excessively white colour of his neck, his small, pudgy hands and soft shoulders, his body on the whole seemed too delicate to be that of a man. Even when he was distressed his movements were restrained by the same softness and not entirely ungraceful indolence. If a cloud of care drifted from inside his soul to cover his face, his eyes would grow overcast, lines would appear on his forehead and doubt, sorrow and fear would start to play on his face. Rarely, however, did such agitation harden into a fixed idea, and more rarely still was it transformed into resolution. All his agitation would resolve itself into a sigh and die away in apathy or slumber.
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Translation education
Bachelor's degree - University of the Witwatersrand
Experience
Years of experience: 33. Registered at ProZ.com: Jan 2009.
Russian-English translator with fifteen years of experience. Translator at Radio Moscow (USSR) and Progress Publishers. Sworn translator of the South African High Court.
Keywords: Russian, English, promotional, marketing, legal, contracts, marriage certificates, birth certificates, computers, manuals. See more.Russian, English, promotional, marketing, legal, contracts, marriage certificates, birth certificates, computers, manuals, literary, poetry. See less.
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