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Withoutabox Submit to Film Festivals. Amazon Renewed Refurbished products with a warranty. Amazon Second Chance Pass it on, trade it in, give it a second life. It's their insidious euphemisms and masterly displays of outrage that have such a mesmerising effect and drag the disoriented masses into the maw of the all-encompassing, all-controlling, and all-knowing state, that very state now garrisoned by these same sons and daughters. After all, their illustrious careers derive precisely from their Samaritan-esque embodiment of the state, masquerading as the benefactors of the needy and healers of the helpless.

And so it is that this false state, with its counterfeit doctors, infiltrates every sphere of public and private life. All that remains to be done is to silence a few dissenters, to intimidate and browbeat all the non-believers, who bravely continue to cling to the principle of personal responsibility. All hounded to their very souls in summary hearings and dispatched under the ideological guillotines, while, with wanton abandon, this treacherous Leviathan gobbles down democracy along with the free market economy.

The loony left is the bloodhound snuffling out the "victims" in need of its aid. The more it learns how to distil "hardship and helplessness", "cold indifference and exploitation" from the tiniest of scratches, the more aid workers need to be recruited to provide succour to the "victims".

The monstrance of tolerance is extolled by the high priests of the loony left and borne aloft through the streets as a means of creating ever more victims. Only, now a sudden breeze blows in from the desert, bearing tidings of long ago. Standing outside the gates in the form of an impoverished child it laps up the nourishment and care lavished on it by the loony left that protects it and raises it as if it were the fruit of its own loins.

It's the innocently smiling child that came from afar and will one day deal it the death blow. Die Stadt by Theodor Storm General field: Translation - English On dreary beach, by grey sea shore And not far off the town; The fog bears down on roof and floor, Through quiet night resounds the roar Drearily round the town.


No forest rustles, birds don't cry Without a rest or pause in May; And just the goose with raucous cry Does cross on Autumn nights the sky, The grasses wave all day. Yet all my heart remains with you, O dreary seaside town; Enchanted youth for ever true Rests smiling still on you, on you, O dreary seaside town. Das deutsch-deutsche Lesebuch, published in General field: Willst du die Stummel nicht haben?

Ich hoffe er wird dich ohrfeigen, wenn du mit den Litzen auf der Schulter nach Hause kommst. Translation - English It was just getting light as we reached the German border: It became quiet in the goods wagon. The train advanced slowly along the patched up tracks, passing shot-up houses and splintered telegraph poles.

The youngster 1 crouching next to me took off his glasses and carefully wiped them. And as we stopped at Nijmegen just as the dawn was breaking and someone said we'd soon be coming to the German border, he had nervously asked around if anyone would swap some thread for a couple of cigarette ends; and when no one had responded I had offered to rip off my collar patches — or flashes as I believe they were called — and turn them into dark green thread.

I took off my tunic and watched him as he carefully removed them with a piece of tin before picking them apart and then actually beginning to stitch the officer cadet braiding around his epaulettes. Now, as we pulled into Cleves, he interrupted his sewing and crouched next to me, Tom Thumb dagger in hand.

Don't you want the cigarette butts? I hope he thumps your ear when you turn up at the house with those braids on your shoulders. However it is clear from the further context that it is the person's inexperience and unperturbed idealism that stands in stark contrast to the narrator's more jaded frame of mind, so I have used 'youngster' in the English rendition to emphasise this difference. I have therefore taken the liberty of varying it slightly when it seemed appropriate to do so. This is a matter of taste and is the sort of thing that I would ordinarily discuss with a living author or alternatively with the commissioning editor.

I think 'Tom Thumb's dagger' rolls off the tongue with slightly more ease. Ich pflegte ihn, doch es gelang mir nicht, ihn zu retten. Gestern habe ich ihn begraben. Denn wir sind alte Rivalen: Medizinisch gesehen handelte es ich um den letalen Ausgang einer akuten Infektionskrankheit: Translation - English A few days ago a person died in my house, here on the heath. I did not know him, had never met him before, and of his life's story I only gathered as much as he blurted out in his delirium, as he had already been sick when he came to me.

He lay in this room for nearly two weeks, fantasising, declining and fighting his way through pain and confused dreams to his laborious death. I nursed him but I could not save him. I buried him yesterday. He is lying under a hillock rising out of the plain covered in ferns, anenomes and meadow-grass. I dug the grave parallel with the track that cuts across the heath from East to West.

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In accordance with his wishes I positioned his head towards the sinking sun; he had said he wanted to lie facing the morning. This was neither my first burial nor the first time I had seen a person die without being able to help him. For we are old rivals; death and I. From the medical perspective it was the fatal result of an acute contagion: The ability to survive this illness is individually highly variable. There are those who, having only just survived the primary infection, subsequently succumb to chronic complications like inflammations of the lungs, heart, or bone marrow; and others who harbour millions of typhus bacteria without themselves ever falling ill.

The 36 year old Robin Guiscard — whose name and age I gleaned from his documentation — was not one of these. Of feeble constitution, worn out and tired, his belongs in the category of the 12 to 15 percent of fatal cases, recognised statistically as death's minimum toll. He died in spite of my many attempts to preserve his life; despite quinine and antipyrin; regardless of spotless hygiene and all the diets; despite my genuflection 1 before the traditional remedies of the medical literature. He died in the end, after having lain for days in an appalling struggle for his life, without protest, almost at peace with the way out that had opened up for him, almost happy; calm in fact.

The use of the German word 'Devotion' conjures up a feeling of quasi religious reverence for the traditional medical literature. I might have rendering this as 'prostration' or 'kowtowing' but these seemed a bit strong. Frau Kunkels Taftkleid knisterte. Sie schritt die Front ab. Frau Kunkel zuckte zusammen und war allein. Es war nicht auszudenken! Man blickt durch das zweihundert Meter lange Schmiedegitter in einen verschneiten Wald, der jegliche Aussage verweigert. Isolde, the new maid, smiled thinly. Mrs Kunkel's taffeta dress rustled.

She march up and down the front. She nudged a plate into position and plucked at a spoon. You'd think a millionaire would have a more refined appetite. The new maid distributed the napkins, shut one eye to check the arrangement, and made to leave. Bear that in mind as you go through life. The taffeta dress quivered. Then the door slammed. Mrs Kunkel winced and stood alone.

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What might Isolde have wished for? It did not bear thinking about! The building, the dining room of which was the scene of the foregoing discussion, is situated on that respectable old avenue that leads from Halensee to Hundekehle. Anyone, even slightly acquainted with the street, will have noticed the villa. Not because it is bigger or has more panache or is more gilt edged than the others. It is noticeable in as much as one does not see it at all.

One peers through the two hundred meter long wrought iron fence into a snowy forest that provides no clues whatsoever. Standing in front of the gate, flanked as it is by faded stone pillars, one sees a broad driveway and there, where it curves round to the right, a plain, friendly building: The maids, the cook, the chauffeur and the gardeners all live here. The villa itself, the deserted 2 tennis courts, the frozen pond, the carefully heated 3 greenhouses, the gardens under their blanket of snow and the meadows, remain hidden from view.

The actual translation of Geheimrat is privy councillor, however for the past several hundred years it has been used as a non specific honorific title with no English equivalent. The plot of this novel revolves around the fact that the Geheimrat in question is a millionaire, not that he bears this particular honorific title.


I have therefore used 'his honour' as a similarly non specific title but other possibilities certainly exist. The German original referred to 'dead tennis courts' but that seems a bit gloomier and more final in English than I think was the author's intention. The German wohltemperiert has overtones of being finely tuned or carefully adjusted, but with the exception of those familiar with J. Bach's Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, most English readers would probably miss the significance of this, which is why I opted for the simpler 'carefully heated'.

Ich denke oft an Piroschka, by Hugo Hartung published in General field: Aber dann werde ich wach … Wie es dazu kam — das freilich kann ich nicht in jedem Traum wiederholen. Es ist eine zu lange Geschichte. Vielleicht hat Piroschka selbst wieder eine Piroschka, die heute so alt ist, wie sie damals gewesen ist.

Das Komma von SANS, SOUCI.

Ganz von Anfang an. Leicht gezogen und hitzematt begann die Gesellschaft zu singen: Die Bugbesatzung stimmte 'Zu Mantua in Banden' an. Das hatte noch mehr Strophen als die Rheinfrage. Ach Gott, wie singt ihr schlecht! I often hear her voice at nights: But then I wake up How it got to that — that, of course, is something that I cannot repeat in every dream. The story is too long.

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And yet, it has to be told at some point. So much has changed down in Hungary in the meantime. Piroschka might have her own little Piroschka these days, about the same age now, as she herself was at that time. Now I can tell it — everything! Right from the start. This is how it began: The July sun was beating down, while herons ascended from the reeds towards the almost painfully luminous canopy that was the sky. My fellow 'scholars' — I hated that pompous word — were sitting in the mess below decks playing cards, because one of them had read aloud from his tourist guide that this stretch of river was pretty boring for the next few hundred kilometres.

This landscape, minted on the final day of creation 1: We were lounging on deck in closely packed deckchairs. A group of German tourists, travelling together, were sitting on folding chairs at the prow, the men in light blue, crumpled linen jackets. Wilting in the heat, the group lapsed into a slow, lingering rendition of: As long as I was sailing down the Danube I had no wish to know why it was so beautiful on the Rhine.

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From my half sitting position I leaned right back — the deckchair was set at the lowest notch -, so that I would have nothing but blue infinity above me. But there was something else over me. I was prodded lightly in the back of the head by a pointy, fashionably high stiletto heel. My expression, I thought, seemed particularly well chosen, given the international makeup of the travelling public — one could hear English, Hungarian and Czech as well as the language of my Rhine-addicted landsmen.

I remembered the advice my father had given me at our parting: True enough the graceful leg had declined to respond, but it will certainly have understood my erudite apology. The crew in the prow launched into 'Off to Mantua with the Gang'. That had even more verses than the Rhine question. Your singing is awful! To render this as 'minted on the final day of creation' might seem to be taking a bit of a liberty, but a literal translation of the German — this landscape of the last creation day — seems too clumsy in English, however well it rolls off the tongue in German.

Ich kam aus dem Europa des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts. Das Schiff war ein Passagierdampfer, der beladen wurde. Es war eine Arche. Wer von hier das Gelobte Land Amerika nicht erreichen konnte, war verloren. Ich war nachmittags im Kasino von Estoril gewesen, um zu spielen. Es war ein letzter, verzweifelter Versuch gewesen, das Schicksal zu bestechen. Unsere portugiesische Aufenthaltserlaubnis lief in wenigen Tagen ab, und Ruth und ich hatten keine anderen Visa. Translation - English I stared at the ship. Gaudily lit up, it was lying some way off the quay, in the river Tejo.

Although I had been in Lisbon for a week, I still was not used to the carefree light of this city. The towns in the countries from which I had come were as black as mine shafts at nights, and a lamp in the dark was more dangerous than the plague in the Middle Ages. I had come from twentieth century Europe. The ship was a passenger steamer that was being loaded up. I knew that it was supposed to depart on the following evening. A cargo of meat, fish, tinned foods, bread and vegetables was being stowed under the stark glare of naked electric lights.

Workers were carrying luggage on board and a crane hoisted crates and bales as quietly as if they were weightless. The ship was preparing for its voyage as if it were an ark at the time of the Biblical flood. It was an ark. Every ship that set off from Europe during these months in the year was an ark.

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Mount Ararat was America and the waters were rising daily. Germany and Austria had already been submerged for a long time and in Poland and Prague the flood was knee-deep; Amsterdam, Brussels, Copenhagen, Oslo and Paris had already sunk in it; Italy's towns stank of it, and Spain was no longer safe. The coast of Portugal was the last haven for the refugees, for whom justice, liberty and tolerance meant more than home and livelihood. Anyone who could not reach America, the promised land, from here, was lost. He would bleed dry in the tangle of refused entry and exit visas, unattainable work and residence permits, internment camps, bureaucracy, loneliness, alienation 1 and the appalling general indifference to the fate of the individual, which always follows in the wake of war, fear and adversity.

At that time a human being meant nothing; a valid passport everything. I had been gambling at the Casino in Estoril that afternoon. I still owned a decent suit and they had let me in. It had been a final desperate attempt to bribe fate. Our Portuguese residents' permits would elapse a few days later and Ruth and I had no other visas. Back in France, the ship now at anchor in the Tejo, was the last with which we had hoped to reach New York; but it had been booked up for months and, apart from American entry visas, we also lacked the three hundred dollar fare.

I had at least tried to get the money in the only way still possible here — gambling. It was senseless; even if I had won, it would still have taken a miracle to get aboard the ship. Yet on the run, in desperation and danger, you learn to believe in miracles; you would not survive if you did not.

Of the sixty two dollars we had still owned, I had lost fifty six. Alienation is not the correct translation for die Fremde, which in the current context could perhaps be translated as 'the unknown'. To use that translation in this sentence however would break up the flow and 'alienation' works very well rhythmically and fits with the context. Translation - English Near Treptow On the evening of the 20th of October the Prussian General von Knobloch was sitting in the palace and former ducal residence at Treptow on the Rega together with his staff officers and Colonel Koch, town governor of Treptow and chief of the local infantry regiment.

The three windowed, panelled room was filled with the thick smoke from their short Dutch pipes and the strong aroma of a grog-punch. But smoking and drinking were nothing more than an unconscious mechanical activity for the five men on this inclement Autumn evening. Their attention was riveted by the General's exposition of the military situation, and the map of the terrain around the stronghold of Kolberg and the fortified seaport of Treptow, that was spread out on the table between them.

General staff officer Lieutenant Friedrich von Steuben was using it to explain the current positions of friend and foe. It was about a year and a half before the end of Friedrich the Great's seven year struggle against the most powerful nations of the European continent.

The Prussian cause looked precarious that Autumn. King Friedrich was being pressed harder than ever before by his all-powerful female adversaries — the 'three petticoats', as he mockingly liked to say. Even more dangerous for Prussia than Maria Theresia with the imperial German army, and the troops of the weak King Louis XV of France, who was under the control of the ambitious Madame de Pompadour, was the Russian Tzarina Elizabeth with her fanatical Prussian-hatred to which she could commit the inexhaustible resources of the gigantic Russia.

Apart from the other Russian forces threatening Prussia, a powerful Russian fleet commanded by Count Romanzov had appeared off Kolberg in late Summer and landed a siege force of 16, men. It was rumoured however that the Russian fleet had brought a total of 25, men of whom 9, had stayed on board the ships to be landed as a feint at some favourable spot should the opportunity arise, whereby the Russian superiority in that area would have become fatal. General von Knobloch's brigade had been redeployed from General von Platen's forces to the small, weakly fortified seaport of Treptow, to prevent this second landing.

But in addition to that they had another difficult task: As the resources of the immediate area had long ago been used up, so that the necessary materials had to be procured over a great distance 2 , General von Knobloch was continually forced to stretch his division in narrower and longer lines, whereby of course Treptow could not be left without sufficient protection. Seit ist er Mitglied des britischen Chartered Institute of Linguists.

He has been a Member of the Chartered Institute of Linguists since Working from mainly from German but also from Dutch into English I offer the following translation services: Having worked in several different walks of life over the past odd years from the military to the computer networking industry and having spent time living abroad and in the UK, I have amassed considerable life experience that serves me well when it comes to understanding the texts I am asked to translate.

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