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Damien Bras. Site Internet :. Je suis enseignante. Il est libraire.

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Boulimique de lecture depuis que je suis toute petite. Cherche Midi. Ce bloc-notes lui permet de faire ce qu'il a a faire. Comme tout un chacun je vis de trouvailles et de pertes. Site internet. Le Blog. Arte y Literatura, Cuba, , Azote , Sous la pierre mouvante nouvelle, trad. Virginia de la Cruz Lichet Francia, He received his Ph. Plus que des attaches, donc. Page Facebook. Jonathan Remy, 30 ans, Belge. Prix Gaston Welter Video. Puis Paris, la Sarthe et la Gironde.

Parfois elle prend des notes, parfois non. Pas encore. Ici, on ne manque pas de conventions, de convenances, pourquoi pas. Luminitza C. Sa lalangue ravine sur ces traces traumatiques. C'est promis, il va le faire Il avait une gueule. Il avait de la gueule. Steiner, parus ensuite dans La Main de Singe. Mais pas pour se laisser engloutir. Quelle violence que sa disparition. Pierre Deshusses. Voici donc mes souvenirs et mes sentitments Surtout lui. Ce fut donc La Haye. Je lui soufflais parfois le mot juste et mes enfants ont aussi servi de sources de vocabulaire, notamment quand il traduisait Huck Moi pas.

Ou pas encore. Le grand motivateur. Au sourire. Nous laissant seul avec une foule de pages. Je suis encore sous le choc. Je venais de lire son Portrait du Traducteur en Escroc, une merveille absolue. Hugo Savino Madrid. This is why I write to you in English. Bernard taught us French and he soon became a good friend.

We never lost touch. He was a loving friend. I can see him in my mind very vividly. I can hear his voice. I can take myself back and remember well those years of the art scene in Lyon and beyond all the way to now. Bernard loved all art forms. He is a creative giant - and an affectionate and loving friend to me and Tony. I cannot yet speak of him in the past. We have such happy memories of times shared together, talking non-stop, eating and drinking in the most convivial of company imaginable.


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Icarus, falling from the sky, into the sea, watched by few. Bruegel the Elder.

{ Sharon Kivland }

Ce legs est inestimable. Repose en paix, mon cher Bernard. Le livre reste entrouvert, avec ses quelques pages lues. Tu me manqueras tant. Chagrin indicible. Je vis sur un voilier avec Sara et notre fils Zahir. Sara me dit "Si tu disparais en mer, je te tue". En perdant Bernard, je perd la filiation intellectuelle des Hoepffner. Si tu te couches dans mes bras Alors la vie te semblera plus facile. Michel et Laurence Hoepffner. Much of our lengthy correspondence had been concerned, therefore, with recondite matters of English slang, and the infinitely subtle gradations between the literal and the idiomatic required if one language is to be impressed upon the syntactical clay of another.

The relationship which obtains between a writer and his translator is, it strikes me as fairly obvious, a powerfully intimate one.

Gabrielle Roy (1909-1983)

It follows, surely, that an author and his translator, by assuming the same metier in relation to the same object, become dizygotic twins, born of the same text, and different imaginations. We were both walkers — who liked to stray off the beaten track. He agreed to do so. I felt Bernard was, perhaps, looking at life through a slightly tinted glass — but not a particularly dark one.

I feel deeply honoured that he lent his great erudition and artistry to this creative project — one which remains unfinished. On that infinitely wide and spacious stair I clamber about, sometimes up, sometimes down, sometimes on the right, sometimes on the left, always in motion. The hunter has been turned into a butterfly. Do not laugh.

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That was — and is — his genius. Ne riez pas.

Une mauvaise blague? Cela durerait une semaine. On y rassemblerait les livres traduits par Bernard - livres! It is with sorrow that I report the passing of Bernard Hoepffner , the belauded French translator of many Anglophone authors and works, including Mark Twain, James Joyce, Robert Burton, Martin Amis, Edmund White, and Robert Coover, as well as my Counternarratives —his masterpiece of a translation appeared last year. I never had the pleasure of meeting Bernard Hoepffner in person, but over the span of a year, and as recently as April of this year, we had exchanged emails, first about the collection of stories, and, more recently, about a volume of his long correspondence with the late American writer Guy Davenport, another original in the world of literature, that he hoped to place with a US publisher.

As a translator, he was as much as an editor as any I have ever worked with, and his subtle readings of my English were often so perceptive that they enlightened me to what I had intuitively achieved—or only thought I had. Sometimes he would ask questions that forced me to justify choices, such as whether there were "falls" on a river—I was able to find links saying that there were—and whether an anachronism like "scenario" which entered English only in , as he reminded me , was appropriate for a story whose bulk was set in the 17th century.

It was, I was able to say, because the story itself opens in the present, shifts back in time, and the narrative voice is constitutively unstable. In other cases, he caught errors produced by my pen listening more to my ear than eye, which then allowed me to rectify them in English and, upon his translation, French and now, any other language. When I communicated with him, Bernard was generous and rigorous, often witty, and capacious in his knowledge and sense of how English prose might become and work as French. As a writer and a translator, I learned a considerable deal from our exchanges, and I am applying our lessons as I write and translate new work this summer.

His influence among his peers in terms of opening up the body of English-language for French publishers and readers was and is significant. On his personal site, you can see how rich his trove of translations, as well as other literary and artistic projects, actually is. May he live on in the voices to which he gave new words and languages.

Le roman à travers les siècles : une fabuleuse histoire

Un moment rare et inoubliable, offert par un homme rare et inoubliable. Je vais tout lire. Et traduire.