blue curtain falls deutsche übersetzung
I used to have this colleague who almost exclusively spoke to me in Dutch expressions. Now of course, some would see this as charming, perhaps even educational, or a nice throw back to the times when our grandmothers spoke of the importance of stitches in time and referred to elusive characters such as the Queen of Sheba and Riley (what was so bad about leading Riley’s life anyways?!). The problem was that my colleague spoke in Dutch expressions haphazardly translated into his own unique English versions. The result was a trail of bizarrely strung together words that senselessly hung in the air and required my constant nod and smile of approval/understanding. Many a mornings were spent hearing about cows being pulled out of ditches, tall tulips getting their heads chopped off and monkeys (yes, monkeys!). After relentless exposure to such Dunglish phrases I began to notice a pattern: all Dutch expressions can be grouped together in 3 main categories: 1) expressions relating to farm life (i.e: involving beloved Dutch cows, farmers, fields, windmills, etc.).
2) expressions relating to the endearing Dutch weather (i.e: involving wind, rain, sun or sea). 3) expressions that make no sense at all (i.e.: examples to follow) Of course if you knew me, you’d know that the latter is indeed my favourite. Once you’ve heard yet another Dutch expression about the weather, you’ve heard them all (Voor niets gaat de zon op, Na regen komt zonneschijn, and so on…)!! The ones that tickle my fancy are the truly bizarre: – Als de hemel valt, krijgen we allemaal een blauwe pet (Translation: If the sky/heaven should fall, we will all be wearing blue caps/hats). Can you clarify, as I’m not sure that would indeed be the case… or how about stating the obvious: – Als het regent in september, valt kerstmis in december (Translation: If it rains in September, Christmas will be in December). Well now, you Dutch seem to be a pretty smart folk! Gosh darn it, I didn’t realize that was why Christmas seemed to be in December, e-v-e-r-y year!
or how about the always useful: (Translation: Oh well, peanut butter). No explanation needed, right? R Some I still can’t wrap my head around and I will admit I certainly can’t hold back a giggle when a well-meaning Dutch person casually translates one of the below in English and carries on speaking as if it was the most normal thing in the world. I’ve been in many a meeting when someone has announced “Well now the monkey comes out of the sleeve” or “You can’t make chocolate from it!” I used to ask for an explanation, but I’ve since learned that often one doesn’t exist. You, well, just can’t make chocolate from it… I’ll leave you with some very wise words of Dutch wisdom, one which I always try to follow: He who has butter on his head, should stay out of the sun! G 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 20 21 next » Books by Donald Miller A Million Miles in a Thousand Years Searching for God Knows What Videos About This Author The world's leading liberal voice, since 1821
C'était un palais infini Plein de bassins et de cascades Tombant dans l'or mat ou bruni; Et des cataractes pesantes, Comme des rideaux de cristal À des murailles de métal. Non d'arbres, mais de colonnades Les étangs dormants s'entouraient Où de gigantesques naïades,
montgomery curtains apex Comme des femmes, se miraient.
john frusciante curtains vinyl Des nappes d'eau s'épanchaient, bleues,
blackout curtains wowcher Entre des quais roses et verts, Pendant des millions de lieues, Vers les confins de l'univers: C'étaient des pierres inouïes Et des flots magiques, c'étaient Par tout ce qu'elles reflétaient! Des Ganges, dans le firmament,
Versaient le trésor de leurs urnes Dans des gouffres de diamant. Architecte de mes féeries, Je faisais, à ma volonté, Sous un tunnel de pierreries Passer un océan dompté; Et tout, même la couleur noire, Semblait fourbi, clair, irisé; Le liquide enchâssait sa gloire Dans le rayon cristallisé. Nul astre d'ailleurs, nuls vestiges De soleil, même au bas du ciel, Pour illuminer ces prodiges, Qui brillaient d'un feu personnel! Et sur ces mouvantes merveilles Tout pour l'oeil, rien pour les oreilles!) En rouvrant mes yeux pleins de flamme J'ai vu l'horreur de mon taudis, Et senti, rentrant dans mon âme, La pointe des soucis maudits; La pendule aux accents funèbres Et le ciel versait des ténèbres Sur le triste monde engourdi. This morning I am still entranced By the image, distant and dim, Of that awe-inspiring landscape Such as no mortal ever saw.
Sleep is full of miracles! Obeying a curious whim, I had banned from that spectacle And, painter proud of his genius, I savored in my picture Of water, marble, and metal. Babel of arcades and stairways, It was a palace infinite, Full of basins and of cascades Falling on dull or burnished gold, Like curtains of crystal, Were hanging, bright and resplendent, From ramparts of metal. Not with trees but with colonnades The sleeping ponds were encircled; In these mirrors huge naiads Admired themselves like women. Streams of blue water flowed along Between rose and green embankments, Stretching away millions of leagues Toward the end of the universe; There were indescribable stones By everything they reflected! Ganges, in the firmament, Poured out the treasure of their urns Into chasms made of diamonds. Architect of my fairyland, Whenever it pleased me I made
A vanquished ocean flow Into a tunnel of jewels; And all, even the color black, Seemed polished, bright, iridescent, Liquid enchased its own glory In the crystallized rays of light. Moreover, no star, no glimmer Of sun, even at the sky's rim, That burned with a personal fire! And over these shifting wonders All for the eye, naught for the ear!) The silence of eternity. Opening my eyes full of flames I saw my miserable room And felt the cursed blade of care Sink deep into my heart again; The clock with its death-like accent Was brutally striking noon; The sky was pouring down its gloom Upon the dismal, torpid world. — William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954) Of the dread landscape that I saw, Where human eyes were never set, I still am ravished by the awe That, vague and distant, haunts me yet. Sleep is of miracles so fain
That I (O singular caprice!) As being formless, could obtain That vegetable life should cease. A painter, in my genius free, I there exulted in the fettle Derived from a monotony Composed of marble, lymph, and metal. Babels of stairways and arcades, Endless and topless to behold, With ponds, and jets, and steep cascades Filling receptacles of gold: Ponderous cataracts there swung Like crystal curtains, foaming shawls — Dazzling and glittering they hung Suspended from the metal walls. Not trees, but colonnades, enclosed Motionless lakes, besides whose shelves Like women, gazing at themselves. Blue sheets of water interlay Unnumbered quays of green and rose, That stretched a million leagues away To where the bounds of space impose. 'Twas formed of unknown stones that blazed And magic waves that intersect, Where icebergs floated, seeming dazed With all they mirror and reflect.
Impassive, cold, and taciturn, Great Ganges, through the sky's vast prism, Each poured the treasures of its urn Into a diamond abysm. Architect of my fairy scene, I willed, by wondrous stratagems, An ocean, tamed, to pass between A tunnel that was made of gems. There all things, even the colour black, Seemed irridescently to play, And liquid crystalised its lack Of outline in a frozen ray. No star, no sun could be discerned, Even low down, in that vast sky: The fire was personal that burned To show these marvels to the eye. Above these moving wonders sheer There soared (that such a thing should be! All for the eye, none for the ear!) A silence of eternity. My opening eyes, as red as coal, The horror of my lodging met. I felt re-entering my soul The knife of cares and vain regret. The clock with brutal accent playedThe time was noon And heaven covered, with its shade,
The world, this fatuous balloon! — Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952) That marvelous landscape of my dream — Which no eye knows, nor ever will — At moments, wide awake, I seem To grasp, and it excites me still. Sleep, how miraculous you are — A strange caprice had urged my hand To banish, as irregular, All vegetation from that land; And, proud of what my art had done, I viewed my painting, knew the great Of marble, water, steel and slate. Staircases and arcades there were In a long labyrinth, which led To a vast palace; Were gushing gold, and gushing lead. And many a heavy cataract Hung like a curtain, — did not fall, As water does, but hung, compact, Crystal, on many a metal wall. Tall nymphs with Titan breasts and knees Gazed at their images unblurred, Where groves of colonnades, not trees, Fringed a deep pool where nothing stirred.
Blue sheets of water, left and right, Spread between quays of rose and green, To the world's end and out of sight, And still expanded, though unseen. Enchanted rivers, those — with jade And jasper were their banks bedecked; Enormous mirrors, dazzled, made Dizzy by all they did reflect. And many a Ganges, taciturn And heedless, in the vaulted air, Poured out the treasure of its urn Into a gulf of diamond there. As architect, it tempted me To tame the ocean at its source; And this I did, — I made the sea Under a jeweled culvert course. And every color, even black, Became prismatic, polished, bright; The liquid gave its glory back Mounted in iridescent light. There was no moon, there was no sun, — For why should sun and moon conspire To light such prodigies? Blazed with its own essential fire! A silence like eternity Prevailed, there was no sound to hear; These marvels all were for the eye,