iaa do2 version - Aix*Marseille Université

IAA DO2
VERSION
FEVRIER-MAI 2008
Equipe pédagogique :
Nathalie Bernard
Claire Pégon
Marie-Laure Schultze
Christine Zaratsian
1
PROGRAMME LEXICAL
Le programme lexical prolonge celui de 1ère année. Outre le corps – portrait physique,
vêtements, activité corporelle ; la vie physiologique – santé, maladie –, l’environnement
immédiat, et les 5 sens (vue, ouïe, odorat, goût, toucher), les semestres 3 et 4 seront plutôt
réservés



Aux champs lexicaux des bruits, des sons, et de la lumière
A l’être humain et son environnement naturel (montagne, mer, campagne ;
animaux et leurs cris)
A la ville
L’apprentissage d’un vocabulaire riche et varié représente un des enjeux essentiels pour
un étudiant en langues, et une partie de l’enseignement de la traduction sera consacrée plus
particulièrement à une étude approfondie des registres lexicaux. Le programme lexical
proposé est découpé de manière à faciliter la tâche de l’étudiant en étalant sa familiarisation
avec les domaines variés sur deux, voire trois années. Le vocabulaire ainsi alloué à telle ou
telle année ne représente donc qu’un minimum requis ; les textes choisis en cours ne porteront
pas exclusivement sur les domaines retenus ; il y aura inévitablement un débordement entre
les domaines lexicaux retenus et la langue telle que l’étudiant la rencontrera dans ses cours et
ses lectures. Ceci dit, le barème qui s’appliquera pour évaluer le travail en version, comme en
thème d’ailleurs, prendra en compte la familiarité ou non de l’étudiant avec le vocabulaire dit
"de programme‫״‬.
On ne saurait trop vous recommander de revoir vos textes à intervalles réguliers ainsi
que la vocabulaire proche des thèmes et aspects abordés par les textes.
2
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Les deux ouvrages nécessaires sont :
1. Hélène CHUQUET, Michel PAILLARD, Approche linguistique des problèmes de la traduction.
Nous nous servirons essentiellement des 2 premiers chapitres.
2. Le mot et l’idée, Ophrys 1991.
Autres manuels de vocabulaire :
- Word Routes. Lexique thématique de l’anglais courant. Cambridge. – Disponible en bibliothèque :
BU Aix : 428.1 CAM (salle langues étrangères) ; BU St Charles : 428.1 CAM (salle de lecture).
- Vocabulaire anglais et américain, Robert et Collins.
- P. LARREYA, et al., Mémento grammatical anglais (Nathan).
- Florent GUSDORF, Words Universités, Ellipses.
- M. SKOPAN, Word Watch, Lexique anglo-américain, Ophrys 2000.
Pour compléter ces manuels :
- DUMONG, KNOTT, Le Vocabulaire anglais du supérieur (Ellipses) – expressions idiomatiques et
formules.
- P. RAFROIDI, M. PLAISANT, D. SHOTT, Le nouveau manuel de l’angliciste : vocabulaire du
thème, de la version et de la rédaction, Ophrys, 1986 – une partie sur les procédés de traduction,
vocabulaire mis en contexte dans de courtes phrases et paragraphes.
- C. BOUSCAREN, C. RIVIERE, L’anglais après le bac : mise à niveau, Ophrys, 1994 – bon ouvrage
pour compléter des ouvrages plus étoffés ; des repères culturels, le cœur de la grammaire.
- Florent GUSDORF, A. PAQUETTE, More Words, Ellipses – exercices.
Problèmes, exercices de traduction :
- Françoise GRELLET, In So Many Words, Hachette Supérieur – exercices pour maîtriser le vocabulaire et les
structures lexicales.
Grammaire :
- Robert L. WAGNER, Jacqueline PINCHON, Grammaire du Français, Hachette Supérieur.
- L’art de conjuguer, Hatier.
3
IAA D02 – version n°1
My mother, Lillie, was an English rose. Flaxen hair, a complexion like milk with a
faint pink flush at her cheeks and a nose that tipped up at the end to present the two perfect
triangles of her nostrils (...) My father, Wilfred, was a butcher (...) and not very good looking.
Some said it was his good luck at courting and winning the hand of a lass who had once won
a village country maid contest that left his face with that startled "You don't say" expression.
The front of his hair was cursed by a 'cow's-lick' that meant every day his hair fell in eccentric
wild swirls over his forehead. His bulbous fat hands were like great hams. Broad, pink and
fleshy with stubby fingers. He wore leather straps round each wrist to protect them from the
sharp blows of his butchering knives. I thought those straps held his hands on to the ends of
his arms. Leather and three inches wide, they only came off when he had a bath on alternate
Saturday nights in front of the range in the kitchen. I had to bring the hot water that rolled
black grime down his skin like mud washing off a wall, while the leather straps would be on
the floor, still in the shape of his wrists. Blackened manacles - worn, battered and bloody. I
never looked at the front of him in the bath in case I saw stumps where his fat ham hands
should have been.
250 words.
Andrea LEVY, Small Island (2004).
Méthodologie:
1 - My mother had hands that could clasp like a vice: les mains de ma mère se refermaient
comme des étaux.
2 - She had arms as strong as a bear's: elle avait dans les bras la force d'un ours.
IAA D02 – version n°2
Ted let them talk and looked out of the window. He wasn’t interested in the news in the paper
tonight. The little boat vibrated fussily, and left a long wake like moulded glass in the quiet
river. The evening was drawing in. The sun was sinking into a bank of grey cloud, soft and
formless as mist. The air was dusky, so that its light was closed into itself and it was easy to
look at, a thick golden disc more like a moon rising through smoke than the sun. It threw a
single column of orange light on the river, the ripples from the ferry fanned out into it, and
their tiny shadows truncated it. The bank, rising steeply from the river and closing it in till it
looked like a lake, was already bloomed with shadows. The shapes of two churches and a
broken frieze of pine trees stood out against the gentle sky, not sharply, but with a soft
arresting grace. The slopes, wooded and scattered with houses, were dim and sunk in idyllic
peace. The river showed thinly bright against the dark lane. Ted could see that the smooth
water was really a pale tawny gold with patches, roughened by the turning tide, of frosty blue.
It was only when you stared at it and concentrated your attention that you realised the colours.
Turning to look down stream away from the sunset, the water gleamed silvery grey with dark
clear scrabblings upon it. Houses with windows of orange fire, black trees, a great silver
gasometer, white oil tanks with the look of clumsy mushrooms, buildings serrating the sky,
even a suggestion seen or imagined of red roofs, showing up miraculously in that airy light.
288 words.
Marjorie BARNARD, “The Lottery”, The Persimmon Tree (1943).
4
Méthodologie:
There were two worlds, one looking towards the sunset with the dark land against it, dreaming
and still, and the other looking down stream over the silvery river to the other bank.
→ Il y avait deux mondes, l’un qui donnait sur le couchant, avec la terre en contre-jour,
rêveur et immobile, et l’autre, en aval, avec vue sur le rive d’en face, par dessus les reflets
argentés de la rivière.
IAA D02 – version n°3
London was misty, with a golden sun-pierced mist in which buildings hung as insubstantial
soaring presences. The beautiful dear city, muted and softened, half concealed in floating and
slightly shifting clouds, seemed a city in the air, outlined in blurred dashes of grey and brown.
I walked, inevitably, by the river. As I turned on to Victoria Embankment I saw that the tide
was in, and upon the surface of the fast flowing water itself there played a warm light, turning
its muddy hue to an old gilt, as if some pure part of the sunlight had escaped to play here
under the great vault of the mist. The strange light suited my mood and as I sauntered slowly
along beneath the shadowy cliff of New Scotland Yard I began to feel, if not relieved of pain,
at least a little more able to collect my wits.
It was too cold to sit down, but I paused every now and then to lean on the parapet,
and as I passed each damp dolphin-entwined lamp-post I felt a little nearer to something. Yet I
did not seem to be making any famous progress with my troubles. I felt on the whole a
thorough nausea about recent events. […]
I was beginning to feel rather sick again. I walked on under Waterloo Bridge and saw
through the tilting, slightly lifting, mist the long gracious pillared façade of Somerset House.
Receding, swaying, variously browned and greyed, it seemed like a piece of stage scenery.
253 words.
Iris MURDOCH, A Severed Head (1961).
Méthodologie:
1. Two swans swept steadily downstream in the company of a dipping branch of some
unidentified foliage. → Deux cygnes voguaient majestueusement dans le courant en
compagnie d’une branche immergée d’un feuillage que je ne pouvais identifier.
2. I walked on, and then paused by the parapet. → Je continuai à marcher, puis m’arrêtai un
instant près du parapet.
IAA D02 – version n°4
The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and
limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods. They were neither citadels nor churches,
but frankly and beautifully office-buildings.
The mist took pity on the fretted structures of earlier generations: the Post Office with its
shingle-tortured mansard, the red brick minarets of hulking old houses, factories with stingy
and sooted windows, wooden tenements colored like mud. The city was full of such
grotesqueries, but the clean towers were thrusting them from the business center, and on the
farther hills were shining new houses, homes – they seemed - for laughter and tranquillity.
5
Over a concrete bridge fled a limousine of long sleek hood and noiseless engine. These people
in evening clothes were returning from an all-night rehearsal of a Little Theater play, an
artistic adventure considerably illuminated by champagne. Below the bridge curved a railroad,
a maze of green and crimson lights.
[…]
The dawn mist spun away. Queues of men with lunch-boxes clumped toward the immensity
of new factories, sheets of glass and hollow tile, glittering shops where five thousand men
worked beneath one roof, pouring out the honest wares that would be sold up the Euphrates
and across the veldt. The whistles rolled out in greeting a chorus cheerful as the April dawn;
the song of labor in a city built – it seemed – for giants.
242 words.
Sinclair LEWIS, Babbitt (1922).
Méthodologie:
1) People here are suspicious.
Ici, les gens se méfient.
2) His attention span had become very short.
Il n’était plus capable de soutenir son attention très longtemps.
IAA D02 – version n°5
He was to walk Third Avenue for many years, until it became so much a part of him he didn’t
see it anymore. But at first it was a feast. People moving on the sidewalks, automobiles
threading through the columns of the el, trucks rumbling in the striated shadows—he drank it
in, his eyes leaping from image to image. He would forget to watch where he was going and
stumble into a carton of tomatoes outside a fruit and vegetable shop, or bump into the
newspaper rack of a candy store as he raised his eyes to watch a train rush by overhead. If he
fell down and scraped an elbow, it shocked him into remembrance that he was indeed there,
that he was physically real. But soon after regaining his feet, when he began to see the hubbub
around him once more, the power of the world seemed to render him bodiless.
He stopped at Weisfeld’s Music Store to look at the gleaming trumpets, guitars, and
banjos, the dense and mysterious accordions, harmonicas of all sizes, and the slender flutes.
Brass, silver, ebony, and mother-of-pearl shone at him through he glass. The door to the shop
had a little bell, so that when someone went in or out, Claude could hear it ring —an intimate,
icy sound that raised goose bumps on his arms.
N° 31 was set far back from the street, behind the tall iron fence and gates, behind the
flat concrete expanse of playground. Children of all sizes flowed through the gates to mingle
in the schoolyard, their sharp cries bouncing off the brick walls of the neighbouring
tenements.
286 words.
Frank CONROY, Body and Soul (1993).
Méthodologie:
At dusk he climbed up on the table in the front room and stared out the fan-shaped window,
watching the people go by: → Au crepuscule, il grimpa sur la table du salon et regarda
fixement par la fenêtre en forme d’éventail, suivant des yeux les passants.
6
IAA D02 – version n°6
A rumble coursed through me as I approached, and it scared the hell out of me because it was
on a register lower than noise. The ground was vibrating.
I staggered inside and met a wall of yak―a great expanse of curly-haired chest and churning
hooves, of flared red nostrils and spinning eyes. It galloped past so close I leapt backward on
tiptoe, flush with the canvas to avoid being impaled on one of its crooked horns. A terrified
hyena clung to its shoulders.
The concession stand in the center of the tent had been flattened, and in its place was a roiling
mass of spots and stripes―of haunches, heels, tails, and claws, all of it roaring, screeching,
bellowing, or whinnying. A polar bear towered above it all, slashing blindly with skillet-sized
paws. It made contact with a llama and knocked it flat―BOOM. The llama hit the ground, its
neck and legs splayed like the five points of a star. Chimps screamed and chattered, swinging
on ropes to stay above the cats. A wild-eyed zebra zigzagged too close to a crouching lion,
who swiped, missed, and darted away, his belly close to the ground.
My eyes swept the tent, desperate to find Marlena. Instead I saw a cat slide through the
connection leading to the big top―it was a panther.
227 words.
Sara GRUEN, Water for Elephants (2006).
Méthodologie:
Its lithe(1) black body disappeared into the canvas tunnel: son corps noir fluide comme
l'onde(1) s'engagea(2) dans le tunnel de toile.
IAA D02 – version n°7
Tilney got up from the table and began to walk up and down the room, his pipe
between his teeth, smoking. ‘Poor Chawdron’s dead now, so there’s no reason …’ He left the
sentence unfinished, and for a few seconds was silent. Standing by the window, he looked out
through the rain-blurred glass on to the greens and wet greys of the Kentish landscape.
‘England looks like the vegetables at a Bloomsbury boarding-house dinner,’ he said slowly.
‘Horrible! Why do we live in this horrible country? Ugh!’ He shuddered and turned away.
There was another silence. The door opened and the maid came in to clear the breakfast table.
I say ‘the maid’; but the brief impersonal term is inaccurate. Inaccurate, because wholly
inadequate to describe Hawtrey. What came in, when the door opened, was personified
efficiency, was a dragon, was stony ugliness, was a pillar of society, was the Ten
Commandments on legs. Tilney, who did not know her, did not share my terror of the
domestic monster. Unaware of the intense disapproval which I could feel her silently radiating
(it was after ten; Tilney’s slug-a-bed habits had thrown out of gear the whole of her morning’s
routine) he continued to walk up and down, while Hawtrey busied herself round the table.
Suddenly he laughed. ‘Chawdron’s Autobiography was the only one of my books I ever made
any money out of,’ he said.
235 words.
Aldous HUXLEY, “Chawdron”, Brief Candles (1930).
7
Méthodologie:
1. I listened apprehensively, lest he should say anything which might shock or offend the
dragon.
→ J’écoutais avec appréhension, de peur qu’il ne dise quoi que ce soit qui pût choquer ou
offenser ce dragon.
2. ‘You ought to read it,’ he said. ‘I’m really quite offended that you haven’t.’
→ « Vous devriez le lire, dit-il. Cela me froisse vraiment que vous ne l’ayez pas fait. »
IAA D02 – version n°8
He stood by the window again. It was raining, but the whiteness had gone. Save for a wet leaf
shining here and there, the garden was all dark now—the yellow mound of the flowering tree
had vanished. The college buildings lay round the garden in a low couched mass, here redstained, here yellow-stained, where lights burnt behind curtains; and there lay the chapel,
huddling its bulk against the sky which, because of the rain, seemed to tremble slightly. But it
was no longer silent. He listened; there was no sound in particular; but as he stood looking
out, the building hummed with life. There was a sudden roar of laughter; then the tinkle of a
piano; then the nondescript clatter and chatter —of china partly; then again the sound of rain
falling, and the gutters chuckling and burbling as they sucked up the water. He turned back
into his room.
It had grown chilly; the fire was almost out; only a little red glowed under the grey
ash. Opportunely he remembered his father’s gift—the wine that had come that morning. He
went to the side table and poured himself out a glass of port. As he raised it against the light
he smiled. He saw again his father’s hand with two smooth knobs instead of fingers holding
the glass, as he always held the glass, to the light before he drank.
“You can’t drive a bayonet through a chap’s body in cold blood,” he remembered him saying.
251 words.
Virginia WOOLF, The Years (1937).
Méthodologie:
He sipped his wine. A soft glow spread over his spine at the nape of his neck. → Il but une
petite gorgée du vin. Il sentit une chaleur douce qui partait de sa nuque et s’étendait sur son
dos.
IAA D02 – version n°9
Claude rose and dressed,—a simple operation which took very little time. He crept down two
flights of stairs, feeling his way in the dusk, his red hair standing up in peaks, like a cock’s
comb. He went through the kitchen into the adjoining washroom, which held two porcelain
stands with running water. Everybody had washed before going to bed, apparently, and the
bowls were ringed with a dark sediment which the hard, alkaline water had not dissolved.
Shutting the door on this disorder, he turned back to the kitchen, took Mahailey’s tin basin,
doused his face and head in cold water, and began to plaster down his wet hair.
Old Mahailey herself came in from the yard, with her apron full of corn-cobs to start a fire in
the kitchen stove.
[…]
8
Claude caught up his cap and ran out of doors, down the hillside toward the barn. The sun
popped up over the edge of the prairie like a broad, smiling face; the light poured across the
close-cropped August pastures and the hilly, timbered windings of Lovely Creek,—a clear
little stream with a sand bottom, that curled and twisted playfully about through the south
section of the big Wheeler ranch. It was a fine day to go to the circus at Frankfort, a fine day
to do anything; the sort of day that must, somehow, turn out well.
231 words.
Willa CATHER, One of Ours (1922).
Méthodologie:
1) Cheap restaurants are thin on the ground.
Les restaurants abordables ne courent pas les rues.
2) Sandy predictably did not like her brother telling her that she was a spoilt child, when
actually she’d never asked anything from her parents.
Il était à prévoir que Sandy n’apprécierait pas que son frère la traite d’enfant gâtée, alors
qu’en réalité elle n’avait jamais rien réclamé à ses parents.
9