Tag Archives: scribe doll

Eight Complaints of a Literary Translator

One: A couple of weeks ago, my mother’s doctor said he charged £25 to write a (short) letter about the state of her health. I commented that it was more than people would often pay me, as a literary translator.  … Continue reading

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Surviving the London Book Fair

I’ve pinned my badge to my jacket lapel: Katherine Gregor Literary Translator Freelance  United Kingdom The security man scans it.  A thin, red line crawls over it like a single spider leg.  I step  into the giant, dome-shaped Olympia building.  … Continue reading

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Tallis versus Byrd – when you lack the appropriate vocabulary

“You can really tell if it’s Byrd or Tallis from the first few bars?” H. likes some Early and 16th Century music, but is more of a Romantic and 20th Century man.  He likes passion in music.  I like post-white-ruff … Continue reading

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Fifty

One finger for every pie. One colour for every intention. The first thought that flashed through my head when I saw the gloves.  I was in a Norwich shop called ‘Head in the Clouds’ – apparently, UK’s oldest head shop.  I … Continue reading

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Baucis and Philemon

P. and T. kiss in public.  A swift, light peck on the lips, so full of tenderness and respect.  T. squeezes P.’s hand and he holds it, drawing strength from its warmth and reassurance.  I watch them in awe.  They … Continue reading

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Clocks Take a Step Back, So Take a Step Forward

It’s my favourite day of the year.  I go to bed with a feeling of hopeful anticipation, after setting all the clocks in the flat back by an hour.  As far as I’m concerned, I’m going to wake up to … Continue reading

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No (Proper) Post Today

Scribe Doll is busy packing and saying goodbye to Brussels. For further information, see Westvleteren. Scribe Doll

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The Castle of Translators

Seneffe.  H. is beaming as we walk into the courtyard.  It is girdled by a horseshoe of former 18th century stables, now turned into guest rooms.  In front of us, beyond the railings, are the tall trees belonging to the … Continue reading

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Pandolfi’s Violin

There’s a twinkle in the eye of the violin in Pandolfi’s sonatas.  He teases, provokes, confuses – then bursts out laughing.  An impish laugh, part-threatening,  part-joyful.  Now, he plays the notes  measuredly, mathematically, in deference to the accompanying continuo, and now … Continue reading

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Homesick

Wind-swept, East of England skies.  Shapeshifting clouds.  Swirls of white puff that stretch into mountains, curl into castles, swell into dragons, rise into chariots, then metamorphose into angels.  Skies mottled with lead-grey, steel-grey, velvet grey with  undertones of purple, shades … Continue reading

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