Английский язык с П. Треверс. Мэри Поппинс / P. L. Travers: Mary Poppins

Some children’s writers (некоторые детские писатели) — maybe because they worry about what is suitable for the ears of children (возможно, поскольку они беспокоятся о том, что подходит для детских ушей) — talk down to their readers (говорят свысока с читателями). Not P. L. Travers (но не П. Треверс). “Nobody writes for children really (никто не пишет для детей по-настоящему),” she’d say (она говорила). “You’re writing to make yourself laugh (вы пишите, чтобы себя рассмешить), or yourself cry (или заставить себя плакать); if you write for children, you’ve lost them (если вы будете писать

для детей, вы их потеряли).” Her readers proved her right (ее читатели доказали ее правоту), and wrote to the author in their thousands (и писали автору тысячами), often asking the same questions (часто задавая одинаковые вопросы): Where did Mary Poppins come from (откуда пришла Мэри Поппинс)? Why did she go (почему она ушла)? and Where did she go (и куда она ушла)?

From every point of the compass (из любой точки компаса) — and Mary Poppins knew all about compasses (а Мэри Поппинс знала все о компасах)! — children would send their letters (дети посылали свои письма), carefully written in large, round writing (аккуратно написанные большим, круглым почерком), punctuating their demands for answers with words of praise and, occasionally, complaint (перемежая свои требования ответов со словами похвалы, а иногда, жалобы). When, at the end of Mary Poppins Opens the Door (когда, вконце

«Мэри Поппинс открывает дверь»), the heroine flew away for the third time (персонаж улетает в третий раз), a boy (who wasn’t the world’s best speller) wrote mournfully (мальчик (который не был лучшим в мире знатоком орфографии) написал угрюмо): “You should not have done that, Madum (вам не следовало делать этого, мадам), you have made the children cry (вы заставили детей плакать).” Pamela treasured that letter (Памела высоко оценила это письмо), and replied (и ответила): “I am not surprised (я не удивлена). I cried myself, when I wrote it down (я сама плакала, когда писала его).”

fascinating ['fæsIneItIŋ] thousands ['Tauz(q)nds] punctuating ['pAŋktu'eItIŋ]

Like Mary Poppins, Bertha also had a number of fascinating relatives whom she would visit. Pamela recalled: “She would come back and tell us wonderful stories… But no — she wouldn’t quite tell. She’d just hint: ‘If you could know what happened to me cousin’s brother-in-law…’ And when you’d opened your ears and your eyes — and your mouth — waiting for more, she would say: ‘Ah, well, then, it’s not for the ears of children…’ And I would wonder what were those things that were not for the ears of children.”

Some children’s writers — maybe because they worry about what is suitable for the ears of children — talk down to their readers. Not P. L.Travers. “Nobody writes for children really,” she’d say. “You’re writing to make yourself laugh, or yourself cry; if you write for children, you’ve lost them.” Her readers proved her right, and wrote to the author in their thousands, often asking the same questions: Where did Mary Poppins come from? Why did she go? and Where did she go?

From every point of the compass — and Mary Poppins knew all about compasses! — children would send their letters, carefully written in large, round writing, punctuating their demands for answers with words of praise and, occasionally, complaint. When, at the end of Mary Poppins Opens the Door, the heroine flew away for the third time, a boy (who wasn’t the world’s best speller) wrote mournfully: “You should not have done that, Madum, you have made the children cry.” Pamela treasured that letter, and replied: “I am not surprised. I cried myself, when I wrote it down.”

The only rule Pamela had about writing was that there were no set rules (единственное правило, которое было у Памелы насчет писательства — нет установленных правил). She wrote her stories (она писала свои рассказы/истории), she said (она говорила), “because they were there to be written (потому что они приходили сюда, чтобы их написали)”. The actual business of catching ideas and getting them on paper was a mysterious and lonely process (настоящее занятие добычи идей и нанесении их на бумагу было таинственным и уединенным процессом); and yet (и все же), as she would explain (как она объясняла), “you can do it anywhere, any time (ты можешь делать это где угодно, в любое время) — when you’re out at the shops buying a pound of butter (когда ты в магазине покупаешь фунт масла) — still it goes on (это все продолжается). Even if you forget your idea by the time you get home (даже если ты забыла свою мысль/идею к тому времени, как пришла домой), you wait a little (ты ждешь немного) and then it will come back if it wants to (а затем она вернется, если захочет).”