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S.King a fait cado du 1er chapitre du 5ème tome de la "Tour Sombre" lors du réunion dans sa ville du Maine, en voici la traduction (dsl pour la traduction mais mon prog n´est po très perforumant) ainsi que quelques mots de King !

20/08/2001

Roland de Gilead - aussi connu comme le pistolero- a finalement surchargé en haut de nouveau. Cette fois j´espère appuyer(presser) sur à la même fin et publier les volumes restants tout en même temps. Cela signifie probablement trois livres, un d´entre eux assez court et un des autres deux tout à fait longtemps. Quant au temps il prendra pour les écrire ... bien, c´est ka, n´est-ce pas ? Tout que je sais(connais) est à coup sûr ce DT5 ne seront pas presque certainement appelé L´OMBRE RAMPANTE, comme précédemment annoncé ici (annoncée par moi, en fait, mais j´étais plus jeune alors). Si j´ai dû deviner, je dirais que la poussée à l´achèvement prendra deux ans, selon toutes les variables habituelles, comme la maladie, des accidents et - le plus effrayant de tout - un échec d´inspiration. La seule chose que je sais(connais) est à coup sûr que tous ces vieux mes amis sont aussi vivants qu´ils étaient jamais . Et comme dangereux.

Je poste "Calla Bryn Sturgis," le prologue à DT5, récompenser aux lecteurs de ces histoires, si seulement un peu, pour leur patience. Et dans ma propre défense, tout je peux dire est qu´il n´est jamais facile de trouver l´embrasure en arrière dans le monde de Roland.

Roland, Eddie, Susannah, Jake et Oy tout le désir vous bien.. Et comme les résidants de Calla pourraient dire, peut cela faire ya excellent, dire à Dieu thankee.

Salut Raziel.
C´est sympa d´avoir traduit cette partie mais ça a du te prendre du temps...
Quoi qu´il en soit , tu dois avoir un bon niveau d´anglais à moins que tu ais un programme spécialisé.
J´aimerais bien avoir la suite de la traduction si tu as le temps.
Merci d´avance.

J´ai lu la traduction et je suppose que tu as utilisé un programme-traducteur car ce dernier n´a pas tenu compte du contexte pour traduire les mots ; résultat : c´est de l´Araméen et on pige que dalle !!!
C´est quand même sympa d´avoir essayé.
A+.

je vais une traduc moi-même alors!
mais ça sera un peu plus long !

g le 1er chapitre en anglais !
si tu veux que je te l´envoie , laisse moi ton mail ou alors je peux le mettre ici !

Tu trouveras le prologue en englais sur le site officiel de King mais même avec un très bon niveau d´englais tu auras du mal à le traduire...

"Gee, ye bitch!" he cried. "Yon rock´s a plow-breaker, are ye blind?"
Not blind; not deaf, either; just stupid. Roont. She heaved to the left, and hard. Behind her, Tian stumbled forward with a neck-snapping jerk and barked his shin on another rock, one he hadn´t seen and the plow had, for a wonder, missed. As he felt the first warm trickles of blood running down to his ankle, he wondered (and not for the first time) what madness it was that always got the Jaffordses out here. In his deepest heart he had an idea that madrigal would sow no more than the porin had before it, although you could grow devil-grass; yep, he could have bloomed all twenty acres with that shit, had he wanted. The trick was to keep it out, and it was always New Earth´s first chore. It--
The plow rocked to the right and then jerked forward, almost pulling his arms out of their sockets. "Arr!" he cried. "Go easy, girl! I can´t grow em back if you pull em out, can I?"
Tia turned her broad, sweaty, empty face up to a sky full of low-hanging clouds and honked laughter. Man Jesus, but she even sounded like a donkey. Yet it was laughter, human laughter. Tian wondered, as he sometimes couldn´t help doing, if that laughter meant anything. Did she understand some of what he was saying, or did she only respond to his tone of voice? Did any of the roont ones--
"Good day, sai," said a loud and almost completely toneless voice from behind him. The owner of the voice ignored Tian´s scream of surprise. "Pleasant days, and may they be long upon the earth. I am here from a goodish wander and at your service."
Tian whirled around, saw Andy standing there--all twelve feet of him--and was then almost jerked flat as his sister took another of her lurching steps forward. The plow´s hame-traces were pulled from his hands and flew around his throat with an audible snap. Tia, unaware of this potential disaster, took another sturdy step forward. When she did, Tian´s wind was cut off. He gave a whooping, gagging gasp and clawed at the straps. All of this Andy watched with his usual large and meaningless smile.
Tia jerked forward again and Tian was pulled off his feet. He landed on a rock that dug savagely into the cleft of his buttocks, but at least he could breathe again. For the moment, anyway. Damned unlucky field! Always had been! Always would be!
Tian snatched hold of the leather strap before it could pull tight around his throat again and yelled, "Hold, ye bitch! Whoa up if you don´t want me to twist yer great and useless tits right off the front of yer!"
Tia halted agreeably enough and looked back to see what was what. Her smile broadened. She lifted one heavily muscled arm--it glowed with sweat--and pointed. "Andy!" she said. "Andy´s come!"
"I ain´t blind," Tian said and got to his feet, rubbing his bottom. Was that part of him also bleeding? He had an idea it was.
"Good day, sai," Andy said to her, and tapped his metal throat three times with his three metal fingers. "Long days and pleasant nights."
Although Tia had surely heard the standard response to this--And may you have twice the number--a thousand times or more, all she could do was once more raise her broad idiot´s face to the sky and utter her donkey laugh. Tian felt a surprising moment of pain, not in his arms or throat or outraged ass but in his heart. He vaguely remembered her as a little girl: as pretty and quick as a dragonfly, as smart as ever you could wish. Then--
But before he could finish the thought, a premonition came. Except that was too fine a word for it. In fact, it was time. Overtime. Yet he felt a sinking in his heart. The news would come while I´m out here, too, he thought. Out in this godforsaken patch where nothing is well and all luck is bad.
"Andy," he said.
"Yes!" Andy said, smiling. "Andy, your friend! Back from a goodish wander and at your service. Would you like your horoscope, sai Tian? It is Full Earth. The moon is red, what is called the Huntress Moon in Mid-World that was. A friend will call! Business affairs prosper! You will have two ideas, one good and one bad--"
"The bad one was coming out here to turn this field," Tian said. "Never mind my goddam horoscope, Andy. Why are you here?"
Andy´s smile probably could not become troubled--he was a robot, after all, the last one in Calla Bryn Sturgis or for miles and wheels around--but to Tian it seemed to grow troubled, just the same. The robot looked like a young child´s stick-figure of an adult, impossibly tall and impossibly thin. His legs and arms were silvery. His head was a stainless steel barrel with electric eyes. His body, no more than a cylinder seven feet high, was gold. Stamped in the middle--what would have been a man´s chest--was this legend:
NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS, LTD.
IN ASSOCIATION WITH LaMERK INDUSTRIES
PRESENTS

ANDY

Design: MESSENGER (Many Other Functions)
Serial # DNF 34821 V 63
Why or how this silly thing had survived when all the rest of the robots were gone--gone for generations--Tian neither knew nor cared. You were apt to see him anywhere in the Calla (he would not venture beyond its borders) striding on his impossibly long silver legs, looking everywhere, occasionally clicking to himself as he stored (or perhaps purged--who knew?) information. He sang songs, passed on gossip and rumor from one end of town to the other--a tireless walker was Andy the robot--and seemed to enjoy the giving of horoscopes above all things, although there was general agreement in the village that they meant little.
He had one other function, however, and that meant much.
"Why are ye here, ye bag of bolts and beams? Answer me! Is it the Wolves? Are they coming from Thunderclap?"
Tian stood there looking up into Andy´s stupid smiling metal face, the sweat growing cold on his skin, praying with all his might that the foolish thing would say no, then offer to tell his horoscope again, or perhaps to sing "The Green Corn A-Dayo," all twenty or thirty verses.
But all Andy said, still smiling, was: "Yes, sai."
"Christ and the Man Jesus," Tian said (he´d gotten an idea from the Old Fella that those were two names for the same thing, but had never bothered pursuing the question). "How long?"
"One moon of days before they arrive," Andy replied, still smiling.
"From full to full?"
"Yes, sai."

3
There would have been less grumbling if he´d given them at least one night´s notice, but Tian wouldn´t do that. One moon of days before they arrive, Andy had said, and that was all the horoscope Tian Jaffords needed. They didn´t have the luxury of even a single fallow night. And when he sent Heddon and Hedda with the feather, they did come. He´d known they would. It had been over twenty years since the Wolves last came calling to Calla Bryn Sturgis, and times had been good. If they were allowed to reap this time, the crop would be a large one.
The Calla´s Gathering Hall was an adobe at the end of the village high street, beyond Took´s General Store and cater-corner from the town pavillion, which was now dusty and dark with the end of summer. Soon enough the ladies of the town would begin decorating it for Reap, but they´d never made a lot of Reaping Night in the Calla. The children always enjoyed seeing the stuffy-guys thrown on the fire, of course, and the bolder fellows would steal their share of kisses as the night itself approached, but that was about it. Your fripperies and festivals might do for Mid-World and In-World, but this was neither. Out here they had more serious things to worry about than Reaping Day Fairs.
Things like the Wolves.
Some of the men--from the well-to-do farms to the east and the three ranches to the south--came on horses. Eisenhart of the Lazy B even brought his rifle and wore crisscrossed ammunition bandoliers. (Tian Jaffords doubted if the bullets were any good, or that the ancient rifle would fire even if some of them were.) A delegation of the Manni folk came crammed into a buckboard drawn by a pair of mutie geldings--one with three eyes, the other with a pylon of raw pink flesh poking out of its back. Most of the Calla´s menfolk came on donkeys and burros, dressed in their white pants and long colorful shirts. They knocked their dusty sombreros back on the tugstrings with callused thumbs as they stepped into the Gathering Hall, looking uneasily at each other. The benches were of plain pine. With no womenfolk and none of the roont ones, the men filled less than thirty of the ninety benches. There was some talk, but no laughter at all.
Tian stood out front with the feather now in his hands, watching the sun as it sank toward the horizon, its gold steadily deepening to a color that was like infected blood. When it touched the hills, he took one more look up the high street. It was empty except for three or four roont fellas sitting on the steps of Took´s. All of them huge and good for nothing more than yanking rocks out of the ground. He saw no more men, no more approaching donkeys. He took a deep breath, let it out, then drew in another and looked up at the deepening sky.
"Man Jesus, I don´t believe in you," he said. "But if you´re there, help me now. Tell God thankee."
Then he went inside and closed the Gathering Hall doors a little harder than was strictly necessary. The talk stopped. A hundred and forty men, most of them farmers, watched him walk to the front of the hall, the wide legs of his white pants swishing, his shor´-boots clacking on the hardwood floor. He had expected to be terrified by this point, perhaps even to find himself speechless. He was a farmer, not a stage performer or a politician. Then he thought of his children, and when he looked up at the men, he found he had no trouble meeting their eyes. The feather in his hands did not tremble. When he spoke, his words followed each other easily, naturally, and coherently. They might not do as he hoped they would--Gran-pere might be right about that--but he saw they were willing enough to listen. And wasn´t that the necessary first step?
"You all know who I am," he said as he stood there with his hands clasped around the reddish feather´s ancient stalk. "Tian Jaffords, son of Alan Jaffords, husband of Zalia Hoonik that was. She and I have five, two pairs and a singleton."
Low murmurs at that, most probably having to do with how lucky Tian and Zalia were, how lucky with their Aaron. Tian waited for the voices to die away.
"I´ve lived in the Calla all my life. I´ve shared your khef and you have shared mine. Now hear what I say, I beg you."
"We say thankee-sai," they murmured. It was little more than a stock response, yet Tian was encouraged.
"The Wolves are coming," he said. "I have this news from Andy. Thirty days from moon to moon and then they´re here."
More low murmurs. Tian heard dismay and outrage, but no surprise. When it came to spreading news, Andy was extremely efficient.
"Even those of us who can read and write a little have almost no paper to write on," Tian said, "so I cannot tell ye with any real certainty when last they came. There are no records, ye ken, just one mouth to another. I know I was well-breeched, so it´s longer than twenty years--"
"It´s twenty-four," said a voice in the back of the room.
"Nay, twenty-three," said a voice closer to the front, and Reuben Caverra stood up. He was a plump man with a round, cheerful face. The cheer was gone from it now, however, and it showed only distress. "They took Ruth, my sissy: hear me, I beg."
A murmur--really no more than a vocalized sigh of agreement--came from the men sitting crammed together on the benches. They could have spread out, but had chosen shoulder-to-shoulder instead. Sometimes there was comfort in discomfort, Tian reckoned.
Reuben said, "We were playing under the big pine in the front yard when they came. I made a mark on that tree each year after. Even after they brung her back, I went on with em. It´s twenty-three marks and twenty-three years." With that he sat down.
"Twenty-three or twenty-four, makes no difference," Tian said. "Those who were babbies--or kiddies--when the Wolves came last time have grown up since and had kiddies of their own. There´s a fine crop here for those bastards. A fine crop of children." He paused, giving them a chance to think of the next idea for themselves before speaking it aloud. "If we let it happen," he said at last. "If we let the Wolves take our children into Thunderclap and then send them back to us roont."
"What the hell else can we do?" cried a man sitting on one of the middle benches. "They´s not human!" At this there was a general (and miserable) mumble of agreement.
One of the Manni stood up, pulling his dark blue cloak tight against his bony shoulders. He looked around at the others with baleful eyes. They weren´t mad, those eyes, but to Tian they looked a long league from reasonable. "Hear me, I beg," he said.

"Wayne Overholser is a smart man and a successful man," Tian said, "and I hate to speak against his position for those reasons. And for another, as well: he´s old enough to be my Da´."
"´Ware he ain´t your Da´," Garrett Strong´s only farmhand--Rossiter, his name was--called out, and there was general laughter. Even Overholser smiled at this jest.
"Son, if ye truly hate to speak agin me, don´t ye do it," he said. He continued to smile, but only with his mouth.
"I must, though," Tian said. He began to walk slowly back and forth in front of the benches. In his hands, the rusty-red plume of the opopanax feather swayed. Tian raised his voice slightly so they´d understand he was no longer speaking just to Overholser.
"I must because sai Overholser is old enough to be my Da´. His children are grown, ye ken, and so far as I know there were only two to begin with, one girl and one boy." He paused, then shot the killer. "Born two years apart." Both singletons, in other words. Both safe from the Wolves. The crowd murmured.
Overholser flushed a bright and dangerous red. "That´s a rotten goddamned thing to say! My get has nothing to do with this whether single or double! Give me that feather, Jaffords. I got a few things to say."
But the boots began to thump down on the boards, slowly at first, then picking up speed until they rattled like hail. Overholser looked around angrily, now so red he was nearly purple.
"I´d speak!" he shouted. "Would´ee not hear me, I beg?"
Cries of No, no and Not now and Jaffords has the feather and Sit and listen came in response. Tian had an idea sai Overholser was learning--and remarkably late in the game--that there was often a deep-running resentment of a village´s richest and most successful. Those less fortunate or less canny might tug their hats off when the rich folk passed in their buckboards or lowcoaches, they might send thank-you delegations when the rich folk loaned their hired hands to help with a house- or barn-raising, the well-to-do might be cheered at Year End Gathering for helping to buy the piano that now sat in the pavillion´s musica. Yet the men of the Calla tromped their shor´-boots to drown Overholser out with a certain savage satisfaction. Even those who undoubtedly supported what he´d said (Neil Faraday, for one) were tromping hard enough to break a sweat.
Overholser, unused to being balked in such a way--flabbergasted, in fact--tried one more time. "I´d have the feather, do ye, I beg!"
"No," Tian said. "In your time, but not now."
There were actual cheers at this, mostly from the smallest of the smallhold farmers and some of their hands. The Manni did not join in. They were now drawn so tightly together that they looked like a dark blue inkstain in the middle of the hall. They were clearly bewildered by this turn. Vaughn Eisenhart and Diego Adams, meanwhile, moved to flank Overholser and speak low to him.
You´ve got a chance, Tian thought. Better make the most of it.
He raised the feather and they quieted.
"Everyone will have a chance to speak," he said. "As for me, I say this: we can´t go on this way, simply bowing our necks and standing quiet when the Wolves come and take our children. They--"
"They always return them," a hand named Farren Posella said timidly.
"They return husks!" Tian cried, and there were a few cries of Hear him. Not enough, however, Tian judged. Not enough by far. Not yet. The bulk of his work was yet to do.
He lowered his voice again--he did not want to harangue them. Overholser had tried that and gotten nowhere, a thousand acres or not.
"They return husks. And what of us? What is this doing to us? Some might say nothing, that the Wolves have always been a part of our life in Calla Bryn Sturgis, like the occasional cyclone or earthshake. Yet that is not true. They´ve been coming for six generations, at most. But the Calla´s been here a thousand years and more."
The old Manni with the bony shoulders and baleful eyes half-rose. "He says true, folken. There were farmers here--and Manni-folk among em--when the darkness in Thunderclap hadn´t yet come, let alone the Wolves."
They received this with looks of wonder. Their awe seemed to satisfy the old man, who nodded and sat back down.
"So the Wolves are almost a new thing," Tian said. "Six times have they come over mayhap a hundred and twenty or a hundred and forty years. Who can say? For as ye ken, time has softened, somehow."
A low rumble. A few nods.
"In any case, once a generation," Tian went on. He was aware that a hostile contingent was coalescing around Overholser, Eisenhart, and Adams. These men he would not move even if he were gifted with the tongue of an angel. Well, he could do without them, maybe. If he caught the rest. "Once a generation they come, and how many children do they take? Twelve? Eighteen? Maybe as many as thirty?
"Sai Overholser may not have babbies this time, but I do--not one set of twins but two. Heddon and Hedda, Lyman and Lia. I love all four, but in a month of days, two of them will be taken away. And when those two come back, they´ll be roont. Whatever spark there is that makes a complete human being, it´ll be out forever."
Hear him, hear him swept through the room like a sigh.
"How many of you have twins with no hair except that which grows on their heads?" Tian demanded. "Raise yer hands!"
Six men raised their hands. Then eight. A dozen. Every time Tian began to think they were done, another reluctant hand went up. In the end, he counted twenty-two hands. He could see that Overholser was dismayed by such a large count. Diego Adams had his hand raised, and Tian was pleased to see he´d moved away a little bit from Overholser and Eisenhart. Three of the Manni had their hands up. Jorge Estrada. Louis Haycox. Many others he knew, which was not surprising, really; he knew these men. Probably all of them except for a few wandering fellows working smallhold farms for short wages and hot dinners.
"Each time they come and take our children, they take a little more of of our hearts and our souls," Tian said.
"Oh come on, now, son," Eisenhart said. "That´s laying it on a bit th--"
"Shut up, Rancher," a voice said. It was shocking in its anger and contempt. "He´s got the feather. Let him speak out to the end."
Eisenhart whirled around, as if to mark who had spoken to him so. Only bland faces looked back.
"Thankee sai," Tian said evenly. "I´ve almost come to the end. I keep thinking of trees. Strong trees. You can strip the leaves of a strong tree and it will live. Cut its bark with many names and it will live to grow its skin over them again. You can even take from the heartwood and it will live. But if you take of the heartwood again and again and again, year after year, there will come a time when even the strongest tree must die. I´ve seen it happen on my farm, and it´s an ugly thing. They die from the inside out. You can see it in the leaves as they turn yellow from the trunk to the tips of the branches. And that´s what the Wolves are doing to this little village of ours. What they´re doing to our Calla."
"Hear him!" cried Freddy Rosario from the next farm over. "Hear him very well!" Freddy had twins of his own, although they were still on the tit and so probably safe.
"You say that if we stand and fight, they´ll kill us all and burn the Calla from west-border to east."
"Yes," Overholser said. "So I do say. Nor am I the only one." And from all around him came rumbles of agreement.
"Yet each time we simply stand by with our heads lowered and our hands open while the Wolves take what´s dearer to us than any crop or house or barn, they scoop a little more of the heart´s wood from the tree that is this village!" Tian spoke strongly, now standing still with the feather raised high in one hand. "If we don´t stand and fight soon, we´ll be dead, anyway! This is what I say, Tian Jaffords, son of Alan! If we don´t stand and fight soon, we´ll be roont ourselves!"
Loud cries of Hear him! Exuberant stomping of shor´-boots. Even some applause.
George Telford, another rancher, whispered briefly to Eisenhart and Overholser. They listened, then nodded. Telford rose. He was silver-haired, tanned, and handsome in the weatherbeaten way women seemed to like.
"Had your say, son?" he asked kindly, as one might ask a child if he had played enough for one afternoon and was ready for his nap.
"Yar, reckon," Tian said. He suddenly felt dispirited. Telford wasn´t a rancher on a scale with Vaughn Eisenhart, but he had a silver tongue. Tian had an idea he was going to lose this, after all.
"May I have the feather, then?"

pfffffffffffffffff
fini !
dsl mais je retrouve plus l´adresse du site !
je sais que c un site perso agréé par auters.net mais je me rappelle plus lequel !