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Message de jord-z posté le 07-07-2011 à 19:49:26 (S | E | F)
Bonsoir à tous ,
Je passe demain l'oral d'anglais , Je connais tous mes textes sauf Un que je n'arrive pas a comprendre même avec l'aide d'un traducteur , Si quelqu'un pouvait me résumer l'intérêt et l'histoire du texte , ce serait génial ! Le voici :
Chuckie had been ashamed of his mother ever since he could remember. Shame was, perhaps, the wrong word. His mother provoked a constant low-level anxiety in him. Sometimes, he would comfort himself with thoughts of her incontrovertible mediocrity. She was just an archetypal working-class Protestant Belfast mother. After his father had left home and Chuckie was faced with the prospect of living with his mother, he decided simply to avoid her as best he could. And he did. There had been a decade's worth of agile avoidance. He couldn't remember when they had last had a conversation of more than a minute's duration. It was a miracle in a house as tiny as the one they shared. The sitting room, kitchen and bathroom were the flashpoints in this long campaign. She was always leaving little notes around the house. He would read these missives. Slat called at six. He'll meet you in the Crown. Your cousin's coming home at the weekend. He told her almost all the things he needed to tell her by telephone. Sometimes he would leave the house just so that he could find a phone box and call from there. Sometimes it felt like Rommel and Montgomery(1) in the desert. Sometimes it felt much worse than that. Caroline Causton looked up and saw him at his bedroom window. He did not flinch. "What are you up to, Chuckie?" quizzed Caroline. "Nice evening". Chuckie smiled. His mother, too, was looking at him now. She couldn't remember when she had last seen her son's face split with a smile of such warmth. "Are you all right, son?" "I was just listening to you talk", explained Chuckie gently. The two women exchanged looks. "It reminded me of when I was a kid," he went on. His voice was quiet. But it was an easy matter to talk thus on that dwarf street with their faces only a few feet from his own. "When I was a kid and you sent me to bed I would sit under the window and listen to you two talk just as you're talking now. When the Troubles started you did it every night. You'd stand and whisper about bombs and soldiers and what the Catholics would do. I could hear. I haven't been as happy since. I liked the Troubles. They were like television." As Chuckie's mother listened to those words, her face fell and fell again and, as Chuckie finished, she was speechless. She clutched her hand to her heart and staggered. "Shall I call him an ambulance?" asked Caroline. Chuckie laughed a healthy laugh and disappeared from the window. Caroline faced his mother. "Peggy, what's got into your boy?" But Peggy was thinking about what her son had said. She remembered that frightened time well but his memory seemed more vivid, more powerful than her own. She remembered soldiers on the television and on the streets. She remembered parts of her city she'd never seen being made suddenly famous. She remembered the men's big talk of resistance and of civil war, of finally wiping the Catholics off the cloth of the country. Chuckie remember-ed pressing his head against the wall underneath his bedroom window and the whispers of his mother and her friend. For the first time, she glimpsed how beautiful it might have been to him. Caroline was unmoved. "Is he on drugs
Aidez-moi s'il vous plait , c'est trés urgent; merci à vous !
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Modifié par lucile83 le 07-07-2011 20:07
Message de jord-z posté le 07-07-2011 à 19:49:26 (S | E | F)
Bonsoir à tous ,
Je passe demain l'oral d'anglais , Je connais tous mes textes sauf Un que je n'arrive pas a comprendre même avec l'aide d'un traducteur , Si quelqu'un pouvait me résumer l'intérêt et l'histoire du texte , ce serait génial ! Le voici :
Chuckie had been ashamed of his mother ever since he could remember. Shame was, perhaps, the wrong word. His mother provoked a constant low-level anxiety in him. Sometimes, he would comfort himself with thoughts of her incontrovertible mediocrity. She was just an archetypal working-class Protestant Belfast mother. After his father had left home and Chuckie was faced with the prospect of living with his mother, he decided simply to avoid her as best he could. And he did. There had been a decade's worth of agile avoidance. He couldn't remember when they had last had a conversation of more than a minute's duration. It was a miracle in a house as tiny as the one they shared. The sitting room, kitchen and bathroom were the flashpoints in this long campaign. She was always leaving little notes around the house. He would read these missives. Slat called at six. He'll meet you in the Crown. Your cousin's coming home at the weekend. He told her almost all the things he needed to tell her by telephone. Sometimes he would leave the house just so that he could find a phone box and call from there. Sometimes it felt like Rommel and Montgomery(1) in the desert. Sometimes it felt much worse than that. Caroline Causton looked up and saw him at his bedroom window. He did not flinch. "What are you up to, Chuckie?" quizzed Caroline. "Nice evening". Chuckie smiled. His mother, too, was looking at him now. She couldn't remember when she had last seen her son's face split with a smile of such warmth. "Are you all right, son?" "I was just listening to you talk", explained Chuckie gently. The two women exchanged looks. "It reminded me of when I was a kid," he went on. His voice was quiet. But it was an easy matter to talk thus on that dwarf street with their faces only a few feet from his own. "When I was a kid and you sent me to bed I would sit under the window and listen to you two talk just as you're talking now. When the Troubles started you did it every night. You'd stand and whisper about bombs and soldiers and what the Catholics would do. I could hear. I haven't been as happy since. I liked the Troubles. They were like television." As Chuckie's mother listened to those words, her face fell and fell again and, as Chuckie finished, she was speechless. She clutched her hand to her heart and staggered. "Shall I call him an ambulance?" asked Caroline. Chuckie laughed a healthy laugh and disappeared from the window. Caroline faced his mother. "Peggy, what's got into your boy?" But Peggy was thinking about what her son had said. She remembered that frightened time well but his memory seemed more vivid, more powerful than her own. She remembered soldiers on the television and on the streets. She remembered parts of her city she'd never seen being made suddenly famous. She remembered the men's big talk of resistance and of civil war, of finally wiping the Catholics off the cloth of the country. Chuckie remember-ed pressing his head against the wall underneath his bedroom window and the whispers of his mother and her friend. For the first time, she glimpsed how beautiful it might have been to him. Caroline was unmoved. "Is he on drugs
Aidez-moi s'il vous plait , c'est trés urgent; merci à vous !
-------------------
Modifié par lucile83 le 07-07-2011 20:07
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