2015年韩素音翻译大赛原文

2015年韩素音翻译大赛原文
2015年韩素音翻译大赛原文

2015年韩素音翻译大赛原文

中国译协《中国翻译》编辑部、中国外文局翻译专业资格考评中心、宁波大学联合举办“CATTI 杯”第二十七届韩素音青年翻译奖竞赛

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中国译协《中国翻译》编辑部、中国外文局翻译专业资格考评中心、宁波大学联合举办的“CATTI杯”第二十七届韩素音青年翻译奖竞赛已正式启动,欢迎海内外广大翻译工作者和翻译爱好者参赛。具体参赛规则如下:

本届竞赛分别设立英译汉和汉译英两个奖项,参赛者可任选一项或同时参加两项竞赛。

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参赛者年龄:45岁以下(1970年1月1日后出生)。

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“CATTI杯”第二十七届韩素音青年翻译奖竞赛评审委员会

“CATTI杯”第二十七届韩素音青年翻译奖竞赛

英译汉竞赛原文:

The Posteverything Generation

I never expected to gain any new insight into the nature of my generation, or the changing landscape of American colleges, in Lit Theory. Lit Theory is supposed to be the class where you sit at the back of the room with every other jaded sophomore wearing skinny jeans, thick-framed glasses, an ironic tee-shirt and over-sized retro headphones, just waiting for lecture to be over so

you can light up a Turkish Gold and walk to lunch while listening to Wilco. That’s pretty much the way I spent the course, too: through structuralism, formalism, gender theory, and post-colonialism, I was far too busy shuffling through my Ipod to see what the patriarchal world order of capitalist oppression had to do with Ethan Frome. But when we began to study postmodernism, something struck a chord with me and made me sit up and look anew at the seemingly blasé college-aged literati of which I was so self-consciously one.

According to my textbook, the problem with defini ng postmodernism is that it’s impossible. The difficulty is that it is so...post. It defines itself so negatively against what came before it –naturalism, romanticism and the wild revolution of modernism –that it’s sometimes hard to see what it actually is. It denies that anything can be explained neatly or even at all. It is parodic, detached, strange, and sometimes menacing to traditionalists who do not understand it. Although it arose in the post-war west (the term was coined in 1949), the generation that has witnessed its ascendance has yet to come up with an explanation of what postmodern attitudes mean for the future of culture or society. The subject intrigued me because, in a class otherwise consumed by dead-letter theories, postmodernism remained an open book, tempting to the young and curious. But it also intrigued me because the question of what postmodernism – what a movement so post-everything, so reticent to define itself – is spoke to a larger question about the political and popular culture of today, of the other jaded sophomores sitting around me who had grown up in a postmodern world.

In many ways, as a college-aged generation, we are also extremely post: post-Cold War, post-industrial, post-baby boom, post-9/11...at one point in his famou s essay, “Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism,” literary critic Frederic Jameson even calls us “pose-literate.” We are a generation that is riding on the tail-end of a century of war and revolution that toppled civilizations, overturned repressive social orders, and left us with more privilege and opportunity than any other society in history. Ours could be an era to accomplish anything.

And yet do we take to the streets and the airwaves and say “here we are, and this is what we demand”? Do we plant our flag of youthful rebellion on the mall in Washington and say “we are not leaving until we see change! Our eyes have been opened by our education and our conception of what is possible has been expanded by our privilege and we demand a better world because it is our right”? It would seem we do the opposite. We go to war without so much as questioning the rationale, we sign away our civil liberties, we say nothing when the Supreme Court uses Brown v. Board of Education to outlaw desegregation, and we sit back to watch the carnage on the evening news.

On campus, we sign petitions, join organizations, put our names on mailing lists, make small-money contributions, volunteer a spare hour to tutor, and sport an entire wardrobe’s worth of Live Strong bracelets advertising our moderately priced opposition to everything from breast cancer to global warming. But what do we really stand for? Like a true postmodern generation we refuse to weave together an overarching narrative to our own political consciousness, to present a cast of inspirational or revolutionary characters on our public stage, or to define a specific philosophy. We are a story seemingly without direction or theme, structure or meaning –

a generation defined negatively against what cam e before us. When Al Gore once said “It’s the combination of narcissism and nihilism that really defines postmodernism,” he might as well have been echoing his entire generation’s critique of our own. We are a generation for whom even revolution seems trite, and therefore as fair a target for bland imitation as anything else. We are the generation of the Che Geuvera tee-shirt.

Jameson calls it “Pastiche” –“the wearing of a linguistic mask, speech in a dead language.” In literature, this means an author speaking in a style that is not his own – borrowing a voice and continuing to use it until the words lose all meaning and the chaos that is real life sets in. It is an imitation of an imitation, something that has been re-envisioned so many times the original model is no longer relevant or recognizable. It is mass-produced individualism, anticipated revolution. It is why postmodernism lacks cohesion, why it seems to lack purpose or direction. For us, the post-everything generation, pastiche is the use and reuse of the old clichés of social change and moral outrage –a perfunctory rebelliousness that has culminated in the age of rapidly multiplying non-profits and relief funds. We live our lives in masks and speak our minds in a dead language – the language of a society that expects us to agitate because that’s what young people do. But how do we rebel against a generation that is expecting, anticipating, nostalgic for revolution?

How do we rebel against parents that sometimes seem to want revolution more than we do? We do n’t. We rebel by not rebelling. We wear the defunct masks of protest and moral outrage, but the real energy in campus activism is on the internet, with websites like https://www.360docs.net/doc/c48840216.html,. It is in the rapidly developing ability to communicate ideas and frustration in chatrooms instead of on the streets, and channel them into nationwide projects striving earnestly for moderate and peaceful change: we are the generation of Students Taking Action Now Darfur; we are the Rock the Vote generation; the generation of letter-writing campaigns and public interest lobbies; the alternative energy generation.

College as America once knew it – as an incubator of radical social change – is coming to an end. To our generation the word “radicalism” evokes images of al Qaeda, not the Weathermen. “Campus takeover” sounds more like Virginia Tech in 2007 than Columbia University in 1968. Such phrases are a dead language to us. They are vocabulary from another era that does not reflect the realities of today. However, the technological revolution, the https://www.360docs.net/doc/c48840216.html, revolution, the revolution of the organization kid, is just as real and just as profound as the revolution of the 1960’s – it is just not as visible. It is a work in progress, but it is there. Perhaps when our parents finally stop pointing out the things that we are not, the stories that we do not write, they will see the threads of our narrative begin to come together; they will see that behind our pastiche, the post generation speaks in a language that does make sense. We are writing a revolution. We are just putting it in our own words.

韩素音翻译大赛原文

Irritability is the tendency to get upset for reasons that seem – to other people – to be pretty minor. Your partner asks you how work went and the way they ask makes you feel intensely agitated. Your partner is putting knives and forks on the table before dinner and you mention (not for the first time) that the fork should go on the left hand side, not the right. They then immediately let out a huge sigh and sweep the cutlery onto the floor and tell you that you can xxxx-ing do it yourself if you know better. It was the most minor of criticisms and technically quite correct. And now they’ve exploded. There is so much irritability around and it exacts a huge daily cost on our collective lives, so we deserve to get a lot more curious about it: what is really going on for the irritable person? Why, really, are they getting so agitated? And instead of blaming them for getting het up about “little things”, we should do them the honour of working out why, in fact, these things may not be so minor after all.

韩素英翻译比赛原文

参赛原文: 英译汉原文 Hidden Within Technology’s Empire, a Republic of Letters When I was a boy “discovering literature”, I used to think how wonderful it would be if every other person on the street were familiar with Proust and Joyce or T. E. Lawrence or Pasternak and Kafka. Later I learned how refractory to high culture the democratic masses were. Lincoln as a young frontiersman read Plutarch, Shakespeare and the Bible. But then he was Lincoln. Later when I was traveling in the Midwest by car, bus and train, I regularly visited small-town libraries and found that readers in Keokuk, Iowa, or Benton Harbor, Mich., were checking out Proust and Joyce and even Svevo and Andrei Biely. D. H. Lawrence was also a favorite. And sometimes I remembered that God was willing to spare Sodom for the sake of 10 of the righteous. Not that Keokuk was anything like wicked Sodom, or that Proust?s Charlus would have been tempted to settle in Benton Harbor, Mich. I seem to have had a persistent democratic desire to find evidences of high culture in the most unlikely places. For many decades now I have been a fiction writer, and from the first I was aware that mine was a questionable occupation. In the 1930?s an elderly neighbor in Chicago told me that he wrote fiction for the pulps. “The people on the block wonder why I don?t go to a job, and I?m seen puttering around, trimming the bushes or painting a fence instead of working in a factory. But I?m a writer. I sell to Argosy and Doc Savage,” he said with a certain gloom. “They wouldn?t call that a trade.” Probably he noticed that I was a bookish boy, likely to sympathize with him, and perhaps he was trying to warn me to avoid being unlike others. But it was too late for that. From the first, too, I had been warned that the novel was at the point of death, that like the walled city or the crossbow, it was a thing of the past. And no one likes to be at odds with history. Oswald Spengler, one of the most widely read authors of the early 30?s, taught that our tired old civilization was ve ry nearly finished. His advice to the young was to avoid literature and the arts and to embrace mechanization and become engineers.

2015年韩素音翻译大赛翻译原文

The Posteverything Generation I never expected to gain any new insight into the nature of my generation, or the changing landscape of American colleges, in Lit Theory. Lit Theory is supposed to be the class where you sit at the back of the room with every other jaded sophomore wearing skinny jeans, thick-framed glasses, an ironic tee-shirt and over-sized retro headphones, just waiting for lecture to be over so you can light up a Turkish Gold and walk to lunch while listening to Wilco. That’s pretty much the way I spent the course, too: through structuralism, formalism, gender theory, and post-colonialism, I was far too busy shuffling through my Ipod to see what the patriarchal world order of capitalist oppression had to do with Ethan Frome. But when we began to study postmodernism, something struck a chord with me and made me sit up and look anew at the seemingly blasé college-aged literati of which I was so self-consciously one. According to my textbook, the problem with defining postmodernism is that it’s i mpossible. The difficulty is that it is so...post. It defines itself so negatively against what came before it –naturalism, romanticism and the wild revolution of modernism –that it’s sometimes hard to see what it actually is. It denies that anything can be explained neatly or even at all. It is parodic, detached, strange, and sometimes menacing to traditionalists who do not understand it. Although it arose in the post-war west (the term was coined in 1949), the generation that has witnessed its ascendance has yet to come up with an explanation of what postmodern attitudes mean for the future of culture or society. The subject intrigued me because, in a class otherwise consumed by dead-letter theories, postmodernism remained an open book, tempting to the young and curious. But it also intrigued me because the question of what postmodernism –what a movement so post-everything, so reticent to define itself – is spoke to a larger question about the political and

二十二届韩素音翻译大赛汉译英优秀译文

汉译英原文: 居在巷陌的寻常幸福 隐逸的生活似乎在传统意识中一直被认为是幸福的至高境界。但这种孤傲遁世同时也是孤独的,纯粹的隐者实属少数,而少数者的满足不能用来解读普世的幸福模样。 有道是小隐隐于野,大隐隐于市。真正的幸福并不隐逸,可以在街市而不是丛林中去寻找。 晨光,透过古色古香的雕花窗棂,给庭院里精致的盆景慢慢地化上一抹金黄的淡妆。那煎鸡蛋的“刺啦”声袅袅升起,空气中开始充斥着稚嫩的童音、汽车 启动的节奏、夫妻间甜蜜的道别,还有邻居们简单朴素的问好。巷陌中的这一切,忙碌却不混乱,活泼却不嘈杂,平淡却不厌烦。 巷尾的绿地虽然没有山野的苍翠欲滴,但是空气中弥漫着荒野中所没有的 生机。微黄的路灯下,每一张长椅都写着不同的心情,甜蜜与快乐、悲伤与喜悦,交织在一起,在静谧中缓缓发酵。谁也不会知道在下一个转角中会是怎样的惊喜,会是一家风格独特食客不断的小吃店?是一家放着爵士乐的酒吧?还是一家摆着高脚木凳、连空气都闲散的小小咖啡馆?坐在户外撑着遮阳伞的木椅上, 和新认识的朋友一边喝茶,一边谈着自己小小的生活,或许也是一种惬意。 一切,被时间打磨,被时间沉淀,终于形成了一种习惯,一种默契,一种文化。 和来家中做客的邻居朋友用同一种腔调巧妙地笑谑着身边的琐事,大家眯起的眼睛都默契地着同一种狡黠;和家人一起围在饭桌前,衔满食物的嘴还发着 含糊的声音,有些聒噪,但没人厌烦。 小巷虽然狭窄,却拉不住快乐蔓延的速度…… 随着城市里那些密集而冰冷的高楼大厦拔地而起,在拥堵的车流中,在污 浊的空气里,人们的幸福正在一点点地破碎,飘零。大家住得越来越宽敞,越来越私密。自我,也被划进一个单独的空间里,小心地不去触碰别人的心灵,也 不容许他人轻易介入。可是,一个人安静下来时会觉得,曾经厌烦的那些嘈杂回想起来很温情很怀念。 比起高楼耸立的曼哈顿,人们更加喜欢佛罗伦萨红色穹顶下被阳光淹没的古老巷道;比起在夜晚光辉璀璨的陆家嘴,人们会更喜欢充满孩子们打闹嬉笑的万航渡路。就算已苍然老去,支撑起梦境的应该是老房子暗灰的安详,吴侬软语的叫卖声,那一方氤氲过温馨和回忆的小弄堂。 如果用一双细腻的眼眸去观照,其实每一片青苔和爬山虎占据的墙角,是 墨绿色的诗篇,不会飘逸,不会豪放,只是那种平淡的幸福,简简单单。 幸福是什么模样,或许并不难回答。幸福就是一本摊开的诗篇,关于在城市的天空下,那些寻常巷陌的诗。 夜幕笼罩,那散落一地的万家灯火中,有多少寻常的幸福正蜗居在巷陌……

韩素音青年翻译奖

On Irritability Irritability is the tendency to get upset for reasons that seem – to other people – to be pretty minor. Your partner asks you how work went and the way they ask makes you feel intensely agitated. Your partner is putting knives and forks on the table before dinner and you mention (not for the first time) that the fork should go on the left hand side, not the right. They then immediately let out a huge sigh and sweep the cutlery onto the floor and tell you that you can xxxx-ing do it yourself if you know better. It was the most minor of criticisms and technically quite correct. And now they’ve exploded. There is so much irritability around and it exacts a huge daily cost on our collective lives, so we deserve to get a lot more curious about it: what is really going on for the irritable person? Why, really, are they getting so agitated? And instead of blaming them for getting het up about “little things”, we should do them the honour of working out why, in fact, these things may not be so minor after all. The journey begins by recognising the role of fear in irritability in couples. Behind most outbursts are cack-handed attempts to teach the other person something. There are things we’d like to point out, flaws that we can discern, remarks w e feel we really must make, but our awareness of how to proceed is panicked and hasty. We give cack-handed, mean speeches, which bear no faith in the legitimacy (even the nobility) of the act of imparting advice. And when our partners are on the receiving end of these irritable “lessons”, they of course swiftly grow defensive and brittle in the face of suggestions which seem more like mean-minded and senseless assaults on their very natures rather than caring, gentle attempts to address troublesome aspects of joint life. The prerequisite of calm in a teacher is a degree of indifference as to the success or failure of the lesson. One naturally wants for things to go well, but if an obdurate pupil flunks trigonometry, it is – at base – their problem. Tempers can stay even because individual students do not have very much power over teachers’ lives. Fortunately, as not caring too much turns out to be a critical aspect of successful pedagogy. Yet this isn’t an option open to the fearful, irritable lover. They feel ineluctably led to deliver their “lessons” in a cataclysmic, frenzied manner (the door slams very loudly indeed) not because they are insane or vile (though one could easily draw these

“CATTI杯”第二十七届韩素音青年翻译奖竞赛原文

“CATTI杯”第二十七届韩素音青年翻译奖竞赛 英译汉竞赛原文: The Posteverything Generation I never expected to gain any new insight into the nature of my generation, or the changing landscape of American colleges, in Lit Theory. Lit Theory is supposed to be the class where you sit at the back of the room with every other jaded sophomore wearing skinny jeans, thick-framed glasses, an ironic tee-shirt and over-sized retro headphones, just waiting for lecture to be over so you can light up a Turkish Gold and walk to lunch while listening to Wilco. That’s pretty much the way I spent the course, too: through structuralism, formalism, gender theory, and post-colonialism, I was far too busy shuffling through my Ipod to see what the patriarchal world order of capitalist oppression had to do with Ethan Frome. But when we began to study postmodernism, something struck a chord with me and made me sit up and look anew at the seemingly blasécollege-aged literati of which I was so self-consciously one. According to my textbook, the problem with defining postmodernism is that it’s impossible. The difficulty is that it is so...post. It defines itself so negatively against what came before it – naturalism, romanticism and the wild revolution of modernism – that it’s sometimes hard to see what it actually is. It denies that anything can be explained neatly or even at all. It is parodic, detached, strange, and sometimes menacing to traditionalists who do not understand it. Although it arose in the post-war west (the term was coined in 1949), the generation that has witnessed its ascendance has yet to come up with an explanation of what postmodern attitudes mean for the future of culture or society. The subject intrigued me because, in a class otherwise consumed by dead-letter theories, postmodernism remained an open book, tempting to the young and curious. But it also intrigued me because the question of what postmodernism – what a movement so post-everything, so reticent to define itself – is spoke to a larger question about the political and popular culture of today, of the other jaded sophomores sitting around me who had grown up in a postmodern world. In many ways, as a college-aged generation, we are also extremely post: post-Cold War, post-industrial, post-baby boom, post-9/11...at one point in his famous essay, “Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism,” literary critic Frederic Jameson even calls us “post-literate.” We are a generation that is riding on the tail-end of a century of war and revolution that toppled civilizations, overturned repressive social orders, and left us with more privilege and opportunity than any other society in history. Ours could be an era to accomplish anything. And yet do we take to the streets and the airwaves and say “here we are, and this is what we demand”? Do we plant our flag of youthful rebellion on the mall in Washington and say “we are not leaving until we see change! Our eyes have been opened by our education and our conception of what is possible has been expanded by our privilege and we demand a better world because it is our right”? It would seem we do the opposite. We go to war without so much as questioning the rationale, we sign away our civil liberties, we say nothing when the Supreme Court uses Brown v. Board of Education to outlaw desegregation, and we sit back to watch the carnage on the evening news. On campus, we sign petitions, join organizations, put our names on mailing lists, make small-money contributions, volunteer a spare hour to tutor, and sport an entire wardrobe’s worth of Live Strong bracelets advertising our moderately priced opposition to everything from breast cancer to global warming. But what do we really stand for? Like a true postmodern generation we refuse to weave together an overarching narrative to our own political consciousness, to present a cast of inspirational or revolutionary characters on our public stage, or to define a specific philosophy. We are a story seemingly without direction or theme, structure or meaning – a generation defined negatively against what came before us. When Al Gore once said “It’s the combination of narcissism and nihilism that really defines postmodernism,” he might as well have been echoing his entire generation’s critique of our own. We are a generation for whom even revolution seems trite, and therefore as fair a target for bland imitation as anything else. We are the generation of the Che Geuvera tee-shirt.

第24届韩素英翻译大赛译文

重思建筑暂时性 我们往往认为建筑是永恒的,是对纪念碑地位的渴求。那种建筑有它的地位, 不同种类的建筑也同样如此。 对于21世纪的头十年大部分时间来说, 建筑是关于大楼的声明。建筑无论是一个有争议的纪念,还是一个豪华得不可思议的公寓大楼,其存在的原因就是创造一个永久的印象。建筑一直是永恒的代名词,但事实上它应该是这样的吗? 在过去的几年里,相反的观点可能是真的。建筑正处于完全的至低点,主要依据稀少而遥不可及。能引起新闻的建筑是快速而飞逝的的: 弹出式商店,食品车,市场,表演空间。虽然许多风格的表现形式已经失去了吸引力(如,一个玩具反斗城弹出店),目前有一个不可否认的机会:这是对不断变迁文明的恰当反应。 和许多流行趋势一样----共同消费(又名,“共享”),社区花园,易货贸易-“临时”是如此的复古以至于变得激进了。 在11月,我有幸和利物浦大学的一名研究便携式临时移动建筑的大师-----Robert Brandenburg 见面,他主持了Moonie . Moonie是南加利福尼亚建筑大学的一个专门小组. 作者的一个搁架上放满了关于建筑这个话题的书籍,包括“灵活:架构,响应变化”、“便携式架构:设计和技术”和“房屋的议案:“创世纪”Brandenburg痴迷于此。 也许所有的建筑不应追求永恒的构思,是建筑的一个巨大的转变。没有负担,建筑师,设计师,建筑商和开发商可以更快地利用当今的技术。建筑可以重复使用,回收和可持续。以这种方式转变,它能更好地解决看似不可解决的问题,还成功地创造一种地方感。 在他的报告中,Brandenburg提供了便携式的临时建筑如何应用于人类活动的各个方面的例子,包括卫生保健(从弗洛伦斯·南丁格尔的重新设计的医院,到在甘乃迪政府期间,作为移动医疗诊所的气流拖车),住房(从蒙古包帐篷建筑师坂茂的震后纸屋),文化和商业(布景和伟大的展览建筑,塞纳河边古老的Burinists,移动食品,提供一切的从故事记录到美味的cryème brutes的艺术和音乐场馆。) Brandenburg做了一个令人信服的论证,实验所固有的这种结构挑战先入为主的观念,即建筑物可以而且应该是什么。策略性,他解释说,“适应不可预测的要求,提供更多的不足,并鼓励创新。”他强调,它的时间为最终用户,设计师,建筑师和建筑公司,制造商重新考虑他们对待临时,便携和移动结构的态度。 这对于建筑是真正的发展和城市规划。城市建构应该在像丹尼尔伯翰或罗伯特,摩西的大师规划者的桌子上的一起发生,但真的不是像发生在今天的那种方式。没有一个单一的计划可以预见因为日益多样化的人口或通过短期的,实验的努力可以实现的弹性,反应能力和灵活性的演变和多样化的需求。这并不是说长期规划没有它的作用。这两项工作同时并进地开展得很好。麦克林登,主要的街道计划协会创始人,认为注射自发性纳入城市发展,并认为这些作为短期的行动临时措施(他所称的“战术城市主义”)影响长期的变化。 虽然已经有了巨大的媒体重视快速和廉价的项目如旧金山和纽约的“路面排水沟的咖啡馆,”莱登看到的东西比饲料板块风格大。“很多事情不仅仅是乐趣和凉爽,”他说。“这不仅仅是一个自下而上的努力。这不是自己动手的城市主义。这是一个被雇用的所有不同的尺度的,连续的想法,技术和战术。” “我们看到许多这些事情出现的原因有三个,”莱登继续。“一,经济。人们更富有创造性,做事。二,互联网。四或五年前,我们无法通过YouTube或脸谱网分享策略和技巧,。有些事可能会在随即发生,现在我们可以听到它了。这是在促进这个想法的生长,约克郡和旧金山的双向沿海的竞争说明谁是凉的,更好的东西。三,人口变化。城市社区的温和化和改变。

评第十三届韩素音翻译奖英译汉参考译文

评第十三届“韩素音青年翻译奖”英译汉参考译文朱志瑜(香港理工大学中文及双语系) 近年中国翻译研究发展很快,但翻译批评始终落后。理论界早就注意到了这一点,但到目前为止,对翻译批评却还是说得多做得少。其中原因是多方面的。要批评就要将原文、译文从头至尾或者至少将重要章节对照一遍,费时费力;批评写出来,可能牵涉到译者和译文出版者的利益(如译者声誉、译文销量等),学报是否支持发表,译文出版者是否欢迎──几年前听说过译文出版者打电话给学报编辑阻止评论发表的事情──这些都是在撰写批评之前需要慎重考虑的,否则费力不讨好,说得严重点,可能影响到评者的人际关系以至声誉。这本不是健康学术的表现,但在中国这个大的学术环境之下,批评始终难以开展确实是个事实。翻译批评的落后不但是中国翻译学科不成熟的反映,而且还会阻碍学科的发展。 本文仅就第十三届“韩素音青年翻译奖”英译汉“参考译文”(以下简称“译文”)和评者在“译文评析”(简称“评析”)中对参赛译文的评述提出一些看法,也算是一种翻译批评,希望对青年翻译家、学者能有所帮助。两篇文章都载于《中国翻译》2001年第一期。今年十月在广州开会的时候,我也顺便征求了广外部分参与奖项评议的同事的意见,回来又做了些修改,写成了这篇文章。我首先要指出的是,“译文”经过认真的研究、讨论,是了一篇相当优秀的译文;“评析”也指出了一些粗心的译者常犯的错误和应该注意的问题。“译文”和“评析”虽然有值得讨论的地方,但瑕不掩瑜,这恰恰说明了“译无止境”这个道理。我这里只是抱着精益求精、共同提高的态度,对评委的“评析”和“译文”提出一些意见。还有一点要指出的是,没有不犯错误的翻译家;尤其是比赛参考译文,一旦刊出,几万只眼睛挑毛病,实在不容易讨好;但是指出别人的翻译错误却是很容易的一件事情。 原文是一篇散文,属于文学类型。根据功能主义的原则,原文为“表情类”(expressive)。“评析”提出的“字斟句酌、形义并重”的原则,是正确的翻译策略,即译文不仅要表达原文的内容,而且要反映原文为了表达这个内容所使用的修辞、句法等手段。“译文”基本上达到了这个要求。“字斟句酌、形义并重”这八个字也是我这篇短文所要提倡的翻译态度。这篇散文翻译起来不容易,难的倒不是语言问题,主要还是其中很多美国特有的文化内容,在一般工具书中不易找到,如: “C-2 zoning”,“guerrilla war”等等。如果评析人员能在报告中指出参考资料和查找方法,则对于参赛的学者、译者都会有更大的益处。 下面的讨论分两部分,先谈“译文”,然后分析“评析”中的几点问题;个别问题在两处同时出现,就放到“评析”部分讨论。“译文”和“评析”都不长,我就不注出页数了。 一)参考译文 1、词汇 “译文”有的地方选词不够准确,不排除有理解上的误差。 原文第一段有这样一句话: 原文:We live in dusty houses (“D-U-S-T”, he once wrote with his finger on surface s all over the house).译文:我们住在灰蒙蒙的屋子里。

第二十六届“第二十六届“韩素音青年翻译奖”竞赛”竞赛原文

第二十六届“韩素音青年翻译奖”竞赛原文 英译汉竞赛原文: How the News Got Less Mean The most read article of all time on BuzzFeed contains no photographs of celebrity nip slips and no inflammatory ranting. It’s a series of photos called “21 pictures that will restore your fait h in humanity,” which has pulled in nearly 14 million visits so far. At Upworthy too, hope is the major draw. “This kid just died. What he left behind is wondtacular,” an Upworthy post about a terminally ill teen singer, earned 15 million views this summer and has raised more than $300,000 for cancer research. The recipe for attracting visitors to stories online is changing. Bloggers have traditionally turned to sarcasm and snark to draw attention. But the success of sites like BuzzFeed and Upworthy, whose philosophies embrace the viral nature of upbeat stories, hints that the Web craves positivity. The reason: social media. Researchers are discovering that people want to create positive images of themselves online by sharing upbeat stories. And with more people turning to Facebook and Twitter to find out what’s happening in the world, news stories may need to cheer up in order to court an audience. If social is the future of media, then optimistic stories might be media’s future. “When we started, the prevailing wisdom was that snark ruled the Internet,” says Eli Pariser, a co-founder of Upworthy. “And we just had a really different sense of what works.” “You don’t want to be that guy at the party who’s crazy and angry and ranting in the c orner—it’s the same for Twitter or Facebook,” he says. “Part of what we’re trying to do with Upworthy is give people the tools to express a conscientious, thoughtful and positive identity in social media.” And the science appears to support Pariser’s philosophy. In a recent study from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, researchers found that “up votes,” showing that a visitor liked a comment or story, begat more up votes on comments on the site, but “down votes” did not do the same. In fact, a single up vote increased the likelihood that someone else would like a comment by 32%, whereas a down vote had no effect. People don’t want to support the cranky commenter, the critic or the troll. Nor do they want to be that negative personality online. In another study published in 2012, Jonah Berger, author of Contagious: Why Things Catch On and professor of marketing at the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania, monitored the most e-mailed stories produced by the New York Times for six months and found that positive stories were more likely to make the list than negative ones. “What we share [or like] is almost like the car we drive or the clothes we wear,” he says. “It

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