第十一届CASIO杯翻译竞赛原文(日语组)
第五届CASIO杯翻译竞赛英语组原文
第五届CASIO杯翻译竞赛英语组原文OpticsManini Nayar When I was seven,my friend Sol was hit by lightning and died.He was on a rooftop quietly playing marbles when this happened.Burnt to cinders,we were told by the neighbourhood gossips.He'd caught fire,we were assured,but never felt a thing.I only remember a frenzy of ambulances and long clean sirens cleaving the silence of that damp October ter,my father came to sit with me.This happens to one in several millions,he said,as if a knowledge of the bare statistics mitigated the horror.He was trying to help,I think.Or perhaps he believed I thought it would happen to me.Until now,Sol and I had shared everything;secrets,chocolates, friends,even a birthdate.We would marry at eighteen,we promised each other,and have six children,two cows and a heart-shaped tattoo with'Eternally Yours'sketched on our behinds.But now Sol was somewhere else,and I was seven years old and under the covers in my bed counting spots before my eyes in the darkness.After that I cleared out my play-cupboard.Out went my collection of teddy bears and picture books.In its place was an emptiness,the oak panels reflecting their own woodshine.The space I made seemed almost holy,though mother thought my efforts a waste.An empty cupboard is no better than an empty cup,she said in an apocryphal aside.Mother always filled things up-cups,water jugs,vases,boxes,arms-as if colour and weight equalled a superior quality of life.Mother never understood that this was my dreamtime place.Here I could hide, slide the doors shut behind me,scrunch my eyes tight and breathe in another world. When I opened my eyes,the glow from the lone cupboard-bulb seemed to set the polished walls shimmering,and I could feel what Sol must have felt,dazzle and darkness.I was sharing this with him,as always.He would know,wherever he was, that I knew what he knew,saw what he had seen.But to mother I only said that I was tired of teddy bears and picture books.What she thought I couldn't tell,but she stirred the soup-pot vigorously.One in several millions,I said to myself many times,as if the key,the answer to it all,lay there.The phrase was heavy on my lips,stubbornly resistant to knowledge. Sometimes I said the words out of context to see if by deflection,some quirk of physics,the meaning would suddenly come to me.Thanks for the beans,mother,I said to her at lunch,you're one in millions.Mother looked at me oddly,pursed her lips and offered me more rice.At this club,when father served a clean ace to win the Retired-Wallahs Rotating Cup,I pointed out that he was one in a million.Oh,the serve was one in a million,father protested modestly.But he seemed pleased.Still, this wasn't what I was looking for,and in time the phrase slipped away from me,lost its magic urgency,became as bland as'Pass the salt'or'Is the bath water hot?'If Sol was one in a million,I was one among far less;a dozen,say.He was chosen.I was ordinary.He had been touched and transformed by forces I didn't understand.I was left cleaning out the cupboard.There was one way to bridge the chasm,to bring Sol back to life,but I would wait to try it until the most magical of moments.I would wait until the moment was so right and shimmering that Sol would have to come back. This was my weapon that nobody knew of,not even mother,even though she had pursed her lips up at the beans.This was between Sol and me.The winter had almost guttered into spring when father was ill.One February morning,he sat in his chair,ashen as the cinders in the grate.Then,his fingers splayed out in front of him,his mouth working,he heaved and fell.It all happened suddenly, so cleanly,as if rehearsed and perfected for weeks.Again the sirens,the screech of wheels,the white coats in perpetual motion.Heart seizures weren't one in a million. But they deprived you just the same,darkness but no dazzle,and a long waiting.Now I knew there was no turning back.This was the moment.I had to do it without delay;there was no time to waste.While they carried father out,I rushed into the cupboard,scrunched my eyes tight,opened them in the shimmer and called out 'Sol!Sol!Sol!'I wanted to keep my mind blank,like death must be,but father and Sol gusted in and out in confusing pictures.Leaves in a storm and I the calm axis.Here was father playing marbles on a roof.Here was Sol serving ace after ace. Here was father with two cows.Here was Sol hunched over the breakfast table.Thepictures eddied and rushed.The more frantic they grew,the clearer my voice became, tolling like a bell:'Sol!Sol!Sol!\'The cupboard rang with voices,some mine,some echoes,some from what seemed another place-where Sol was,maybe.The cupboard seemed to groan and reverberate,as if shaken by lightning and thunder.Any minute now it would burst open and I would find myself in a green valley fed by limpid brooks and red with hibiscus.I would run through tall grass and wading into the waters,see Sol picking flowers.I would open my eyes and he'd be there, hibiscus-laden,laughing.Where have you been,he'd say,as if it were I who had burned,falling in ashes.I was filled to bursting with a certainty so strong it seemed a celebration almost.Sobbing,I opened my eyes.The bulb winked at the walls.I fell asleep,I think,because I awoke to a deeper darkness.It was late,much past my bedtime.Slowly I crawled out of the cupboard,my tongue furred,my feet heavy. My mind felt like lead.Then I heard my name.Mother was in her chair by the window,her body defined by a thin ray of moonlight.Your father Will be well,she said quietly,and he will be home soon.The shaft of light in which she sat so motionless was like the light that would have touched Sol if he'd been lucky;if he had been like one of us,one in a dozen,or less.This light fell in a benediction,caressing mother,slipping gently over my father in his hospital bed six streets away.I reached out and stroked my mother's arm.It was warm like bath water,her skin the texture of hibiscus.We stayed together for some time,my mother and I,invaded by small night sounds and the raspy whirr of crickets.Then I stood up and turned to return to my room.Mother looked at me quizzically.Are you all right,she asked.I told her I was fine,that I had some cleaning up to do.Then I went to my cupboard and stacked it up again with teddy bears and picture books.Some years later we moved to Rourkela,a small mining town in the north east, near Jamshedpur.The summer I turned sixteen,I got lost in the thick woods there. They weren't that deep-about three miles at the most.All I had to do was cycle for all I was worth,and inminutes I'd be on the dirt road leading into town.But a stir in the leaves gave me pause.I dismounted and stood listening.Branches arched like claws overhead.The sky crawled on a white belly of clouds.Shadows fell in tessellated patterns of grey and black.There was a faint thrumming all around,as if the air were being strung and practised for an overture.And yet there was nothing,just a silence of moving shadows,a bulb winking at the walls.I remembered Sol,of whom I hadn't thought in years.And foolishly again I waited,not for answers but simply for an end to the terror the woods were building in me,chord by chord,like dissonant music.When the cacophony grew too much to bear, I remounted and pedalled furiously,banshees screaming past my ears,my feet assuming a clockwork of their own.The pathless ground threw up leaves and stones, swirls of dust rose and settled.The air was cool and steady as I hurled myself into the falling light.。
卡西欧杯翻译竞赛历年赛题及答案
第九届卡西欧杯翻译竞赛原文（英文组）来自: FLAA(《外国文艺》)Meansof Delive ryJoshua CohenSmuggl ing Afghan heroin or womenfrom Odessa wouldhave been morerepreh ensib le, but more logica l. Youknowyou’reafoolwhenwhatyou’redoingmakeseven the post office seem effici ent. Everyt hingI was packin g into thisunwiel dy, 1980s-vintag e suitca se was availa ble online. Idon’tmeanthatwhenIarrive d in Berlin I couldhave ordere dmoreLevi’s510s for next-day delive ry. I mean, I was packin g books.Not just any books— thesewere all the same book, multip le copies. “Invali d Format: An Anthol ogy of Triple Canopy, Volume 1”ispublis hed, yes, by Triple Canopy, an online magazi ne featur ing essays, fictio n, poetry and all variet y of audio/visualcultur e, dedica ted — click“About”—“toslowin g down the Intern et.”Withtheirbook, the firstin a planne d series, the editor s certai nly succee ded. They were slowin g me down too, just fine.“Invali d Format”collec ts in printthe magazi ne’sfirstfour issues and retail s, ideall y, for $25. But the 60 copies I was courie ring, in exchan ge for a couchand coffee-pressaccess in Kreuzb erg, wouldbe givenaway. For free.Untillately the printe d book change d more freque ntly, but less creati vely, than any othermedium. If you though t“TheQuotab le Ronald Reagan”wastooexpens ive in hardco ver, you couldwait a year or less for the same conten t to go soft. E-books, whichmade theirdebutin the 1990s, cut costseven more for both consum er and produc er, though as the Intern et expand ed thoserolesbecame confus ed.Self-publis hed book proper tiesbeganoutnum berin g, if not outsel ling, theirtradeequiva lents by the mid-2000s, a situat ion furthe r convol utedwhen the conglo merat es starte d“publis hing”“self-publis hed books.”Lastyear, Pengui n became the firstmajortradepressto go vanity: its Book Countr y e-imprin t will legiti mizeyour “origin al genrefictio n”forjustunder$100. Theseshifts make small, D.I.Y.collec tives like Triple Canopy appear more tradit ional than ever, if not just quixot ic — a word derive d from one of the firstnovels licens ed to a publis her.Kenned y Airpor t was no proble m, my connec tionat Charle s de Gaulle went fine. My luggag e connec ted too, arrivi ng intact at Tegel. But immedi ately afterimmigr ation, I was flagge d. A smalle r wheeli e bag held the clothi ng. As a custom s offici alrummag ed throug h my Hanes, I prepar ed for what came next: the larger case, caster s broken, handle rusted—I’mpretty sure it had alread y been Used when it was givento me for my bar mitzva h.Before the offici al couldopen the clasps and startpoking inside, I presen ted him with the docume nt the Triple Canopy editor, Alexan der Provan, had e-mailed me — the nightbefore? two nights before alread y? I’dbeenuponeofthosenights scouri ng New York City for a printe r. No one printe d anymor e. The docume nt stated, inEnglis h and German, that thesebookswere books. They were promot ional, to be givenaway at univer sitie s, galler ies, the Miss Read art-book fair at Kunst-Werke.“Allaresame?”theoffici al asked.“Allegleich,”Isaid.An olderguardcame over, prodde d a spine, said someth ingIdidn’tget. The younge r offici al laughe d, transl ated,“Hewantsto know if you read everyone.”At lunchthe next day with a musici an friend. In New York he played twicea month, ate food stamps. In collap singEuropehe’spaid2,000 eurosa nightto play aquattr ocent o church.“Whereare you handin g the booksout?”heasked.“Atanartfair.”“Whyanartfair?Whynotabookfair?”“It’sanart-bookfair.”“Asoppose d to a book-bookfair?”I told him that at book-book fairs, like the famous one in Frankf urt, they mostly gave out catalo gs.Taking trains and tramsin Berlin, I notice d: people readin g. Books, I mean, not pocket-size device s that bleepas if censor ious, on whicheven Shakes peare scanslike a spread sheet. Americ ans buy more than half of all e-bookssold intern ation ally—unless Europe ans fly regula rly to the United States for the sole purpos e ofdownlo ading readin g materi al from an Americ an I.P. addres s. As of the evenin g I stoppe d search ing the Intern et and actual ly went out to enjoyBerlin, e-booksaccoun ted for nearly 20 percen t of the salesof Americ an publis hers. In German y, howeve r, e-booksaccoun ted for only 1 percen t last year. I beganasking themultil ingua l, multi¬ethnic artist s around me why that was. It was 2 a.m., at Soho House, a privat eclubI’dcrashe d in the former Hitler¬jugend headqu arter s. One instal latio nistsaid, “Americ ans like e-booksbecaus ethey’reeasier to buy.”Aperfor mance artist said, “They’realsoeasier not to read.”Trueenough: theirpresen ce doesn’tremindyouofwhatyou’remissin g;theydon’ttake up spaceon shelve s. The next mornin g, Alexan der Provan and I lugged the booksfor distri butio n, gratis. Questi on: If booksbecome mere art object s, do e-booksbecome concep tualart? Juxtap osing psychi atric case notesby the physic ian-noveli st RivkaGalche n with a dramat icall y illust rated invest igati on into the devast ation of New Orlean s, “Invali d Format”isamongthe most artful new attemp ts to reinve nt the Web by the codex, and the codexby the Web. Its texts“scroll”: horizo ntall y, vertic ally; titlepagesevoke“screen s,”refram ing conten t that follow s not unifor mly and contin uousl y but rather as a welter of column shifts and fonts. Its closes t predec essor s mightbe mixed-mediaDada (Ducham p’sloose-leafed, shuffl eable“GreenBox”); or perhap s“ICanHasCheezb urger?,”thebest-sellin g book versio n of the pet-pictur es-with-funny-captio ns Web site ICanHa sChee zburg ; or simila r volume s fromStuffW hiteP eople Like.com and Awkwar dFami lyPho . Theselatter booksare merely the kitsch iestproduc ts of publis hing’srecent enthus iasmfor“back-engine ering.”They’repseudo liter ature, commod ities subjec t to the samerevers ing proces s that for over a centur y has paused“movies”into“stills”— into P.R. photos and dorm poster s — and notate d pop record ingsfor sheetmusic.Admitt edlyIdidn’thavemuchtimetoconsid er the implic ation s of adapti ve cultur e in Berlin. I was too busy dancin gto“IchLiebeWie Du Lügst,”aka“LovetheWayYou Lie,”byEminem, and fallin g asleep during“Bis(s) zum Ende der Nacht,”aka“TheTwilig ht Saga: Breaki ng Dawn,”justafterthe dubbed Bellacriesover herunlike ly pregna ncy, “Dasistunmögl ich!”— indeed!Transl ating medium s can seem just as unmögl ich as transl ating betwee n unrela ted langua ges: therewill be confus ions, distor tions, techni cal limita tions. The Web ande-book can influe nce the printbook only in matter s of styleand subjec t — no links, of course, just theirmetaph or. “Theghostin the machin e”can’tbeexorci sed, onlyturned around: the machin e inside the ghost.As for me, I was haunte d by my suitca se. The extraone, the empty. My last day in Kreuzb erg was spentconsid ering its fate. My wheeli e bag was packed. My laptop was stowed in my carry-on. I wanted to leavethe pleath er immens ity on the corner of Kottbu sserDamm, down by the canal,butI’ve neverbeen a waster. I brough t it back. It sits in the middle of my apartm ent, unreve rtibl e, only improv able, hollow, its lid floppe d open like the coverof a book.传送之道约书亚·科恩走私阿富汗的海洛因和贩卖来自敖德萨的妇女本应受到更多的谴责，但是也更合乎情理。
卡西欧日语演讲比赛
2012 年度福建省高校“卡西欧杯”日语演讲比赛预通知今年是中日两国邦交正常化40 周年，也是福建省高校复办日语专业40 周年的纪念日。
40 年来，我省各高校培养了许多日语专业的学生，为我国、我省的各行各业输送了众多的日语专业人才。
为进一步促进福建省内各高校的日语教学与研究，深化各高校间的交流，共同提高我省大学生学习日语的热情，福建师范大学外国语学院特举办“2012 年度福建省高校‘卡西欧杯'日语演讲比赛” 。
为组织好本次日语演讲比赛，保证比赛公开、公正、公平地进行，现将有关事宜通知如下：一、参赛范围及资格凡在福建省各全日制普通高等学校（含二级学院）在籍的本专科学生（不含研究生）均可报名参赛。
但以下两种情况的选手不得报名参赛：1 、曾参与“中华全国日语演讲比赛”华南赛区预赛且获得三等奖以上的选手；2 、曾在日本居住六个月以上的选手。
参加邀请赛的选手若有隐瞒履历者将取消其参赛资格。
二、报名方式1 、选手人数：每个单位选派1 名选手参赛。
邮件主题请写上报名单位，如：福建师范大学外国语学院日语系回执3 、回执截止时间：2012 年9 月2 日。
4 、收到回执后将发送正式的比赛通知及报名表。
三、比赛形式及奖项1 、比赛采取命题演讲、即席演讲、回答问题的形式进行，成绩分别占50%、40%、10%，演讲题目及评分标准由演讲大赛组委会统一制定。
2 、命题演讲题目可从以下2 个题目中任选一个。
a .中日関係①未来忙向疗疋一言b .日本V行一番壬◎尢「、乙七3 、即席演讲题目由大赛组委会提供，比赛当日由参赛选手现场抽取。
4 、奖项设置及奖励办法：本次比赛将产生一等奖1 名、二等奖2 名、三等奖3 名、优秀奖若干名。
四、比赛费用1 、本次比赛由组委会提供所有的餐饮。
2 、本次比赛不收取报名费，领队教师与参赛选手的住宿费、往返交通费由各单位自理。
五、比赛时间和地点时间：2012 年11月10 日地点：福建师范大学仓山校区外国语学院多功能报告厅六、其它2012 年11 月11 日将在同一场所召开“ 2012 福建省日语教学研讨会” ，欢迎参加。
第十届CASIO杯翻译竞赛西语原文
Desde el mirador de mi madre Clara SánchezEn el verano de 1993, con un calor insoportable, mi madre sufrióun infarto cerebral que nos cambió la vida, o por lo menos nos hizo dar un paso más en ella. Nos obligó a tratar de ver las cosas de otra manera. Yo, por ejemplo, empecéa valorar comportamientos que hasta entonces había medio despreciado, como la frivolidad. Caí en la cuenta de lo necesario que es un poco de frivolidad para sobrevivir y no dejarse arrastrar por los acontecimientos hasta lo más profundo. Pero también comenzó a fastidiarme la gente que no puede escuchar ni una frase que no se refiera al lado bueno de la existencia, que arrugan el entrecejo en cuanto oyen la palabra enfermedad, hospital, vejez, como si las contrariedades y el sufrimiento o la pena hubiese que tenerlos guardados bajo llave. La enfermedad, más que el sexo, ha sido durante mucho tiempo tabú, de conversación en voz baja, asunto de mujeres achacosas o de médicos, hasta que las series de televisión la han puesto de moda para en el fondo hablar de amoríos.Es un peñazo no poder ser débil nunca y hacer como si nada pasara. Lo malo que a uno le ocurre, también le ocurre, forma parte de su biografía. No soy de los que piensan que sólo se aprende a través del dolor, se aprende más de la alegría, de la risa y del estar bien. Es esta enseñanza la que nos empuja, hasta en los peores momentos, a buscar un espacio en nuestra mente en que continúa haciendo sol. Pero en el caso de mi familia, este hecho fue el que más nos conmocionó, quizá por su brusquedad y las secuelas que dejó.Por supuesto, a la primera que le cambió la vida fue a mi madre. Entonces tenía 62 años y ya no ha vuelto a ser la misma. La visión de esas dos imágenes, la de antes (fuerte y entera) y la de después ha sido demoledora durante bastante tiempo. Hasta que el día a día y los años han ido apaciguando la sensación de agresión y agravio ¿de quién? ¿De la vida? ¿A quién se le pide cuentas? Nos hemos ido acomodando a las circunstancias e incluso sacando lo mejor de ellas, no hay otro remedio, o aceptas las reglas del juego o te quedas fuera. Y fuera está lo desconocido, el abismo. Al principio no le apetecía salir de casa y enfrentarse al mundo, sin poder hablar. Lo bueno era que la comprensión y la memoria estaban intactas, así que nos fuimos agarrando a lo bueno. Mi madre aceptó las reglas del juego y mostró una fortaleza y una capacidad de lucha, que no nos dejaban desfallecer. Se sometía a sesiones durísimas de rehabilitación y comenzóhumildemente a intentar aprender a escribir de nuevo. Estaba agradecida a todo el mundo. Fue como si en su mente se hubiese borrado cualquier recelo hacia el prójimo, cualquier tipo de prevención. Nunca la he visto llorar por lo que le pasó, pero se le saltaban las lágrimas cuando se mencionaba a los neurólogos que la trataban o a los fisioterapeutas, sobre todo una, que un día le dijo muy seriamente: "No voy a consentir que no salgas andando de aquí", y asílo hizo, lo consiguió. Hay gente pululando anónimamente por ahí que hace cosas muy importantes por los demás. Así que gracias, Conchita, eres la mejor.Mi madre tuvo que pasar casi tres meses en el hospital, lo que supuso para todos nosotros un cursillo intensivo sobre la vida oculta o que se prefiere ignorar. Ahora me fijaba más en la gente que andaba con dificultad por la calle o que tenía algún tipo de carencia, me sentía en su mismo mundo. Creo que sabía que todo eso podría pasarme a mí, asíde sencillo. Y entonces fui consciente de lo cruel que es esta sociedad con quienes no están en plena forma. Digamos que laenfermedad de mi madre nos puso unas gafas de aumento para ver mejor lo que hay alrededor, eso sí, a un gran precio. Tras ella, el mayor sin duda lo ha pagado mi padre, que se ha hecho cargo de esta complicada situación para que a todos nos alterase lo menos posible. No es un hombre pacífico ni resignado, sino más bien rebelde e incisivo, y quizá por eso nunca se ha dejado abatir. Siempre busca recursos para estar activo y en conflicto, y no ha permitido jamás que mi madre dejase de discutir con él y decirle cuatro verdades, aunque fuese a su manera.Lo cierto es que tengo unos padres atípicos y bastante graciosos, muy discutones. Les da la vida montar el pollo durante los telediarios por algo que haya dicho fulano o mengano. Siempre ha habido tensiones políticas entre ellos. Mi padre lee EL PAÍS y Expansión y oye la SER e Intereconomía. Lleva un control férreo de los movimientos de la Bolsa. Cuando baja, está de un humor de perros. Yo, que no tengo inversiones, sé cómo va por el tono de su voz. Le gusta mucho la ropa y los complementos. Y no soporta que le llamen anciano. Lo de abuelo está absolutamente restringido a los nietos. Prefiere la definición de viejo. Dice que se dio cuenta de que era considerado viejo cuando los coches se atrevían a pasar el suyo nada más verle por detrás la nuca blanca. Y no sé cómo se las arregla para hacer un seguimiento tan exhaustivo del mundo literario. Aunque no quiera enterarme, me tiene al tanto de los logros, premios y colaboraciones de todos los colegas, para a continuación añadir, tienes que espabilar. Por eso a mis padres no les importa que escriba sobre ellos, con tal de proporcionarme material y ayudarme a salir adelante.No era fácil durante y tras lo que se podría llamar el largo verano del 93 centrarme en otra cosa. Trataba de distraerme para no hablar ni pensar en ello. Hasta que decidí que no debía olvidar, sino todo lo contrario, aprovecharlo en mi propia experiencia, no desecharlo puesto que tanto esfuerzo nos suponía a todos. Así que tiempo más tarde, cuando ya tenía la cabeza algo más fría, empecé a escribir y salió una novela, Desde el mirador (Alfaguara, 1996), que empieza así:"La tarde va quedando atrás. Un cable negro cruza el cielo azul. La ventanilla de un vagón de tren limita y recorta el campo. Sobre el cable, y por un instante, unos grandes pájaros en fila también quedan atrás. La sierra, a lo lejos, y más cerca los árboles y las fábricas se perfilan en el aire como montañas, árboles y fábricas presentes y reales.He viajado a través de este paisaje durante dos meses y desde entonces el sol se ha ido debilitando poco a poco y también la angustia inicial que me hizo dudar de que la vida fuera buena, a pesar de que es lo único que hay. Ahora me queda cierta flaqueza por aquella duda, cierta zozobra constante y la certeza de que cuando se conoce algo ya no se puede desconocer, no tan sólo olvidar, sino que es imposible volver al origen en que no se sabía aquello.He recorrido los 60 kilómetros que unen el Hospital General con Madrid, cada dos días más o menos, hasta ésta misma tarde en que le han dado el alta a mi madre. La última imagen que he retenido de ella ha sido su blusa de seda azul alejándose en el coche, regresando al mundo, mezclándose con el aire que rodea el hospital y con el que se extiende donde se le pierde de vista y mucho más allá aún. Ya es libre, menos que un pájaro porque no puede volar y menos que un pez porque no puede respirar bajo el agua, pero más que un pájaro y un pez porque piensa. Ella me ha hecho creer que nadie puede ser libre nada más que a su manera.Recuerdo sin desesperación y con pesar, como si me hubiera distraído y no hubiese hecho algo que debía, el día de finales de junio, cuando sonó el teléfono en mi casa, en las afueras de Madrid. Una voz desde un hospital me comunicó que mi madre había sufrido un derrame cerebral. Luego se confirmóque había sido infarto. Me cuesta mucho pronunciar infarto cerebral y mucho más escribirlo, es como tratar de escribir en el papel con un hierro al rojo vivo".。
CASIO英语翻译比赛翻译作品
作家们怎样打造品牌托尼·佩罗蒂提所有作家都清楚，如今写本书并不是什么难事了。
直到出版日期临近了，我们才不得不挽挽袖子开始真正的文学工作：狂热的自我推销。
在这之前的几周里，我们被逼得用有新意的电子邮件和脸谱网消息提醒对所有亲朋好友和认识的人进行宣传。
我们装饰自己的网站，改换年轻得让人生疑的照片，没完没了的写博客，发布推特状态，上传视频宣传片，企图把包括自己的阅读、签名、评论、谈话记录，还有电视演出（至少我们可以幻想得出）在内的一切通通告诉给一个已经被淹没了的世界。
在这个作家除了开印刷厂之外什么都可能做得出来的时代，自我推销已经太平常不过了，以至于我们几乎不用想。
然而，每次我有新书要出版，我就不得不驱除这种恼人的感觉，总觉得自己吸引公众注意力的做法不大体面。
因为有文学的高要求，像伟哥促销员一样挨户兜售自己的作品的做法仍然让我觉得奇怪。
每当产生这种疑惑时，我就回顾历史以求恢复信心。
令人欣慰的是很多伟大的作家曾使用过文学卖淫—我指的是自我推销—这种手段。
最受尊崇的法国作家巴尔扎克认识到公关的必要性。
“对艺术家而言，要解决的最大的问题是怎样让自己受到人们的关注”巴尔扎克在描写19世纪早期巴黎文学生活的《幻灭》中说道。
另一位大师司汤达在他的自传《一个利己主义者的回忆录》中评论说；“没有一定程度的厚脸皮，甚至江湖手段，想要取得大的成功是不可能的。
”这些话确实应该刻在作家协会的盾徽上。
海明威为创造性的自我宣传做出了极好的表率。
他的形象因在探险旅行、垂钓旅行和战区的照片造型而显得愈加光辉。
但他也为啤酒广告摆过造型。
1951年，美国《生活》杂志以两张版面登出了海明威签名的百龄坛麦芽威士忌广告，快照画面中的海明威在他的哈瓦那寓所中看起来很阳刚。
在马修·布鲁克林和朱蒂斯·鲍曼编辑的《海明威和声誉机制》中详细地记述了海明威骄傲地出现在为泛美航空公司和派克钢笔公司做的广告中。
他极其热情地把自己的名字卖给了今天的詹妮弗·洛佩斯或勒布朗·詹姆斯。
CASIO杯
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CASIO杯翻译竞赛介绍 ——本届比赛
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CASIO杯翻译竞赛介绍 ——本届比赛
译文要求：
1. 电脑打印 2. 地址：上海市福建中路193号上海译文出版社 《外国文艺》编辑部，邮政编码200001 3. 信封上注明：CASIO杯翻译竞赛。 4.截稿日期： 2013年8月10日（以邮寄当日邮戳为准）
CASIO杯翻译竞赛介绍 ——本届比赛
赛题刊登：
2013年第3期（2013.6）《外国文艺》杂志 上海译文出版社网站 上海翻译家协会网站 北京塞万提斯学院网站www.pekin.cervantes.es 上海米盖尔•德•塞万提斯图书馆网站 www.biblioteca-shanghai.cervantes.es
6. 奖项设置：
一等奖1名（证书及价值6000元的奖金和奖品） 二等奖2名（证书及价值3000元的奖金和奖品） 三等奖3名（证书及价值2000元的奖金和奖品） 优胜奖20名（证书及价值300元的奖品） 优秀组织奖1名（价值5000元的奖金和奖品）
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CASIO杯翻译竞赛介绍 ——本届比赛
7. 答案公布： 《外国文艺》2013年第6期（2013年12月） 公布评选结果并刊登优秀译文，竞赛结果同时 在上海译文出版社网站、上海翻译家协会网站、 北京塞万提斯学院网站和上海米盖尔•德•塞万 提斯图书馆网站上公布。
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CASIO杯翻译竞赛介绍 ——本届比赛
5. 备注： （1）译文正文内请勿书写姓名等任何与译者个 人身份信息相关的文字或符号，否则译文无效。 （2）另页写明详尽的个人信息，如姓名、性别、 出生年月日、工作学习单位及家庭住址、联系 电话、E-MAIL地址等。
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CASIO杯翻译竞赛介绍 ——本届比赛
2012Casio杯英语演讲比赛演讲稿汇编
2012Casio杯英语演讲比赛演讲稿汇编Thesis: A Day without Internet● 初三（4）班袁清怡（Casio杯英语演讲比赛冠军）Honorable judges, dear teachers and students, it’s my great honor to stand here today, and…… oh, give me a second, I must post this on my Renren: I…… am now……on the stage of …… Casio Cup Speech Contest……so excited! Alright, remember to check it out. For that’s the charm of the internet, it makes our voice heard, keeps us located, even in situations like this.And that’s why I like this year’s topic: A Day without Internet, for the answer is simple: to me, and to lots of you guys down here enjoying the free Wifi right now, a day without internet will just be the end of the world. The internet has brought us great changes in life, and the most significant of them is that we are no longer thinking alone. Whenever we have questions, we have Google, Baidu, Wikipedia all around us. It feels so good that we almost ignored that while asking them, our creativity and our ability of independent thinking——let’s borrow one of Carlos’s lin es from yesterday’s The Little Mermaid—— while asking them, our creativity turns into foams, and spreads away.For example, this week I did a lot of research about this topic: A Day without Internet, and articles I found turned out to be almost the same, and kind of boring. So finally, I turned off my laptop and decided to explain this topic in my own way. And then a name suddenly came into my mind: Isaac Newton, how did he spend his days without internet?In the morning, perhaps, in stead of posting pictures on Facebook, he decided to visit the apple garden. When that historical apple fell on his head, he did not have Google or Wikipedia to tell him why it happened, so he did research himself and finally, discovered gravity, and lots of us students are now suffering from the subject of physics——just kidding.Anyway, without internet, people think more independently and therefore, become more creative. Yes, it is true that the internet can be for great help——especially while we are dealing with our math problems. However, with that Mr. know it all by our side, we become Mr. & Mrs. Don’t know it at all. That is a situations which all of us, especially our math teachers, never want to see.So let's just have a day without internet, try to go out and write a poem, or solve some questions, or think about what drama we are going to put on next year. Just try to create something instead of getting information from the internet, because it is our mind that is worth more listening than anything else.Thank you.● 初三（3）班张晨曦（Casio杯英语演讲比赛冠军）Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon, isn’ t it? Such fine and wonderful thing simply reminds me of the terrible 2012 Dec. 23rd which is approaching every day and we barely have 7 months of good afternoons. Or, the movie has said so but for you, my dear, it is a lot easier to welcome your doomsday. While you are all taking the convenience of Internet for granted, a day without it might bring all of you the end of world. It seems that without this great tool of sharing and playing, our life has gone towards a stopping point.But, let’s just stop there for a moment. Before we really worry about the future that isn’t for sure to come, how about going back to the past to see what really happened for those to deal with not having Internet.So, one day I time travelled to Tang Dynasty in Ancient China where there were no Internet. Though I really had had some worry about the boredom, the experience there turned out to be gorgeous. I visited some famous structures with red and gold colors shining royally. I did some shopping, not just online shopping, but the real shopping on the streets filled with stores of all kinds, selling accessories, Chinese perfume, pretty clothes materials, and above all, delicious local foods. Well, I am much of an eater. At the end of the day, I got up the hill, sat there, with the wholesunset in the sight. Everything was showering the glorious orange sunlight. I had always been relying on movies and TV dramas online to help me picture a romance but I had not realized then that the nature itself has placed the most romantic sceneries everywhere that you look, sit, and even sleep. Just like that, I fell into dreams as the sun gradually went down and hid itself in the dark.Back I went to 21st century, only to see people still obsessed about the disappearance of Internet. And I began asking myself, was it truly that Internet makes our life convenient or that it is simply so addictive as to make us all blind about the most wonderful things that are quite independent from the silly WIFI signals. People back in the ancient time knew nothing about the Internet, but they were most certainly leading theirs lives as smoothly as we are. Internet might bring us all the things that we want but pay attention, pictures, videos, online discussions are all digital and virtual, which is interpreted by computer into nothing but zero and one. And here comes the question: DO you invest your lifelong happiness on zero and one?● 初三（5）班陈润Good afternoon.Like every one of you here, I used to be totally a fan of the internet. I could visit blogs, check messages all day. I could even sing to my computer:‖ a day without you is like a year without rain.‖And here comes the story. It was a typical summer. I got tired of the relaxing vacation. I was searching for something to fulfill the vanity of my life. Of course, the internet appeared to be the best option. But a month later, the hole in my heart wasn’t growing smaller but bigger. You know the kind of feeling after heavy exposure to screens and it was just not myself.One day, the signal was cut because of repairing at my home. Hearing the shocking news, I felt myself living in a hell with no computer, no laptop, no Ipad. I was crazy pressing F5 on my keyboard. But when I look back now, that was really ablessing in disguise. It was the absence of the internet that made me walk out of the world of cyber land.I left my home and walked outside. There was always something out there. I looked around the garden near a river just below my balcony. To my surprise, everything was beyond recognition, no matter fluttering the birds, shifting in and out the waves, crawling the snails and chirping the frogs. When darkness fell, the twinkling stars and sparkling lights on the water filled my eyes. With the noise far, far away, I found peace deeply in here.I was isolated in the nature, which was completely different from how I was isolated in the internet. A voice inside was calling me to reach for the nature. At that moment, I realized how much I had missed for the past month, but I was determined not to miss any more. A day without internet wasn’t a year without rain, but a day full of surprises. And finally I have sentence from Emerson for all of us here :Never lose an opportunity of seeing anythin g beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting.● 初三（6）班单晨Good afternoon，ladies and gentlemen. It’s my great honor to stand on the stage and give you my speech. Today my topic ―A day without Internet‖.Suppose you are a white-collar worker or a university student, and all of your work depends on the Internet, which can provide you a great deal of latest information. But have you ever thought that if the Internet suddenly disappeared, what would you do?Nowadays, because of the development of information technology, Internet is playing a most important role in society. Without the help of Internet, we will not be able to search information or communicate with others so conveniently, and our life will probably become a mess.It’s true that nobody can deny the necessity of Internet, but as many people are gradually becoming crazy over the Internet, its disadvantages are also shown to the people. For instance, micro-blog, as one of the most popular means of communication, has become a necessary part of the modern life, and many people are so addicted to micro-blogs that they just cannot live without micro-blogs. They would rather speak on the micro-blogs than take action in the real life. In another word, they are just like the fish that can’t get out of the ―net‖.Since the Internet does more harm than good to some people, why not try to live without Internet？Some people may immediately say no, but it’s an undeniable fact that before the Internet was invented, our ancestors could still live properly and peacefully. Thus, why do we modern people always focus on nothing but Internet?In fact, there are a lot of ways to spend your day without Internet, say, you can ride a bicycle to the quiet countryside, and relax yourself by sitting in the warm and peaceful sunshine; or you’d rather go to a small café to drin k a cup of coffee. At that moment, you don’t have to deal with any complicated information and the entire thing you need to do is to relax yourself and forget all about your tiredness.Of course, it was only a perfect living attitude which is hard to reach, but we should still have the thought in our mind that we should not be controlled by the Internet, by the thing which is actually invented by us. It is a beautiful but poisonous net – while we are weaving it, do not let the strings corrode our mind; It is a magnificent but unknown ocean – while we are sailing on it, do not let the hurricanes destroy our mind; It is a brilliant but dangerous firework – while we are watching it, do not let the sparks burn our mind.Internet is a useful tool but we should not be limited by this tool. My dear friends, if there is a day without Internet, stop complaining and begin to enjoy. Just go back to the innocence, and let your lifestyle shine!● 初三（6）班劳越Ladies and gentlemen, look at here and say ―cheese‖. Perfect! Thank you! I’m going to put this photo onto my micro-blog. How can I miss this meaningful moment?Oh, wait! A piece of announcement: sorry, netizens. You might need to spend a day without Internet, because there’s something wrong with the system.Dear audience, have you ever imagined a day without Internet? Some might tell me it wouldn’t be that bad. It would slow down our life and let people communicate face to face. But I want to say: much more than the advantages, we must admit the fact that the world would be in a panic.On a day without Internet, the media failed to collect news from different parts of the world. A day without news seemed dull and narrow and what if a piece of breaking news like 911 takes place?On a day without Internet, transportation was badly affected. Not having coordinated well, two aero-planes crashed into each other and caused a big tragedy.On a day without Internet, the netting system in a hospital broke down. On a day without Internet, workers in a multinational company got so bored. On a day without Internet, the WHO failed to do its surveillance work.On a day without Internet, it seemed that only my mom looked happy. Why? Because I was not being a computer cat any more. However, problems came fairly soon. Math homework was so difficult that without searching on the net, I could only stare at one problem for a whole morning. Then I went to discuss on our group work but I found it so hard to contact with 5 people at the same time without QQ. What was more, my dad couldn’t receive an important e-mail from his colleague, and my mom herself complained of not being able to go shopping online.Imagining the situations I have mentioned, can you now consider the day as a good experience? Absolutely no. As the internet has already become part of life and part of the society, we can’t be without it even for one day. It’s Internet that makes information shareable. It’s Internet that makes communication convenient. It’s Internet that makes daily life easy. It’s Internet that makes the globe s mall. Nobody can deny the importance and necessity of it. And as teenagers in the 21st century, weare supposed to make full use of the net, but of course on a limitation of not falling into the unreal world. We are supposed to live in an Internet epoch. Yeah, I mean Internet has already become the name of the epoch. Not only because of the help it gives us, but also because it’s sending us the spirit of the new age, the life style that we open up our minds to be with all human beings on the earth. Just as the theme of this year’s English Festival suggests us: netting the globe, reaching the world.Thank you!● 初三（4）班姜镇涛Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen! It’s my great honor to stand on the stage and give you my speech. My topic will be ―A Day without Internet‖.At the beginning of my speech, please allow me to ask you some questions. Would you stay with your family or hang out with your friends in your spare time, or would you just sit on the front the computer, play games or chat with those you have never met? It is taken for granted that those high-tech communications gradually make the earth a global village, but due to Internet, people seem too lazy to get involved in hobbies and social activities.Looking around, you will notice many people desperate for Internet just like hungry souls hoping for a scrap of food. They waste hours and hours on line and when they leave their computers, they become vaguely jittery. They may be enjoying themselves on line, but they lost more important things: the joy in their normal life.Perhaps most of you have heard of the story of a broken circle. He lost a part of his body before and keeps seeking for it. Since he is not complete, he has to roll very slowly. On his way, he has made so many friends, enjoyed so many beautiful surroundings. However, when he eventually finds that piece, he begins to speed, missing all the friends and views on the way. We, just like that complete circle, manage to speed on our road, but at the same time, are losing more important things——friendship, love and freedom.It is time for us to reject this kind of way of life. The screens we yearn to possess have instead begun to possess us. We all seemed to get along pretty well in the days before the screens invaded our lives. But fixated on this convenient means of communication, we miss those close relationships between us and our friends and families. Just like if you are fortunate when you are gazing at the iPhone in your palms, you do not walk into a lamp pole. When we rushed down the road of life, we would probably get badly injured. We navigated our life rather efficiently when we slow down our steps. And only in that way, we will gain more friendship, love and freedom.Look away from this screen. Look around you, out the window, or across the room or down the street. Isn’t it something? It looks so real, and you have to believe you can touch it yourself.Thank you!● 初三（5）班李佳迅Dear teachers and fellow friends, what a great honor to have you all here and share my speech. Today I would like to talk about my schedule on a day without Internet.When I first received this topic, the first question that came into my mind was: ―How am I going to spare the boredom?‖ Living on campus, we may not see the connection between the Internet and our lives so tight, but to a large extent, we rely on the Internet to work, to study, and to entertain.For many of us, a day without Internet is like a disaster. How to catch up with the daily trends without cell phone news? How to focus on the soccer game without live show reports? How to get information without Google? And how to share your feelings without microblog? In the age of Internet, our lives are drowned in a diversity of information. If the global network ever breaks down, as if water in the oceans ever dries, everyone will be gazing at the computer screen anxiously as if fish without water.On the day without Internet, the world will fall into chaos, but it could also be a chance to take a rest.Why not walk outside to ease the pressure that the Internet has brought us? Let the clean air refresh your weary body. Let the sunbeam fix your poor eyesight. Away from the virtual space, we get a chance to approach the real world, the natural world. Just like in the movie Matrix, only when Neo swallowed the tiny red pill, had he seen how distant the real world is away from us. I choose to say hello to the nature on the day without Internet.Reading is an another choice to spare the time. Thanks to the Internet , the information we want is only a single click a way. It’s so convenient that we can simply throw away a whole library, while time for quality reading is sharply limited. Now that Baidu or Google are out of service, I choose to keep the books’ companion on the day without Internet.Above all, instead of sitting in front of the computer screen, it’s time to turn your face to people. Because the best memories ever in life is the time you spent with family and friends, not with the Internet. On the day without Internet, I choose to spend time with people.Thus, on the day without Internet, we’ve found something that has always been ignored behind our busy lives, which is actually the true essence of happiness.● 初三（3）班周臻What would the world be like without internet? Some will say that panic would be setting out all around the earth, but it would still not be the end of the world. Frankly, we can’t live without internet. There are millions of people who work by using internet. Many of the young people even seem to be addicted to the unreal world. It’s sad but true. If the internet service were off line today, they would be in trouble.Internet provides people with an extremely efficient means of communication. It seems that we can’t live without it. Also it has helped users around the world form anew, creative way of behaving and thinking. It has not only largely decreased the limit of time and distance, acknowledged our mind, but also offers countless conveniences to us.In spite of all those advantages that I have mentioned, we are talking about ―A Day W ithout Internet‖, aren’t we? Then what I’m telling you next is about besides internet, what have we got. Taken for example, yesterday’s Drama Night was really brilliant, not only the actors’ wonderful performance, but also the excellent dancing and singing gave the audience a very good impression. When the show was on, I saw many students using their electronic gadgets, logging on QQ or RenRen, expressing how exciting feelings. If we hadn’t had the internet service last night, we would still enjoy the glorious performance. There are also enormous numbers of ways for us to express our passion. Yes, passion. Internet can provide us everything except passion, love and other complicated human feelings! That is the shortage of the internet, of all those electronic gadgets.To be honest, internet can make us happy, but it can’t bring us the real happiness. The real happiness is only in the real world. Remember those young people who are crazy over online-games and leave their families, joining gangs, those bad examples? Like every coin has two sides. Internet is gradually taking something from us, like in compensation.We must remember that in the modern world, power, treasure and all those what people are pursuing their entire life, they are not everything. We are human. We have feelings. That’s what can’t be replaced. So without internet, I can’t say that life will be better, but life will go on. Thank you.。
第八届CASIO杯翻译竞赛英语组原文及获奖翻译
第八届CASIO杯翻译竞赛英语组原文How Writers Build the BrandBy Tony Perrottet As every author knows,writing a book is the easy part these days.It’s when the publication date looms that we have to roll up our sleeves and tackle the real literary labor:rabid self-promotion.For weeks beforehand,we are compelled to bombard every friend,relative and vague acquaintance with creative e-mails and Facebook alerts,polish up our Web sites with suspiciously youthful author photos,and,in an orgy of blogs,tweets and YouTube trailers,attempt to inform an already inundated world of our every reading,signing,review,interview and(well,one can dream!)TV -appearance.In this era when most writers are expected to do everything but run the printing presses,self-promotion is so accepted that we hardly give it a second thought.And yet, whenever I have a new book about to come out,I have to shake the unpleasant sensation that there is something unseemly about my own clamor for attention. Peddling my work like a Viagra salesman still feels at odds with the high calling of literature.In such moments of doubt,I look to history for reassurance.It’s always comforting to be reminded that literary whoring—I mean,self-marketing—has been practiced by the greats.The most revered of French novelists recognized the need for P.R.“For artists, the great problem to solve is how to get oneself noticed,”Balzac observed in“Lost Illusions,”his classic novel about literary life in early19th-century Paris.As another master,Stendhal,remarked in his autobiography“Memoirs of an Egotist,”“Great success is not possible without a certain degree of shamelessness,and even of out-and-out charlatanism.”Those words should be on the Authors Guild coat of arms.Hemingway set the modern gold standard for inventive self-branding,burnishing his image with photo ops from safaris,fishing trips and war zones.But he also posed for beer ads.In1951,Hem endorsed Ballantine Ale in a double-page spread in Lifemagazine,complete with a shot of him looking manly in his Havana abode.As recounted in“Hemingway and the Mechanism of Fame,”edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli and Judith S.Baughman,he proudly appeared in ads for Pan Am and Parker pens,selling his name with the abandon permitted to Jennifer Lopez or LeBron James today.Other American writers were evidently inspired.In1953,John Steinbeck also began shilling for Ballantine,recommending a chilled brew after a hard day’s labor in the fields.Even Vladimir Nabokov had an eye for self-marketing,subtly suggesting to photo editors that they feature him as a lepidopterist prancing about the forests in cap, shorts and long socks.(“Some fascinating photos might be also taken of me,a burly but agile man,stalking a rarity or sweeping it into my net from a flowerhead,”he enthused.)Across the pond,the Bloomsbury set regularly posed for fashion shoots in British Vogue in the1920s.The frumpy Virginia Woolf even went on a“Pretty Woman”-style shopping expedition at French couture houses in London with the magazine’s fashion editor in1925.But the tradition of self-promotion predates the camera by millenniums.In440 B.C.or so,a first-time Greek author named Herodotus paid for his own book tour around the Aegean.His big break came during the Olympic Games,when he stood up in the temple of Zeus and declaimed his“Histories”to the wealthy,influential crowd. In the12th century,the clergyman Gerald of Wales organized his own book party in Oxford,hoping to appeal to college audiences.According to“The Oxford Book of Oxford,”edited by Jan Morris,he invited scholars to his lodgings,where he plied them with good food and ale for three days,along with long recitations of his golden prose.But they got off easy compared with those invited to the“Funeral Supper”of the18th-century French bon vivant Grimod de la Reynière,held to promote his opus “Reflections on Pleasure.”The guests’curiosity turned to horror when they found themselves locked in a candlelit hall with a catafalque for a dining table,and were served an endless meal by black-robed waiters while Grimod insulted them as an audience watched from the balcony.When the diners were finally released at7a.m., they spread word that Grimod was mad—and his book quickly went through three -printings.Such pioneering gestures pale,however,before the promotional stunts of the 19th century.In“Crescendo of the Virtuoso:Spectacle,Skill,and Self-Promotion in Paris During the Age of Revolution,”the historian Paul Metzner notes that new technology led to an explosion in the number of newspapers in Paris,creating an array of publicity options.In“Lost Illusions,”Balzac observes that it was standard practice in Paris to bribe editors and critics with cash and lavish dinners to secure review space, while the city was plastered with loud posters advertising new releases.In1887,Guy de Maupassant sent up a hot-air balloon over the Seine with the name of his latest short story,“Le Horla,”painted on its side.In1884,Maurice Barrès hired men to wear sandwich boards promoting his literary review,Les Taches d’Encre.In1932, Colette created her own line of cosmetics sold through a Paris store.(This first venture into literary name-licensing was,tragically,a flop).American authors did try to keep up.Walt Whitman notoriously wrote his own anonymous reviews,which would not be out of place today on Amazon.“An American bard at last!”he raved in1855.“Large,proud,affectionate,eating,drinking and breeding,his costume manly and free,his face sunburnt and bearded.”But nobody could quite match the creativity of the Europeans.Perhaps the most astonishing P.R.stunt—one that must inspire awe among authors today—was plotted in Paris in1927by Georges Simenon,the Belgian-born author of the Inspector Maigret novels.For100,000francs,the wildly prolific Simenon agreed to write an entire novel while suspended in a glass cage outside the Moulin Rouge nightclub for 72hours.Members of the public would be invited to choose the novel’s characters, subject matter and title,while Simenon hammered out the pages on a typewriter.A newspaper advertisement promised the result would be“a record novel:record speed, record endurance and,dare we add,record talent!”It was a marketing coup.As Pierre Assouline notes in“Simenon:A Biography,”journalists in Paris“talked of nothing else.”As it happens,Simenon never went through with the glass-cage stunt,because the newspaper financing it went bankrupt.Still,he achieved huge publicity(and got to pocket25,000francs of the advance),and the idea took on a life of its own.It wassimply too good a story for Parisians to drop.For decades,French journalists would describe the Moulin Rouge event in elaborate detail,as if they had actually attended it. (The British essayist Alain de Botton matched Simenon’s chutzpah,if not quite his glamour,a few years ago when he set up shop in Heathrow for a week and became the airport’s first“writer in residence.”But then he actually got a book out of it,along with prime placement in Heathrow’s bookshops.)What lessons can we draw from all this?Probably none,except that even the most egregious act of self-¬promotion will be forgiven in time.So writers today should take heart.We could dress like Lady Gaga and hang from a cage at a Yankees game—if any of us looked as good near-naked,that is.On second thought,maybe there’s a reason we have agents to rein in our P.R. ideas.第八届CASIO杯翻译竞赛英语组获奖译文（英语组）看作家如何打造品牌托尼·佩罗泰特[1]正如每位作家都知道的，现如今，写书本身并不是件难事，倒是临近出版之前，我们才需要打起精神、全力以赴地应对真正的文字工作，即疯狂的自我宣传。
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第十一届CASIO杯翻译竞赛原文（日语组）鳥と名と唐木順三去年の今ごろは、毎日必ず出てきて、朝から晩まで、水槽のへり、風蝶花の陰に、寂然不動、只管打坐していたかえるが、今年は出てこない。
数日前、同形同色の小がえるが、つかの間、姿を現し、水の中から首だけ出していたのを見掛けたが、それなりで姿を消してしまった。
今年は六月、七月と、冷害で飢饉をまで心配した気候であったせいか、風蝶花の育ちも悪く、尺余に伸びただけで、花の房もまだ一つで、その先に小さいつぼみの姿をようやく探し得るにすぎない。
従って風蝶花が存分の葉陰をなすに至らず、かえるの育ちも悪く、どうも去年のような趣をなさない。
そう思って、今日、水槽の辺りを眺めていると、今年植えたばかりの菖蒲の葉がかすかに落とす影に、小がえるが二匹、寄り添うようにうずくまって、折からの暑さに激しい呼吸をしていた。
去年のとまさに同種だが、まだおどおどとした小がえるで、こちらとのなじみがわかない。
かえるの代わりに、今年は一羽の鳥となじみができた。
水槽の近い所に築いた盛り土の土手に、今年の五月、十本ほどの白樺を一列に植えた。
そのうちの一本、水槽にいちばん近いのの小枝に、毎日、四度、五度と一羽の小鳥がやって来て、しばらくさえずり続けてゆく。
来る時刻には多少のずれはあるが、止まる小枝はほとんど決まっている。
木の中程の斜めに伸びた、小指にも足りない太さの小枝である。
この小鳥の名はなんと言うのか。
土地の人にも聞いてみたが分からない。
すずめより少し大きく、尾も少し長いが、羽の色はよく似ている。
頭は黒く、目を中に挟んで、白い線が二本延びている。
つまり左右四本の、鮮やかな白い線が、黒い頭を走っている。
首筋は灰色というより白に近い。
その鳴き声を写そうと思っても、なかなか写すのが難しい。
ピーチク、ピーチクピ、と聞こえるときもある。
ツツピ、ツツピ、と聞こえる、いや鳴くときもある。
ツツーピ、ツーピ、というときもある。
小枝に止まって、空に向かってくちばしを真っすぐに立てて三声、四声と鳴き続けた後で、羽のかいつくろいをやっている。
つと、隣の荒れた雑草の中へ飛び降りて、えさをあさって小枝に戻り、くちばしを小枝でこすって後味を楽しんでいるときもある。
この鳥は群れては来ない。
いつも一羽きり。
時に二、三羽のすずめが好奇心を持ってか、近くの枝にやって来ることはある。
格別に親しみを示しはしないが、無愛想でもない。
すずめたちは己のそれと違う鳴き声にやや感心のていである。
しかし必ずまた一羽になる。
この鳥はあまりびくびくとはしていない。
人を恐れないというほどではないが、人の影がちらついても、鳴くことをやめない。
この鳥がいるうちは、こちらもなるべく静かにしている。
そういうことを、かれこれ二十日間も続けているうちに、いくらか気心が通うようになってきた。
彼女が鳴くのをやめているとき、こちらが下手くそながら、ツツピ、ツツピ、と誘ってやると、それに応じて鳴くようになった。
ツツピよりもっと複雑だが、その調べを文字にしかねる。
あの一羽の鳥は、なぜここへ来て、あの白樺のあの枝に止まり、そして首を真っすぐに立てて鳴き尽くすのだろう。
どういう縁でそうなり、それをこちらがまた聞くことになったのだろう。
なぜあの鳥は、いつもああいう声で鳴くのだろう。
いったいどう思って鳴いているのだろう。
一羽の鳥と気脈が通じるようになって、私は様々な思いをし続けている。
これを書きだしたのは昨日の午後、今日は八月十五日、敗戦の記念日、ここではお盆の三日目である。
朝四時半に起きてそこら辺りを散歩し、そろって出始めた稲の穂や、久しぶりの昨夜の驟雨に息づいている月見草を眺め、冷害を心配した今年の稲作も、昨今の好天と日照りで、持ち直したらしいことを喜び、家に上がって自ら入れる一杯のコーヒーを楽しんでいると、うぐいすがしきりに鳴いている。
今ごろのうぐいすは実にうまく、長く、調べ豊かに鳴く。
自らの声の良さを、自ら楽しんでいるように思われる。
ここは鳥が多い。
かっこうも、ほととぎすも鳴く。
つばめが飛び交い、からすが飛び回り、まれにとびの悠々と旋回しているのを見る。
隣のそば畑には、ひわらしいのが群れている。
もし白樺に来る黒頭に白線のある鳥がうぐいすであったなら、私はうぐいすが来て鳴く、とだけ書いて多言を費やさぬであろう。
かくのごとき文をつづらぬであろう。
その名を知らないために、いろいろと姿・形・色・声を書き連ねているのだが、十分にはそれを示し得ないで、もどかしい思いをしている。
もどかしく思いながらも、名を知らないことからくる好奇の心があって、それを詳しく見、また聞いている。
もしうぐいすであったなら、かくのごとく、見、聞くことをしなかったであろう。
名を知らないものに名を与え、それが世に通用するということの不思議さ。
名を与えることは一種天才の英知と言えるかもしれない。
深い愛情と、そこばくのはにかみがあって、初めて名を与え得るのだろう。
ここには野草が多く、その花の色は標高千メートルの紫外線のためか、実に美しい。
ききょう・はぎ・きすげ・つりふねそう・ふじばかま・おみなえし・なでしこ・つゆくさ・たで・たけにぐさ。
うまごやしまで美しい。
それぞれの草花に、それぞれの名を与えたのはだれだろう。
その名を言った初めの人はどういう人だろう。
ききょう・はぎ、その名は今や牢乎として動かし難い。
田の土手に咲く、まんじゅしゃげに似た赤い花、すっと茎だけ伸びてその上に、にぎやかだが多少毒々しい色の花を付けるあれを、子供のときの私たちはガンジと呼んでいた。
ここへ来てそれを見付け、その名を土地の人に聞くと、この辺ではガンズラと言うが、と自信なさそうに言った。
この花の名はまだ納まらない、不安定だな、と私は思った。
人は、美しいと言えば美しくないことはないが、毒々しいと言えば毒々しいあの花に対する感情が不確かで、そのために、しっかりした名を与えかねているのかもしれない。
月見草に葉や茎はそっくりだが、花は小さく、そっけないのがある。
土地の人はそれを星見草と言っている。
月見草が大待宵草ならば、これは小待宵草かもしれぬが、星身草は理が勝っていてなじめない。
ここはまた山の美しい所。
富士・鳳凰・甲斐駒・入笠・茅ヶ岳・権現・赤岳・編笠、すべて動かし難い。
その名がその山容を示し、山容はその名に満足している。
釜無の渓谷、これも動かし難い。
名に歴史があり、生活があり、祖霊さえこもっているようにみえる。
安定した名を持つ山水に囲まれ、動かし難い名と実とを持っている所、それがふるさとというものであろう。
一つの山、一つの森、一つの川、その各が一つ一つの名を持って、安定している。
ききょう・はぎも動かし難い名だが、これは一般名詞、どこへ行ってもその草木があり、その名がある。
山の名、川の名は、その山、この川の名、固有の個性と姿を持って生きているものの名である。
ふるさとは固有の所、個性と歴史のある所、名が実を示している所である。
子供が生まれる。
子に名前を付ける。
難しい務めだが、この務めは果たさねばならぬ義務である。
義務でもあるが愛の行事でもある。
昔は名付け親というのがあった。
私の子供のころまでそれがあった。
名前を付けることによって血はつながらないが親になる。
名を付けられた子は、その名の示す以外のものではない。
名は一つの運命である。
運命を与えるものは神か、親か、その二つよりほかはないだろう。
名を付ける、付けられることによる結び付きは、あるいは血の結び付きよりもかえって運命的かもしれぬ。
形而上的、意味的と言ってもよい。
世界内唯一の存在の意味宣言である。
人は我が家に飼う犬にも猫にも名を付ける。
夏目漱石の「猫」は、「吾輩は猫である。
名前はまだない。
」で始まっている。
この猫は終わりまで名前のない吾輩で通っている。
名前を付ける、付けられるという愛情や義理のつながりがないから、この猫は自由を確保している。
主人を批判し、批評し、あげつらう自由を存分に発揮している。
私はたった一度犬を飼ったことがある。
近所からもらい受けたのだが、柴犬と秋田犬との雑種ということであった。
全身ほとんど白く、ただ耳が褐色、背中に褐色の斑点が二つほどあった。
私はメルビルの「白鯨」の名を借りて、ディックと名付けた。
巨鯨の名をもらったが大きくはならず、中犬であった。
名をもらったディックには主人を批評、批判する自由などあり得ない。
代わりに愛情がわいた。
ディックはディックの唯一最大の信頼と愛情を名付け親に示してはばかるところがなかった。
この犬は十二年生きて死んだ。
私には二度と犬を飼う気はない。
その愛情のきずなが、やりきれないのである。
このごろ知人たちから、町名地番の変更の通知がしきりに来る。
何町の三丁目十三番地十二号といったたぐいに変更されたというのである。
由緒ある町の名を勝手に変更することについては、既にいろいろな論議があった。
すべて便宜という一点に絞られて、町の名までが数字化されてゆく。
故郷喪失はこういうところにまで及んでいるのである。
第三病棟四十号室第三ベッドの患者からは個性も履歴も剥奪される。
第六アパート第七棟第八号室の住人からはその顔貌まで奪い取られる。
軍隊と牢獄にはふさわしいこの無個性、無顔貌の普遍化が着実に実行されてゆく。
名を奪って数字を与えてゆくのである。
私は、今から三十年ほども前、千葉県成田の女学校で英語や西洋史を教えていた。
英語のリーダーにヘレン・ケラーの話が出ていた。
たぶん、七歳ごろであったろう。
家庭教師のサリバン先生がヘレンを井戸のそばへ連れて行く。
ポンプをこいで、片手を水に触れさせる。
そしてもう一方の手のひらに、ウォーターと一字一字をつづっていく。
一方の手に注がれている、冷たい物が、水という名を持った物、水であることを忽然として悟る。
そして、あらゆる物に名前のあることを知る。
その事実、その発見をヘレン・ケラーは後に精神革命と呼んだ。
暗黒に光明のともったようなものであったろう。
名のない物は何物でもない。
物に名を見いだし、名を与えることによって、物は初めて意味を持ったものとして存在する。
名前の発見は意味の発見であり、個物の発見であった。
それが精神の革命ということの意味であろう。
ところが、今は、意味剥奪の反革命が進んでいる。
物や人の数字化もその一つの現れと言ってよい。
このごろ毎日白樺の小枝にやって来る一羽の小鳥の名を知らないことから、私の想像はいろいろの方向へ気ままに飛んだ。
もしあの小鳥の名を知っていたならば、私は好奇の心を燃やさず、従って微細な観察をすることもなかったろう。
あれはうぐいす、あれはかっこう、あれは富士、あれは鳳凰、ああなるほどと、それで済ましてしまうことがある。