第一篇：天津翻译大赛原文
2018年“外教社杯”天津市高校翻译大赛英译汉、汉译英初赛原文
请将下列文字译为汉语：
When I was sixteen I worked selling hot dogs at a stand in the Fourteenth Street subway station in New York City, one level above the trains and one below the street, where the crowds continually flowed back and forth.On my break I came out from behind the counter and passed the time with two old black men who ran a shoeshine stand in a dark corner of the corridor.It was a poor location,half hidden by columns and they didn't have much business.I would sit with my back against the wall while they stood or moved around their ancient elevated stand, talking to each other or to me, but always staring into the distance as they did so.As the weeks went by I realized that they never looked at anything in their immediate vicinity--not at me or their stand or anybody who might come within ten or fifteen feet.They did not look at approaching customers once they were inside the perimeter.Save for the instant it took to discern the color of the shoes, they did not even look at what they were doing while they worked, but rubbedin polish, brushed, and buffed by feel while looking over their shoulders, into the distance, as if awaiting the arrival of an important person.Of course there wasn't all that much distance in the underground station, but their behavior was so focused and consistent they seemed somehow to transcend the physical.A powerful mood was created, and I came almost to believe that these men could see through walls, through girders, and around corners to whatever hyperspace it was where whoever it was they were waiting and watching for would finally emerge.Their scattered talk was hip, elliptical, and hinted at mysteries beyond my white boy's ken, but it was the staring off, the long, steady staring off, that had me hypnotized.I left for a better job, with handshakes from both of them, without understanding what I had seen.Perhaps ten years later, after playing jazz with black musicians in various Harlem clubs, hanging out uptown with a few young artists and intellectuals, I began to learn from them something of the extraordinarily varied and complex riffs and rituals embraced by different people to help themselves get through life in the ghetto.Fantasy of all kinds--from playful to dangerous--was in the very air of Harlem.It was the spice of uptown life.Only then did I understand the two shoeshine men.They were trapped in a demeaning situation in a dark corner in an underground corridor in a filthy subway system.Their continuous staring off was a kind of statement, a kind of dance.Our bodies are here, went the statement, but our souls are receiving nourishment from distant sources only we can see.They were powerful magic dancers, sorcerers almost, and thirty-five years later I can still feel the pressure of their spell.The light bulb may appear over your head, is what I'm saying, but it may be a while before it actually goes on.Early in my attempts to learn jazz piano, I used to listen to recordings of a fine player named Red Garland, whose music I admired.I couldn't quite figure out what he was doing with his left hand, however;the chords eluded me.I went uptown to an obscure club where he was playing with his trio, caught him on his break, and simply asked him.“Sixths,” he said cheerfully.And then he went away.I didn't know what to make of it.The basic jazz chord is the seventh, which comes in
various configurations, but it is what it is.I was a self-taught pianist, pretty shaky on theory and harmony, and when he said sixths I kept trying
to fit the information into what I already knew, and it didn't fit.But it stuck in my mind--a tantalizing mystery.A couple of years later, when I began playing with a bass player, I discovered more or less by accident that if the bass played the root and I played a sixth based on the fifth note of the scale, a very interesting chord involving both instruments emerged.Ordinarily, I suppose I would have skipped over the matter and not paid much attention, but I remembered Garland's remark and so I stopped and spent a week or two working out the voicings, and greatly strengthened my foundations as a player.I had remembered what I hadn't understood, you might say, until my life caught up with the information and the light bulb went on.……
Education doesn't end until life ends, because you never know when you're going to understand something you hadn't understood before.For me, the magic dance of the shoeshine men was the kind of experience in which understanding came with a kind of click, a resolving kind of click.The same with the experience at the piano.Indeed, in our intellectual lives, our creative lives, it is perhaps those problems that will never resolve that rightly claim the lion's share of our energies.The physical body exists in a constant state of tension as it maintains homeostasis, and so too does the active mind embrace the tension of never being certain, never being absolutely sure, never being done, as it engages the world.That is our special fate, our inexpressibly valuable condition.请将下列文字译为英语：
回忆鲁迅先生
鲁迅先生的笑声是明朗的，是从心里的欢喜。若有人说了什么可笑的话，鲁迅先生笑的连烟卷都拿不住了，常常是笑的咳嗽起来。
鲁迅先生走路很轻捷，尤其他人记得清楚的，是他刚抓起帽子来往头上一扣，同时左腿就伸出去了，仿佛不顾一切地走去。
鲁迅先生不大注意人的衣裳，他说：“谁穿什么衣裳我看不见得……”
鲁迅先生生的病，刚好了一点，他坐在躺椅上，抽着烟，那天我穿着新奇的大红的上衣，很宽的袖子。
鲁迅先生说：“这天气闷热起来，这就是梅雨天。”他把他装在象牙烟嘴上的香烟，又
用手装得紧一点，往下又说了别的。
许先生忙着家务，跑来跑去，也没有对我的衣裳加以鉴赏。于是我说：“周先生，我的衣裳漂亮不漂亮？”
鲁迅先生从上往下看了一眼：“不大漂亮。”
过了一会又接着说：“你的裙子配的颜色不对，并不是红上衣不好看，各种颜色都是好看的，红上衣要配红裙子，不然就是黑裙子，咖啡色的就不行了；这两种颜色放在一起很浑浊……你没看到外国人在街上走的吗？绝没有下边穿一件绿裙子，上边穿一件紫上衣，也没有穿一件红裙子而后穿一件白上衣的……”
鲁迅先生就在躺椅上看着我：“你这裙子是咖啡色的，还带格子，颜色浑浊得很，所以把红色衣裳也弄得不漂亮了。”
“……人瘦不要穿黑衣裳，人胖不要穿白衣裳；脚长的女人一定要穿黑鞋子，脚短就一定要穿白鞋子；方格子的衣裳胖人不能穿，但比横格子的还好；横格子的胖人穿上，就把胖子更往两边裂着，更横宽了，胖子要穿竖条子的，竖的把人显得长，横的把人显的宽……”
那天鲁迅先生很有兴致，把我一双短统靴子也略略批评一下，说我的短靴是军人穿的，因为靴子的前后都有一条线织的拉手，这拉手据鲁迅先生说是放在裤子下边的……
我说：“周先生，为什么那靴子我穿了多久了而不告诉我，怎么现在才想起来呢？现在我不是不穿了吗？我穿的这不是另外的鞋吗？”
“你不穿我才说的，你穿的时候，我一说你该不穿了。”
那天下午要赴一个筵会去，我要许先生给我找一点布条或绸条束一束头发。许先生拿了来米色的绿色的还有桃红色的。经我和许先生共同选定的是米色的。为着取美，把那桃红色的，许先生举起来放在我的头发上，并且许先生很开心地说着：
“好看吧！多漂亮！”
第二篇：第十一届翻译大赛初赛原文
第十一届“语言桥”杯翻译大赛
初赛原文
1.Look at this dialogue and translate it twice as required.Consider the word dog.The word dog evokes very different images in the minds of those who have been bitten by dogs and those who have not.Dog lovers can distinguish different kinds of dogs and point out their respective characteristics, while people who are not interested in dogs cannot.But this does not keep anyone from understanding and using the word dog.With this in mind, I feel that the meaning of a word should be as follows: the sum total of all the individual experience and knowledge we have in connection with a certain phonological shape.(1)Translate this paragraph, paying attention to the italicized words, and doing justice to the length of content of the source text.(2)Translate it again, in about two lines, by preserving what may be considered as the essence of this episode(about 30 words)while deleting the seemingly unnecessary parts.Imagine that the entire works where this paragraph occurs is expected to be abridged in the rendering as wanted by the publisher or client.2.Translate this short passage, making it accurate in the author’s points of view and representing it in the same serious academic style.What can be understood without being said is usually, in the interest of economy, not said … A person making a statement in the form, ‘Some S is P’, generally wishes to suggest that some S also is not P.For, in the majority of cases, if he knew that all S is P, he would say so [...] If a person says, ‘Some grocers are honest’, or ‘Some books are interesting’, meaning to suggest that some grocers are not honest or that some textbooks are not interesting, he is really giving voice to a conjunctive proposition in an elliptical way.3.Translate this paragraph, making it like literature – in the same style as the source text.The great royal gardens of France owe their existence to a war that took X down through Italy until, in 1495, he reached the kingdom of Naples, which was ruled at the time by the mad Y.Y wasn’t just mad, he was mad about gardening, and he is said to have fled with packets of his favorite seeds, so that he could start new gardens in exile in Sicily.So X got to see, and to inhabit, a state-of-the-art garden--and it had avenues, and fountains and baths and--oh--it had a hippodrome and there was nothing like it in France.4.Translate this into English, sounding like journalism of a certain type.11月8日，北京商务印书馆迎来了数十位满头银发的老人。这些老人走在街上，恐怕不被多少人认识，但是经由他们笔下译介的外国文学名著，则几乎无人不知，如专门翻译福克纳小说的李文俊、与萧乾共同翻译《尤利西斯》的文洁若、翻译毛姆作品的傅惟慈。各位资深翻译家为了缅怀施咸荣先生对文学翻译事业所做的贡献汇聚一堂。
第三篇：英语世界翻译大赛原文
第九届“郑州大学—《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛英译汉原文
The Whoomper Factor
By Nathan Cobb
【1】As this is being written, snow is falling in the streets of Boston in what weather forecasters like to call “record amounts.” I would guess by looking out the window that we are only a few hours from that magic moment of paralysis, as in Storm Paralyzes Hub.Perhaps we are even due for an Entire Region Engulfed or a Northeast Blanketed, but I will happily settle for mere local disablement.And the more the merrier.【1】写这个的时候，波士顿的街道正下着雪，天气预报员将称其为“创纪录的量”。从窗外望去，我猜想，过不了几个小时，神奇的瘫痪时刻就要来临，就像《风暴瘫痪中心》里的一样。也许我们甚至能够见识到《吞没整个区域》或者《茫茫东北》里的场景，然而仅仅部分地区的瘫痪也能使我满足。当然越多越使人开心。
【2】Some people call them blizzards, others nor’easters.My own term is whoompers, and I freely admit looking forward to them as does a baseball fan to April.Usually I am disappointed, however;because tonight’s storm warnings too often turn into tomorrow’s light flurries.【2】有些人称它们为暴风雪，其他人称其为东北风暴。我自己则有一个叫法：呐喊者。我大方地承认道我期待着它们的到来，正如一位篮球迷盼望着四月份的来临。然而通常情况下，我会大失所望，因为今天发布了风暴警报，明天往往只飘起小雪。
【3】Well, flurries be damned.I want the real thing, complete with Volkswagens turned into drifts along Commonwealth Avenue and the MBTA’s third rail frozen like a hunk of raw meat.A storm does not even begin to qualify as a whoomper unless Logan Airport is shut down for a minimum of six hours.【3】好吧，小雪令人厌恶。我想要实实在在的东西，包括大众汽车成了联邦大道的漂浮物，波士顿市运输局的第三条轨道像一大块生肉一样被冻住了。除非洛根机场至少关闭六个小时，否则这一场风暴根本配不上称作呐喊者。
【4】The point is, whoompers teach us a lesson.Or rather several lessons.For one thing, here are all these city folks who pride themselves on their instinct for survival, and suddenly they cannot bear to venture into the streets because they are afraid of being swallowed up.Virtual prisoners in their own houses is what they are.In northern New England, the natives view nights such as this with casual indifference, but let a whoomper hit Boston and the locals are not only knee deep in snow but also in befuddlement and disarray.【4】关键是，呐喊者们给了我们一个教训。或者几个教训。一方面，所有的城里人为他们的生存本能感到自豪，霎时间，他们不能忍受街道上的风险因为害怕被吞没。他们就好像是自己房子里的囚犯。在新英格兰的北部，当地人对这样的夜晚习以为常，但是让一位呐喊者袭击波士顿，居民不仅深陷雪中而且陷入困境和混乱。
【5】The lesson? That there is something more powerful out there than the sacred metropolis.It is not unlike the message we can read into the debacle of the windows falling out of the John Hancock Tower;just when we think we’ve got the upper hand on the elements, we find out we are flies and someone else is holding the swatter.Whoompers keep us in our place.【5】教训？那里有比神圣的大都市更强大的东西。这与我们可以从约翰•汉考克大厦掉落下来的崩溃信息没什么不同；正当我们自认为凌驾于风雨之上时，才发现我们只是沧海一粟，另有高人将我们玩弄于股掌之间。呐喊者们将我们困在原地。
【6】They also slow us down, which is not a bad thing for urbania these days.Frankly, I’m of the opinion Logan should be closed periodically, snow or not, in tribute to the lurking suspicion that it may not be all that necessary for a man to travel at a speed of 600 miles per hour.In a little while I shall go forth into the streets and I know what I will find.People will actually be walking, and the avenues will be bereft of cars.It will be something like those marvelous photographs of Back Bay during the nineteenth century, wherein the lack of clutter and traffic makes it seem as if someone has selectively airbrushed the scene.【6】他们也使我们放慢了速度，如今对于乌尔巴尼亚来说不是一件坏事。坦率地讲，为了向潜在的怀疑致敬，即可能不是每个人都必须以每小时600英里的速度行走，我认为不管下不下雪，洛根应该定期关门。我应该去街道上走上一小会儿就能知道自己寻找什么。实际上人们将要行走，大道上没有车子。如同19世纪巴克湾那些
【7】And, of course, there will be the sound of silence tonight.It will be almost deafening.I know city people who have trouble sleeping in the country because of the lack of noise, and I suspect this is what bothers many of them about whoompers.Icy sidewalks and even fewer parking spaces we can handle, but please, God, turn up the volume.City folks tend not to believe in anything they can’t hear with their own ears.【8】It should also be noted that nights such as this are obviously quite pretty, hiding the city’s wounds beneath a clean white dressing.But it is their effect on the way people suddenly treat each other that is most fascinating, coming as it does when city dwellers are depicted as people of the same general variety as those New Yorkers who stood by when Kitty Genovese was murdered back in 1964.【9】There’s nothing like a good whoomper to get people thinking that everyone walking towards them on the sidewalk might not be a mugger, or that saying hello is not necessarily a sign of perversion.You would think that city people, more than any other, would have a strong sense of being in the same rough seas together, yet it is not until a quasi catastrophe hits that many of them stop being lone sharks.【10】But enough of this.There’s a whoomper outside tonight, and it requires my presence.
第四篇：第二届英语世界杯翻译大赛原文
His First Day as Quarry-Boy
By Hugh Miller(1802～1856)
It was twenty years last February since I set out, a little before sunrise, to make my first acquaintance with a life of labour and restraint;and I have rarely had a heavier heart than on that morning.I was but a slim, loose-jointed boy at the time, fond of the pretty intangibilities of romance, and of dreaming when broad awake;and, woful change!I was now going to work at what Burns has instanced, in his ‘Twa Dogs’, as one of the most disagreeable of all employments,—to work in a quarry.Bating the passing uneasinesses occasioned by a few gloomy anticipations, the portion of my life which had already gone by had been happy beyond the common lot.I had been a wanderer among rocks and woods, a reader of curious books when I could get them, a gleaner of old traditionary stories;and now I was going to exchange all my day-dreams, and all my amusements, for the kind of life in which men toil every day that they may be enabled to eat, and eat every day that they may be enabled to toil!The quarry in which I wrought lay on the southern shore of a noble inland bay, or frith rather, with a little clear stream on the one side, and a thick fir wood on the other.It had been opened in the Old Red Sandstone of the district, and was overtopped by a huge bank of diluvial clay, which rose over it in some places to the height of nearly thirty feet, and which at this time was rent and shivered, wherever it presented an open front to the weather, by a recent frost.A heap of loose fragments, which had fallen from above, blocked up the face of the quarry and my first employment was to clear them away.The friction of the shovel soon blistered my hands, but the pain was by no means very severe, and I wrought hard and willingly, that I might see how the huge strata below, which presented so firm and unbroken a frontage, were to be torn up and removed.Picks, and wedges, and levers, were applied by my brother-workmen;and, simple and rude as I had been accustomed to regard these implements, I found I had much to learn in the way of using them.They all proved inefficient, however, and the workmen had to bore into one of the inferior strata, and employ gunpowder.The process was new to me, and I deemed it a highly amusing one: it had the merit, too, of being attended with some such degree of danger as a boating or rock excursion, and had thus an interest independent of its novelty.We had a few capital shots: the fragments flew in every direction;and an immense mass of the diluvium came toppling down, bearing with it two dead birds, that in a recent storm had crept into one of the deeper fissures, to die in the shelter.I felt a new interest in examining them.The one was a pretty cock goldfinch, with its hood of vermilion and its wings inlaid with the gold to which it owes its name, as unsoiled and smooth as if it had been preserved for a museum.The other, a somewhat rarer bird, of the woodpecker tribe, was variegated with light blue and a grayish yellow.I was engaged in admiring the poor little things, more disposed to be sentimental, perhaps, than if I had been ten years older, and thinking of the contrast between the warmth and jollity of their green summer haunts, and the cold and darkness of their last retreat, when I heard our employer bidding the workmen lay by their tools.I looked up and saw the sun sinking behind the thick fir wood beside us, and the long dark shadows of the trees stretching downward towards the shore.—Old Red Sandstone
（文章选自THE OXFORD BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE, 658-660, Oxford University Press, London, first published 1925，reprinted 1958.）
第五篇：第五届“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛比赛原文
Limbo
By Rhonda Lucas
My parents’ divorce was final.The house had been sold and the day had come to move.Thirty years of the family’s life was now crammed into the garage.The two-by-fours that ran the length of the walls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, and memories.All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one to come.The sunlight pushing its way through the window splattered against a barricade of boxes.Like a fluorescent river, it streamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor.I stood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlight would ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes.For an instant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to those memories.The furnace in the corner, with its huge tubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of the futility of trying to warm the empty house.The rhythmical whir of its effort hummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me.I closed the door, sat down on the step, and listened reverently.The feeling of loss transformed the bad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committed the good ones to my mind.Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside.A workbench to my right stood disgustingly empty.Not so much as a nail had been left behind.I noticed, for the first time, what a dull, lifeless green it was.Lacking the disarray of tools that used to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen.In fact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were the cobwebs in the corners.A group of boxes had been set aside from the others and stacked in front of the workbench.Scrawled like graffiti on the walls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those words caught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign.They reeked of irony.“Salvation-was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself.The houseful of furniture that had once been so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of the various rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall.The uncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of the room.I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my way through the boxes to the couch.I cleared a space to lie down and curled up, covering myself with my jacket.I hoped my father would return soon with the truck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of parting lives behind.（选自Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.）
第五届“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛通知
“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛肇始于2010年，由商务印书馆《英语世界》杂志社主办。为推动翻译学科的进一步发展，促进中外文化交流，我们将秉承“给力英语学习，探寻翻译之星”的理念，于2014年5月继续举办第五届“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛，诚邀广大翻译爱好者积极参与，比秀佳译。
本届大赛由悉尼翻译学院独家赞助。悉尼翻译学院成立于2009年，是在澳大利亚教育部注册的一家专业翻译学院。学院相关课程由澳大利亚翻译认证管理局（NAATI）认证。该院面向海内外招生，以构建“一座跨文化的桥梁”为目标，力图培养具有国际视野和跨文化意识的涉及多语种的口笔译人才。
大赛赞助单位
悉尼翻译学院
大赛合作单位
中国翻译协会社科翻译委员会
四川省翻译协会
南开大学
成都通译翻译有限公司
上海翻译家协会
广东省翻译协会
湖北省翻译理论与教学研究会
陕西省翻译协会
江苏省翻译协会
大赛顾问委员会
王学东（中国翻译协会副会长、中央编译局副局长）
仲伟合（中国翻译协会副会长、广东省翻译协会会长、广东外语外贸大学校长）许钧（中国翻译协会常务副会长、江苏省翻译协会会长、南京大学研究生院常务副院长）柴明熲（上海翻译家协会副会长、上海外国语大学高级翻译学院院长）连真然（四川省翻译协会副会长）
胡宗峰（陕西省翻译协会副会长、西北大学外国语学院副院长）
李瑞林（西安外国语大学高级翻译学院院长）
华先发（华中师范大学外语学院英语系主任）
大赛评委会
主任
刘士聪（南开大学外国语学院教授、博士生导师）
评委
陈国华（北京外国语大学教授、博士生导师）
曹明伦（四川大学外国语学院教授、博士生导师）
张文（北京第二外国语学院教授）
钱多秀（北京航空航天大学外国语学院副院长兼翻译系主任）
方华文（苏州大学外国语学院教授）
王丽丽（中共中央编译局中央文献翻译部英文处副译审、副处长）
魏庆阳（悉尼翻译学院院长）
魏令查（《英语世界》主编）
一、大赛形式
本届大赛为英汉翻译，参赛启事以及原文发布于商务印书馆网站
（http://.cn/）、《英语世界》2014年第5期、《英语世界》官方博客（http://blog.sina.com.cn/theworldofenglish）以及《英语世界》微信公众平台上。
二、参赛要求
1、参赛者国籍、年龄、性别、学历不限。
2、参赛译文须独立完成，不接受合作译稿。
3、参赛译文及个人信息于截稿日期前发送至电子邮箱：yysjfyds@sina.com。
（1）邮件主题标明“翻译大赛”；
（2）以附件一形式发送参赛者个人信息，文件名“XXX个人信息”，内容包括：姓名、性别、出生年月日、学校或工作单位、通信地址（邮编）、电子邮箱和电话；
（3）以附件二形式发送参赛译文，文件名“XXX参赛译文”，内文规格：黑色小四号宋体，1.5倍行距，两端对齐。
4、仅第一次投稿有效，不接受修改后的再投稿件。
5、在大赛截稿之日前，妥善保存参赛译文，勿在报刊、网络等任何媒体或以任何方式公布，违者取消参赛资格并承担由此造成的一切后果。
三、大赛时间
起止日期：2014年5月1日零时～2014年7月20日24时。
奖项公布时间：2014年10月，在《英语世界》杂志、微博、博客和微信公众平台上公布大赛评审结果。
四、奖项设置
所有投稿将由主办单位组织专家进行评审，分设一、二、三等奖及优秀奖。一、二、三等奖获奖者将颁发奖金、奖品和证书，优秀奖获奖者将颁发证书和纪念奖。
五、联系方式
为办好本届翻译大赛，保证此项赛事的公平、公正，特成立大赛组委会，负责整个大赛的组织、实施和评审工作。组委会办公室设在《英语世界》编辑部，电话/传真010-65539242。
六、特别说明
1、本届翻译大赛不收取任何费用。
2、本届翻译大赛只接受电子版投稿，不接受纸质投稿。
3、参赛译文一经发现抄袭或雷同，即取消涉事者参赛资格。
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