英语世界翻译大赛原文

第一篇：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.

第二篇：英语世界翻译大赛

A Garden That Welcomes Strangers

By Allen Lacy

I do not know what became of her, and I never learned her name.But I feel that I knew her from the garden she had so lovingly made over many decades.The house she lived in lies two miles from mine – a simple, two-story structure with the boxy plan, steeply-pitched roof and unadorned lines that are typical of houses built in the middle of the nineteenth century near the New Jersey shore.Her garden was equally simple.She was not a conventional gardener who did everything by the book, following the common advice to vary her plantings so there would be something in bloom from the first crocus in the spring to the last chrysanthemum in the fall.She had no respect for the rule that says that tall-growing plants belong at the rear of a perennial border, low ones in the front and middle-sized ones in the middle, with occasional exceptions for dramatic accent.In her garden, everything was accent, everything was tall, and the evidence was plain that she loved three kinds of plant and three only: roses, clematis and lilies, intermingled promiscuously to pleasant effect but no apparent design.She grew a dozen sorts of clematis, perhaps 50 plants in all, trained and tied so that they clambered up metal rods, each rod crowned intermittently throughout the summer by a rounded profusion of large blossoms of dark purple, rich crimson, pale lavender, light blue and gleaming white.Her taste in roses was old-fashioned.There wasn’t a single modern hybrid tea rose or floribunda in sight.Instead, she favored the roses of other ages – the York and Lancaster rose, the cabbage rose, the damask and the rugosa rose in several varieties.She propagated her roses herself from cuttings stuck directly in the ground and protected by upended gallon jugs.Lilies, I believe were her greatest love.Except for some Madonna lilies it is impossible to name them, since the wooden flats stood casually here and there in the flower bed, all thickly planted with dark green lily seedlings.The occasional paper tag fluttering from a seed pod with the date and record of a cross showed that she was an amateur hybridizer with some special fondness for lilies of a warm muskmelon shade or a pale lemon yellow.She believed in sharing her garden.By her curb there was a sign: “This is my garden, and you are welcome here.Take whatever you wish with your eyes, but nothing with your hand.”

Until five years ago, her garden was always immaculately tended, the lawn kept fertilized and mowed, the flower bed free of weeds, the tall lilies carefully staked.But then something happened.I don’t know what it was, but the lawn was mowed less frequently, then not at all.Tall grass invaded the roses, the clematis, the lilies.The elm tree in her front yard sickened and died, and when a coastal gale struck, the branches that fell were never removed.With every year, the neglect has grown worse.Wild honeysuckle and bittersweet run rampant in the garden.Sumac, ailanthus, poison ivy and other uninvited things threaten the few lilies and clematis and roses that still struggle for survival.Last year the house itself went dead.The front door was padlocked and the windows covered with sheets of plywood.For many months there has been a for sale sign out front, replacing the sign inviting strangers to share her garden.I drive by that house almost daily and have been tempted to load a shovel in my car trunk, stop at her curb and rescue a few lilies from the smothering thicket of weeds.The laws of trespass and the fact that her house sits across the street from a police station have given me the cowardice to resist temptation.But her garden has reminded me of mortality;gardeners and the gardens they make are fragile things, creatures of time, hostages to chance and to decay.Last week, the for sale sign out front came down and the windows were unboarded.A crew of painters arrived and someone cut down the dead elm tree.This morning there was a moving van in the driveway unloading a swing set, a barbecue grill, a grand piano and a houseful of sensible furniture.A young family is moving into that house.I hope that among their number is a gardener whose special fondness for old roses and clematis and lilies will see to it that all else is put aside until that flower bed is restored to something of its former self.(选自Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin Company, 1983.)

第三篇：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。

第四篇：第七届《英语世界》翻译大赛

第七届“北京外国语大学—《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛启事及原文

英译汉原文：

Great Possessions

By Aldo Leopold 【1】One hundred and twenty acres, according to the County Clerk, is the extent of my worldly domain.But the County Clerk is a sleepy fellow, who never looks at his record books before nine o'clock.What they would show at daybreak is the question here at issue.【2】Books or no books, it is a fact, patent both to my dog and myself, that at daybreak I am the sole owner of all the acres I can walk over.It is not only boundaries that disappear, but also the thought of being bounded.Expanses unknown to deed or map are known to every dawn, and solitude, supposed no longer to exist in my county, extends on every hand as far as the dew can reach.【3】Like other great landowners, I have tenants.They are negligent about rents, but very punctilious about tenures.Indeed at every daybreak from April to July they proclaim their boundaries to each other, and so acknowledge, at least by inference, their fiefdom to me.【4】This daily ceremony, contrary to what you might suppose, begins with the utmost decorum.Who originally laid down its protocols I do not know.At 3:30 a.m., with such dignity as I can muster of a July morning, I step from my cabin door, bearing in either hand my emblems of sovereignty, a coffee pot and notebook.I seat myself on a bench, facing the white wake of the morning star.I set the pot beside me.I extract a cup from my shirt front, hoping none will notice its informal mode of transport.I get out my watch, pour coffee, and lay notebook on knee.This is the cue for the proclamations to begin.【5】At 3:35 the nearest field sparrow avows, in a clear tenor chant, that he holds the jackpine copse north to the riverbank, and south to the old wagon track.One by one all the other field sparrows within earshot recite their respective holdings.There are no disputes, at least at this hour, so I just listen, hoping inwardly that their womenfolk acquiesce in this happy accord over the status quo ante.【6】Before the field sparrows have quite gone the rounds, the robin in the big elm warbles loudly his claim to the crotch where the icestorm tore off a limb, and all appurtenances pertaining thereto(meaning, in his case, all the angleworms in the not-very-spacious subjacent lawn).【7】The robin's insistent caroling awakens the oriole, who now tells the world of orioles that the pendant branch of the elm belongs to him, together with all fiber-bearing milkweed stalks near by, all loose strings in the garden, and the exclusive right to flash like a burst of fire from one of these to another.【8】My watch says 3:50.The indigo bunting on the hill asserts title to the dead oak limb left by the 1936 drouth, and to divers near-by bugs and bushes.He does not claim, but I think he implies, the right to out-blue all bluebirds, and all spiderworts that have turned their faces to the dawn.【9】Next the wren—the one who discovered the knothole in the eave of the cabin—explodes into song.Half a dozen other wrens give voice, and now all is bedlam.Grosbeaks, thrashers, yellow warblers, bluebirds, vireos, towhees, cardinals—all are at it.My solemn list of performers, in their order and time of first song, hesitates, wavers, ceases, for my ear can no longer filter out priorities.Besides, the pot is empty and the sun is about to rise.I must inspect my domain before my title runs out.【10】We sally forth, the dog and I, at random.He has paid scant respect to all these vocal goings-on, for to him the evidence of tenantry is not song, but scent.Any illiterate bundle of feathers, he says, can make a noise in a tree.Now he is going to translate for me the olfactory poems that who-knows-what silent creatures have written in the summer night.At the end of each poem sits the author—if we can find him.What we actually find is beyond predicting: a rabbit, suddenly yearning to be elsewhere;a woodcock, fluttering his disclaimer;a cock pheasant, indignant over wetting his feathers in the grass.【11】Once in a while we turn up a coon or mink, returning late from the night's foray.Sometimes we rout a heron from his unfinished fishing, or surprise a mother wood duck with her convoy of ducklings, headed full-steam for the shelter of the pickerelweeds.Sometimes we see deer sauntering back to the thickets, replete with alfalfa blooms, veronica, and wild lettuce.More often we see only the interweaving darkened lines that lazy hoofs have traced on the silken fabric of the dew.【12】I can feel the sun now.The bird-chorus has run out of breath.The far clank of cowbells bespeaks a herd ambling to pasture.A tractor roars warning that my neighbor is astir.The world has shrunk to those mean dimensions known to county clerks.We turn toward home, and breakfast.汉译英原文：

知 识 与 智 慧

文/林巍

【1】知识与智慧的关系，是人们历来愿意谈论而又似乎谈不清的问题；然而，它的确与人们的学习、教育、生活、科技等方面有关。

【2】“知识”可以理解为“人类至今对于物质世界里客观事实系统化的认知”，而“智慧”则很难定义。查阅了各种工具书，其解释都难以令人满意，因为所谓智慧常与能力或聪明相混淆。

【3】不同于许多人的观点，我以为，知识是智慧的基础，因为不可想象，一个有智慧的人是无知的。作为智慧化身的诸葛亮所以使出“借东风”的计谋，是因他有着丰富的天文地理知识；“塞翁失马”所以复得，是因他熟知马的习性。故而，亚里士多德说，在某种意义上，智慧是一种知识。

【4】但是，有知识绝不等于有智慧。一个大字不识的人，可能把某个复杂的问题看得很透，而一个哲学教授却可能在某些简单事情上做出蠢事。

【5】孔子说，“学而不思则罔，思而不学则殆”；这里的“学”可理解为获得知识，“思”则是对于知识的运用，形成智慧。

【6】知识可以占有，智慧只能发挥；知识向外求得，智慧于内感悟；知识越获越丰富，智慧越凝越升华。老子说，“为学日益，为道日损”。

【7】对于人的智力，知识是分学科的，而智慧则是打通的；知识具有客观性、一致性、逻辑性，智慧则具主观性、个体性、创造性；知识没有善恶，智慧却可善可恶；知识最终为智慧所推论、总结、应用。

【8】能力，是智慧在某一具体环节上的运用；聪明，则可理解为狭义的智慧。

【9】智慧其实无法尽用语言概括——还包括情感、品格、观念、德行、性情以及天时地利等综合因素的整合, 而其最高境界是“大智若愚”。所以，应当厘清概念：人工智能只可代替知识、能力和聪明，却永远也代替不了人的智慧。

第五篇：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.）