中国译协《中国翻译》编辑部暨上海外国语大学高级翻译学院联合举办

第18届“韩素音青年翻译奖”竞赛

 

随着全球化进程的加速、我国加入世界贸易组织、北京承办2008年奥运会以及中国翻译协会申办2008年第18届世界翻译大会的成功，中外交流日趋频繁。翻译，作为沟通中外交流的桥梁，将会发挥越来越重要的作用和影响。值此之际，中国译协《中国翻译》编辑部与上海外国语大学高级翻译学院将联合举办第18届“韩素音青年翻译奖”大赛，具体参赛规则如下：

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

二、《中国翻译》2006年第1期刊登参赛规则、参赛原文和参赛券(复印件有效)。

三、参赛者年龄：44岁以下(1962年7月1日以后出生)。

四、参赛译文须独立完成，杜绝抄袭现象，一经发现，将取消参赛资格。

五、参赛译文请用电脑打印或用稿纸(有单位名称抬头的译文稿纸无效)誊写清楚。译文前加一封面，将填好的参赛券剪贴在此封面上(请勿贴在信封上)。译文正文内请勿书写译者姓名、地址等个人信息，参赛译文内如涉及任何参赛者信息将被视为无效译文。

六、参赛截止日期：请参赛者于2006年5月31日以前(以寄出日邮戳为准)将参赛译文挂号寄至：北京市阜外百万庄大街24号《中国翻译》编辑部，邮编：100037，请在信封上注明： “参赛译文”字样，上海外国语大学高级翻译学院不接收参赛译文。

七、参赛者在交寄参赛译文的同时，交寄报名费40元，如同时参加两项竞赛，请交报名费80元。汇款地址：北京市阜外百万庄大街24号《中国翻译》编辑部，邮编：100037，请在汇款单附言上注明“参赛报名费”字样。未交报名费的参赛译文无效，请勿在参赛译文信封中夹寄报名费。   

八、为鼓励更多的英语爱好者参与大赛，学习翻译，提高翻译水平，本届竞赛将根据参赛者的数量适当加大获奖者的比例，设一、二、三等奖和优秀奖若干名，授予一、二、三等奖获得者奖金、证书和奖品，授予优秀奖获得者证书和奖品。2006年第6期(11月15日出版)《中国翻译》杂志将公布竞赛结果。

九、竞赛联系地址：北京市阜外百万庄大街24号《中国翻译》编辑部
邮编：100037，电话：(010)68327209，68995956，传真：(010)68995951
电子信箱：ctjtac@public.bta.net.cn

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　第18届“韩素音青年翻译奖”评审委员会

第18届“韩素音青年翻译奖”参赛原文

英译汉部分：

　　　　　The Literature of Knowledge and the Literature of Power
　　

What is it that we mean by literature?  Popularly, and amongst the thoughtless, it is held to include everything that is printed in a book.  Little logic is required to disturb that definition.  The most thoughtless person is easily made aware that in the idea of literature one essential element is some relation to a general and common interest of man—so that what applies only to a local, or professional, or merely personal interest, even though presenting itself in the shape of a book, will not belong to Literature.  So far the definition is easily narrowed; and it is as easily expanded.  For not only is much that takes a station in books not literature; but inversely, much that really is literature never reaches a station in books.  The weekly sermons of Christendom, that vast pulpit literature which acts so extensively upon the popular mind—to warn, to uphold, to renew, to comfort, to alarm—does not attain the sanctuary of libraries in the ten-thousandth part of its extent.  The Drama again—as, for instance, the finest of Shakespeare’s plays in England, and all leading Athenian plays in the noontide of the Attic stage—operated as a literature on the public mind, and were (according to the strictest letter of that term) published through the audiences that witnessed their representation some time before they were published as things to be read; and they were published in this scenical mode of publication with much more effect than they could have had as books during ages of costly copying or of costly printing.
　　 Books, therefore, do not suggest an idea coextensive and interchangeable with the idea of Literature; since much literature, scenic, forensic, or didactic (as from lecturers and public orators), may never come into books, and much that does come into books may connect itself with no literary interest.  But a far more important correction, applicable to the common vague idea of literature, is to be sought not so much in a better definition of literature as in a sharper distinction of the two functions which it fulfills.  In that great social organ which, collectively, we call literature, there may be distinguished two separate offices that may blend and often do so, but capable, severally, of a severe insulation, and naturally fitted for reciprocal repulsion.  There is, first, the literature of knowledge; and, secondly, the literature of power.  The function of the first is—to teach; the function of the second is—to move: the first is a rudder; the second, an oar or a sail.  The first speaks to the mere discursive understanding; the second speaks ultimately, it may happen, to the higher understanding or reason, but always through affections of pleasure and sympathy.  Remotely, it may travel towards an object seated in what Lord Bacon calls dry light; but, proximately, it does and must operate—else it ceases to be a literature of power—on and through that humid light which clothes itself in the mists and glittering iris of human passions, desires, and genial emotions. Men have so little reflected on the higher functions of literature as to find it a paradox if one should describe it as a mean or subordinate purpose of books to give information.  But this is a paradox only in the sense which makes it honorable to be paradoxical.  Whenever we talk in ordinary language of seeking information or gaining knowledge, we understand the words as connected with something of absolute novelty.  But it is the grandeur of all truth which can occupy a very high place in human interests that it is never absolutely novel to the meanest of minds: it exists eternally by way of germ or latent principle in the lowest as in the highest, needing to be developed, but never to be planted.  To be capable of transplantation is the immediate criterion of a truth that ranges on a lower scale.  Besides which, there is a rarer thing than truth—namely, power, or deep sympathy with truth.  What is the effect, for instance, upon society, of children?  By the pity, by the tenderness, and by the peculiar modes of admiration, which connect themselves with the helplessness, with the innocence, and with the simplicity of children, not only are the primal affections strengthened and continually renewed, but the qualities which are dearest in the sight of heaven—the frailty, for instance, which appeals to forbearance, the innocence which symbolizes the heavenly, and the simplicity which is most alien from the worldly—are kept up in perpetual remembrance, and their ideals are continually refreshed. A purpose of the same nature is answered by the higher literature, viz. the literature of power. What do you learn from Paradise Lost? Nothing at all. What do you learn from a cookery book?  Something new, something that you did not know before, in every paragraph. But would you therefore put the wretched cookery book on a higher level of estimation than the divine poem? What you owe to Milton is not any knowledge, of which a million separate items are still but a million of advancing steps on the same earthly level; what you owe is power—that is, exercise and expansion to your own latent capacity of sympathy with the infinite, where every pulse and each separate influx is a step upwards, a step ascending as upon a Jacob’s ladder from earth to mysterious altitudes above the earth. All the steps of knowledge, from first to last, carry you further on the same plane, but could never raise you one foot above your ancient level of earth: whereas the very first step in power is a flight—is an ascending movement into another element where earth is forgotten.

汉译英部分：

读书苦乐

　　 读书钻研学问，当然得下苦功夫。为应考试、为写论文、为求学位，大概都得苦读。陶渊明好读书。如果他生于当今之世，要去考大学，或考研究院，或考什么“托福儿”，难免会有些困难吧？我只愁他政治经济学不能及格呢，这还不是因为他“不求甚解”。

　　 我曾挨过几下“棍子”，说我读书“追求精神享受”。我当时只好低头认罪。我也承认自己确实不是苦读。不过，“乐在其中”并不等于追求享受。这话可为知者言，不足为外人道也。

　　 我觉得读书好比串门儿——“隐身”的串门儿。要参见钦佩的老师或拜谒有名的学者，不必事前打招呼求见，也不怕搅扰主人。翻开书面就闯进大门，翻过几页就升堂入室；而且可以经常去，时刻去，如果不得要领，还可以不辞而别，或者另找高明，和他对质。不问我们要拜见的主人住在国内国外，不问他属于现代古代，不问他什么专业，不问他讲正经大道理或聊天说笑，都可以挨近前去听个足够。我们可以恭恭敬敬旁听孔门弟子追述夫子遗言，也不妨淘气地笑问“言必称‘亦曰仁义而已矣’的孟夫子”，他如果生在我们同一个时代，会不会是一位马列主义老先生呀？我们可以在苏格拉底临刑前守在他身边，听他和一伙朋友谈话；也可以对斯多葛派伊匹克悌忒斯（Epictetus）的《金玉良言》思考怀疑。我们可以倾听前朝列代的遗闻逸事，也可以领教当代最奥妙的创新理论或有意惊人的故作高论。反正话不投机或言不入耳，不妨抽身退场，甚至砰一下推上大门——就是说，拍地合上书面——谁也不会嗔怪。这是书以外的世界里难得的自由！
　　
　　 壶公悬挂的一把壶里，别有天地日月。每一本书——不论小说、戏剧、传记、游记、日记，以至散文诗词，都别有天地，别有日月星辰，而且还有生存其间的人物。我们很不必巴巴地赶赴某地，花钱买门票去看些仿造的赝品或“栩栩如生”的替身，只要翻开一页书，走入真境，遇见真人，就可以亲亲切切地观赏一番。

　　 尽管古人把书说成“浩如烟海”，书的世界却真正的“天涯若比邻”，这话绝不是唯心的比拟。世界再大也没有阻隔。佛说“三千大千世界”，可算大极了。书的境地呢，“现在界”还加上“过去界”，也带上“未来界”，实在是包罗万象，贯通三界。而我们却可以足不出户，在这里随意阅历，随时拜师求教。谁说读书人目光短浅，不通人情，不关心世事呢！这里可得到丰富的经历，可认识各时各地、多种多样的人。经常在书里“串门儿”，至少可以脱去几分愚昧，多长几个心眼儿吧？

　　 可惜我们“串门”时“隐”而犹存的“身”，毕竟只是凡胎俗骨。我们没有如来佛的慧眼，把人世间几千年积累的智慧一览无余，只好时刻记住庄子“生也有涯而知也无涯”的名言。我们只是朝生暮死的虫豸（还不是孙大圣毫毛变成的虫儿），钻入书中世界，这边爬爬，那边停停，有时遇到心仪的人，听到惬意的话，或者对心上悬挂的问题偶有所得，就好比开了心窍，乐以忘言。这个“乐”和“追求享受”该不是一回事吧？