翻译 英汉互译练习

行情暴涨的股票市场不仅仅是

一个 商业周期的顶点。

过去，

在美国几乎没有一个人的生活态度不在 某种程度上受到繁荣的

影响，

而今，

更 由于希望的突然破灭而遭到残酷的打击。

行情暴涨的股票市场已经土崩瓦解，

过不多久，

美国人就会发现自己生 活的那个世界已经变了，

需要人们做出新

的调整，具有新的思想 观念，新的思维方式，新的价值体系。人们的心理状态正在改变；不

断变化着的美国生活 潮流正在转入新的渠道。

战后的十年已到了岁终。一个时代就这样结束了。

汉译英原文：

银杏

①

郭

沫

若

银杏，我思念你，我不知道你为什 么叫公孙树

②

。但一般人叫你是白果，那是容易了解

我知道，

你的特征 并不专在乎你有这和杏相仿佛的果实，

核皮是纯白如银，

核仁是 富于

营养

③

——这不用说已经就足以为 你的特征了。

但一般人并不知道你是有花植物中最古的先进< /p>

④

，你的花粉和胚珠具有者动物般的性态

⑤

，你是完全由人力保存下来的奇珍

⑥

。

自然界中已经是不能有你的存在了

⑦

，但你依然挺立着，在太空中高唱着人间胜利的凯

歌。

你这东方的圣者，你这中国人文

⑧

的有生命的纪念塔，你是只有中国人才有呀，一般人

似乎也并不知道。< /p>

我到过日本，日本也有你，但你分明是日本的华侨，

化侨居在日本那样久远了吧。

你是真应该称为中国的国树呀，我是喜欢你，我特别的喜欢你。

但也并不是因为你是中国的特产，我才特别的喜欢，是因为你美，你真，你善。

你的株干是多么的端直，你的枝条是多么的蓬勃，你那折扇形的叶片是 多么的青翠，

多么的滢洁，多么的精巧呀！

< br>在暑天你为多少的庙宇戴上了巍峨的云冠，你也为多少的劳苦人撑出了清凉的华盖

⑨

。

梧桐虽有你的端直却没有你的坚牢；

白杨虽有你的葱茏却没有你的庄重。

熏风会妩媚你，群鸟时来为你欢歌；上帝百神——假如是有上帝百神，我相信每当皓

月流 空，他们会在你脚下来聚会。

秋天到来，蝴蝶已经死了的时候 ，你的碧叶要翻成金黄，而且又会飞出满园的蝴蝶。

你不是一 位巧妙的魔术师吗？但你丝毫也没有令人掩鼻的江湖气息

⑩

。< /p>

当你那解脱了一切，你槎枒的枝干挺撑在太空中的时候，你对于 寒风霜雪毫不避易

11

。

12

呀，恐怕自有佛法以 来再也不会产生过象你这样的高僧。

你没有丝毫依阿取容

13

的姿态，但你也并不荒伧

14

；你的美德象音乐以安阳洋溢八荒，

但你也并不骄傲；你的名讳似乎就是 “超然”

15

，你超在乎一切的草木之上，你超在乎一切

之上，但你并不隐遁。

你的果实不是可以滋 养人，你的本质不是坚实的器材，就是你的落叶不也是绝好的引

火的燃料吗？

可是我真有点奇怪了：奇怪的是中国人似乎大家都忘记了你，而且忘记得 很久远，似

乎是从古以来。

我在中国 的经典中找不出你的名字，我很少看到中国的诗人咏赞你的诗，也很少看到

中国的画家描 写你的画。

这究竟是怎么一回事呀，

你是随中国文化以俱来的亘古的证人，

你不也是以为奇怪吗？

银杏，中国人是忘记了你呀，大家虽然都在吃你的白果，都喜欢吃你的白果，但的确

是忘记了你呀。

世间上也尽有不辨菽

16

麦的人，但把你忘记得这样普遍，这样久远的例子，从来也不曾

有过。

真的拉，陪都

17

不是首善之区

18

吗？但 我就很少看见你的影子，为什么遍街都是洋槐

19

，

20

呢？

我是怎样的思念你呀，银杏！我可希望你不要把中国忘记吧。

这事情是有点危险的，我怕你一不高兴，会从中国的地面上隐遁下去。

< br>

在中国的领空中会永远听不着你赞美生命的欢歌。

< /p>

银杏，我真希望呀，希望中国人单为能更多吃你的白果，总有能更加爱慕你的一天。

1942

年

5

月

参考译文：

Gingko

By Guo Mo-ruo

Translated by Shi Zhikang

Gingko, I hold you dear, but I

‘

m at a loss as to why you are called Grandpa Tree. However,

as to the name White Fruit the average man gives you that is within my easy reach.

To

my

knowledge,

the

characteristics

you

show

are

not

confined

to

the

similarity

between

you and the apricot in you fruit, the pure silver white of the peel and the rich nutrition contained in

the core

－

the

characteristics are just self-evident.

Nevertheless,

it

is

beyond

the

knowledge

of

the

average

man

that

you

boast

the

remotest

antiquity

among

flowering

plants,

and

your

pollen

and

ovules

are

reminiscent

of

the

natural

properties

of

an

animal.

You

are

a

rare

treasure,

having

defied

the

passage

of

time

entirely

by

virtue of human preserving power.

Though you are nameless in Nature, you stand upright, in a supercilious manner, with your

resonant song of the triumph of the human world echoing in the air.

You are an oriental sage and a living monument in Chinese culture. It is in China alone that

you exist, which seems unknown to the average man.

When I visited Japan, I found you there. But you are definitely an overseas Chinese residing

in Japan, and your residence in Japan could have witnessed an equal length of time with that of

Chinese culture in Japan.

You are entitled to the honor of the national tree in China. I like you, and I dote on you, not

because you are a specialty in China, but because you are beautiful, true and benign.

You

are

noted

for

upright

trunks,

luxuriant

branches

and

folding-fan-like

green

leaves,

so

pure, so exquisite!

In summer, you helmet countless temples with lofty canopies and shelter numerous laborers

with overhanging cool shade.

The parasol tree is not as firm as you, though equally upright.

The white poplar is not as dignified as you, though equally luxuriant.

A soft breeze will curry favor with you and flocks of birds will sing melodious madrigals for

you. I feel that whenever the bright moon climbs high in the sky, God and immortals, should there

be God and immortals, would enjoy a get-together at your feet.

The season of autumn sets in when butterflies have come to their lives

‘

end. However, when

your jade green leaves turn golden yellow, gardens are likewise alive with flying butterflies in the

air.

Aren

‘

t you an expert magician? But you are devoid of any contemptible worldly-wise airs.

When you are stripped of leaves with your bare twigs sticking up towards the sky, you never

flinch even a wee bit from the cold wind and the frosty snow.

You look so dignified and detached. I

‘

m afraid that no monk could have been so noble as you

ever since Buddhist dharma came into being.

You strike no affected or submissive attitude, but you are never vulgar; your virtues travel far

and wide like music floating everywhere, but you are not conceited. You impress people with the

spirit of

―

transc endence

‖

, transcending all herbs and plants, transcending everything earthly, but

you do not retire into solitude.

Isn

‘

t it right that your fruit could be used as nourishment for human health that your body

could be made into solid instruments, and your dead leaves could serve as an ideal kindling fuel?

So I really feel perplexed: why do most Chinese seem to have sunk you into deep oblivion,

into such deep oblivion ever since remote ancient times?

To my knowledge, your name does not enjoy a proper place in China

‘

s classics, for I rarely

find that you are eulogized in the verses composed by Chinese poets and seldom see that you are

visually presented in the paintings made by Chinese artists.

How on earth is it so? As a witness to the ancient Chinese civilization, don

‘

t you feel equally

puzzled?

Gingko, you have indeed slipped from the memory of Chinese people though your white fruit

enjoys popularity among them. It is a fact that they fail to have committed you into their memory.

It is not rare that there do exist a large number of people who fail to tell beans from wheat,

but it is certainly rare that such a plant as you has escaped from the memory of so much humanity

for such a long time.

Hey, isn

‘

t Chongqing, the interim capital, the best place? Even there, I can hardly find the

faintest

shadow

of

you.

Why

are

all

the

locusts

planted

along

the

streets?

Why

are

all

the

eucalyptuses in the gardens?

How I miss you, gingko! I sincerely hope that you won

‘

t forget China.

It is really hard to hold

you here. You might vanish from

this soil of China once

you feel

offended, I

‘

m afraid.

Your melodious song of praising the beauty of life can never be echoing in the air of China.

Gingko, it is my sincere hope that the day will come when, simply because they can enjoy

more of your white fruit, Chinese people will love you.

May 23

rd

, 1942

注释

①

本片最初发表于

< br>1942

年

5

月

29

日《新华日报》

，后收入《抢箭集》

。作者通过充满诗情画意的语言，描

写了银杏的干、枝、叶与众不同的特性， 深情地称它是“有花植物中最古的先进”

，是“东方的圣者”

， 应

该成为“中国的国树”

，希望中国人珍爱这难得的异宝。

②

公孙树：银 杏通常有三、五百年树龄。因为它生长缓慢，一般人是公公种，孙子才能收到果实，所以又

叫它“公孙树”

。这里采用意译法（

Grandpa Tre e

）

，也可以音译成“

Gong- sun Tree

”

。

③

“核皮是纯白如银，核仁是富于营 养”处理为“纯白如银的核皮”和“富于营养的核仁”

（

the pure silver

white of the peel and the rich nutrition contained in the core

）

，与“和杏相仿佛的果实”并列。

④

有花植物中最古的先进：银杏是史 前遗留下来的古老植物之一。在地质历史较老时期，曾生长茂盛，品

种很多。这句可以译 为“

boast the remotest antiquity among flowering plants

”

。

⑤

具有着动物般的性态：银杏是雌雄 异株的单性植物，雄性花粉通过风的媒介落到雌花胚珠上，长出花粉

管伸入胚珠内，花粉 管内有二鞭毛精子与胚珠内卵子结合，才能结实。

⑥

是完全由人力保存了下来的奇珍： 由于它单株不能结实，随着地质历史的变迁，日渐稀少，仅在我国生

存下来，后得到人工 栽培并移植各地。

⑦

自然界中已经是不能有你的存在了：这句紧随上句，是说银杏单靠自然是无法生存的。

⑧

人文：文化活动的表现 （

culture

）

。

⑨

云冠、华盖：云冠，原 指像帽子一样覆盖在上面的云，这里指树冠浓密、高耸，起遮荫作用。华盖，原

指古代帝 王的车盖，这里的意思是与云冠相似。

⑩

江湖气息：这里指世俗气息，译作“

world-wise airs

”

。

11

豪不避易：毫不躲避（

not flinch a wee bit

）

。

12

嶙峋：原意是瘦削，这里指气节 高尚，气概不凡（

dignified

）

。洒脱：超然的意思（

detached

）

< br>。

13

依阿取容：看人脸色的，逢迎附和的（

affected and submissive

）

。

14

荒伧：粗俗（

< br>vulgar

）

。

15

超然：离尘脱俗（

transcendence

）

。

< br>

16

菽：豆类的总称（

beans

）

。

17

陪都：首都以外另设的临时首都，这里指重庆。

18

首善之区：全国最好的地方，后 称京师。此指首都，含有讽刺之意。

19

洋槐：即刺槐（

locust tree

）

，原产北美。茎高十余米，树干生刺。

20

幽里加树：即桉树（

）

，原产澳大利亚及马来西 亚。

英译汉 原文（

2008

）

：

< br>

The Figure a Poem Makes

Robert Frost

Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands

of the artists of our day. Why can

‘

t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself ? We

can have in thought. Then it will go hard if we can

‘

t in practice. Our lives for it.

Granted no one but a humanist much cares how sound a poem is if it is only a sound. The

sound

is

the

gold

in

the

ore.

Then

we

will

have

the

sound

out

alone

and

dispense

with

the

inessential. We do till we make the discovery that the object in writing poetry is to make all poems

sound as different as possible from each other, and the resources for that of vowels, consonants,

punctuation,

syntax,

words,

sentences,

meter

are

not

enough.

We

need

the

help

of

―

meaning

―

subject matter. That is the greatest help towards variety. All that can be done

with

words

is

soon

told.

So

also

with

meters

―

particularly

in

our

language

where

there

are

virtually but two, strict iambic and loose iambic. The ancients with many were still poor if they

depended on meters for all tune. It is painful to watch our sprung-rhythmists straining at the point

of

omitting

one

short

from

a

foot

for

relief

from

monotony.

The

possibilities

for

tune

from

the

dramatic tones of meaning struck across the rigidity of a limited meter are endless. And we are

back in poetry as merely one more art of having something to say, sound or unsound. Probably

better if sound, because deeper and from wider experience.

Then there is this wildness where of it is spoken. Granted again that it has an equal claim

with sound to being a poem

‘

s better half. If it is a wild tune, it is a poem. Our problem then is, as

modern abstractions, to have the wildness pure; to be wild with nothing to be wild about. We bring

up as aberrationists, giving way to undirected associations and kicking ourselves from one chance

suggestion to another in all directions as of a hot afternoon in the life of a grasshopper. Theme

alone can steady us down. Just as the first mystery was how a poem could have a tune in such

straightness as meter, so the second mystery is how a poem can have wildness and at the same

time a subject that shall be fulfilled.

It should be of the pleasure of a poem itself to tell how it can. The figure is the same as for

love. No one can really hold that the ecstasy should be static and stand still in one place. It begins

in delight, it inclines to the impulses, it runs a course of lucky events, and ends in a clarification of

life

―

not

necessarily

a

great

clarification,

such

as

sects

and

cults

are

founded

on,

but

in

a

momentary stay against confusion. It has denouement. It has an outcome that though unforeseen

was predestined from the very mood. It is but a trick poem and no poem at all if the best of it was

thought

of

first

and

saved

for

the

last.

It

finds

its

own

name

as

it

goes

and

discovers

the

best

waiting

for

it

in

some

final

phrase

at

once

wise

and

sad

―

the

happy-sad

blend

of

the

drinking

song.

No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the

reader. For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn

‘

t know I knew.

I am in a place, in a situation, as if I had materialized from cloud or risen out of the ground. There

is a glad recognition of the long lost and the rest follows. Step by step the wonder of unexpected

supply

keeps

growing.

The

impressions

most

useful

to

my

purpose

seem

always

those

I

was

unaware of and so made no note of at the time when taken, and the conclusion is come to that like

giants we are always hurling experience ahead of us to pave the future with against the day when

we

may

want

to

strike

a

line

of

purpose

across

it

for

somewhere.

The

line

will

have

the

more

charm for not being mechanically straight. We enjoy the straight crookedness of a good walking

stick.

Modern

instruments

of

precision

are

being used

to

make

things

crooked as

if

by

eye

and

hand in the old days.

I

tell

how

there

may

be

a

better

wildness

of

logic

than

of

inconsequence.

But

the

logic

is

backward, in retrospect, after the act. It must be more felt than seen ahead like prophecy. It must

be a revelation, or a series of revelations, as much for the poet as for the reader. For it to be that

there

must

have

been

the

greatest

freedom

of

the

material

to

move

about

in

it

and

to

establish

relations in it regardless of time and spare, previous relation, and everything bat affinity. We prate

of freedom. We call our schools free because we are not free to stay away from them till we are

sixteen years of age. I have given up my democratic prejudices and now willingly set the lower

classes free to be completely taken care of by the upper classes. Political freedom is nothing to

me .I

bestow

it

right

and

left.

All

I

would

keep

for

myself

is

the

freedom

of

material

―

the

condition of body and mind now and then to summons aptly from the vast chaos of all I have lived

through.

Scholars

and

artists

thrown

together

are

often

annoyed

at

the

puzzle

of

where

they

differ.

Both

work

from

knowledge;

but

I

suspect

they

digger

most

importantly

in

the

way

their

knowledge is come by. Scholars get theirs with conscientious thoroughness along projected lines

of

logic;

poets

theirs

cavalierly

and

as

it

happens

in

and

out

of

books.

They

stick

to

nothing

deliberately,

but

let

what

will

stick

to

them

like

burrs

where

they

walk

in

the

fields.

No

acquirement

is

on

assignment,

or

even

self-assignment.

Knowledge

of

the

second king

is

much

more available in the wild free ways of wit and art. A school boy may be defined as one who can

tell you what he knows in the order in which he learned it. The artist must value himself as he

snatches a thing from some precious order in time and space into a new order with not so much as

a ligature clinging to it of the old place where it was organic.

More than once I should have lost

my soul

to radicalism

if it had been the originality and

initiative

are

what

I

ask

for

my

country.

For

myself

the

originality

need

be

no

more

than

the

freshness of a poem run in the way I have described: from delight to wisdom. The figure is the

same as for love. Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. A poem

may

be

worked

over

once

it

is

in

being,

but

may

not

be

worried

into

being.

Its

most

precious

quality will remain its having run itself and carried away the poet with it. Read it a hundred times:

it

will

forever

keep

its

freshness

as

a

metal

keeps

its

fragrance.

It

can

never

lose

its

sense

of a

meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went.

参考译文：

诗运动的轨迹

[

美

]

佛

罗

斯

特

著

抽象对哲学家来说是老生常谈，但 它在当代艺术家手中却还像是一种新鲜玩意儿。我

们为何不能有自己选择的任何一种诗所 固有的特性呢？我们心中可以有。

可要是我们实际上

不能有，那 它也难有结果。我们的生命向往那种特性。

如果诗仅仅是一种 声调的话，让我们假定只有人文学者才关心这种声调有多纯正。这

声调是矿石中的金子。

那么哦我们只把金子淘出，

而将其他可有可无的东西摒弃；

直到我们

发现写诗的宗旨是要让每首诗都尽可能发出不同的声调，< /p>

而要做到这点，

现有的元音、

辅音、

标点、句法、词汇、句型和格律并不够用。我们还需要借助于语境一意义一题材。这对于声< /p>

调之变化是莫大的帮助。

词汇能造成的变化三言两语就可讲清。< /p>

格律的变化也同样一尤其在

英语中，

因为 英语诗歌实际上只有两种格调，

即严谨的抑扬格和不严谨的抑扬格。

古代诗人

有许多格律，

但如果他们仅依靠格律来形成旋律，

那他们的格律仍然不够用。

看我们的弹性

节奏派诗人为避免单调而使劲一个音步中略去一个短音，

那可真叫惨不忍睹。