第三屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽啟事!

2012/5/2 通譯翻譯|同聲傳譯

第三屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽啟事

秉

承“給力英語學(xué)習(xí)，探尋翻譯之星”的理念，在前兩屆翻譯大賽成功舉辦的基礎(chǔ)上，《英語世界》雜志社將聯(lián)合南開大學(xué)、中國(guó)翻譯協(xié)會(huì)社科翻譯委員會(huì)、四川省翻譯協(xié)會(huì)和成都通譯翻譯有限公司共同舉辦第三屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽。歡迎廣大英語愛好者，包括在書山學(xué)海奮力跋涉的莘莘學(xué)子，熱情參與，曬秀佳譯。

一、大賽形式：

本次大賽為英漢翻譯，參賽原文發(fā)布于商務(wù)印書館網(wǎng)站（http://www.cp.com.cn/）、《英語世界》2012年第5期和《英語世界》官方博客（http://blog.sina.com.cn/theworldofenglish）。

二、參賽要求：

1．參賽者年齡、性別、學(xué)歷不限。

2．參賽譯文須獨(dú)立完成，不接受合作譯稿。

3.參賽譯文及個(gè)人信息于截稿日期前發(fā)送至電子郵箱（wefyds2012@sina.com）：

（1）郵件主題請(qǐng)標(biāo)明“翻譯大賽”；

（2）以附件一形式發(fā)送參賽者個(gè)人信息，文件名“參賽者信息”，內(nèi)容包括：姓名、性別、出生年月日、學(xué)?；蚬ぷ鲉挝?、通信地址（郵編）、電子郵箱和電話；

（3）以附件二形式發(fā)送參賽譯文，文件名“參賽譯文正文”，內(nèi)文規(guī)格：黑色小四號(hào)宋體，1.5倍行距，兩端對(duì)齊。

4. 僅第一次投稿有效，不接受修改后的再投稿件。

5. 在大賽截稿之日前妥善保存參賽譯文，勿在報(bào)刊、網(wǎng)絡(luò)等任何媒體或以任何方式公布，否則將取消參賽資格并承擔(dān)由此造成的一切后果。

三、大賽時(shí)間：

截稿日期：2012年7月20日24時(shí)整。

評(píng)獎(jiǎng)公布日期：2012年10月，在《英語世界》雜志、微博和博客中公布大賽評(píng)審結(jié)果。

四、獎(jiǎng)項(xiàng)設(shè)置：

所有投稿將由主辦單位共同組織專家進(jìn)行評(píng)審，分設(shè)一、二、三等獎(jiǎng)及優(yōu)秀獎(jiǎng)。一、二、三等獎(jiǎng)獲獎(jiǎng)?wù)邔㈩C發(fā)獎(jiǎng)金、證書和紀(jì)念品，優(yōu)秀獎(jiǎng)獲獎(jiǎng)?wù)邔㈩C發(fā)證書。

五、聯(lián)系方式：

為辦好本屆翻譯大賽，保證此項(xiàng)賽事的公平、公正，我們成立了大賽組委會(huì)，負(fù)責(zé)整個(gè)大賽活動(dòng)的組織、實(shí)施和評(píng)審工作。組委會(huì)辦公室設(shè)在《英語世界》編輯部，電話/傳真：010-65539242。

六、特別說明：

1. 本屆翻譯大賽不收取任何費(fèi)用。

2. 本屆翻譯大賽只接受電子版投稿，不接受紙質(zhì)投稿。

3. 參賽譯文一經(jīng)發(fā)現(xiàn)抄襲現(xiàn)象，即取消參賽資格。

《英語世界》雜志社

2012年5月

附：【翻譯大賽原文】

At Turtle Bay

By E. B. White

osquitoes have arrived with the warm nights, and our bedchamber is their theater under the stars. I have been up and down all night, swinging at them with a face towel dampened at one end to give it authority. This morning I suffer from the lightheadedness that comes from no sleep—a sort of drunkenness, very good for writing because all sense of responsibility for what the words say is gone. Yesterday evening my wife showed up with a few yards of netting, and together we knelt and covered the fireplace with an illusion veil. It looks like a bride. (One of our many theories is that mosquitoes come down chimneys.) I bought a couple of adjustable screens at the hardware store on Third Avenue and they are in place in the windows; but the window sashes in this building are so old and irregular that any mosquito except one suffering from elephantiasis has no difficulty walking into the room through the space between sash and screen. (And then there is the even larger opening between upper sash and lower sash when the lower sash is raised to receive the screen—a space that hardly ever occurs to an apartment dweller but must occur to all mosquitoes.) I also bought a very old air-conditioning machine for twenty-five dollars, a great bargain, and I like this machine. It has almost no effect on the atmosphere of the room, merely chipping the edge off the heat, and it makes a loud grinding noise reminiscent of the subway, so that I can snap off the lights, close my eyes, holding the damp towel at the ready, and imagine, with the first stab, that I am riding in the underground and being pricked by pins wielded by angry girls.

Another theory of mine about the Turtle Bay mosquito is that he is swept into one’s bedroom through the air conditioner, riding the cool indraft as an eagle rides a warm updraft. It is a feeble theory, but a man has to entertain theories if he is to while away the hours of sleeplessness. I wanted to buy some old-fashioned bug spray, and went to the store for that purpose, but when I asked the clerk for a Flit gun and some Flit, he gave me a queer look, as though wondering where I had been keeping myself all these years. “We got something a lot stronger than that,” he said, producing a can of stuff that contained chlordane and several other unmentionable chemicals. I told him I couldn’t use it because I was hypersensitive to chlordane. “Gets me right in the liver,” I said, throwing a wild glance at him.

The mornings are the pleasantest times in the apartment, exhaustion having set in, the sated mosquitoes at rest on ceiling and walls, sleeping it off, the room a swirl of tortured bedclothes and abandoned garments, the vines in their full leafiness filtering the hard light of day, the air conditioner silent at last, like the mosquitoes. From Third Avenue comes the sound of the mad builders—American cicadas, out in the noonday sun. In the garden the sparrow chants—a desultory second courtship, a subdued passion, in keeping with the great heat, love in summertime, relaxed and languorous. I shall miss this apartment when it is gone; we are quitting it come fall, to turn ourselves out to pasture. Every so often I make an attempt to simplify my life, burning my books behind me, selling the occasional chair, discarding the accumulated miscellany. I have noticed, though, that these purifications of mine—to which my wife submits with cautious grace—have usually led to even greater complexity in the long pull, and I have no doubt this one will, too, for I don’t trust myself in a situation of this sort and suspect that my first act as an old horse will be to set to work improving the pasture. I may even join a pasture-improvement society. The last time I tried to purify myself by fire, I managed to acquire a zoo in the process and am still supporting it and carrying heavy pails of water to the animals, a task that is sometimes beyond my strength.■

（選自 An E. B. White Reader, pp. 198-200, New York Harper & Row, 1966）