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江南蓑衣-汉英翻译练习一

(2008-09-04 09:15:23)
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教育

    以下是一篇汉英翻译习作,译好后仅修改了一些语法问题,尚未润色。

 

    江南蓑衣

         Coir Raincoat of the South

在故都的某个雪天里,突然想到老家江南的蓑衣来了。

On a snowy day in the onetime capital, the coir raincoat of my hometown in the south occurred to me.

满目彤云里,翻读一本江南的画册,心情一派宁静和畅。那连绵的苍翠山峦,那层层叠叠的梯田,那高低错落犹如穿着蓑衣的房舍,总给人以平和而安详。满谷烟云,缭绕着江南的烟花三月。三月的江南,春光迷漫,而乡村道上穿着蓑衣的赶着牛群的牧童,总把一管缠绵的委婉的笛声传入我的耳鼓。而穿着衰衣在微雨中插秧的山地汉子,则把一篇耕作文章呈现在我的眼前了。

On a background full of red clouds, I read through, quietly and pleasantly, a volume of pictures describing the south of the Yangtze River. One feels placid and peaceful when seeing the uninterrupted green hills and mountains, terraces layer after layer, and high and low houses as if in coir raincoats. In March, clouds permeating the hollow are typical in the south. Sights and sounds of spring spread across the south in March. Driving their herds forward, a corydon in coir raincoat plays the flute, sending lingering and euphemistic music to my ears. Men in coir raincoat transplanting rice seedlings in drizzle present an article of cultivation to me.

我很少听到歌唱江南蓑衣的歌曲,江南的乡野之歌似乎除了采茶桃花和篱笆修竹外,就没有别的了。而蓑衣却依然沉睡在古典中。青箬笠,绿蓑衣,斜风细雨不须归。西塞山就在我的记忆中与我隔岸相望。这江南的景色一半是属于蓑衣的,这季节的一半还是属于蓑衣的。不光是春天,还有下雪的隆冬,独钓寒江的孤舟蓑笠翁,一直在我眼前描绘着悠远的江南山水。在风景中出没的穿蓑衣的人,不仅仅是牧童,而且还有渔人,他们都是志趣清雅的高人。一蓑风雨,一叶孤舟,一片兰桨,一弯明月,顺流而下,逐草而居,是多么潇洒逍遥啊。我常把穿蓑戴笠的人称之为隐士和佛陀,且看那蓑衣似乎张开诗歌或者哲学的虚玄的羽翼翩翔在空明中,如神灵一般幽黑而深邃。这是自由狂放的,是寒山中的极致,远峰、孤舟、烟雨和萧寺,只是绝妙的陪衬。江南的蓑衣飘扬在诗意中。一袭蓑衣穿行在时空,犹如达摩的一苇渡江,把无限的禅机融入空荡和苍茫之中。

Seldom have I heard songs about coir raincoat of the south. There seems nothing more in the countryside songs of the south except those concerning tea leaf picking, peach blossoms, fences and tall bamboos. The coir raincoat, however, still sleeps deeply in classicality. A classical poem goes like this: Wearing green bamboo hat and green coir raincoat, I linger in the wind and drizzle. Mount Xisai is just across the river in my memory. Half of the southern scenery belongs to the coir raincoat, so does half of the season. The distant southern mountains and waters have been depicted in front of me by, besides the spring, the old man in coir raincoat and bamboo hat who angles fish in a boat alone on a snowing midwinter day. People in coir raincoat entering and exiting the scenery are fishermen as well as corydons, both being of elegant tastes. How smart and carefree the person is who, wearing a coir raincoat, moves a boat ahead with an oar under a bright moon and settles down where seems nice and comfortable. I often name people wearing coir raincoats and bamboo hats as hermits and Buddha. Look at the raincoat. Deep and profound as deity, it seems to fly in clear-mindedness with its metaphysical wings of poetry or philosophy. This is free and unrestrained and the acme among cold mountains whilst remote peaks, lonely boat, mist and drizzle and desolate temple are but admirable setoff. Coir raincoat of the south dances in the poetry. Man in a coir raincoat traveling in time and space is like Ta-mo, who crossed a river by driving a reed over it, integrating endless Buddhist allegory with emptiness and indistinctness.

江南蓑衣是平常的,一种极不起眼的家用物什,与镰刀、锄头和竹笠一起静默和谐地相处。在风雨中的劳作是艰辛的也是欢愉的,蓄满微凉的忧郁。当踏歌的农夫带着一身泥水,从田里山间归来,蓑衣和竹笠随即被挂在墙上,农夫歇息了,而它们则开始了默默的对话。蓑衣注定是蓑衣,竹笠注定是竹笠,似乎与主人一样无法逃避命运的摆布,无法摆脱生活的清寒。它们的主人一直向往着远方,但总无法走出这片山坳,他与他的老牛一起在这片小小的田地间一圈一圈地跋涉着,总超越不了这历史因袭的圆周率。雨中的蓑衣凝望着主人口鼻间升腾的气息,如雾般的慨叹着,幽幽地怀想着,难道主人真的没有幸福的愿望,没有丝毫改变命运的企图?

An unnoticeable household item, coir raincoat of the south is common and gets along well with sickle, hoe and bamboo hat silently. Laboring in the wind and rain is hard and joyous for people, full of cool melancholy. The coir raincoat and bamboo are hung on the wall after the peasant, with mud and rain here and there on him, returns from the field and hill. They begin their quiescent conversation when the peasant takes a rest. A coir raincoat is destined to be a raincoat and a bamboo hat a bamboo hat, both seeming to, like their master, be manipulated by fate forever, hard to escape from a poor life. Keeping looking ahead far, their master always fails to reach beyond the hills and mountains around. He and his old ox trudge on the small field round after round, never able to surpass the circumference ratio of historical tradition. The coir raincoat in the rain stares at the breath rising from its master, sighs like a fog and faintly thinks: doesn’t my master have wish for happiness and enterprise of changing fate?

尽管如此,蓑衣一定与主人相依为命,乐享清贫的。它害怕的是主人会在某一个时刻逃离,与它们不告而别。蓑衣和主人同样的劳累和憔悴。岁月的风刀霜剑早已撕裂了它的前襟。它们毕竟诞生或者寂灭在理想的记忆中,当它们在尘封的空间被人翻捡,被人展示的时候,江南的蓑衣,是否还眷念着他主人日益苍老憔悴而衰弱的容颜?

Notwithstanding this, the coir raincoat and its master depend on each other and enjoy the poor life. It is afraid that its master may leave without saying a word at certain moment. The coir raincoat is as laborious and languished as its mater. Years of wind and rain have long torn its front. It after all comes into being or dies in the memory of ideal. When their sealed space is opened and checked by people, will coir raincoat of the south, displayed in public, still thinks fondly of the daily ageing and weakening countenance of its master?

在更加苍黄的时日,主人来不及与它打招呼,溶进城市街衢的喧嚣。当他在难得的寂静时分一个人端坐,蓑衣的影子就清晰地显现出来了,在脑海的某个角落里难以拂去。在某个下着微雪的夜晚,在某个寂寥的街道上,在街灯漠漠的照映下,他忽然发现了久违的江南蓑衣的影子。在某个茶室和酒吧间,他看见蓑衣还有他的竹笠高挂在髹漆得艳红或者金黄的柱子和墙壁上,落满红尘。那里不适合它们!主人想,此刻,它们仿佛像陪酒女郎,像示众者,像引颈自戮的罪囚。它们的心里会是如何想啊!那些酒客茶客是不知道的。江南的蓑衣和竹笠经年地寻找,在远远的翘首远望。它们想,城市里会下雪或者下雨,能解除心头的焦渴。它们想,下雨了,主人会重新穿戴起它们,飘飘扬扬地潇洒地走过雨巷。

On a more greenish yellow day, the master is drowned in the boisterousness of the city, too hasty to say goodbye to the coir raincoat. When he sits alone at a scarce moment, silhouette of the coir raincoat turns up clearly, staying adamantly at one corner of his mind. On a slightly snowing night in a lonely street, he all of a sudden finds the shadow of coir raincoat of the south that he hasn’t seen for a long time. In a certain teahouse or bar, he sees the coir raincoat and his bamboo hat, covered with crimson dust, hang high on the column and wall painted gorgeously red or golden. They don’t belong there, thinks the master! Right at the moment, they look like bar girls, people exposed publicly, and felons to be beheaded. What will they think? Never will guests in the bar or teahouse know. Year in and year out, coir raincoat and bamboo hat keep searching by raising their heads and looking far ahead. They think it may snow or rain in the city, which is able to diminish thirst in heart. They think it rains, and the master will wear them again, walking through the raining lane lightly and leisurely.  

来自江南的主人躲在暗角,两眼噙泪。他在等待着内心的救赎。

His eyes brimmed with tears, the master from the south hides in the dark corner, waiting for the innermost redemption.

 

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