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榕树下“《英语世界》杯”征文及翻译比赛启事

(2010-05-07 16:21:11)
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英语学习

     《英语世界》创刊于1981年,近三十来,该刊一直刊载地道纯正的英语美文,配以流畅标准的汉语译文,让英语爱好者增长知识,陶冶情操的同时,为广大翻译实践者提供了一方晒秀译文的天地。
       盛大文学榕树下网站是中国最早出现的文学网站,影响巨大,培养出中国第一代网络作家。2009年12月,榕树下重新上线,以文学为主,积极扩展,兼容并包,现致力于打造中国最有影响的文化门户。
       今次,期刊界具有传统影响力的杂志携手网络文学界的新锐力量,共同举办“榕树下《英语世界》杯”征文竞赛及翻译比赛,挖掘网络写手,探寻翻译之星。
一、活动内容
1、征文:中国人写英文,外国人写中文,体裁不限,题目自拟。
2、翻译比赛:本次比赛为英汉翻译比赛,参赛原文发布于《英语世界》2010年第5期和榕树下英语频道网站。
3、要求:
(1) 参赛者年龄不限。
(2) 征文、译文均须独立完成,不接受合著、合译,杜绝抄袭。请参赛者在本次竞赛截稿之日前妥善保存参赛稿件,勿在书报刊、网络等任何媒体公布参赛文稿,否则将取消参赛资格并承担由此造成的一切后果。
(3) 第一次投稿有效,不接收修改后另投稿件。
(4) 参赛投稿请用电脑打印(A4纸)或用稿纸(有单位名称抬头的稿纸无效)誊写清楚,一式两份。打印稿统一用Word中宋体,小四号字排版。译文前加一封面,填写参赛者信息(包括姓名、出生年月日、性别、工作单位、职业、通信地址、电话、电子邮箱)。投稿正文内请勿书写参赛者个人信息,否则将视为无效投稿。
(5)截稿日期:2010年7月20日,网络投稿以投稿日为准,信件以寄出日邮戳为准。
二、投稿方式
1、网上投稿:登陆榕树下《英语世界》杯征文专题进行投稿。网址:www.rongshuxia.com。投稿频道为生活频道,栏目为“Comments”。并请在文章题目前注明“《英语世界》杯征文”字样。 
2、邮寄投稿:
(1)“征文”主题寄至:北京市朝阳区光华路7号汉威大厦1706 (100004) 海外部(收)或发送到电子邮箱:sdloverseas@snda.com。
(2)“翻译比赛”主题寄至:北京朝阳区朝外大街吉庆里小区9号楼E-2-1005室 《英语世界》编辑部,邮编:100020;或发送至电子邮箱:wewecp@sina.com;请在信封上或主题栏标明“参赛译文”字样。
三、奖项设置:
所有投稿将由《英语世界》和榕树下组织专家进行评审,设一、二、三等奖及鼓励奖。一、二、三等奖获奖者将颁发奖金、证书和纪念品,鼓励奖获奖者将颁发证书和纪念品;两组比赛,分别评奖;《英语世界》将于2010年第10期公布竞赛评审结果。2011年初,择机举行颁奖典礼,竞赛获奖者将受邀参加颁奖典礼。
四、联系方式:
为办好本次翻译竞赛,保证此项赛事的公平、公正,我们成立了比赛组委会,负责整个竞赛活动的组织、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。


附:翻译比赛原文
http://www.schulers.com/books/le/a/Arcadian_Adventures_With_the_Idle_Rich/

  

CHAPTER ONE: A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe

The Mausoleum Club stands on the quietest corner of the best residential street in the City. It is a Grecian building of white stone. About it are great elm trees with birds--the most expensive kind of birds--singing in the branches.

The street in the softer hours of the morning has an almost reverential quiet. Great motors move drowsily along it, with solitary chauffeurs returning at 10.30 after conveying the earlier of the millionaires to their downtown offices. The sunlight flickers through the elm trees, illuminating expensive nurse-maids wheeling valuable children in little perambulators. Some of the children are worth millions and millions. In Europe, no doubt, you may see in the Unter den Linden avenue or the Champs Elysees a little prince or princess go past with a clattering military guard of honour. But that is nothing. It is not half so impressive, in the real sense, as what you may observe every morning on Plutoria Avenue beside the Mausoleum Club in the quietest part of the city. Here you may see a little toddling princess in a rabbit suit who owns fifty distilleries in her own right. There, in a lacquered perambulator, sails past a little hooded head that controls from its cradle an entire New Jersey corporation. The United States attorney-general is suing her as she sits, in a vain attempt to make her dissolve herself into constituent companies. Near by is a child of four, in a khaki suit, who represents the merger of two trunk-line railways. You may meet in the flickered sunlight any number of little princes and princesses far more real than the poor survivals of Europe. Incalculable infants wave their fifty-dollar ivory rattles in an inarticulate greeting to one another. A million dollars of preferred stock laughs merrily in recognition of a majority control going past in a go-cart drawn by an imported nurse. And through it all the sunlight falls through the elm trees, and the birds sing and the motors hum, so that the whole world as seen from the boulevard of Plutoria Avenue is the very pleasantest place imaginable.

Just below Plutoria Avenue, and parallel with it, the trees die out and the brick and stone of the City begins in earnest. Even from the Avenue you see the tops of the sky-scraping buildings in the big commercial streets, and can hear or almost hear the roar of the elevated railway, earning dividends. And beyond that again the City sinks lower, and is choked and crowded with the tangled streets and little houses of the slums.

In fact, if you were to mount to the roof of the Mausoleum Club itself on Plutoria Avenue you could almost see the slums from there. But why should you? And on the other hand, if you never went up on the roof, but only dined inside among the palm trees, you would never know that the slums existed which is much better.

There are broad steps leading up to the club, so broad and so agreeably covered with matting that the physical exertion of lifting oneself from one's motor to the door of the club is reduced to the smallest compass. The richer members are not ashamed to take the steps one at a time, first one foot and then the other; and at tight money periods, when there is a black cloud hanging over the Stock Exchange, you may see each and every one of the members of the Mausoleum Club dragging himself up the steps after this fashion, his restless eyes filled with the dumb pathos of a man wondering where he can put his hand on half a million dollars.

But at gayer times, when there are gala receptions at the club, its steps are all buried under expensive carpet, soft as moss and covered over with a long pavilion of red and white awning to catch the snowflakes; and beautiful ladies are poured into the club by the motorful. Then, indeed, it is turned into a veritable Arcadia; and for a beautiful pastoral scene, such as would have gladdened the heart of a poet who understood the cost of things, commend me to the Mausoleum Club on just such an evening. Its broad corridors and deep recesses are filled with shepherdesses such as you never saw, dressed in beautiful shimmering gowns, and wearing feathers in their hair that droop off sideways at every angle known to trigonometry. And there are shepherds, too, with broad white waistcoats and little patent leather shoes and heavy faces and congested cheeks. And there is dancing and conversation among the shepherds and shepherdesses, with such brilliant flashes of wit and repartee about the rise in Wabash and the fall in Cement that the soul of Louis Quatorze would leap to hear it. And later there is supper at little tables, when the shepherds and shepherdesses consume preferred stocks and gold-interest bonds in the shape of chilled champagne and iced asparagus, and great platefuls of dividends and special quarterly bonuses are carried to and fro in silver dishes by Chinese philosophers dressed up to look like waiters.

But on ordinary days there are no ladies in the club, but only the shepherds. You may see them sitting about in little groups of two and three under the palm trees drinking whiskey and soda; though of course the more temperate among them drink nothing but whiskey and Lithia water, and those who have important business to do in the afternoon limit themselves to whiskey and Radnor, or whiskey and Magi water. There are as many kinds of bubbling, gurgling, mineral waters in the caverns of the Mausoleum Club as ever sparkled from the rocks of Homeric Greece. And when you have once grown used to them, it is as impossible to go back to plain water as it is to live again in the forgotten house in a side street that you inhabited long before you became a member.

Thus the members sit and talk in undertones that float to the ear through the haze of Havana smoke. You may hear the older men explaining that the country is going to absolute ruin, and the younger ones explaining that the country is forging ahead as it never did before; but chiefly they love to talk of great national questions, such as the protective tariff and the need of raising it, the sad decline of the morality of the working man, the spread of syndicalism and the lack of Christianity in the labour class, and the awful growth of selfishness among the mass of the people.

So they talk, except for two or three that drop off to directors' meetings; till the afternoon fades and darkens into evening, and the noiseless Chinese philosophers turn on soft lights here and there among the palm trees. Presently they dine at white tables glittering with cut glass and green and yellow Rhine wines; and after dinner they sit again among the palm-trees, half-hidden in the blue smoke, still talking of the tariff and the labour class and trying to wash away the memory and the sadness of it in floods of mineral waters. So the evening passes into night, and one by one the great motors come throbbing to the door, and the Mausoleum Club empties and darkens till the last member is borne away and the Arcadian day ends in well-earned repose.

* * * * * * *

"I want you to give me your opinion very, very frankly," said Mr. Lucullus Fyshe on one side of the luncheon table to the Rev. Fareforth Furlong on the other.

"By all means," said Mr. Furlong.

Mr. Fyshe poured out a wineglassful of soda and handed it to the rector to drink.

"Now tell me very truthfully," he said, "is there too much carbon in it?"

"By no means," said Mr. Furlong.

"And--quite frankly--not too much hydrogen?"

"Oh, decidedly not."

"And you would not say that the percentage of sodium bicarbonate was too great for the ordinary taste?"

"I certainly should not," said Mr. Furlong, and in this he spoke the truth.

"Very good then," said Mr. Fyshe, "I shall use it for the Duke of Dulham this afternoon."

He uttered the name of the Duke with that quiet, democratic carelessness which meant that he didn't care whether half a dozen other members lunching at the club could hear or not. After all, what was a duke to a man who was president of the People's Traction and Suburban Co., and the Republican Soda and Siphon Co-operative, and chief director

 

Arcadian Adventures With the Idle Rich

By Stephen Leacock, 1869-1944

 

CONTENTS

I A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe

II The Wizard of Finance

III The Arrested Philanthropy of Mr. Tomlinson

IV The Yahi-Bahi Oriental Society of Mrs. Rasselyer-Brown

V The Love Story of Mr. Peter Spillikins

VI The Rival Churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph

VII The Ministrations of the Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing

VIII The Great Fight for Clean Government

 

 

CHAPTER ONE: A Little Dinner with Mr. Lucullus Fyshe

榕树下“《英语世界》杯”征文及翻译比赛启事

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榕树下“《英语世界》杯”征文及翻译比赛启事

 

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