| 供稿: 霍洪涛 | 时间: 2012-05-10 | 次数: |
秉承“给力英语学习，探寻翻译之星”的理念，在前两届翻译大赛成功举办的基础上，《英语世界》杂志社将联合南开大学、中国翻译协会社科翻译委员会、四川省翻译协会和成都通译翻译有限公司共同举办第三届“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛。欢迎广大英语爱好者，包括在书山学海奋力跋涉的莘莘学子，热情参与，晒秀佳译。
一、大赛形式：
本次大赛为英汉翻译，参赛原文发布于商务印书馆网站（http://www.cp.com.cn/）、《英语世界》2012年第5期和《英语世界》官方博客（http://blog.sina.com.cn/theworldofenglish）。
二、参赛要求：
1．参赛者年龄、性别、学历不限。
2．参赛译文须独立完成，不接受合作译稿。
3.参赛译文及个人信息于截稿日期前发送至电子邮箱（wefyds2012@sina.com）：
（1）邮件主题请标明“翻译大赛”；
（2）以附件一形式发送参赛者个人信息，文件名“参赛者信息”，内容包括：姓名、性别、出生年月日、学校或工作单位、通信地址（邮编）、电子邮箱和电话；
（3）以附件二形式发送参赛译文，文件名“参赛译文正文”，内文规格：黑色小四号宋体，1.5倍行距，两端对齐。
4. 仅第一次投稿有效，不接受修改后的再投稿件。
5. 在大赛截稿之日前妥善保存参赛译文，勿在报刊、网络等任何媒体或以任何方式公布，否则将取消参赛资格并承担由此造成的一切后果。
三、大赛时间：
截稿日期：2012年7月20日24时整。
评奖公布日期：2012年10月，在《英语世界》杂志、微博和博客中公布大赛评审结果。
四、奖项设置：
所有投稿将由主办单位共同组织专家进行评审，分设一、二、三等奖及优秀奖。一、二、三等奖获奖者将颁发奖金、证书和纪念品，优秀奖获奖者将颁发证书。
五、联系方式：
为办好本届翻译大赛，保证此项赛事的公平、公正，我们成立了大赛组委会，负责整个大赛活动的组织、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。
六、特别说明：
1. 本届翻译大赛不收取任何费用。
2. 本届翻译大赛只接受电子版投稿，不接受纸质投稿。
3. 参赛译文一经发现抄袭现象，即取消参赛资格。
《英语世界》杂志社
2012年5月
附：【翻译大赛原文】
At Turtle Bay
ByE. B. White
Mosquitoes 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.■
（选自An E. B. White Reader, pp. 198-200, New York Harper & Row, 1966）
