第一篇：英語世界翻譯大賽

A Garden That Welcomes Strangers

By Allen Lacy

I do not know what became of her, and I never learned her name.But I feel that I knew her from the garden she had so lovingly made over many decades.The house she lived in lies two miles from mine – a simple, two-story structure with the boxy plan, steeply-pitched roof and unadorned lines that are typical of houses built in the middle of the nineteenth century near the New Jersey shore.Her garden was equally simple.She was not a conventional gardener who did everything by the book, following the common advice to vary her plantings so there would be something in bloom from the first crocus in the spring to the last chrysanthemum in the fall.She had no respect for the rule that says that tall-growing plants belong at the rear of a perennial border, low ones in the front and middle-sized ones in the middle, with occasional exceptions for dramatic accent.In her garden, everything was accent, everything was tall, and the evidence was plain that she loved three kinds of plant and three only: roses, clematis and lilies, intermingled promiscuously to pleasant effect but no apparent design.She grew a dozen sorts of clematis, perhaps 50 plants in all, trained and tied so that they clambered up metal rods, each rod crowned intermittently throughout the summer by a rounded profusion of large blossoms of dark purple, rich crimson, pale lavender, light blue and gleaming white.Her taste in roses was old-fashioned.There wasn’t a single modern hybrid tea rose or floribunda in sight.Instead, she favored the roses of other ages – the York and Lancaster rose, the cabbage rose, the damask and the rugosa rose in several varieties.She propagated her roses herself from cuttings stuck directly in the ground and protected by upended gallon jugs.Lilies, I believe were her greatest love.Except for some Madonna lilies it is impossible to name them, since the wooden flats stood casually here and there in the flower bed, all thickly planted with dark green lily seedlings.The occasional paper tag fluttering from a seed pod with the date and record of a cross showed that she was an amateur hybridizer with some special fondness for lilies of a warm muskmelon shade or a pale lemon yellow.She believed in sharing her garden.By her curb there was a sign: “This is my garden, and you are welcome here.Take whatever you wish with your eyes, but nothing with your hand.”

Until five years ago, her garden was always immaculately tended, the lawn kept fertilized and mowed, the flower bed free of weeds, the tall lilies carefully staked.But then something happened.I don’t know what it was, but the lawn was mowed less frequently, then not at all.Tall grass invaded the roses, the clematis, the lilies.The elm tree in her front yard sickened and died, and when a coastal gale struck, the branches that fell were never removed.With every year, the neglect has grown worse.Wild honeysuckle and bittersweet run rampant in the garden.Sumac, ailanthus, poison ivy and other uninvited things threaten the few lilies and clematis and roses that still struggle for survival.Last year the house itself went dead.The front door was padlocked and the windows covered with sheets of plywood.For many months there has been a for sale sign out front, replacing the sign inviting strangers to share her garden.I drive by that house almost daily and have been tempted to load a shovel in my car trunk, stop at her curb and rescue a few lilies from the smothering thicket of weeds.The laws of trespass and the fact that her house sits across the street from a police station have given me the cowardice to resist temptation.But her garden has reminded me of mortality;gardeners and the gardens they make are fragile things, creatures of time, hostages to chance and to decay.Last week, the for sale sign out front came down and the windows were unboarded.A crew of painters arrived and someone cut down the dead elm tree.This morning there was a moving van in the driveway unloading a swing set, a barbecue grill, a grand piano and a houseful of sensible furniture.A young family is moving into that house.I hope that among their number is a gardener whose special fondness for old roses and clematis and lilies will see to it that all else is put aside until that flower bed is restored to something of its former self.(選自Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin Company, 1983.)

第二篇：英語世界翻譯大賽原文

第九屆“鄭州大學—《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽英譯漢原文

The Whoomper Factor

By Nathan Cobb

【1】As this is being written, snow is falling in the streets of Boston in what weather forecasters like to call “record amounts.” I would guess by looking out the window that we are only a few hours from that magic moment of paralysis, as in Storm Paralyzes Hub.Perhaps we are even due for an Entire Region Engulfed or a Northeast Blanketed, but I will happily settle for mere local disablement.And the more the merrier.【1】寫這個的時候，波士頓的街道正下著雪，天氣預報員將稱其為“創(chuàng)紀錄的量”。從窗外望去，我猜想，過不了幾個小時，神奇的癱瘓時刻就要來臨，就像《風暴癱瘓中心》里的一樣。也許我們甚至能夠見識到《吞沒整個區(qū)域》或者《茫茫東北》里的場景，然而僅僅部分地區(qū)的癱瘓也能使我滿足。當然越多越使人開心。

【2】Some people call them blizzards, others nor’easters.My own term is whoompers, and I freely admit looking forward to them as does a baseball fan to April.Usually I am disappointed, however;because tonight’s storm warnings too often turn into tomorrow’s light flurries.【2】有些人稱它們?yōu)楸╋L雪，其他人稱其為東北風暴。我自己則有一個叫法：吶喊者。我大方地承認道我期待著它們的到來，正如一位籃球迷盼望著四月份的來臨。然而通常情況下，我會大失所望，因為今天發(fā)布了風暴警報，明天往往只飄起小雪。

【3】Well, flurries be damned.I want the real thing, complete with Volkswagens turned into drifts along Commonwealth Avenue and the MBTA’s third rail frozen like a hunk of raw meat.A storm does not even begin to qualify as a whoomper unless Logan Airport is shut down for a minimum of six hours.【3】好吧，小雪令人厭惡。我想要實實在在的東西，包括大眾汽車成了聯(lián)邦大道的漂浮物，波士頓市運輸局的第三條軌道像一大塊生肉一樣被凍住了。除非洛根機場至少關(guān)閉六個小時，否則這一場風暴根本配不上稱作吶喊者。

【4】The point is, whoompers teach us a lesson.Or rather several lessons.For one thing, here are all these city folks who pride themselves on their instinct for survival, and suddenly they cannot bear to venture into the streets because they are afraid of being swallowed up.Virtual prisoners in their own houses is what they are.In northern New England, the natives view nights such as this with casual indifference, but let a whoomper hit Boston and the locals are not only knee deep in snow but also in befuddlement and disarray.【4】關(guān)鍵是，吶喊者們給了我們一個教訓?；蛘邘讉€教訓。一方面，所有的城里人為他們的生存本能感到自豪，霎時間，他們不能忍受街道上的風險因為害怕被吞沒。他們就好像是自己房子里的囚犯。在新英格蘭的北部，當?shù)厝藢@樣的夜晚習以為常，但是讓一位吶喊者襲擊波士頓，居民不僅深陷雪中而且陷入困境和混亂。

【5】The lesson? That there is something more powerful out there than the sacred metropolis.It is not unlike the message we can read into the debacle of the windows falling out of the John Hancock Tower;just when we think we’ve got the upper hand on the elements, we find out we are flies and someone else is holding the swatter.Whoompers keep us in our place.【5】教訓？那里有比神圣的大都市更強大的東西。這與我們可以從約翰?漢考克大廈掉落下來的崩潰信息沒什么不同；正當我們自認為凌駕于風雨之上時，才發(fā)現(xiàn)我們只是滄海一粟，另有高人將我們玩弄于股掌之間。吶喊者們將我們困在原地。

【6】They also slow us down, which is not a bad thing for urbania these days.Frankly, I’m of the opinion Logan should be closed periodically, snow or not, in tribute to the lurking suspicion that it may not be all that necessary for a man to travel at a speed of 600 miles per hour.In a little while I shall go forth into the streets and I know what I will find.People will actually be walking, and the avenues will be bereft of cars.It will be something like those marvelous photographs of Back Bay during the nineteenth century, wherein the lack of clutter and traffic makes it seem as if someone has selectively airbrushed the scene.【6】他們也使我們放慢了速度，如今對于烏爾巴尼亞來說不是一件壞事。坦率地講，為了向潛在的懷疑致敬，即可能不是每個人都必須以每小時600英里的速度行走，我認為不管下不下雪，洛根應(yīng)該定期關(guān)門。我應(yīng)該去街道上走上一小會兒就能知道自己尋找什么。實際上人們將要行走，大道上沒有車子。如同19世紀巴克灣那些

【7】And, of course, there will be the sound of silence tonight.It will be almost deafening.I know city people who have trouble sleeping in the country because of the lack of noise, and I suspect this is what bothers many of them about whoompers.Icy sidewalks and even fewer parking spaces we can handle, but please, God, turn up the volume.City folks tend not to believe in anything they can’t hear with their own ears.【8】It should also be noted that nights such as this are obviously quite pretty, hiding the city’s wounds beneath a clean white dressing.But it is their effect on the way people suddenly treat each other that is most fascinating, coming as it does when city dwellers are depicted as people of the same general variety as those New Yorkers who stood by when Kitty Genovese was murdered back in 1964.【9】There’s nothing like a good whoomper to get people thinking that everyone walking towards them on the sidewalk might not be a mugger, or that saying hello is not necessarily a sign of perversion.You would think that city people, more than any other, would have a strong sense of being in the same rough seas together, yet it is not until a quasi catastrophe hits that many of them stop being lone sharks.【10】But enough of this.There’s a whoomper outside tonight, and it requires my presence.

第三篇：第七屆《英語世界》翻譯大賽

第七屆“北京外國語大學—《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽啟事及原文

英譯漢原文：

Great Possessions

By Aldo Leopold 【1】One hundred and twenty acres, according to the County Clerk, is the extent of my worldly domain.But the County Clerk is a sleepy fellow, who never looks at his record books before nine o'clock.What they would show at daybreak is the question here at issue.【2】Books or no books, it is a fact, patent both to my dog and myself, that at daybreak I am the sole owner of all the acres I can walk over.It is not only boundaries that disappear, but also the thought of being bounded.Expanses unknown to deed or map are known to every dawn, and solitude, supposed no longer to exist in my county, extends on every hand as far as the dew can reach.【3】Like other great landowners, I have tenants.They are negligent about rents, but very punctilious about tenures.Indeed at every daybreak from April to July they proclaim their boundaries to each other, and so acknowledge, at least by inference, their fiefdom to me.【4】This daily ceremony, contrary to what you might suppose, begins with the utmost decorum.Who originally laid down its protocols I do not know.At 3:30 a.m., with such dignity as I can muster of a July morning, I step from my cabin door, bearing in either hand my emblems of sovereignty, a coffee pot and notebook.I seat myself on a bench, facing the white wake of the morning star.I set the pot beside me.I extract a cup from my shirt front, hoping none will notice its informal mode of transport.I get out my watch, pour coffee, and lay notebook on knee.This is the cue for the proclamations to begin.【5】At 3:35 the nearest field sparrow avows, in a clear tenor chant, that he holds the jackpine copse north to the riverbank, and south to the old wagon track.One by one all the other field sparrows within earshot recite their respective holdings.There are no disputes, at least at this hour, so I just listen, hoping inwardly that their womenfolk acquiesce in this happy accord over the status quo ante.【6】Before the field sparrows have quite gone the rounds, the robin in the big elm warbles loudly his claim to the crotch where the icestorm tore off a limb, and all appurtenances pertaining thereto(meaning, in his case, all the angleworms in the not-very-spacious subjacent lawn).【7】The robin's insistent caroling awakens the oriole, who now tells the world of orioles that the pendant branch of the elm belongs to him, together with all fiber-bearing milkweed stalks near by, all loose strings in the garden, and the exclusive right to flash like a burst of fire from one of these to another.【8】My watch says 3:50.The indigo bunting on the hill asserts title to the dead oak limb left by the 1936 drouth, and to divers near-by bugs and bushes.He does not claim, but I think he implies, the right to out-blue all bluebirds, and all spiderworts that have turned their faces to the dawn.【9】Next the wren—the one who discovered the knothole in the eave of the cabin—explodes into song.Half a dozen other wrens give voice, and now all is bedlam.Grosbeaks, thrashers, yellow warblers, bluebirds, vireos, towhees, cardinals—all are at it.My solemn list of performers, in their order and time of first song, hesitates, wavers, ceases, for my ear can no longer filter out priorities.Besides, the pot is empty and the sun is about to rise.I must inspect my domain before my title runs out.【10】We sally forth, the dog and I, at random.He has paid scant respect to all these vocal goings-on, for to him the evidence of tenantry is not song, but scent.Any illiterate bundle of feathers, he says, can make a noise in a tree.Now he is going to translate for me the olfactory poems that who-knows-what silent creatures have written in the summer night.At the end of each poem sits the author—if we can find him.What we actually find is beyond predicting: a rabbit, suddenly yearning to be elsewhere;a woodcock, fluttering his disclaimer;a cock pheasant, indignant over wetting his feathers in the grass.【11】Once in a while we turn up a coon or mink, returning late from the night's foray.Sometimes we rout a heron from his unfinished fishing, or surprise a mother wood duck with her convoy of ducklings, headed full-steam for the shelter of the pickerelweeds.Sometimes we see deer sauntering back to the thickets, replete with alfalfa blooms, veronica, and wild lettuce.More often we see only the interweaving darkened lines that lazy hoofs have traced on the silken fabric of the dew.【12】I can feel the sun now.The bird-chorus has run out of breath.The far clank of cowbells bespeaks a herd ambling to pasture.A tractor roars warning that my neighbor is astir.The world has shrunk to those mean dimensions known to county clerks.We turn toward home, and breakfast.漢譯英原文：

知 識 與 智 慧

文/林巍

【1】知識與智慧的關(guān)系，是人們歷來愿意談?wù)摱炙坪跽劜磺宓膯栴}；然而，它的確與人們的學習、教育、生活、科技等方面有關(guān)。

【2】“知識”可以理解為“人類至今對于物質(zhì)世界里客觀事實系統(tǒng)化的認知”，而“智慧”則很難定義。查閱了各種工具書，其解釋都難以令人滿意，因為所謂智慧常與能力或聰明相混淆。

【3】不同于許多人的觀點，我以為，知識是智慧的基礎(chǔ)，因為不可想象，一個有智慧的人是無知的。作為智慧化身的諸葛亮所以使出“借東風”的計謀，是因他有著豐富的天文地理知識；“塞翁失馬”所以復得，是因他熟知馬的習性。故而，亞里士多德說，在某種意義上，智慧是一種知識。

【4】但是，有知識絕不等于有智慧。一個大字不識的人，可能把某個復雜的問題看得很透，而一個哲學教授卻可能在某些簡單事情上做出蠢事。

【5】孔子說，“學而不思則罔，思而不學則殆”；這里的“學”可理解為獲得知識，“思”則是對于知識的運用，形成智慧。

【6】知識可以占有，智慧只能發(fā)揮；知識向外求得，智慧于內(nèi)感悟；知識越獲越豐富，智慧越凝越升華。老子說，“為學日益，為道日損”。

【7】對于人的智力，知識是分學科的，而智慧則是打通的；知識具有客觀性、一致性、邏輯性，智慧則具主觀性、個體性、創(chuàng)造性；知識沒有善惡，智慧卻可善可惡；知識最終為智慧所推論、總結(jié)、應(yīng)用。

【8】能力，是智慧在某一具體環(huán)節(jié)上的運用；聰明，則可理解為狹義的智慧。

【9】智慧其實無法盡用語言概括——還包括情感、品格、觀念、德行、性情以及天時地利等綜合因素的整合, 而其最高境界是“大智若愚”。所以，應(yīng)當厘清概念：人工智能只可代替知識、能力和聰明，卻永遠也代替不了人的智慧。

第四篇：2012年第三屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽

2012年第三屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽

秉承“給力英語學習，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、中國翻譯協(xié)會社科翻譯委員會、四川省翻譯協(xié)會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，包括在書山學海奮力跋涉的莘莘學子，熱情參與，曬秀佳譯。

一、大賽形式：

本次大賽為英漢翻譯，二、參賽要求：

1．參賽者年齡、性別、學歷不限。

2．參賽譯文須獨立完成，不接受合作譯稿。

3.參賽譯文及個人信息于截稿日期前（7月10日）發(fā)送至rita的電子郵箱： 281996716@qq.com（1）

郵件主題請標明“翻譯大賽”；

（2）

以附件一形式發(fā)送參賽者個人信息，文件名“參賽者信息”，內(nèi)容包括：姓名、性別、出生年月日、學?；蚬ぷ鲉挝弧⑼ㄐ诺刂罚ㄠ]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：黑色小四號宋體，1.5倍行距，兩端對齊。

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由此造成的一切后果。

三、大賽時間：

截稿日期：2012年7月20日24時整。

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

四、獎項設(shè)置：

所有投稿將由主辦單位共同組織專家進行評審，分設(shè)一、二、三等獎及優(yōu)秀獎。一、二、三等獎獲獎?wù)邔㈩C發(fā)獎金、證書和紀念品，優(yōu)秀獎獲獎?wù)邔㈩C發(fā)證書。

五、特別說明：

1.本屆翻譯大賽不收取任何費用。

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。

附：【翻譯大賽原文】

At Turtle Bay By E.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.■

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

第五篇：第五屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽比賽原文

Limbo

By Rhonda Lucas

My parents’ divorce was final.The house had been sold and the day had come to move.Thirty years of the family’s life was now crammed into the garage.The two-by-fours that ran the length of the walls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, and memories.All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one to come.The sunlight pushing its way through the window splattered against a barricade of boxes.Like a fluorescent river, it streamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor.I stood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlight would ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes.For an instant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to those memories.The furnace in the corner, with its huge tubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of the futility of trying to warm the empty house.The rhythmical whir of its effort hummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me.I closed the door, sat down on the step, and listened reverently.The feeling of loss transformed the bad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committed the good ones to my mind.Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside.A workbench to my right stood disgustingly empty.Not so much as a nail had been left behind.I noticed, for the first time, what a dull, lifeless green it was.Lacking the disarray of tools that used to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen.In fact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were the cobwebs in the corners.A group of boxes had been set aside from the others and stacked in front of the workbench.Scrawled like graffiti on the walls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those words caught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign.They reeked of irony.“Salvation-was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself.The houseful of furniture that had once been so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of the various rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall.The uncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of the room.I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my way through the boxes to the couch.I cleared a space to lie down and curled up, covering myself with my jacket.I hoped my father would return soon with the truck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of parting lives behind.（選自Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.）

第五屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽通知

“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽肇始于2010年，由商務(wù)印書館《英語世界》雜志社主辦。為推動翻譯學科的進一步發(fā)展，促進中外文化交流，我們將秉承“給力英語學習，探尋翻譯之星”的理念，于2014年5月繼續(xù)舉辦第五屆“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽，誠邀廣大翻譯愛好者積極參與，比秀佳譯。

本屆大賽由悉尼翻譯學院獨家贊助。悉尼翻譯學院成立于2009年，是在澳大利亞教育部注冊的一家專業(yè)翻譯學院。學院相關(guān)課程由澳大利亞翻譯認證管理局（NAATI）認證。該院面向海內(nèi)外招生，以構(gòu)建“一座跨文化的橋梁”為目標，力圖培養(yǎng)具有國際視野和跨文化意識的涉及多語種的口筆譯人才。

大賽贊助單位

悉尼翻譯學院

大賽合作單位

中國翻譯協(xié)會社科翻譯委員會

四川省翻譯協(xié)會

南開大學

成都通譯翻譯有限公司

上海翻譯家協(xié)會

廣東省翻譯協(xié)會

湖北省翻譯理論與教學研究會

陜西省翻譯協(xié)會

江蘇省翻譯協(xié)會

大賽顧問委員會

王學東（中國翻譯協(xié)會副會長、中央編譯局副局長）

仲偉合（中國翻譯協(xié)會副會長、廣東省翻譯協(xié)會會長、廣東外語外貿(mào)大學校長）許鈞（中國翻譯協(xié)會常務(wù)副會長、江蘇省翻譯協(xié)會會長、南京大學研究生院常務(wù)副院長）柴明熲（上海翻譯家協(xié)會副會長、上海外國語大學高級翻譯學院院長）連真然（四川省翻譯協(xié)會副會長）

胡宗峰（陜西省翻譯協(xié)會副會長、西北大學外國語學院副院長）

李瑞林（西安外國語大學高級翻譯學院院長）

華先發(fā)（華中師范大學外語學院英語系主任）

大賽評委會

主任

劉士聰（南開大學外國語學院教授、博士生導師）

評委

陳國華（北京外國語大學教授、博士生導師）

曹明倫（四川大學外國語學院教授、博士生導師）

張文（北京第二外國語學院教授）

錢多秀（北京航空航天大學外國語學院副院長兼翻譯系主任）

方華文（蘇州大學外國語學院教授）

王麗麗（中共中央編譯局中央文獻翻譯部英文處副譯審、副處長）

魏慶陽（悉尼翻譯學院院長）

魏令查（《英語世界》主編）

一、大賽形式

本屆大賽為英漢翻譯，參賽啟事以及原文發(fā)布于商務(wù)印書館網(wǎng)站

（http://.cn/）、《英語世界》2014年第5期、《英語世界》官方博客（http://blog.sina.com.cn/theworldofenglish）以及《英語世界》微信公眾平臺上。

二、參賽要求

1、參賽者國籍、年齡、性別、學歷不限。

2、參賽譯文須獨立完成，不接受合作譯稿。

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

（1）郵件主題標明“翻譯大賽”；

（2）以附件一形式發(fā)送參賽者個人信息，文件名“XXX個人信息”，內(nèi)容包括：姓名、性別、出生年月日、學?；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“XXX參賽譯文”，內(nèi)文規(guī)格：黑色小四號宋體，1.5倍行距，兩端對齊。

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，勿在報刊、網(wǎng)絡(luò)等任何媒體或以任何方式公布，違者取消參賽資格并承擔由此造成的一切后果。

三、大賽時間

起止日期：2014年5月1日零時～2014年7月20日24時。

獎項公布時間：2014年10月，在《英語世界》雜志、微博、博客和微信公眾平臺上公布大賽評審結(jié)果。

四、獎項設(shè)置

所有投稿將由主辦單位組織專家進行評審，分設(shè)一、二、三等獎及優(yōu)秀獎。一、二、三等獎獲獎?wù)邔㈩C發(fā)獎金、獎品和證書，優(yōu)秀獎獲獎?wù)邔㈩C發(fā)證書和紀念獎。

五、聯(lián)系方式

為辦好本屆翻譯大賽，保證此項賽事的公平、公正，特成立大賽組委會，負責整個大賽的組織、實施和評審工作。組委會辦公室設(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)抄襲或雷同，即取消涉事者參賽資格。