一個建議

作者：海外逸士

时间：2008-3-09 周日, 上午8:35

不管想中譯英還是英譯中﹐英文本身都是基礎。學不好英文﹐寫不好英文﹐就不能搞

好翻譯。所以建議﹕大家能先直接用英文寫些文章貼上來讓大家討論學習。這樣會

幫助更大。這裡我先帶個頭﹐貼篇年青時的習作﹕

《TIME》

Time is a never-fatigued traveler proceeding on his endless journey. He

goes second by second, slowly but steadily to the Eternity, never halting

for a rest. He brings everything to decay in due season, however enduring

the thing may be. Even celestial globes will cease to be, our earth among

them, for it is but a globe,too,in the universe, let alone a poor living

creature. The human life is short at best. If we look from the height of

Eternity at the human lives below that come into being and then pass out

of existence, they seem to us like flash of sparks that appear and vanish

in a moment. To a certain individual life is granted but once. Therefore,

we must make the most use of every minute, and the waste of time is the waste

of life, for time is life.

Then in what way should one spend one's time, or rather, one's life? Someone

fools it away, walking in the streets and looking at the shopwindows all

day long; someone loses it in a fight for nothing; someone gives it up to

dissipation and merry-making; while others devote theirs for the benefit

of their motherland and the mankind in the field of science, art or literature,

etc.

In my early boyhood I began the reading of the novels like the Red Chamber

Dream and all that. Books became my daily companions, and also the daily

nourishment for my mind. My reading field was widened with the years. Classics

and poetry were like tough meat for me in my teens, but I chewed them with

perseverance and devoured them one by one. Every book I read seemed to open

for me a new window through which I could peep into the magnificently decorated

rooms in the grand palace of Muses. My young heart leaped with the thrill

of joy at the beauties of literature. I decided then that literature should

be my career.

When at school I began to learn English and gave most of my spare time to

the study of it. I read English novels and poetry, and was greatly fascinated

by the Occidental charms of that literature. It seemed as if I had got

into another room of that palace--the room of English literature; but I

have found that this room is not so splendidly adorned as that of Chinese

literature. By thus speaking, I mean not that I love English literature

less, but that I love our Chinese literature more. With what a proud feeling

I read over and over again the books in Chinese dealing with literature;

with what a delight and excitement I recite the famous poems and essays

for their beautiful wording in the description of nature and the expression

of the views on the philosophy of life; and with what an esteem and reverence

I admire the culture of our ancestors that has a history of five thousand

years. How proud I am of being born a Chinese and how wistfully I long to

add something to the storage in the treasure house of literature, and then

I can say with self-satisfaction that my life is not a waste.

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