Chapter 11 Part Two: From Chinese to English and from Chinese to English

From Chinese into English From Chinese to English Although I have been studying English for many years, and have translated and published several English and American novels, I am still very cautious about Chinese-English translation until today. Translate your articles into English and publish them.Accurate English-Chinese translation can only be achieved after rigorous training. Translating literary works requires deeper skills. To do a good job in Chinese-English translation of literary works, one must not only have a solid foundation in Chinese and English, but also There must also be profound self-cultivation in other aspects.The Chinese-English translation of literature is by no means something that can be achieved after studying English for a few years. In fact, this kind of translation is the second creation of the translator.

For the Chinese, it is not easy to translate English into Chinese beautifully, and it is even more difficult to translate Chinese into English beautifully, because when translating Chinese into English, we are likely to subconsciously load Chinese habits into English.It often happens that when we think that we translate English very well, people from English-speaking countries will pick out many problems, such as small ones, big ones, and even punctuation marks, and they simply say they can’t understand some places.It was such a frustrating time, but what to do? Many years ago, I often sent my American friend Jerry one article after another that I thought was very good. , I am always very sad, and very strange, why do I think the right place is wrong?Sometimes, I would stare at the traces scratched by the red pen for several hours in a row, contemplating hard. For a while, I seemed to suddenly realize it, and for a while, I seemed to be entangled in the ecstasy of words again.I think Chinese-English translation is too difficult.However, I still mustered up the courage to continue studying, and insisted on doing some Chinese-English translation exercises every day.

At that time, I read "Exploring Chinese Poetry into English", which I couldn't put it down. It contained ancient Chinese poems translated by Chinese and foreign language experts, from to to .Reading those poems, I realized the difficulty of translating Chinese poems into English. It takes hard work to express the meaning accurately, but it takes more painstaking efforts to be faithful to the original text and express the meaning of the original text.Some ancient poems have been translated into English, but the meaning of the ancient poems cannot be tasted. However, I still feel the translator's careful consideration of every sentence and even every word.However, I think that perhaps no foreign language can fully express the ancient Chinese poems with myriad images, because their unique charm cannot be competed with by other languages.For example, "Spring Dawn" by Meng Haoran in the Tang Dynasty:

Chunmian does not know, Birds are heard everywhere. The sound of wind and rain at night, How much do you know about flowers? Robert Payne translates it thus: I slept in spring not conscious of the dawn, But heard the gay birds chattering all around, I remember, there was a storm at night. Pray, how many blossoms have fallen down? Mr. Xu Yuanchong's translation is as follows: This morn of spring in bed I'm lying, Not to awake till birds are crying. After one night of wind and showers, How many are the fallen flowers! What an interesting comparison!There are various translation methods for literary works because people have various understandings and imaginations about it.I can no longer recall exactly how those days were spent, but I only remember that "Exploring the Chinese Poetry and English Translation" has been kept on my bedside, and I have to read it every night. I like the books from English-speaking countries. Every poem translated by others, to see how they express ancient Chinese poems in English, or turn them into popular English stories.I am always happy reading that book.

Since then, I have sent articles to Jerry, one after another, and I found that the red marks of revisions he made in the articles have become less and less.Later, I sent Jerry my Chinese-English translation by e-mail.Once, I sent Jerry an essay I translated, and he wrote back: It was so beautiful. I love it. It was wonderful. Haidi, this was a joy to read and I was excited to read every line. Your imagination is so vivid and thoughtful. Yes, remember our conversations, “What is the meaning of life?" Well, you have a clear idea. Those memories last forever. They do. Don't they? (The article is so beautiful, I love it, well written. Heidi, it was a joy to read this article, I was thrilled to read every line. Your imagination is so vivid and thought-provoking. Yes, also Remember our conversation? "What is the meaning of life?" Ah, your thoughts are clear. The memory of life is long-lasting, it must be long-lasting, isn't it?)

However, Jerry's letter didn't make me feel relieved. I think Jerry, as an American, may not understand my original intention thoroughly. He just understood the story.How can foreigners really understand this story?I continued to revise the article, and asked another American friend, Margaret, to help me with comments.I think, Margaret is a woman, she may understand this story from another angle.When discussing this article with them, I felt that I became more interested in Chinese-English translation—after all, Chinese and English are two languages, how can I translate better? Below is the prose that Jerry and Margaret edited for me.I really hope someone can translate it into Chinese again, and see what kind of story it will become in someone else's pen:

In a small town, I lived in a very large courtyard. The courtyard was so large that people in big cities could not have imagined the size. It was as large as two football fields. There was a row of single-story houses where our two families lived. The courtyard was bathed in bright sunshine, so my neighbor grew various kinds of vegetables: cucumber, eggplant, haricot bean, tomatoes, and hot green peppers. In the summer the open ground was colorful; the purple and the orange formed a beautiful pattern. Our red roof houses with a sharp tower reflected the suns brightness, and the big doors and windows were painted sky blue as if the houses were built of colorful toy bricks as in the fairy tales.

Usually the courtyard was quiet, and sometimes it was so quiet that you could feel that it was so spacious, yet empty. I loved reading in the courtyard where the sunshine was mild and the air was fresh. I sat under a big tree where the leaves breathed perfume of greenness and tenderness. There was a black dog, he was a big watchdog. To me he was friendly and when I was reading he would always lie beside my wheelchair. Sometimes I felt the book was dull, so I would raise my head and wanted to talk to somebody . But at those times no one was there talking to me. In the evening when the sun was setting, the courtyard was bathed in golden red light. People coming home from work brought life to the courtyard. the well. After school children played catching games around the courtyard, as they were running and laughing the black dog ran after them joyfully barking. Everyday the scene appeared as the same.

During the day there was not only the black dog and me in the courtyard, there was also a Granny who was over eighty-years old. She was my neighbor and utterly blind. Most of the time she stayed in her house, sitting in an old armchair. Sometimes the armchair was moved to the front of the door and she sat there a whole afternoon in silence. No sound was heard from her so I often forgot her existence and in my consciousness there was only the black dog and me in the courtyard; but in reality there was the black dog, me and Granny. One day I again sat under the big tree, reading Die Weltraetsel (The Mystery of the Universe) by Ernst Haeckel, a German biologist. The chapter I was reading related to the life processes of human beings. Haeckel said, the processes of life in the nature were flowing like the loquacious stream, the blazing fire, the fitful breezes and the collapsing of rocks from mountains... I couldn't help thinking of Granny. I turned my head and looked at her. I saw that she was sitting in her armchair not far from me. She held a dragon stick with both hands in front of her chest. Her head drooped, and the skin on her face was flabby. Her eyes were slightly closed and she made no sound as if she was asleep . She was always so quiet and serene. What was she thinking about? Was the river of her consciousness still flowing? I wanted very much to ask her if she felt lonely? If there were any other feelings in her mind?

I turned my wheelchair to her side and asked her loudly, are you asleep Granny? No, I don't feel sleepy, Granny answered. So, what are you thinking about? I asked. I was recalling the days when I was a young girl and I was made a match, she replied. I was so surprised; I opened my eyes wide as if a rainbow suddenly appeared before me. With her eyes still slightly closed Granny said, when I was young matchmakers went to my home one after another. My face was so fair; I always wore a flower patterned cotton-padded coat and my waist was only two spans. My hair was beautiful , too; I always washed my hair with sesame flowers or egg whites. My plait was so thick and black that when I walked the end swayed behind my back. At the end of my plait I always tied a five-inch long bundle with a piece of red string...

What, a Granny of over eighty-years old was recalling her maiden years! I was really surprised. In fact, the old people still keep their mind young, which the youngsters cannot imagine. Under the big green tree I went on reading The Mystery of the Universe. During my reading the wings of dusk came quietly shading the setting sun. In that moment, I almost forgot that in the courtyard there was Granny, the black dog, and me . I continued to read my books in the courtyard as usual. One day I went to a very dull page and my eyes stayed stubbornly on a line. I raised my eyes and saw Granny sitting quietly in the sunlight with a gush of wind blowing her silver hair. I turned my wheelchair to her side and held her hands, which were coolish, soft, flabby but gentle. I asked her, do you feel bored all alone, Granny? No, I don't feel bored, she answered. I sit here as if I sit on the roadside at the edge of my home village like when I was young. Lively people are coming and going before my eyes. The day when my husband married me was very lively. My head was covered with a red head kerchief and I wore a red coat and a red skirt made of silk. That day a big cart came decorated with red silk and was pulled by a mule and two horses. It was the twelfth moon; the road was covered by thick snow. The wheels pressed two deep grooves into the ground behind my cart... Granny murmured very slowly with her harsh voice. She rai sed her head a little and in her eyes I saw she had memories lingering from a year long ago. It suddenly came to me the awareness of another meaning of life. Once I had thought that Granny sitting in the solitude was waiting silently for her death to come and had no any expectation. I had also considered how bored and bitter she would feel in her loneliness and darkness. But, actually she was spending her days under the sunlight in so calm a mood. Before her eyes the hands of the clock turned backward. The lives of the past were coming back nearer and nearer. got from them new comfort and pleasure. The real life is the life in one's memory, and the life in the memory is more vivid than it is in reality. Life lasts forever in the memory. One day Granny fell ill and was sent to the hospital; I felt very sorry. People said that perhaps she could not get over such an illness, and perhaps she would never be back to the courtyard. recalled the days when there had been Granny, the black dog and me. I felt lonely and sad. Everyday I asked the one who sent food to the hospital about the condition of Granny. One day someone told me that Granny could eat again, and when she opened her eyes she could clearly tell the stories of her ancestors and perhaps she would come back soon. Granny did come back to the courtyard again and I was deeply moved by her strong vitality. I then highly valued each day I spent with her in the courtyard. Each day Granny sat there bathing in the warm sunshine and pondering over her past with her head leaned low as before. That autumn she was visibly weakened and sat fewer and fewer hours in the courtyard. One day she told me, I knew I would come back; I must be back and wait for him at home. She said it was an autumn day, a day like today, leaves fell rustling everywhere, when my husband left early in the morning. He was a good ironsmith, and wore a coat and carried a cloth-wrapper on his back. At the door he said, you'd better not go out of the courtyard, for the baby's just a month old. When I earn money I'll surely be back. He said if he could not earn money he would be back before the end of the year. I made a new cotton coat for him , but he hasn't come back yet. Since that day I made a new cotton coat for him every autumn, but he still hasn't come back. Now, I cannot make a coat; I can't see anything, and if he comes back I cannot make out what he is really like... I cared Granny's hands lightly; they were very cool. A few dead leaves came whirling from the bare trees and threads of cold rain of late autumn fell from the sky. Granny suddenly shivered with cold and her hands shook a little. feel bad today. It is getting colder again, but why hasn't he come back yet? In murmuring so, tears rolled slowly down from her dim eyes. The next day Granny was gone. People of her family said that she got up in the middle of the night and made her way to the middle of the cabinet, and rummaged out of it the coat she had made for her husband. She said it was cold, and she should go and send it to him. She then fell asleep with the coat in her arms. She looked very calm, and people said she had gone without any suffering. That left only the black dog and me in the courtyard. It snowed heavily that winter. The white snow buried Granny's long and persevering expectations. In my obscure meditation there was often a quiet and a bit harsh voice leisurely telling a long story, which had no ending. The figure of Granny had gone with the wind, but her memory still lives on in the green leaves of life. What can I recall when I am old with my hair silver, I asked myself. Here, I am looking forward to the translations of strangers, and I would like to share the joy of Chinese-English translation and English-Chinese translation with you.