From Chinese into English
从汉语到英语
尽管我学习英语已经很多年，也翻译出版了几本英美小说，可是直到今天我对汉译英却还是十分谨慎的，对一些国外报刊的英文约稿从不敢轻易应允，更不敢主动把自己的文章译成英文发表。准确的英译汉要经过严格的训练才有可能做到，翻译文学作品就要有更深的功力了，而要把文学作品的汉译英做好，不仅要具备汉语和英语本身的坚实基础，还要有其他方面的深厚涵养。文学的汉译英决不是学过几年英语就能做到的，实际上这种翻译是译者的二度创作。
对于中国人，英译汉做得漂亮不容易，汉译英做得漂亮就更难了，因为在进行汉译英的置换时，我们很可能在潜意识里就把汉语习惯载入了英语。往往是这样，我们认为自己译得很好的英文，英语国家的人却会挑出很多毛病，小的，大的，甚至标点符号，还有的地方他们干脆就说看不懂。那种时候真让人很丧气，可是怎么办呢？
多年前，我经常把一篇篇自认为很好的汉译英文章寄给我的美国朋友Jerry，他看完又把修改后的文章寄回来，看着被他用红色圆珠笔修改得密密麻麻的地方，我总是很难过，也很奇怪，为什么我认为对的地方却是错的呢？有时候，我会一连几个小时，盯着那些被红笔划过的痕迹苦思冥想，一会儿好像恍然大悟，一会儿好像又绕进了文字的迷魂阵。我觉得汉译英太难了。不过，我还是鼓起勇气，继续学习，并且坚持每天都做一些汉译英的练习。
那时候，我读了一本《中诗英译探胜》，那本书让我爱不释手，里面是中外语言专家翻译的中国古代诗词，从《诗经》到《西厢记》。读那些诗歌，我体味到汉语诗词英译的困难，把意思表达准确是要下苦功的，而既忠实于原文，又表现出原文的意蕴，就需要付出更多的心血。有些古诗词被译成了英语，却品不出古诗词的意味了，但是，我仍然感受到译者对每一个句子，甚至每一个词的认真推敲。不过我想，也许任何一种外语都不能充分地表达意象万千的中国古诗词，因为它们独特魅力的光芒是别的语言不能与之争辉的。比如唐代孟浩然的《春晓》：
春眠不觉晓，
处处闻啼鸟。
夜来风雨声，
花落知多少？
罗伯特?佩恩（Robert Payne）是这样翻译的：
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?
许渊冲先生的译文是这样的：
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!
这种对比多么有趣啊！文学作品有多种多样的译法，因为人们对它有各种各样的理解和想象。我已经不能确切地回忆起那些日子是怎样度过的，只记得那本《中诗英译探胜》一直放在我的床头，每天夜晚我都要翻看，我喜欢书中那些英语国家的人翻译的每一首诗词，看他们怎样用英语来表现中国古代诗词，或是把它们变成一个个通俗的英语故事。读那本书我总是快乐的。
从那以后，我又给Jerry寄去文章，一篇又一篇，我发现，他在文章里做的红色修改印迹越来越少了。再后来，我就用e-mail给Jerry发去我的汉译英文章。有一次，我给Jerry发去一篇我翻译的自己的散文，他在回信中说：
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?
（文章这么美，我喜欢它，写得很好。海迪，读这篇文章是一种快乐，读每一行文字都让我激动。你的想象是这样生动并且令人深思。是的，还记得我们的谈话吗？“生命的意义是什么？”啊，你的想法很明确。生命的记忆是持久的，肯定是持久的，不是这样吗？）
不过，Jerry 的信并没有让我感到欣慰，我觉得Jerry作为美国人也许还不能透彻地理解我的本意，他只是读懂了这个故事。怎样才能让外国人真正理解这个故事呢？我继续修改文章，还请另一位美国朋友Margaret帮我提意见。我想，Margaret是女性，她也许会从另一个角度理解这个故事。在和他们讨论这篇文章的时候，我觉得自己对汉译英有了更大的兴趣——汉语和英语毕竟是两种语言，怎么才能译得更好呢？
下面是Jerry 和Margaret帮我修改过的散文。我真希望有人能再将它译成中文，看看在别人的笔下它会变成一个什么样的故事：
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 red, the green, 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. Men and women chattered when drawing water from 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 raised 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. She found the lost years and 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. When I was alone in the courtyard I always 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 caressed 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. She said, I 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.
在这里，我期待着陌生朋友们的译文，我愿和你们一起分享汉译英、英译汉的快乐。