Professor
Department of English, School of Foreign Studies,
EMAIL: kepingATnju.edu.cn
Course Supporting Website: http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/TOC/TS.html; http://keping.sprinterweb.net/TOC/TS.html
Introduction to Translation Studies (ITS)
1. Main texts
(required reading)
3. Course website
(any of the following)
3. (ECTaL) Shotgun Cheatham’s Last
Night Above Ground
5. (ECTb3) Court Reverses Break-up of
Microsoft
Time: 14:00-16:00, Tuesday,
Fall Semester. Venue: A213, Xianlin Campus,
050201X11
This foundation course is intended to provide an introduction to the basic concepts, issues, and conceptual approaches in Translation Studies (TS), thereby helping to lay a broad-based foundation for further studies of translation. Major issues that concern past and present practioners and researchers in this field are identified and discussed with reference to different conceptual frameworks that have been developed in Chinese and international TS communities. Another aim of the course is to train students to adopt a more rational and rigorous approach to translation in their own practice through the exercise of translation with commentary. Students attend lectures, participate in class discussion, and as part of the course work, will also be required to sit in a final examination.
Shuttleworth, Mark, & Cowie,
Moira. (1997). Dictionary of translation
studies.
Munday, Jeremy. (2001). Introducing translation studies. Theories and applications. London: Routledge. xv+222 pp.
A Short Reading List
for Translation Studies
翻译研究文库 (Translation Studies Library I,
II, …….北京：外研社. 2006- .)
国外翻译研究丛书 (上海：上海外语教育出版社. 2001- .)
http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/kep/TOC/TS.html
http://keping.sprinterweb.net/TOC/TS.html
Two classroom contact hours per week. A combination of lectures and short student presentations.
Student
presentations will be focused on translation with commentary assignments which students
complete out of class on a research basis (involving both translating and
annotating) and bring into the class for discussion. Texts for the assignments
are available below. They can be also be downloaded from:
http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/kep/TOC/T.html
http://keping.sprinterweb.net/TOC/T.html.
A sample annotation translation
can be read at:
http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/kep/T-EC-AnnotatedT-Sample.htm
http://keping.sprinterweb.net/T-EC-AnnotatedT-Sample.htm
Unit 1 Course introduction / The name and nature of translation / Types of translation
Unit 2 The scope and objects of Translation Studies
Unit 3 Qualities of a good theory
Unit 4 The Philological School
Unit 5 The Hermeneutic School
Unit 6 The Linguistic School
Unit 7 The Communicative School
Unit 8 The Sociosemiotic School
Unit 9 The Skopos Theory [Optional topic]
Unit 10 The Manipulative School / The Norm Theory [Optional topic]
Unit 11 The Post-structuralist and Postcolonial Schools [Optional topic]
Assessment will be based on:
(1) class attendance and participation (responding to questions and raising good questions or suggestions, active involvement in class discussion, finding and sharing quality learning resources, etc.) (20%);
(2) presentations on in-class exercises and home translation with commentary assignments (30%);
(3) final examination (50%).
I think the essence of wisdom is emancipation, as far as possible, from the tyranny of the here and the now. We cannot help the egoism of our senses. Sight and sound and touch are bound up with our own bodies and cannot be made impersonal. Our emotions start similarly from ourselves. An infant feels hunger or discomfort, and is unaffected except by his own physical condition. Gradually with the years, his horizon widens, and, in proportion as his thoughts and feelings become less personal and less concerned with his own physical states, he achieves growing wisdom. This is of course a matter of degree. No one can view the world with complete impartiality; and if anyone could, he would hardly be able to remain alive. But it is possible to make a continual approach towards impartiality, on the one hand, by knowing things somewhat remote in time or space, and, on the other hand, by giving to such things their due weight in our feelings. It is this approach towards impartiality that constitutes growth in wisdom.
Can wisdom be taught? And, if it can, should the teaching of it be one of the aims of education? I should answer both these questions in the affirmative. I think that the disastrous results of hatred and narrow-mindedness to those who feel them can be pointed out incidentally in the course of giving knowledge. I do not think that knowledge and morals ought to be too much separated. It is true that the kind of specialized knowledge which is required for various kinds of skill has very little to do with wisdom. But it should be supplemented in education by wider surveys calculated to put it in its place in the total of human activities. Even the best technicians should also be good citizens; and when I say “citizens,” I mean citizens of the world and not of this or that sect or nation. With every increase of knowledge and skill, wisdom becomes more necessary, for every such increase augments our capacity of realizing our purposes, and therefore augments our capacity for evil, if our purposes are unwise. The world needs wisdom as it has never needed it before; and if knowledge continues to increase, the world will need wisdom in the future even more than it does now.
研究生院每年可向合格的博士生提供数量有限的助教工作。助教通常每周要教6个学分课时的本科生课程，但有时也会被分派做一些教辅工作，而不是教学工作。
从事助教工作的学生可获得一笔生活费，但在受聘期间的每一学期中均须注册修读研究生课程学分。在受聘后的那个暑期学期里，助教若修课可免交不超过9个研究生课程学分的学费。活动费、医疗保健费以及春秋学期的学费则须由助教自理。
助教受聘前必须已获得硕士学位，或已修完36个学分春秋学期上课的研究生课程，同时还必须是被录取到本校某个博士专业就读的学生，并在整个受聘期间保持良好的学习成绩。当然，除此之外，各系可能还会有一些其他的要求。
[S1]
You wouldn’t think we’d have to leave
But I’d grown to the age of nine, and my sister Mary Alice was seven, and we’d yet to see a stiff. We guessed that most of them were where you couldn’t see them, at the bottom of Lake Michigan, wearing concrete overshoes.
No, we had to travel all the way down to our Grandma Dowdel’s before we ever set eyes on a corpse. Dad said Mary Alice and I were getting to the age when we could travel on our own. He said it was time we spent a week with Grandma, who was getting on in years. We hadn’t seen anything of her since we were tykes. Being Chicago people, Mother and Dad didn’t have a car. And Grandma wasn’t on the telephone.
“They’re dumping us on her is what they’re doing,” Mary Alice said darkly. She suspected that Mother and Dad would take off for a week of fishing up in Wisconsin in our absence.
I didn’t mind going because we went on the train, the Wabash Railroad’s crack Blue Bird that left Dearborn Station every morning, bound for St. Louis. Grandma lived somewhere in between, in one of those towns the railroad tracks cut in two. People stood out on their porches to see the train go through.
Mary Alice said she couldn’t stand the place. For one thing, at Grandma’s you had to go outside to the privy. It stood just across from the cobhouse, a tumbledown shed flail of stuff left there in Grandpa Dowdel’s time. A big old snaggletoothed tomcat lived in the cobhouse, and as quick as you’d come out of the privy, he’d jump at you. Mary Alice hated that.
Mary Alice said there was nothing to do and nobody to do it with, so she’d tag after me, though I was two years older and a boy. We’d stroll uptown in those first days. It was only a short block of brick buildings: the bank, the insurance agency, Moore’s Store, and The Coffee Pot Cafe, where the old saloon had stood. Prohibition was on in those days, which meant that selling liquor was against the law. So people made their own beer at home. They still had the tin roofs out over the sidewalk, and hitching rails. Most farmers came to town horse-drawn, though there were Fords, and the banker, L. J. Weidenbach, drove a Hupmobile.
[S2]
It looked like a slow place to us. But that was before they buried Shotgun Cheatham. He might have made it unnoticed all the way to the grave except for his name. The county seat newspaper didn’t want to run an obituary on anybody called Shotgun, but nobody knew any other name for him. This sparked attention from some of the bigger newspapers. One sent in a stringer to nose around The Coffee Pot Cafe for a human-interest story since it was August, a slow month for news.
The Coffee Pot was where people went to loaf, talk tall, and swap gossip. Mary Alice and I were of some interest when we dropped by because we were kin of Mrs. Dowdel’s, who never set foot in the place. She said she liked to keep herself to herself, which was uphill work in a town like that.
Mary Alice and I carried the tale home that a suspicious type had come off the train in citified clothes and a stiff straw hat. He stuck out a mile and was asking around about Shotgun Cheatham. And he was taking notes.
Grandma had already heard it on the grapevine that Shotgun was no more, though she wasn’t the first person people ran to with news. She wasn’t what you’d call a popular woman. Grandpa Dowdel had been well thought of; but he was long gone.
That was the day she was working tomatoes on the black iron range, and her kitchen was hot enough to steam the calendars off the wall. Her sleeves were turned back on her big arms. When she heard the town was apt to fill up with newspaper reporters, her jaw clenched.
Presently she said, “I’ll tell you what that reporter’s after. He wants to get the horselaugh on us because he thinks we’re nothing but a bunch of hayseeds and no-’count country people. We are, but what business is it of his?”
“Who was Shotgun Cheatham anyway?” Mary Alice asked.
“He was just an old reprobate who lived poor and died broke,” Grandma said. “Nobody went near him because he smelled like a polecat. He lived in a chicken coop, and now they’ll have to burn it down.”
To change the subject she said to me, “Here, you stir these tomatoes, and don’t let them stick. I’ve stood in this heat till I’m half-cooked myself.”
I didn’t like kitchen work. Yesterday she’d done apple butter, and that hadn’t been too bad. She made that outdoors over an open fire, and she’d put pennies in the caldron to keep it from sticking.
“Down at The Coffee Pot they say Shotgun rode with the James boys.”
“Which James boys?” Grandma asked.
“Jesse James,” I said, “and Frank.”
“They wouldn’t have had him,” she said. “Anyhow, them Jameses was Missouri people.”
“They were telling the reporter Shotgun killed a man and went to the penitentiary.”
“Several around here done that,” Grandma said, “though I don’t recall him being out of town any length of time. Who’s doing all this talking?”
“A real old, humped-over lady with buck teeth,” Mary Alice said.
“Cross-eyed?” Grandma said. “That’d be Effie Wilcox. You think she’s ugly now, you should have seen her as a girl. And she’d talk you to death. Her tongue’s attached in the middle and flaps at both ends.” Grandma was over by the screen door for a breath of air.
“They said he’d notched his gun in six places,” I said, pushing my luck. “They said the notches were either for banks he’d robbed or for sheriffs he’d shot.”
“Was that Effie again? Never trust an ugly woman. She’s got a grudge against the world,” said Grandma, who was no oil painting herself. She fetched up a sigh. “I’ll tell you how Shotgun got his name. He wasn’t but about ten years old, and he wanted to go out and shoot quail with a bunch of older boys. He couldn’t hit a barn wall from the inside, and he had a sty in one eye. They were out there in a pasture without a quail in sight, but Shotgun got all excited being with the big boys. He squeezed off a round and killed a cow. Down she went. If he’d been aiming at her, she’d have died of old age eventually. The boys took the gun off him, not knowing who he’d plug next. That’s how he got the name, and it stuck to him like flypaper. Any girl in town could have outshot him, and that includes me.” Grandma jerked a thumb at herself.
She kept a twelve-gauge double-barreled Winchester Model 21 behind the wood box, but we figured it had been Grandpa Dowdel’s for shooting ducks. “And I wasn’t no Annie Oakley myself; except with squirrels.” Grandma was still at the door, fanning her apron. Then in the same voice she said, “Looks like we got company. Take them tomatoes off the fire.”
[S3]
A stranger was on the porch, and when Mary Alice and I crowded up behind Grandma to see, it was the reporter. He was sharp-faced, and he’d sweated through his hatband.
“What’s your business?” Grandma said through screen wire, which was as friendly as she got.
“Ma’am, I’m making inquiries about the late Shotgun Cheatham.” He shuffled his feet, wanting to get one of them in the door. Then he mopped up under his hat brim with a silk handkerchief. His Masonic ring had diamond chips in it.
“Who sent you to me?”
“I’m going door-to-door, ma’am. You know how you ladies love to talk. Bless your hearts, you’d all talk the hind leg off a mule.”
Mary Alice and I both stared at that. We figured Grandma might grab up her broom to swat him off the porch. We’d already seen how she could make short work of peddlers even when they weren’t lippy. And tramps didn’t seem to mark her fence post. We suspected that you didn’t get inside her house even if she knew you. But to our surprise she swept open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. I followed. So did Mary Alice, once she was sure the snaggletoothed tom wasn’t lurking around out there, waiting to pounce.
“You a newspaper reporter?” she said. “Peoria?” It was the flashy clothes, but he looked surprised. “What they been telling you?”
“Looks like I got a good story by the tail,” he said. ‘Last of the Old Owlhoot Gunslingers Goes to a Pauper’s Grave.’ That kind of angle. Ma’am, I wonder if you could help me flesh out the story some.”
“Well, I got flesh to spare,” Grandma said mildly. “Who’s been talking to you?”
“It was mainly an elderly lady.”
“Ugly as sin, calls herself Wilcox?” Grandma said. “She’s been in the state hospital for the insane until just here lately, but as a reporter I guess you nosed that out.”
Mary Alice nudged me hard, and the reporter’s eyes widened.
“They tell you how Shotgun come by his name?”
“Opinions seem to vary, ma’am.
“Ah well, fame is fleeting,” Grandma said. “He got it in the Civil War.”
The reporter’s hand hovered over his breast pocket, where a notepad stuck out.
“Oh yes, Shotgun went right through the war with the Illinois Volunteers. Shiloh in the spring of sixty-two, and he was with U.S. Grant when Vicksburg fell. That’s where he got his name. Grant give it to him, in fact. Shotgun didn’t hold with government-issue firearms. He shot rebels with his old Remington pump-action that he’d used to kill quail back here at home.”
Now Mary Alice was yanking on my shirttail. We knew kids lie all the time, but Grandma was no kid, and she could tell some whoppers. Of course the reporter had been lied to big-time up at the cafe, but Grandma’s lies were more interesting, even historical. They made Shotgun look better while they left Effie Wilcox in the dust.
“He was always a crack shot,” she said, winding down. “Come home from the war with a line of medals bigger than his chest.”
“And yet he died penniless,” the reporter said in a thoughtful voice.
“Oh well, he’d sold off them medals and give the money to war widows and orphans.”
A change crossed the reporter’s narrow face. Shotgun had gone from kill-crazy gunslinger to war-hero marksman. Philanthropist, even. He fumbled his notepad out and was scribbling. He thought he’d hit pay dirt with Grandma. “It’s all a matter of record,” she said. “You could look it up.”
He was ready to wire in a new story: “Civil War Hero Handpicked by U. S. Grant Called to the Great Campground in the Sky.” Something like that. “And he never married?”
“Never did,” Grandma said. “He broke Effie Wilcox’s heart. She’s bitter still, as you see.”
“And now he goes to a pauper’s grave with none to mark his passing,” the reporter said, which may have been a sample of his writing style.
“They tell you that?” Grandma said. “They’re pulling your leg, sonny. You drop by The Coffee Pot and tell them you heard that Shotgun’s being buried from my house with full honors. He’ll spend his last night above ground in my front room, and you’re invited.”
The reporter backed down the porch stairs, staggering under all this new material. “Much obliged, ma’am,” he said.
“Happy to help,” Grandma said.
[S4]
Mary Alice had turned loose of my shirttail. What little we knew about grown-ups didn’t seem to cover Grandma. She turned on us. “Now I’ve got to change my shoes and walk all the way up to the lumberyard in this heat,” she said, as if she hadn’t brought it all on herself. Up at the lumberyard they’d be knocking together Shotgun Cheatham’s coffin and sending the bill to the county, and Grandma had to tell them to bring that coffin to her house, with Shotgun in it.
By nightfall a green pine coffin stood on two sawhorses in the bay window of the front room, and people milled in the yard. They couldn’t see Shotgun from there because the coffin lid blocked the view. Besides, a heavy gauze hung from the open lid and down over the front of the coffin to veil him. Shotgun hadn’t been exactly fresh when they discovered his b~dy. Grandma had flung open every window, but there was a peculiar smell in the room. I’d only had one look at him when they’d carried in the coffin, and that was enough. I’ll tell you just two things about him. He didn’t have his teeth in, and he was wearing bib overalls.
The people in the yard still couldn’t believe Grandma was holding open house. This didn’t stop the reporter who was haunting the parlor, looking for more flesh to add to his story. And it didn’t stop Mrs. L. J. Weidenbach, the banker’s wife, who came leading her father, an ancient codger half her size in full Civil War Union blue.
“We are here to pay our respects at this sad time,” Mrs. Weidenbach said when Grandma let them in. “When I told Daddy that Shotgun had been decorated by U. S. Grant and wounded three times at Bull Run, it brought it all back to him, and we had to come.” Her old daddy wore a forage cap and a decoration from the Grand Army of the Republic, and he seemed to have no idea where he was. She led him up to the coffin, where they admired the flowers. Grandma had planted a pitcher of glads from her garden at either end of the pine box. In each pitcher she’d stuck an American flag.
A few more people willing to brave Grandma came and went, but finally we were down to the reporter, who’d settled into the best chair, still nosing for news. Then who appeared at the front door but Mrs. Effie Wilcox, in a hat.
“Mrs. Dowdel, I’ve come to set with you overnight and see our brave old soldier through his Last Watch.”
In those days people sat up with a corpse through the final night before burial. I’d have bet money Grandma wouldn’t let Mrs. Wilcox in for a quick look, let alone overnight. But of course Grandma was putting on the best show possible to pull wool over the reporter 5 eyes. Little though she seemed to think of townspeople, she thought less of strangers. Grandma waved Mrs. Wilcox inside, and in she came, her eyes all over the place. She made for the coffin, stared at the blank white gauze, and said, “Don’t he look natural?”
Then she drew up a chair next to the reporter. He flinched because he had it on good authority that she’d just been let out of an insane asylum. “Warm, ain’t it?” she said straight at him, but looking everywhere.
The crowd outside finally dispersed. Mary Alice and I hung at the edge of the room, too curious to be anywhere else.
“If you’re here for the long haul,” Grandma said to the reporter, “how about a beer?” He looked encouraged, and Grandma left him to Mrs. Wilcox, which was meant as a punishment. She came back with three of her home brews, cellar-cool. She brewed beer to drink herself; but these three bottles were to see the reporter through the night. She wouldn’t have expected her worst enemy, Effie Wilcox, to drink alcohol in front of a man.
In normal circumstances the family recalls stories about the departed to pass the long night hours. But these circumstances weren’t normal, and quite a bit had already been recalled about Shotgun Cheatham anyway.
[S5]
Only a single lamp burned, and as midnight drew on, the glads drooped in their pitchers. I was wedged in a corner, beginning to doze, and Mary Alice was sound asleep on a throw rug. After the second beer the reporter lolled, visions of Shotgun’s Civil War glories no doubt dancing in his head. You could hear the tick of the kitchen clock. Grandma’s chin would drop, then jerk back. Mrs. Wilcox had been humming “Rock of Ages,” but tapered off after “let me hide myself in thee.”
Then there was the quietest sound you ever heard. Somewhere between a rustle and a whisper. It brought me around, and I saw Grandma sit forward and cock her head. I blinked to make sure I was awake, and the whole world seemed to listen. Not a leaf trembled outside. But the gauze that hung down over the open coffin moved. Twitched.
Except for Mary Alice, we all saw it. The reporter sat bolt upright, and Mrs. Wilcox made a little sound.
Then nothing.
Then the gauze rippled as if a hand had passed across it from the other side, and in one place it wrinkled into a wad as if somebody had snagged it. As if a feeble hand had reached up from the coffin depths in one last desperate attempt to live before the dirt was shoveled in.
Every hair on my head stood up.
“Naw,” Mrs. Wilcox said, strangling. She pulled back in her chair, and her hat went forward. “Naw!”
The reporter had his chair arms in a death grip. “Sweet mother of —”
But Grandma rocketed out of her chair. “Whoa, Shotgun!” she bellowed. “You’ve had your time, boy. You don’t get no more!”
She galloped out of the room faster than I could believe. The reporter was riveted, and Mrs. Wilcox was sinking fast.
Quicker than it takes to tell, Grandma was back, and already raised to her aproned shoulder was the twelve-gauge Winchester from behind the woodbox. She swung it wildly around the room, skimming Mrs. Wilcox’s hat, and took aim at the gauze that draped the yawning coffin. Then she squeezed off a round.
I thought that sound would bring the house down around us. I couldn’t hear right for a week. Grandma roared out, “Rest in peace, you old — ” Then she let fly with the other barrel.
The reporter came out of the chair and whipped completely around in a circle. Beer bottles went everywhere. The straight route to the front door was in Grandma’s line of fire, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to realize she’d already discharged both barrels. He went out a side window, headfirst, leaving his hat and his notepad behind. Which he feared more, the living dead or Grandma’s aim, he didn’t tarry to tell. Mrs. Wilcox was on her feet, hollering, “The dead is walking, and Mrs. Dowdel’s gunning for me!” She cut and ran out the door and into the night.
When the screen door snapped to behind her, silence fell. Mary Alice hadn’t moved. The first explosion had blasted her awake, but she naturally thought that Grandma had killed her, so she didn’t bother to budge.. She says the whole experience gave her nightmares for years after.
A burned-powder haze hung in the room, cutting the smell of Shotgun Cheatham. The white gauze was black rags now, and Grandma had blown the lid clear of the coffin. She’d have blown out all three windows in the bay, except they were open. As it was, she’d pitted her woodwork bad and topped the snowball bushes outside. But apart from scattered shot, she hadn’t disfigured Shotgun Cheatham any more than he already was.
Grandma stood there savoring the silence. Then she turned toward the kitchen with the twelve-gauge loose in her hand. “Time you kids was in bed,” she said as she trudged past us.
Apart from Grandma herself; I was the only one who’d seen her big old snaggletoothed tomcat streak out of the coffin and over the windowsill when she let fire. And I supposed she’d seen him climb in, which gave her ideas. It was the cat, sitting smug on Shotgun Cheatham’s breathless chest, who’d batted at the gauze the way a cat will. And he sure lit out the way he’d come when Grandma fired just over his ragged ears, as he’d probably used up eight lives already.
The cat in the coffin gave Grandma Dowdel her chance. She didn’t seem to have any time for Effie Wilcox, whose tongue flapped at both ends, but she had even less for newspaper reporters who think your business is theirs. Courtesy of the cat, she’d fired a round, so to speak, in the direction of each.
Though she didn’t gloat, she looked satisfied. It certainly fleshed out her reputation and gave people new reason to leave her in peace. The story of Shotgun Cheat-ham’s last night above ground kept The Coffee Pot Cafe fully engaged for the rest of our visit that summer. It was a story that grew in the telling in one of those little towns where there’s always time to ponder all the different kinds of truth.
随着诺贝尔奖颁奖典礼的临近，持续2个月的“屠呦呦热”正在渐入高潮。当地时间7日下午，屠呦呦在瑞典卡罗林斯卡学院发表题为“青蒿素——中医药给世界的一份礼物”的演讲，详细回顾了青蒿素的发现过程，并援引毛泽东的话称，中医药学“是一个伟大的宝库”。
对中医药而言，无论是自然科学“圣殿”中的这次演讲，还是即将颁发到屠呦呦手中的诺奖，自然都提供了极好的“正名”。置于世界科学前沿的平台上，中医药学不仅真正被世界“看见”，更能因这种“看见”获得同世界对话的机会。拨开层层迷雾之后，对话是促成发展的动力。将迷雾拨开、使对话变成可能，是屠呦呦及其团队的莫大功劳。
[以下几段为理解上文所需的下文，需仔细读解，但不用翻译。]
但如果像部分舆论那样，将屠呦呦的告白简单视作其对中医的“背书”，乃至将其成就视作中医向西医下的“战书”，这样的心愿固然可嘉，却可能完全背离科学家的本意。听过屠呦呦的报告，或是对其研究略作了解就知道，青蒿素的发现既来自于中医药“宝库”提供的积淀和灵感，也来自于西医严格的实验方法。缺了其中任意一项，历史很可能转向截然不同的方向。换言之，在“诺奖级”平台上促成中西医对话之前，屠呦呦及其团队的成果，正是长期“对话”的成果。
而此前绵延不绝的“中西医”之争，多多少少都游离了对话的本意，而陷于一种单向化的“争短长”。持中医论者，不屑于西医的“按部就班”；持西医论者，不屑于中医的“随心所欲”。双方都没有看到，“按部就班”背后本是实证依据，“随心所欲”背后则有文化内涵，两者完全可以兼容互补，何必非得二元对立？屠呦呦在演讲中坦言，“通过抗疟药青蒿素的研究历程，我深深地感到中西医药各有所长，两者有机结合，优势互补，当具有更大的开发潜力和良好的发展前景”。这既是站在中医药立场上对西方科学界的一次告白，反过来也可理解为西医立场上对中医拥趸们的提醒。毋宁说，这是一个科学家对科学研究实质的某种揭示。
科学研究之艰深莫测，科学家多有体认，作为旁观者的我们也屡屡耳闻。而科学研究所需要的思维方式，人们未必有足够认识。对屠呦呦和她的团队，做出的学问未必人人能学，其治学的精神和观念却很值得借鉴。这既包括“几十年磨一剑”的硬功夫，也包括一种巧妙平衡的思维方式。
这种思维方式，就体现在其对中西医有机的结合。表面上，这是两种科学体系的对话，而实质上，这也是两种思维方式的平衡——从中医传统中寻觅灵感，屠呦呦们的想象力值得叹服；用西学方法做论证，屠呦呦们的理性思维亦值得重视。想象力与理性思辨的高度平衡，恰恰是优秀科学家具备的关键素质。这两者的平衡，使他们的创新从不是漫谈空想，而实证又绝不会死气沉沉。
(朱珉迕 [《解放日报》首席评论员] 作. 载《解放日报》)
A federal appeals court reversed the breakup of Microsoft Thursday and ordered that a new judge decide the landmark case. It was a major victory for the embattled software maker.
The appeals court ruled that US District Judge Thomas Penfield Jackson improperly conducted himself in the case, leaving himself open to the appearance he was biased against Microsoft.
“We vacate the judgment on remedies, because the trial judge engaged in impermissible ex parte contacts by holding secret interviews with members of the media and made numerous offensive comments about Microsoft officials in public statements outside of the courtroom, giving rise to an appearance of partiality,” the court said.
“Although we find no evidence of actual bias, we hold that the actions of the trial judge seriously tainted the proceedings before the District Court and called into question the integrity of the judicial process,” the court added.
The ruling was unanimous, by a 7-0 vote.
Jackson ruled Microsoft had engaged in anti-competitive practices by packaging its Windows operating system with its Internet Explorer Web browser. He concluded the company was an illegal monopoly and ordered the software giant broken into two as a penalty.
By vacating the ruling, the appeals court sent the case back to the lower court but ordered that a different judge handle the decision on how to punish Microsoft.
6. (CETb3) 校改练习：爱的呼唤
（电视纪实报道脚本）
解说： 2005年8月22号，对于在农业银行南京市城南支行工作的李思俭来说是一个特殊的日子。因为在这一天，她意外地收到了一个陌生人的来信。
同期声： （李思俭） “信是陕西的，我想陕西我又没有亲戚也没有朋友，就在办公室我就把它打开了。”
解说： 给李思俭写信的是一个女孩。她和李思俭并不熟识，甚至还把对李思俭的称呼写成了‘李叔叔’。面对着这样一封奇怪的来信，李思俭显得有些忐忑不安。然而，当她读完了信，眼眶湿润了。 （渐黑）
解说： 1996年的秋天，李思俭所在的单位组织全体员工向贫困儿童捐赠衣物。当时，李思俭33岁，是一个10男孩的母亲。也许是因为自己也是一个母亲吧，李思俭对待这次资助贫困儿童表现出了一种更为特殊的关怀。她在一件捐赠的棉衣口袋里，悄悄地塞进一张纸条： （换女声配音）“孩子，当你穿上这件衣服，看见这张字条的时候，我们便认识了。你今年几岁了？读几年级？家住在哪里？家中都有些什么人？生活过得怎样？你父母都是干什么的？孩子，你如果因为贫困而不能上学的话，你需要帮助吗？你如果想上学而需要帮助的话，可以写信给我——”
同期声： （李思俭的丈夫 杨俊） “当时我就想：她怎么又搞出一点浪漫的事情。”
解说： 虽然骨子里是一个浪漫的小女人，但是李思俭做出的这个“纸条传情”的举动，绝不是她的一时冲动。她说，她可是经过深思熟虑的。
同期声： （李思俭）： “我在写这个条子的时候也想到，老区既然穿衣服都这么困难上学肯定困难很大。那对于我来讲我每年抽出几百块钱帮助她能够让她成长，同时对我自己培养儿子，你看你生活在这种城市里面然后老区还有这样的孩子，这样和我儿子对比成长可能对我儿子成长更有帮助、更有好处。” （李思俭的同事 董忠勇） “这个事情只有她能做到这一点，为什么呢？从她平时跟我们接触的时候都能感觉到她是乐于助人的。”
解说： 可是，一年过去了，两年过去了，那张塞进棉衣里的纸条就像一块被丢进大海里的小石头，没有激起任何的回响。
同期声： （李思俭） “我也担心这个纸条能不能落到这个小孩手上？也许可能在捐助的过程中被整理掉了呢？就所以呢我不管它是怎么样吧，总归放了一个条子，假如说能有这个条子能有回信那不就是一种缘分吗？”
解说： 一晃又过了几年。李思俭夫妇对求助信的企盼渐渐地转化为那件口袋里塞纸条的棉衣的新主人的牵挂。他是个什么样的孩子？她有学上吗？
同期声： （李思俭） “随着小孩上学经济负担加重，随着我自己事业的忙碌加重，这件事情也就渐渐地淡忘了。但是每一年在大学生考上大学以后，然后报纸上面登多少贫困生需要帮助的时候，反正每每会想起来。”
解说： 九年过去了。李思俭的儿子已经考上了大学。而李思俭夫妇期待已久的求助信却始终没来。李思俭不得不开始相信那张塞进棉衣里的纸条也许是真的弄丢了。8月22号那天上午，当同事把一封从陕西寄来的挂号信送到李思俭手中的时候，她压根儿也没有把这封信跟九年前的那张纸条联系起来。 女声读信： 尊敬的李叔叔：
你好！近年来是否身体健康、工作顺利？不知您是否记得96年冬季你捐赠的一件衣服和衣兜里的一封书信？我就是受你捐赠的那个小女孩。我叫王翠，今年19岁了。我家住在陕西省镇安县的一个穷山沟里。我的父母都是农民，今年45岁。奶奶已经年过七旬，身体不太好，需要父母赡养。当年收到您捐赠的衣服时，我才10岁，刚上小学四年级。那时，父亲在外打工的钱可以勉强维持家用，于是，父母决定暂时不必写信向您求助。但是，您的那张字条我一直珍藏着。今年，我考上了大学，我的学费实在让父母无力承担了，看着他们为了给我筹学费，每天东奔西跑，我实在于心不忍。但我真的不想放弃 李叔叔，不知道这封信您能否收到。九年过去了，也不知您是否已经调往外地。不论你能否再次帮助我，我们全家都会对你感激不尽，会永远记得您这份雪中送炭的莫大恩情。
同期声： （李思俭） “在信上面就讲了：你还记得九年前你捐献的棉袄里面有个小纸条吗？哎呀！我一想，哦，这个小孩来信了。第一反应就是觉得她现在需要帮助。”
解说： 李思俭通过上网证实了王翠确实是被哈尔滨东北农业大学录取的新生。李思俭当即决定要信守自己九年前许下的诺言，帮助这个女孩。
同期声： （李思俭） “毕竟是自己做的这个事情，而且是自己放出去的一个承诺，不管它多少年过来了你总得要实现这个承诺。我就按照她上面的电话我就打了一个电话过去，刚好接电话的是这个小女孩，然后当时我就跟她讲，我说我是南京我不是李叔叔，我是给你小棉袄里留条的那个，你喊我李阿姨，她当时在电话里喊我李阿姨的时候呢声音很哽咽，已经哭了。”
解说： 王翠在电话里对李思俭说，棉衣口袋里的那张纸条她早在九年前就已经看到了。但是倔强的父亲不希望她麻烦别人，不让她写求助信，就连这一封已经寄到李思俭手中的信也是她背着父亲写的。
同期声： （王翠） “96年10月份的时候，村里给我们家发了救助捐献的衣服，然后我妈拿了一件让我穿，然后我穿上以后手往兜里一塞就拿出一张纸条来。”
解说： 当时的王翠只有10岁，正在读小学四年级。看到了这张饱含深情的纸条，她开心极了。赶忙把纸条拿给父母看。
同期声： （王翠的父亲 王保山） “在这个社会上有则是能无则是蠢，我对人家的帮助的话我也想到自己有内疚，咱自己的话 当时家庭还可以能过得去，在我们这个地方能过得去，我也就没有让孩子写这个救助信。”
解说： 王翠只好把这张纸条收了起来。虽然父亲不让她写信去寻求帮助，但是这份来自千里之外的关爱，还是让这个小女孩感受到了前所未有的温暖。 女声读信： 李叔叔，我把您当年写的字条连同捐赠给我的棉衣一直珍藏在衣柜深处。九年来，每当我遇到困难和挫折的时候，我都会把它拿出来看看。当我看完那张字条的时候，我会感到非常地亲切和温暖，因为我知道，在千里之外还有一个人在关心我、鼓励我，我就会有一种战胜困难的勇气。 李叔叔，在这九年里，我家发生了一场巨大的变故。它把我们原本贫穷但宁静的生活打破了。全家人的身心都受到了巨大的伤害，而我也差一点就要面临辍学的危险。在那个最痛苦的时候，我又一次拿出了您写给我的字条。就是您的字条给了我信心和勇气，帮我渡过那段最艰难的日子。
解说： 王翠家乡在镇安县米粮镇，那是一个非常贫困的山区。而王翠一家所居住的丰河村，就更穷了。王翠的父亲是一个坚强的男人。他靠外出打工维持着这个家庭。 然而，天有不测风云。就是这样一个坚强的家庭，在1996年的冬天，也就是王翠收到纸条后的第二个月，却发生了一场变故。 女声读信： 李叔叔，就在收到您的字条的第二个月，我弟弟得了一种怪病，他开始经常头痛。痛的时候就在地上打滚。我们把他送到县医院，挂了几瓶水就好了。可是，没想到几个月后又发作了，反反复复很多次。最后，父亲和母亲只好把他送去省城的医院，才知道他患上的是脑溢血。
同期声： （王翠的父亲 王保山） “要是有钱的话，就是经济宽余的话，在西安陆军医院可以做手术，我当时经济不行。” （王翠的母亲 李高兰） “结果在那里治不好就回来了，家庭本身条件也很差。” 女声读信： 弟弟被确诊患上脑溢血的时候只有8岁。由于没钱做手术，一直只能保守治疗。既使是这样，4年的保守治疗还是让父亲背上了8万元的债务。后来，父亲借钱越来越困难了，弟弟连保守治疗也难以维持。看着父亲操劳的身影，再看看躺在病塌上的弟弟，我想到了退学。但是却遭到了父亲的极力反对。我又想到了您写给我的那张纸条。可父亲说，这件事不能麻烦你。
同期声： （王翠的父亲 王保山） “我也想到这回事，当时这个李阿姨在写信的过程当中就说那份信的原话，也就是说孩子读书的经过，在孩子治病的过程中我也想我自己有能力我慢慢借吧。”
解说： 最终，父亲还是没有让王翠写信求助。由于没钱做手术，王翠的弟弟只好在家里休养。2000年7月的一个傍晚，天空突然下起了小雨。原本正在忙着农活的父母赶紧跑回家躲雨。谁知，一进家门，俩人就被眼前的情形吓呆了。
同期声： （王翠的母亲 李高兰） “发病了倒在地上，我就抱他摇一摇，当时我孩子已经没救了，当时我就气得差点（昏）死过去了，就这么大得雨跟这一样，雨大得很，我只好跟他爸爸说：咱把他送到县城（医院）吧，我说咱们穷我把我孩子看好，我淘米浇灌总归我有孩子，我说：我作为当母亲的我有了孩子，我啥都有了是不是。最后我跟医院的医生说：我求求你，你用最好的药把我的孩子治好。他说我尽了最大的努力，但是你的孩子实在是不行了。” （王翠的父亲 王保山） “我那孩子确实是可以的，我那个孩子聪明，当时我确实感觉挽救迟了，也是怪自己经济不行吧。” （王翠的母亲 李高兰） “我有时候我晚上做梦想着我的娃，我这几年的日子实在是没有办法过了，我的儿子去世时是十二岁，（个子）到我这儿。”
解说： 弟弟夭折之后，父亲和母亲几乎精神崩溃。他们整天躺在床上，不吃不喝。他们的心中有恨，恨自己为什么这么贫穷？为什么救不了自己的孩子？当时，王翠只有14岁，正在读初中。平时，她和弟弟的感情很好。面对弟弟的早逝，王翠的心很痛。然而，她却没有像父母一样把自己成天关在屋子里，而是找来了邻居，请他们帮助料理弟弟的后事。
同期声： （王翠的邻居 张社地） “弟弟去世之后，一般人受了这个刺激以后父母已经成那样子，她还知道来张罗后事，还有这个孩子她来给邻居做点饭，一般人也想象不到因为她那个时候太小了，我认为她是初中嘛我是从这个小事认为这个孩子不比常人能够想象的那样。” （王翠） “我爸我妈几乎垮掉了躺在床上，但是我只有这样做，必须打起精神来，其实我内心也非常痛苦的。我和我弟弟感情也特别好，没有办法，只有坚强起来才能支撑这个家。没有办法。”
解说： 弟弟下葬以后，父亲和母亲渐渐从丧子之痛的阴影中走了出来。毕竟生活还得继续。 后来，父亲又开始外出打工了。他比以前干得更加迈力，因为在他的心中有两个目标：一个是尽快地还清债务；还有一个就是多挣些钱供女儿王翠上学。 所幸的是，王翠是一个非常争气的女孩。一年之后，她以优异的成绩考进了一所省级重点高中。不过，王翠的目标并不仅限于此，她还想将来能够考上大学，把辛劳了一辈子的父母从贫困中彻底地解救出来。
同期声： （王翠） “对其他孩子来说，上大学可能是为了自己的前途。他们这么想，但是我上大学主要有两个方面：首先我家里这么贫困，父母又这么操劳，我是为了改变我家的环境，不让父母失望，证明我自己是一个有价值的人；第二个方面就是为了我以后的前途。因为在这个山沟里你想干出一番，干出一点事业或者什么那是很难的，没有你的用武之地，只有走出这个山区考上大学才能实现自己的梦想。” （王翠的邻居 张社地） “她上大学可以这样说，改变她的人生，也可以改变她家庭的环境。因为在我们这地方，我认为上学就是唯一的出路’。”
解说： 今年，王翠参加了高考。她考了576分。被黑龙江省的一所省属重点大学录取。
同期声： （王翠的母亲 李高兰） “今年考上大学以后的确是娃的愿望也是考上大学，作为我们家长也想娃考上大学。”
解说： 王翠考上了大学，不仅对于这个家庭，对全村来说都是一件可喜可贺的事情。可是王翠的父母来不及分享女儿的这份喜悦，就开始忙着到处为女儿筹学费了。很快，一个月的时间过去了。离学校开学的日子越来越近，王翠的学费却还是没有凑够，王翠的父母着急了。
同期声： （王翠的母亲 李高兰） “报名是5000块吧。5000块钱到处借嘛，我每天跑着借亲戚朋友到处借，你说你今年借了，你明年呢，四年大学借了还不起嘛，有点着急了。” （王翠的父亲 王保山） “对王翠上大学我也是（借了一大笔的费用）。”
解说： 在王翠的印象中，父亲和母亲一共流过两次眼泪：一次是在弟弟夭折之后；还有一次就是为了自己的学费问题。在这种走投无路的情况下，王翠又一次想起了珍藏在衣柜深处的那张纸条。 （女声读信）： 李叔叔，弟弟的夭折给我们一家带来了很大的打击，但是同时也让我明白了一个道理，要想不让这种悲剧在我们山区别的家庭继续上演，那就只有去改变，去改变这个落后的山区。所以我渴望读书，我渴望上大学，因为我知道只有这样我才能去改变它。我真心的希望这封信能够寄到您的手中，我真心的希望您能给予我帮助，因为您帮助的不仅仅是我一个人，而是这个山区的所有人。 |
The Call of Love
Commentary: August 22, 2005 is an unusual day for Li Sijian, who works at Nanjing South City Sub-branch, China Agricultural Bank Nanjing Branch for on that day she unexpectedly heard from a stranger.
Actual sound: (Li Sijian) “The letter was from Shaanxi province. I figured I had neither relatives nor friends there, so I opened it right at my office.”
Commentary: It was a girl who wrote to Li Sijian. She didn’t know Li Sijian and even addressed her as “Uncle Li”. Li felt uneasy about such a weird letter, but after she finished reading, her eyes moistened.
Commentary: In autumn, 1996, the sub-branch where she worked for organized its staff to donate clothing to poor children. Li, then 33, was the mother of a ten-year-old boy. Maybe because she herself was a mother, Li showed extra solicitude for the donation special sympathy for children from impoverished families. She put a slip of paper into the pocket of a cotton-padded jacket. (Change to female voice-over) “My child, when you put on this jacket and see this note, we know each other then. How old are you? Which grade are you in? Where do you live? What family members do you have? How is your life like? What are your parents? My child, if you can’t go to school because of poverty, do you need help? If so, write to me…”
Actual sound: (Yang Jun, Li Sijiun’s husband) “What? She did another romantic thing, I thought.”
Commentary: Being a romantic woman by nature, Li didn’t do it on impulse. She said that she did it after careful consideration.
Actual sound: (Li Sijian) “It occurred to me when I wrote the note that since it was so hard for people in the old revolutionary base areas afford clothes it would be much harder very hard for them to receive education. By sparing just several hundred uan a year I could part of the help fostering a child. Meanwhile, it might be beneficial to my son’s growth by comparing him a city boy with a child from a backward area.” (Dong Zhongyong’s colleague) “Only she can do it. In our daily contact with her we feel she is always happy to help others.”
Commentary: But one year passed and then two years, the note in the cotton-padded jacket just like a little stone thrown into the sea received no responses.
Actual sound: (Li Sijian) “I was afraid that the note couldn’t reach the child.What if it was sorted out thrown away in the process of donation? Whatever will happen to the note, I put it into the jacket anyway. In case it is replied, isn’t it fate that brings us together?”
Commentary: Another several years went by in a flash. The couple’s expectation of a letter appealing for help was gradually turned into the concern for the wellbeing of the new owner of the jacket What kind of child was he/she? Could he/she go to school?
Actual sound: (Li Sijian) “With the economic pressure of my son’s education increasing and my work becoming busier, I gradually forgot the that incident gradually slipped my mind. But every year when the names of students who are admitted to college and the names of students in need of help appear in newspapers, I will think of it.”
Commentary: Nine years passed and Li’s son entered college. However, the long awaited letter had not come yet. Li came to believe that probably the note was lost. On the morning of August 22, when her colleague put a registered letter from Shaanxi into her hands, she never related it to the note nine years ago. (Girl’s voice, reading letter) Honorable Uncle Li, How do you do! How are you these years? How is your work getting on? Do you still remember a jacket you donated in the winter of 1996 and the note in its pocket? I am the girl you contributed to. My name is Wang Cui and I am 19 this year. I live in a poor mountainous area in Zhen’an County, Shaanxi province. My 45 years old parents are peasants. My grandma who is over seventy , and in poor health, has to be supported by my parents have to support her. When we received the clothes donated by you, I was ten years old and in grade four. At that time my father earned barely enough to sustain the family, so my parents decided not to write for help for the moment. I kept that note all along. This year I was am admitted to college but my parents cannot afford my tuition. I really cannot bear seeing my parents run around here and there to borrow money for me. But I am most reluctant to give up my schooling because to a child from the mountainous area education is the only way out. Uncle Li, I don’t know if you can receive this letter. Nine years have passed, I don’t know if you have transferred moved to another city. Whether you can help me again or not, my family will be deeply grateful and remember your timely help forever.
Actual sound: (Li Sijian) “The letter read ‘Do you still remember the slip of paper in the cotton-padded jacket you donated nine years ago?’ Ah! The child wrote to me! My first reaction was that she needed help right now.”
Commentary: Li got confirmed through the Internet that Wang Cui was indeed admitted to Northeast Agricultural University in Harbin. Li at once determined to keep the promise she made nine years ago and help this girl.
Actual sound: (Li Sijian) “After all I left a note and I made the promise myself. No matter how many years had passed I should adhere to the promise. So I dialed the telephone number given in the letter. It happened that the girl picked up the phone. Then I told her that I was from Nanjing but not uncle Li and that I was the one who left a note in that cotton-padded jacket and she could call me aunt Li. When she called me aunt Li on the phone her voice was choked with sobs.”
Commentary: Wang Cui told over the phone that she had seen the note nine years before. But her unyielding father didn’t expect her to trouble othersand write for help. Even he letter in Li’s hands was written by behind her father’s.
Actual sound: (Wang Cui) “In October, 1996 the donative clothes were distributed to my family. My mother gave me one. Having put it on. I took out a piece of paper from the pocket.
Commentary: At that time, Wang Cui was 10 years old and in grade four. She was so happy to see the note with deep love that she showed it to her parents immediately.
Actual sound: (Wang Baoshan, Wang Cui’s father) “In the society, ability is measured by money, without which means stupidity. I feel guilty of accepting help from others. At that time our family was able to go on with our living in my village, therefore I didn’t let my child write for help.”
Commentary: Wang Cui had to put this note away. Although her father to didn’t allow her to write for help, the love from a thousand miles away filled the girl with unprecedented warmth. (Girl’s voice, reading letter) Uncle Li, I always keep your note together with the jacket you donated to me at the bottom of the wardrobe. Over the nine years when I came across difficulties or setbacks I would take it out and read it again. Through reading I felt kindness and warmth I know someone from a thousand miles away is always caring about me and always encouraging me which gives me enough courage to overcome difficulties. Uncle Li, during the nine years my family was overtaken by a misfortune, which broke our poor but quiet life. The whole family suffered a lot physically and mentally, and I nearly dropped out of school. At the bitterest moment I took out your note once more. It was your note that gave me confidence and helped me get through the most difficult days.
Commentary: Wang Cui comes from Miliang Township, Zhen’an County, a poverty-stricken mountainous area. Fenghe Village, where Wang Cui’s family live, is even poorer. Wang Cui’s father is a tough man who goes out doing temporary jobs to support the family. However, unexpected things may happen any time. A disaster befell such a tenacious family in the winter of 1996, the second month after Wang Cui got the note. (Girl’s voice, reading letter) Uncle Li, the second month after I received your note, my brother got a strange disease. His head ached often and when the ache came on, he rolled about on the ground. We sent him to county hospital and he got well after several dropping bottles of saline infusion. But several months later the disease came on again. Finally when my parents had to take him to the provincial hospital, we found out that he had got cerebral hemorrhage.
Actual sound: (Wang Baoshan, Wang Cui’s father) “Had we had money, he could have been operated at Xi’an Army Hospital. But I was short of money.” (Li Gaolan, Wang Cui’s mother) “In the end we came back without curing him. My family’s financial situation was very bad.” (Girl’s voice, reading letter) When cerebral hemorrhage was diagnosed, my brother was only eight. He had to receive conservative treatment for lack of money. Even so, 4 years of conservative treatment made my father run into debts of 80000 yuan. Later it was more and more difficult for him to borrow money. My brother even couldn’t receive conservative treatment any more. Seeing my overworked father and my brother lying in the sickbed, I considered leaving school, which was strongly opposed by my father. Again I thought of your note, but my father said we shouldn’t trouble you.
Actual sound: (Wang Baoshan, Wang Cui’s father) “I thought of the note too. Aunt Li promised to finance my child’s schooling in her letter, but during my son’s treatment I thought I was able to borrow money step by step.”
Commentary: Father didn’t let Wang Cui write the letter for help at last. With no money to have operations, Wang Cui’s brother had to recuperate at home. One evening in July 2000, it drizzled suddenly. The parents who had been busy with farm work, hurried home to take shelter from the rain. Upon entering the house, the couple was horrified by what they saw.
Actual sound: (Li Gaolan, Wang Cui’s mother) “He was lying on the ground with the illness coming on. I held him in the arms and shook him, but he was dying. I almost fainted. It was raining heavily then. I said to his father, ‘We must send him to the county hospital. Poor as we are, we must cure our child. I still have my child however hard I work. As a mother I have everything as long as my child is alive.’ Finally I said to the doctor, ‘I beg you. Please use the best medicine and cure my son.’ He said, ‘I have tried my best and your son is incurable.’” (Wang Baoshan, Wang Cui’s father) “My son was a good boy. He was very smart. He missed timely medical treatment. I only blame myself for lack of money.” (Li Gaolan, Wang Cui’s mother) “Sometimes I dream of my boy. All these years I’ve lived a hard life. He died at the age of 12 and was this tall.”
Commentary: After her brother’s premature death, her parents almost broke down. They lay in bed all day refusing to eat or drink. They had hatred in the heart. They hated themselves for being too poor to save their child. Wang Cui, then 14, was a middle school student. She love her brother. Facing her brother’s premature death, her heart broke. However, unlike her parents, she didn’t shut herself up in the house without doing anything. Instead, she asked neighbors to help her with brother’s funeral.
Actual sound: (Zhang Shedi, Wang Cui’s neighbor) “After her brother passed away, her parents were hit so hard that they collapsed, while she remained conscious to arrange the funeral. She often helped to cook for the neighbors. It was beyond our imagination because she was so young, middle school student then. From this small thing I believed she is an unusual girl.” (Wang Cui) “My parents lay in bed broken down. I must brace up. In fact I was very upset in my innermost heart. My brother and I were on very good terms. I had no choice. Only by toughening up could I sustain this family. I had no choice.”
Commentary: After the funeral, the parents gradually recovered from the pain of losing the son. After all they had to move on. Father began to go out doing temporary jobs again. He worked harder than before because he had two goals in mind: one was to pay off debts as soon as possible; the other was to earn more money to support his daughter’s education. Luckily, Wang Cui didn’t let her father down. One year later, she was admitted to a provincial key senior high school for her outstanding scores. But Wang Cui’s aim was higher than that. She wanted to go to college in order to liberate her parents who had worked hard all their lives.
Actual sound: (Wang Cui) “For other children, going to college is probably for their own future. As to me, there are two reasons. Firstly, my family is so poor and my parents work so hard. I want to change my family’s financial situation, live up to my parents’ expectations and prove myself to be a valuable person. Secondly, it is for my future because it is very difficult for me to make some achievements in this mountainous area, where I can’t display my talents. Only by going to college can I realize my dreams.” (Zhang Shedi, Wang Cui’s neighbor) “It can be said college education will change her life and the conditions of her family for I think the only way out in this place is to receive education.”
Commentary: This year Wang Cui took college entrance examinations and got 576 marks. She was admitted to a provincial key university of Heilongjiang province.
Actual sound: (Li Gaolan, Wang Cui’s mother) “Going to college is indeed my daughter’s dream. As parents, we also want her to go to college.”
Commentary: Wang Cui’s admission to college was a great joy not only to the family but also to the whole village. But her parents had no time to share their daughter’s happiness. They went everywhere to raise money for her tuition. Soon a month passed and the enrolment day of college was drawing nearer and nearer, but they had not made up the money for tuition. Her parents started to worry.
Actual sound: (Li Gaolan, Wang Cui’s mother) “The enrolment fee was 5000 yuan, so I went everywhere to borrow money. Every day I ran from one relative to another. But even if I borrow enough money this year, how about next year? We can’t pay back 4 years’ tuition. We felt anxious.” (Wang Baoshan, Wang Cui’s father) “To send Wang Cui to college I borrowed (a large sum of money) in order to send Wang Cui to college.”
Commentary: Wang Cui had the impression her father and mother shed tears twice: the first time was for her brother’s death; the second was for her tuition. Having no way out, once more Wang Cui thought of the note at the bottom of the wardrobe. (Girl’s voice, reading letter) Uncle Li, my brother’s death was a great blow to my family, but meanwhile it made me know that I had to change the backward mountainous area so that the tragedy wouldn’t happen to other mountainous families again. That’s why I am eager to study and to go to college. because only in this way can I change it. I sincerely hope that this letter will be delivered to you and that you can help me. You are not helping me alone but all the people in this mountainous area.
|
(Page updated: July, 2010; August, 2012;
September, 2014; June, 2015; September, 2016; September, 2018; September, 2020;
September, 2021)
南京学外国语学院英语系研究生课程
课程时间与地点：秋季学期每周二14:00-16:00，南京大学仙林校区A-213. 教师：柯平教授 [kepingATnju.edu.cn]. 办公地点：
南京大学仙林校区侨裕楼419. 办公时间：
周三14:30-16:30
(预约)
050201X11
本课程是为翻译学专业和口笔译专业研究生开设的一门基础课程，旨在介绍翻译的基本概念与问题、翻译学研究的范围、对象和基本问题路径，讨论国内外翻译研究界关注的焦点问题和主要研究视角，为深入学习翻译及从事该领域内的研究打下较为宽厚的基础。课程的另一目标是通过研究性翻译作业（评注式翻译）增加学生对翻译实践的理性认识，提高他们的实际翻译水平。翻译方向博士研究生通过这一课程的学习，可加深对中西翻译学主要研究框架的认识，并对翻译研究的跨学科性质获得进一步的体认。
本课程采取课堂讲授与研讨相结合的教学方式。讲授内容主要包括：
第一单元 课程介绍 / 翻译的名与实 / 翻译类别
第二单元 翻译研究的范围与对象
第三单元 优秀理论的特质
第四单元 语文学派
第五单元 阐释学派
第六单元 语言学派
第七单元 交际学派
第八单元 社会符号学派
第九单元 目的论 [选讲题]
第十单元 操控学派 / 常式论 [选讲题]
第十一单元 后结构主义与后殖民主义视角 [选讲题]
媒体翻译
课堂研讨围绕研究性翻译作业进行。修课同学就教师课堂布置的课外翻译作业向全班报告自己完成翻译任务的过程及最终翻译结果（以前者为重点）。翻译练习文本见上，亦可自以下网址下载：
http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/kep/TOC/T.html
http://keping.sprinterweb.net/TOC/T.html
http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/kep/T-EC-AnnotatedT-Sample.htm
http://keping.sprinterweb.net/T-EC-AnnotatedT-Sample.htm
课程成绩评定参考以下三方面进行：
(1) 到课情况与课程参与情况（根据是否按时到课，是否积极参加讨论，是否利落回答提问，是否提出过好问题或建议，是否与全班分享课程优质学习资源 [通过任课教师] 等情况评定）(20%)；
(2) 课堂练习与课后评注式翻译作业质量（根据练习与作业的课堂报告评定）(30%)；
(3) 期末考试成绩 (50%)。
Shuttleworth, Mark, & Cowie,
Moira. (1997). Dictionary of Translation
Studies.
Munday, Jeremy. (2001). Introducing Translation Studies: Theories and Applications. London: Routledge. xv+222 pp.
A Short Reading List
for Translation Studies
翻译研究文库翻译研究文库 (Translation Studies Library I,
II, …….北京：外研社. 2006- .)
国外翻译研究丛书 (上海：上海外语教育出版社. 2001- .)
http://nlp.nju.edu.cn/kep/TOC/TS.html
http://keping.sprinterweb.net/TOC/TS.html
2 课堂教学学时
柯平
(修订时间：2010年7月; 2012年8月; 2014年9月; 2015年6月; 2016年9月; 2018年9月; 2020年9月; 2021年9月)