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拐娴氖且宰约旱姆绺袢ニ赖模诿娌坷＠茫薹ń车那榭鱿拢龈酪缴⑸湟┪铮镏涝兜爻了恕蚁胝饩褪前怖炙馈！�
翻译完这本书，我似乎才明白，为什么书里很大一部分篇幅都在讨论弗洛伊德，而书名却偏偏是《达尔文的蚯蚓》。我想，积极的生命意义永远都会受到褒扬，就像达尔文赞颂的蚯蚓一样。但是，美好的一切却永远是短暂的，转瞬即逝，正像诗人Shelly有点伤感的诗句：
The flower that smiles today
Tomorrow dies
All that we wish to stay
Tempts…。
And then flies。
What is this world’s delight？
Lightning that mocks the night
Brief even as bright。
（鲜花今天微笑
明天却凋零
我们希望美丽永驻
她诱惑着我们……
然后飞逝
这世界上什么是快乐？
闪电让黑夜惊喜
耀眼只在瞬间）
从汉语到英语
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 ing 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