美文赏析翻译张伟伟.doc

Early Autumn by Langston HughesWhen Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didnt speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.“Bill Walker,” she said.He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.“Mary! Where did you come from?”Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.“I live in New York now,” she said.“Oh” smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”“Im a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.” “Married yet?”“Sure. Two kids.”“Oh,” she said.A great many people went past them through the park. People they didnt know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Gold.“And your husband?” he asked her.“We have three children. I work in the bursars office at Columbia.” “Youre looking very ” (he wanted to say old) “ well,” he said.She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and Id love to have you.”The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.“Wed love it,” she answered.“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.“Theres my bus,” she said.He held out his hand, “Good-by.”“When ” she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.Suddenly she shrieked very loudly, “Good-by!” But the bus door had closed.The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didnt know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address or to ask him for his or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too. 初 秋兰斯顿.休斯美文赏析作者简介兰斯顿.休斯,翻译：张伟伟兰斯顿.休斯（19021967），美国著名作家，诗人。休斯出生于美国密西西比州，仅接受过一年的大学教育。他在做水手和服务员期间为报纸，杂志撰写短篇小说及诗歌。1926年在二他十四岁时，休斯发表了其第一部诗歌集。随后，他再次走进大学校园完成了学业。休斯一生创作了大量作品，涉及各种文学形式长篇小说，短篇小说，诗歌，戏剧，素描及自传，而他最为有名的则是诗歌。他所创作的一些短篇小说，如我们将要阅读的这篇，与其诗歌一样优秀内容紧凑，感动人心且引人深思。初 秋比尔年青时与玛丽共坠爱河。无数个夜晚两人漫步月下，嘶嘶耳语。后来因为一些不愉快的小事两人谁也不理谁。玛丽一赌气嫁作他人妇，与一个自以为所爱的人结了婚；比尔则远走他乡，对女人伤透了心。昨天路过华盛顿广场时，玛丽看到了比尔，这么多年来这还是第一次。“比尔.沃克尔，”玛丽喊道。对方停下脚步，起初并没有认出她，在他看来，她是那么老。“玛丽！”“你从哪儿来？”玛丽下意识地抬起脸，仿佛在等待者他的热吻，但是比尔却伸出了手。她握住对方的手。“我现在住在纽约，”玛丽说道。“奥”比尔礼貌性地微笑了一下，然后很快蹙了下眉头。“比尔，我一直在想你过得怎么样。”“我现在是律师，在市中心一家不错的单位上班。”“结婚了吧？”“结婚了，有两个孩子。”“奥。”初秋，时值傍晚已近日落，天气有了凉意。陌生的人们川流不息，来来往往，穿过花园，经过他们俩人。“你先生好吗？”比尔问道。“我们有三个孩子。我在哥伦比亚大学财务室工作。”“你看起来非常（他本想说，老）不错 ”他说道。玛丽知道他想要说什么。在华盛顿广场的秋树之下，她的思绪一下子全部回到了过去。那时，他们俩生活在俄亥俄州，她比他大。而现在自己的青春早也不住，比尔却依旧年轻。“我们住在中央花园西面，”她说道，“有时间的话来我们家作客。”“好的，”比尔答道，“有空的话，哪天晚上你和你先生一定要去我们家与我们共进晚餐。哪天都行。我和露西尔非常欢迎你们来我们家。”秋叶从广场上的秋树上慢慢飘落，初秋的黄昏没有一丝风。玛丽感到有些不舒服。“我们很乐意去你们家作客。”她回答道。“你应该见一见我的孩子们。”比尔笑着说道。初秋的天空朦朦胧胧，弥漫着忧郁的情结。整个第五大道顷刻都亮起来，华灯初上，恰似亮链。“我等的车来了”玛丽说道。比尔伸出了手，“再见。”“什么时候”玛丽想要说些什么，可是汽车就要开走了。大街上的灯变模糊了，闪烁着，又模糊了。在她登上汽车时她害怕自己开不了口，担心自己说不出话。突然，她尖声喊道，“再见！”可是汽车的门已经关上了。汽车开动，车外陌生的人们来来往往，穿过花园。比尔消失在她的视线里，融入川流不息的人群之中。此时，玛丽才想起忘记告诉比尔自己的地址或者问他要他的地址亦或是告诉他自己最小的儿子也叫比尔。阅读提示初秋这种类型的短篇小说可以说是“生活的一个切片”作者“截取”生活中的一个小切片并将它置于读者意识的显微镜之下让读者仔细审视。小说大部分是由看似普通的对话所构成，但是这些对话均基于作者对创作材料的仔细选择及重新组织。小说并没有进行道德说教，告诉读者何为正确何为错误，而是给读者提供了一个机会让他/她们重新经历日常生活中的一个小片段。读者需要让自己融入到小说中去填补空缺并扮演角色从而感受暗流于平静叙述表面之下的情感之泉。小说女主角的悲剧在于她活在对于过去的回忆中，而对于她的悲剧，不同的读者从小说中或许能得出不同的阐述。一块洗衣皂 作者简介弗兰克.萨杰森（19031982），笔名弗兰克.达维，新西兰作家，曾学过法律，当过律师并在欧洲工作多年，随后一直定居于新西兰。1936至1954年间，他发表了几部长篇小说以及40部短篇小说，其中大部分短篇小说收录于与叔叔的谈话（1936），男人与妻子（1940），那年夏天，那些故事（1946）。尽管弗兰克并非多产作家，不过他被视为新西兰最重要的短篇小说家。他的写作风格特色鲜明，对新西兰小说影响颇大。其特点为：采用新西兰工人阶级的语言；简单的叙述模式即只讲述事件而不去解释事件；使用无知叙述者来讲述小说。A Piece of Yellow SoapBy Frank SargesonShe is dead now, that woman who used to hold a great piece of yellow washing soap in her hand as she stood at her kitchen door. I was a milkman in those days. The woman owed a bill to the firm I worked for, and each Saturday I was expected to collect a sum that would pay for the weeks milk, and pay something off the amount overdue (1). Well, I never collected anything at all. It was because of that piece of yellow soap. I shall never forget those Saturday mornings. The woman had two advantages over me. She used to stand at the top of the steps and I used to stand at the bottom; and she always came out holding a piece of yellow soap. We used to argue. I would always start off by being very firm. Didnt my living depend on my getting money out of the people I served? But out of this woman I never got a penny. The more I argue the tighter the woman would curl her fingers on to the soap; and her fingers, just out of the washtub, were always bloodless and shrunken. I knew what they must have felt like to her. I didnt like getting my own fingers bloodless and shrunken. My eyes would get fixed on her fingers and the soap, and after a few minutes I would lose all power to look the woman in the face. I would mumble something to myself and take myself off (2). I have often wondered whether the woman knew anything about the power her piece of yellow soap had over me, whether she used it as effectively on other tradesmen as she used it on me. I cant help feeling that she did know. Sometimes I used to pass her along the street, out of working hours. She acknowledged me only by staring at me, her eyes like pieces of rock. She had a way too of feeling inside her handbag as she passed me, and I always had the queer feeling that she carried there a piece of soap. It was her talisman (3) powerful to work wonders, to create round her a circle through which the more desperate harshnesses of the world could never penetrate. Well, she is dead now, that woman. If she has passed into Heaven I cant help wondering whether she passed in holding tight to a piece of yellow washing soap. Im not sure that I believe in Heaven or God myself, but if God is a Person of Sensibility I dont doubt that when He looked at that piece of yellow washing soap He felt ashamed of Himself.一块洗衣皂现在她已经不在人世了，那个每次站在厨房门前手里总是拿着一大块黄色洗衣皂的妇女已经故去。那时，我给人家送牛奶。那妇女欠了我们公司钱，所以每个星期六我都会去她那收取一个礼拜的牛奶费和一部分以往拖欠的牛奶费。不过我从未收回一分钱，就是因为那块黄色的洗衣皂。我永远不会忘记那些星期六的早晨。那妇女比我多两个优势：她总是站在门口最高的台阶上，而我总是站在最低