广外禇东伟英译作品Music from Heaven在美发表
在我国实施中国文化走出去战略背景下，广东外语外贸大学翻译学院非常重视中国文化的英译工作，学校和学院的大力引导和鼓励再次有了积极的成果，在该校翻译学院“中华文化外译工作室”挂牌不久、2014年新年伊始，该校笔译系副教授、中国翻译工作者协会会员、美国文学翻译工作者协会（ALTA）国际会员褚东伟博士英译作品Music from Heaven（青年作家卫鸦的短篇小说《天籁之音》）在美国英译世界文学的专门刊物《圣彼得堡评论》（St. Petersburg Review）上发表。
《圣彼得堡评论》是创刊于2007年的年刊，注册于美国特拉华州，该刊专门从事各国当代文学（小说、散文、诗歌和戏剧）的译介工作并为世界各国的作家、译者和出版机构构建交流平台。该刊已经译介过包括木心和徐小斌在内的多个中国作家的作品，如木心的《林肯中心的鼓声》（Drums Rolling from the Lincoln Center, translated by Toming Jun Liu童明，又名刘军，美国加州州立大学洛杉矶分校英语系教授）、徐小斌的《蜂后》(A Singing, Singing Bee Attitude, translated by John Howard-Gibbon，老舍《茶馆》的英译者）等。
日前，褚东伟博士与该校翻译学院部分MTI学生通过朗读的方式分享了他的译文，几个班的同学们读后报以热烈掌声，对于老师的成绩给予充分肯定并获得了进一步学习笔译的动力。有的同学说，他的译作“读起来像原著”并向老师进一步询问学英语和翻译的经验。
在小说翻译完成后，该校翻译学院的英国教师Stephen Rake是第一个读者并在多处提供了建设性的意见，该作品产生了一定的国际影响力。
附一：《圣彼得堡评论》的译者介绍
CHU DONGWEI (SPR6) is an associate professor of the School of Interpreting and Translation Studies, Guangdong University of Foreign Studies, Guangzhou, P. R. China. Chu is the author of Lin Yutang as Author-Translator (in English, Shanghai Foreign Language Education Press, 2012), Translation as a Business (in Chinese, Hubei Education Press, 2003), and A Revolution: Learn to Learn English (in Chinese, Hubei Education Press, 2007), and also the Chinese translator of Will Durant's On the Meaning of Life. Chu is the winner of the 14th Han Suyin (Elisabeth Comber) Translation Contest for Young Translators held by China Translators Journal (3rd prize, Chinese to English). Chu’s current translation project is The Wisdom of Huineng (English translations of Buddhist literature). Chu is an International Member of ALTA.
附二：Music from Heaven片段先睹为快
Music from Heaven
I did not hear anyone sing, really. I was not deaf. To prove that I was not deaf, I pointed at the street below. It was bustling with heavy traffic, motors and horns competing with each other in the generation of a mix of noisy sounds. Those sounds were at least fifty meters away from me but I could tell them apart.
I said, “The vehicle that honks the loudest is the red bus, right?” Shi Yan nodded. He heard it too. There was a jam at the crossroads. A red bus was anxiously urging on the vehicles in its way with abrupt and piercing honks. But where was the singing? I said, “Maybe you misheard.”
“Impossible,” said Shi Yan, “How can I have misheard?” He asked me to listen again. He shrugged and shifted his grout-carrying pole from one shoulder to the other, releasing one hand to nudge at my elbow. “You’ve got to listen again, seriously. I’m a son of a bitch if I fool you. She is singing,” he said, “Do you hear her?”
I stopped. The bamboo scaffold under my feet swayed. It had always swayed, so that walking on the scaffold was like walking on a suspension bridge. I put up one ear, trying desperately to find the singing amidst the noises but to no avail. I had every sound and noise of the city in my ear but anyone singing. I had never doubted my hearing. I looked into the distance, where the sea and the sky became one and silvery waves rolled in layers from the surface of the sea to the beach. The city’s long coastline, now dyed silver-gray by the waves, curled along all the way from the south, and then turned to disappear behind a mountain hill, accompanied by the intermittent sounds of the ebb and flow of the tides.
Me and Shi Yan were two construction workers. When he heard the song, we were skywalking unsteadily with the black plastic buckets of grout on our shoulders. We moved to and fro along a set track all day and all year. Sometimes I tended to think that time was irregular. At times it froze and at times it bounced along. And in no time, it passed the cracks of our business. It changed with the mood of the moment.
...
He took another puff. A wisp of white smoke rose in front of him, fluttered and went with the wind. He quickened his steps, fastly alternating his feet. I looked over his shoulders. It was another building under construction, protected by a green safety net. Cement walls of dark gray were faintly visible. To me, these unfinished buildings were like thinly veiled nude maidens, who would in time be dressed in spectacular costumes made of ceramics and glass and end up as decorations of the city.
...
I responded with a "mhm" and went silent. I studied the city in the direction of his finger. Mammoth buildings grew from the ground, trimmed with lights that were as brilliant as diamonds. True it was a miracle. The city flew out in all directions from where we stood like unbounded water. There, we were like ants crawling in a big anthill. Some of the buildings of this gorgeous world were built with our hands. We had witnessed them emerge out of the ground like mushrooms after a rain, taller and taller until they reached into the skies. Without being here, I could hardly have imagined this modern metropolis had grown out of a small fishing village. However, this miracle was not the miracle of Shi Yan. The singing of a mute and the construction of towering buildings were not at all related, nor could any comparison be made. After all, I was happy for Shi Yan. His wedding was a big thing. We had always entertained our dreams of the wedlock like holding dear a mysterious treasure box, which was soon to be opened by this dude.
...
“I believe she is cured,” he said, “Listen! She is singing.” Contracting his forehead, he described to me what it was like when she was singing. He said her voice was miraculous. When she was singing softly, he heard from her voice flakes of snow drifting down to the earth, or a night breeze blowing through a luxuriant bamboo grove, or fluttering butterflies flitting amidst flowers. As her voice switched from contralto to soprano, he heard massive torrents running down a valley, splashing powerful sprays onto the banks of the river, or a train rumbling by on the iron rails, or herds of cattle running wild in the farm fields and the like. As he spoke he made various gestures. When he finished, he closed his eyes to ruminate on the sounds like an old bull. （译者本人提供）