比赛简介
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
为促进中国高校学生对澳大利亚社会和文化的深入了解，北京外国语大学澳研中心联合北京大学澳研中心共同举办澳大利亚文学文化翻译比赛。翻译比赛由北京大学必和必拓澳大利亚研究讲席教授项目和在华澳大利亚研究基金会提供赞助，每年六月份举行，FASIC学术年会上举行颁奖仪式。文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
参赛对象文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
国内高校有澳研中心的在校学生（本科生、硕士生和博士生）均可参加，参赛学生需提交所在澳研中心的支持参赛证明。文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
参赛要求文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
1．用所在学校和译者姓名的方式命名翻译文档，如：北大_王小蒙。翻译正文里不得出现译者的任何信息。文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/11522.html
2．6月15日24:00点前把译文用word文档以附件形式发至北外澳研中心电子邮箱australianstudies@bfsu.edu.cn，逾期不能参与评奖。翻译正文使用宋体字体、小四字号，单倍行距。
3．在邮件主题栏注明：澳研翻译比赛+所在学校名称+译者姓名。
4．在邮件正文里注明译者姓名、学生证号、身份证号、所在学校、本人联系电话、电邮地址和所在学校澳研中心或院系负责人的姓名、联系电话和电邮地址。提供所在学校澳研中心负责人或所在院系负责人信息即视作得到本校澳研中心或院系的参赛支持，无需另附参赛证明；没有提供所在学校澳研中心负责人或院系负责人信息的，不能参与评奖。
5．翻译需独立完成，雷同译文不能参与评奖。
6．颁奖仪式将于11月初在华澳大利亚研究基金会（FASIC）学术年会上举行。
评奖委员会
主任：
张剑（北京外国语大学英语学院院长、教授）
Greg McCarthy 北京大学澳研中心必和必拓澳大利亚研究讲席教授）
委员：
李尧（资深翻译家）
杜学增（北京外国语大学澳研中心教授）
刘树森（北京大学澳研中心主任、教授）
张勇先（中国人民大学澳研中心主任、教授）
林漠怡（澳大利亚驻华使馆文化参赞）
王敬慧（清华大学澳研中心执行主任、教授）
戴宁（北京外国语大学澳研中心副教授）
李建军（北京外国语大学澳研中心主任，讲师）
翻译原文
– from A Spirit of Play: the Making of Australian Consciousness by David Malouf, ABC Books, 1998
When Europeans first came to this continent they settled in the cooler, more temperate parts of it. This was where they could reproduce to some extent the world they had left, but it was also because they saw themselves as cool-climate people. The wisdom, 50 years ago, was that white men would never live and work in the north.
Well, we seem to have re-invented ourselves in these last years as warm-climate people. Not only do we live quite comfortably in the north, it is where a great many of us prefer to live. If present population trends are anything to go by, a large part of our population in the next century will have moved into the tropics, and Queensland, our fastest growing state, will be our local California.
This is a change of a peculiar kind. A change in the way we define ourselves and our relationship to the world that is also a new way of experiencing our own bodies. And the second change I have in mind is related to this. It is the change in the living habits of Australians that we can observe any night of the week in Lygon Street in Melbourne, in Rundle Street, Adelaide, in various parts of Sydney: people eating out on the pavement under the stars in a style we recognize immediately as loosely Mediterranean, a style that has become almost universal in these last years, but which fits better here that it does in Toronto or Stockholm.
It seems to me to be the discovery of a style at last that also fits the kind of people we have now become, and that fits the climate and the scene. But the attitudes it expresses, also loosely Mediterranean, make the sharpest imaginable contrast with the way we were even two decades ago, the way, in that far-off time, that we saw life and the possibilities of living.
Look at these diners. Look at what they are eating and drinking: at the little dishes of olive oil for dipping their bread, the grilled octopus, the rocket, the tagines and skordalia, the wine. Look at the eye for style – for local style – with which they are dressed and their easy acceptance of the body, their tendency to dress it up, strip it, show it off. Consider what all this suggests of a place where play seems natural, and pleasure a part of what living is for; then consider how far these ordinary Australians have come from that old distrust of the body and its pleasures that might have seemed bred in the bone in the Australians we were even 30 years ago. These people have changed, not just their minds but their psyches, and have discovered along the way a new body. They have slipped so quickly and so easily into this other style of being that they might have been living this way, deep in a tradition of physical ease, a comfortable accommodation between soul and body, for as long as grapes have grown on vines or olives on trees.
But half a lifetime ago, in the 1950s, olive oil was still a medicine and spaghetti came in tins. Eating out for most Australians was steak and chips at a Greek Café if you were on the road, or the occasional Chinese meal. We ate at home, and we ate pretty much what our grandparents had eaten, even those of us whose grandparents came from elsewhere: lamb chops, Irish stew, a roast on Sundays. It would have seemed ludicrous to take food seriously – to write about it in the newspaper, for example – or to believe that what we ate might constitute a ‘cuisine’, something new and original, a product of art as well as necessity, an expression, in the same way that ‘Waltzing Matilda’ or ‘Shearing the Ram’ might be, of a national style and of the local spirit at play.
As for those other changes – of attitude, ways of seeing ourselves in relation to one another and to the world – I shall mention only two. Both were once so deeply embedded in all our ways of thinking here they might have seemed essential to what we were. We could scarcely have imagined an Australia without them.
The first was that belief in racial superiority and exclusiveness that went under the name of the White Australia Policy, but was really, until the end of the Second World War, an exclusively British policy. As the Bulletin put it with its usual brutal candour: ‘Australia for the Australians – the cheap Chinese, the cheap Nigger and the cheap European pauper to be absolutely excluded’.
These sentiments, this sort of language, which was common to the Bulletin and to later popular papers like Smith’s Weekly right up to the early 1950s, expressed the policy of all political parties, left and right, and seemed not only acceptable but unremarkable. Both the attitudes and the language were inextricably tied in with our concept of nationhood. Or so it seemed. Yet the White Australia Policy, when it disappeared in the 1960s, did so almost without argument. This great tenet of the Australian dream, of a single superior race on the continent, had grown so weak and theoretically by the 1960s that it simply vanished as if it had never been, and, despite recent rumblings, seems to me to show no signs of revival.
So, too, amazingly, did what had been from the beginning the strongest of all divisions among us, the sectarian division between Protestants and Catholics.
…
And isn’t this, finally, what holds civilized societies together? The capacity to make a distinction between what belongs, in the way of loyalty, to clan or sect or family, and what to the demands of neighbourliness; what belongs to our individual and personal lives and what we owe tores publica or Commonwealth, the life we share with others, even those who may differ from us in the most fundamental way – skin colour and ethnicity, religious and political affiliation, customary habits. It is the capacity to make and honour these distinctions, out of a common concern for the right we have, each one of us, to pursue our own interests, that is essential to the life of cities, and beyond that, to their more precarious extension as states.
