This site uses cookies.
Some of these cookies are essential to the operation of the site,
while others help to improve your experience by providing insights into how the site is being used.
For more information, please see the ProZ.com privacy policy.
This person has a SecurePRO™ card. Because this person is not a ProZ.com Plus subscriber, to view his or her SecurePRO™ card you must be a ProZ.com Business member or Plus subscriber.
Affiliations
This person is not affiliated with any business or Blue Board record at ProZ.com.
Services
Translation
Expertise
Specializes in:
Folklore
Poetry & Literature
Media / Multimedia
Rates
Portfolio
Sample translations submitted: 2
Chinese to English: 黄金时代（电影） General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Media / Multimedia
Source text - Chinese 中译英（黄金时代剧本节选）
1-86
人物：萧红，小萧红
CHARACTERS: XIAO HONG, YOUNG XIAO HONG
萧红：（旁白）呼兰河这小城，住着我的祖父，我生的时候，祖父已经六十多岁了，我长到四五岁，祖父就快七十了。
Translation - English XIAO HONG: (OS) In the town near Hulan River, lived my dear grandfather. When I was born, my grandfather was an old man in his sixties. When I was four or five years old, my grandfather was nearly seventy.
XIAO HONG: (OS) There was a big garden in our family. There were many bright colors in the garden. It was all red and green. When flowers bloomed, it looked as if they had woken up from their sleep. When birds flew, it looked as if they were flying up to heaven. When insects chirped, it was like / they were whispering to you. Everything there seemed to have life, as if there was no limit to what they could do. They would do / whatever they wanted. They would appear as / whatever they desired to be. They had absolute freedom.
XIAO HONG: (OS) If a cucumber plant wanted to bear fruit, it would bear fruit. If it didn't want to, there would be no trace of any cucumber, nor that of a cucumber flower. No one would bother to question it. However, the backyard garden would be closed one time per year. After the autumn rains / all flowers in the garden / would start to wither. Some turned yellow, and some would fall. It seemed as if all of a sudden the flowers / had gone. As if someone / had destroyed them completely.
XIAO HONG: (OS) Spring, summer, autumn, winter, went on and on / all year round in a cycle. Just in the way it’s been for thousands of years. Wind, frost, rain, snow, those who could bear it / would survive, those who couldn't, would face their natural death. This natural way / is not very nice. It takes people / away from the world / in a quiet / and silent way, with no trace / of them left.
YOUNG XIAO HONG: (REACTION)
LUO FENG: In 1941, when Xiao Hong was writing the novel Tales of Hulan River, other Chinese writers were busy with wartime news literature, short stories, dramas, or anti-war novels. Tales of Hulan River / failed to live up to the expectations of the populace at the time.
JIANG XIJIN: Decades passed away in the blink of an eye without stopping. When China finally recovered from the devastating war, people discovered that / Xiao Hong’s Tales of Hulan River, is like an undying flower, shining from the depths of history by itself.
SHU QUN: It was her embrace / of personal freedom that has preserved Xiao Hong’s fame in literature, but she could never know this herself.
XIAO HONG: (OS) These tales are not just some beautiful stories. They made up / all my childhood memories, so I can’t forget them. They are hard to forget. So I wrote them down here.
English to Chinese: Freak the Mighty General field: Art/Literary
Source text - English It was eleven o’clock that night when Mr. Pontellier returned from Klein’s hotel. He was in an excellent humor, in high spirits, and very talkative. His entrance awoke his wife, who was in bed and fast asleep when he came in. He talked to her while he undressed, telling her anecdotes and bits of news and gossip that he had gathered during the day. From his trousers pockets he took a fistful of crumpled bank notes and a good deal of silver coin, which he piled on the bureau indiscriminately with keys, knife, handkerchief, and whatever else happened to be in his pockets. She was overcome with sleep, and answered him with little half utterances.
He thought it very discouraging that his wife, who was the sole object of his existence, evinced so little interest in things which concerned him, and valued so little his conversation.
Mr. Pontellier had forgotten the bonbons and peanuts for the boys. Notwithstanding he loved them very much, and went into the adjoining room where they slept to take a look at them and make sure that they were resting comfortably. The result of his investigation was far from satisfactory. He turned and shifted the youngsters about in bed. One of them began to kick and talk about a basket full of crabs.
Mr. Pontellier returned to his wife with the information that Raoul had a high fever and needed looking after. Then he lit a cigar and went and sat near the open door to smoke it.
Mrs. Pontellier was quite sure Raoul had no fever. He had gone to bed perfectly well, she said, and nothing had ailed him all day. Mr. Pontellier was too well acquainted with fever symptoms to be mistaken. He assured her the child was consuming at that moment in the next room.
He reproached his wife with her inattention, her habitual neglect of the children. If it was not a mother’s place to look after children, whose on earth was it? He himself had his hands full with his brokerage business. He could not be in two places at once; making a living for his family on the street, and staying at home to see that no harm befell them. He talked in a monotonous, insistent way.
Mrs. Pontellier sprang out of bed and went into the next room. She soon came back and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning her head down on the pillow. She said nothing, and refused to answer her husband when he questioned her. When his cigar was smoked out he went to bed, and in half a minute he was fast asleep.
Mrs. Pontellier was by that time thoroughly awake. She began to cry a little, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her peignoir. Blowing out the candle, which her husband had left burning, she slipped her bare feet into a pair of satin mules at the foot of the bed and went out on the porch, where she sat down in the wicker chair and began to rock gently to and fro.
It was then past midnight. The cottages were all dark. A single faint light gleamed out from the hallway of the house. There was no sound abroad except the hooting of an old owl in the top of a water-oak, and the everlasting voice of the sea, that was not uplifted at that soft hour. It broke like a mournful lullaby upon the night.
The tears came so fast to Mrs. Pontellier’s eyes that the damp sleeve of her peignoir no longer served to dry them. She was holding the back of her chair with one hand; her loose sleeve had slipped almost to the shoulder of her uplifted arm. Turning, she thrust her face, steaming and wet, into the bend of her arm, and she went on crying there, not caring any longer to dry her face, her eyes, her arms. She could not have told why she was crying. Such experiences as the foregoing were not uncommon in her married life. They seemed never before to have weighed much against the abundance of her husband’s kindness and a uniform devotion which had come to be tacit and self-understood.
An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul’s summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.
The little stinging, buzzing imps succeeded in dispelling a mood which might have held her there in the darkness half a night longer.
The following morning Mr. Pontellier was up in good time to take the rockaway which was to convey him to the steamer at the wharf. He was returning to the city to his business, and they would not see him again at the Island till the coming Saturday. He had regained his composure, which seemed to have been somewhat impaired the night before. He was eager to be gone, as he looked forward to a lively week in Carondelet Street.
Mr. Pontellier gave his wife half of the money which he had brought away from Klein’s hotel the evening before. She liked money as well as most women, and accepted it with no little satisfaction.
“It will buy a handsome wedding present for Sister Janet!” she exclaimed, smoothing out the bills as she counted them one by one.
“Oh! we’ll treat Sister Janet better than that, my dear,” he laughed, as he prepared to kiss her good-by.
The boys were tumbling about, clinging to his legs, imploring that numerous things be brought back to them. Mr. Pontellier was a great favorite, and ladies, men, children, evenurses, were always on hand to say goodby to him. His wife stood smiling and waving, the boys shouting, as he disappeared in the old rockaway down the sandy road.
A few days later a box arrived for Mrs. Pontellier from New Orleans. It was from her husband. It was filled with friandises, with luscious and toothsome bits—the finest of fruits, pates, a rare bottle or two, delicious syrups, and bonbons in abundance.
Mrs. Pontellier was always very generous with the contents of such a box; she was quite used to receiving them when away from home. The pates and fruit were brought to the dining-room; the bonbons were passed around. And the ladies, selecting with dainty and discriminating fingers and a little greedily, all declared that Mr. Pontellier was the best husband in the world. Mrs. Pontellier was forced to admit that she knew of none better.
Translation - Chinese 庞德烈先生从酒吧回来已经是晚上十一点了。他今天心情格外好，很想找人说会儿话。进门的声音吵醒了熟睡的庞德烈太太，于是他边换睡衣，边聊着白天听来的新闻八卦，顺手从裤兜里抓出一团皱巴巴的钞票和一堆银币，以及钥匙、小刀、手帕等各种乱七八糟的东西，随意地堆到书桌上。可庞德烈太太实在太困了，只能有一搭没一搭地附和着丈夫。
English to Chinese (Beijing Foreign Studies University. Graduate School of Translation and Interpretation)
Memberships
N/A
Software
N/A
Bio
Work as an assistant
translator in the English Department, Media Division, StarTimes Group. Major work is to translate
Chinese TV series and movies into English for native speakers to dub and
conduct quality management afterwards, sometimes subtitles checking is also
included. Major works include Mi Family’s
Marriage, Woman in the Family of
Swordsmen, Lala’s Shining Days, Legend of the Ancient Sword, The Golden Era, Lost in Thailand, The Four, Yunge from the Desert, The Three Heroes and Five Gallants, The Tales of the Unexpected, Battle of Memories, etc.
Portfolio