一、         宗旨：鼓励全球华族青年从事文学写作及翻译，丰富华文文学，促进中外文化交流，弘扬中华文化。
二、         主办单位：香港中文大学文学院  
                 院长 罗炳良      筹委会主席 金圣华
三、         协办单位：中国翻译工作者协会，以及中国大陆和台湾、日本、新加坡、马来西亚、菲律宾、美、英、法、德等国六十余所高校的中文、外文院系。
四、         决审评委：（依姓氏笔划序） 短篇小说组：王安忆、白先勇、刘以鬯；散文组：余光中、林文月、董桥；文学翻译组：金圣华、陆谷孙、彭镜禧。
五、         荣誉顾问：王蒙、金耀基；特邀顾问：李景端、郑良树；顾问：刘遵义、杨纲凯、廖柏伟、郑振耀、许敬文、苏基朗、梁少光
六、         参赛对象：2004至2005学年，或2005至2006学年，全日制高校在读的本科及大专学生（不含研究生）。
七、         参赛方式：分短篇小说、散文、文学翻译三类；小说限二万字，散文限八千字，均自命题；文学翻译的英文稿由组委会指定公布。要求于2005年11月15日以前，将参赛稿件（未经发表的）一式两份，以及本人身份证，在读院校证明文件或学生证，所读系科年级、详细地址及电话等材料的复印件，一并寄到香港沙田中文大学文学院文学奖筹委会。
八、         获奖名额：三组每组设冠、亚、季军各一名，一等优秀奖三名，二等优秀奖十名，鼓励奖十名。
九、         奖金（港币）：冠军二万元，亚军一万元，季军五千元；一等及二等优秀奖均一千元；鼓励奖五百元。此外，获得冠、亚、季军及一等优秀奖的获奖人，2006年5月还将受邀赴香港参加颁奖典礼及学术讲座，往返机票及在港四天的食宿，均由主办方负担。获奖的作品，将由主办单位出版成书。
十、         征稿细则：请查下列网址：
      http://www.cuhk.edu.hk/arts/globalitaward/
      http://www.hkedcity.net/project/literature/
需要翻译原文的，除可从网上查找外，也可向当地协办高校或南京湖南路译林出版社李景端函索，邮编210009，电话及传真：025--83300503
 
翻译原文下载
                      
 
 
 
 
 
 
香 港 中 文 大 學 文 學 院
第 三 屆 新 紀 元 全 球 華文青 年 文 學 獎
The Third Global Youth Chinese Literary Award for the New Century
 (請用中文，翻譯下列四篇英文原稿)
 
1.    It is a fact that not once in my life have I gone out for a walk.  I have been taken out for walks; but that is another matter.  Even while I trotted prattling by my nurse’s side I regretted the good old days when I had, and wasn’t, a perambulator.  When I grew up it seemed to me that the one advantage of living in London was that nobody ever wanted me to come out for a walk.  London’s very drawbacks – its endless noise and bustle, its smoky air, the squalor ambushed everywhere in it – assured this one immunity.
Whenever I was with friends in the country, I knew that at any moment, unless rain were actually falling, some man might suddenly say “Come out for a walk!” in that sharp imperative tone which he would not dream of using in any other connexion.  People seem to think there is something inherently noble and virtuous in the desire to go for a walk.  Any one thus desirous feels that he has a right to impose his will on whomever he sees comfortably settled in an arm-chair, reading.  It is easy to say simply “No” to an old friend.  In the case of a mere acquaintance one wants some excuse.  “I wish I could, but” – nothing ever occurs to me except “I have some letters to write.”  This formula is unsatisfactory in three ways.  (1) It isn’t believed.  (2) It compels you to rise from your chair, go to the writing-table, and sit improvising a letter to somebody until the walkmonger (just not daring to call you liar and hypocrite) shall have lumbered out of the room.  (3) It won’t operate on Sunday mornings.  “There’s no post out till this evening” clinches the matter; and you may as well go quietly.
                                 ----from Max Beerbohm: Going Out For A Walk
 
 2.        The most complex lesson the literary point of view teaches – and it is not, to be sure, a lesson  available to all, and is even difficult to keep in mind once acquired – is to allow the intellect to become subservient to the heart.)  What wide reading teaches is the richness, the complexity, the mystery of life.  In the wider and longer view, I have come to believe, there is something deeply apolitical – something above politics – in literature, despite what feminist, Marxist, and other politicized literary critics may think.  If at the end of a long life of reading the chief message you bring away is that women have had it lousy, or that capitalism stinks, or that attention must above all be paid to victims, then I’d say you just might have missed something crucial. Too bad, for there probably isn’t time to go back to re-read your lifetime’s allotment of five thousand or so books.
People who have read with love and respect understand that the larger message behind all books, great and good and even some not so good as they might be, is, finally, cultivate your sensibility so that you may trust your heart.  The charmingly ironic point of vast reading, at least as I have come to understand it, is to distrust much of one’s education.  Unfortunately, only way properly to despise success is first to achieve it.
----from Joseph Epstein: Narcissus Leaves The Pool
 
3.      The style of Dryden is capricious and varied, that of Pope is cautious and uniform;
Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind, Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of composition.  Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle.  Dryden’s page is a natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation; Pope’s is a velvet lawn, shaven by the scythe, and levelled by the roller.
     Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet; that quality without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates; the superiority must, with some hesitation, be allowed to Dryden.  It is not to be inferred, that of this poetical vigor Pope had only a little, because Dryden had more; for every other writer since Milton must give place to Pope; and even of Dryden it must be said, that, if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not better poems.  Dryden’s performances were always hasty, either excited by some external occasion, or extorted by domestic necessity; he composed without consideration, and published without correction.  What his mind could supply at call, or gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he gave.  The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might produce, or chance might supply.  If the flights of Dryden therefore are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing.  If of Dryden’s fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope’s the heat is more regular and constant.  Dryden often surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls below it.
                                     ----from Samuel Johnson: Pope
 
4.    It was the first rose of the year, big, red and heavy-scented. I had watched it grow from a bud, but somehow I had missed the final stage of the metamorphosis, so that it seemed to have changed from a bud to a full-blown rose overnight.
 I had been waiting impatiently for this ultimate apparition of fully developed beauty, but now that it was actually here I was at a loss how to deal with it, overwhelmed by such perfection. I looked at the rose through the window, but I hesitated to go out into the garden and address it directly, although it was waiting there in evident expectation of a first act of homage.
When I finally plucked up the courage to go to it, I buried my face in its petals and inhaled its fragrance but could think of nothing to say beyond the trite words, “Beautiful, beautiful.” The rose seemed satisfied, however, and smiled at me warmly. A bee emerged from the heart of the rose, circled my head twice and flew off across the garden.
I felt that summer had begun.
                           ----from Michael Bullock: The First Rose Of The Summer
 
Baidu
sogou