Trong khuôn khổ các hoạt động Tháng Thanh Niên và Tháng Rèn Nghề 2019, Khoa Sư phạm Ngoại ngữ tổ chức cuộc thi dịch thơ tiếng Anh. Tất cả sinh viên Khoa Sư phạm Ngoại ngữ đều có thể tham gia cuộc thi này.

 

Nội dung: 

Dịch ra tiếng Việt một trong 10 bài thơ do Ban tổ chức đưa ra.

 

Hình thức: 

  • Bài dự thi bằng tiếng Việt, được đánh máy. Có bản gốc tiếng Anh kèm theo.

     

    Thông tin bài thi:  

    Bài dự thi bắt buộc phải có đầy đủ các thông tin sau: 

  • Thông tin người dự thi: họ tên, năm sinh, nơi học tập, địa chỉ liên lạc, điện thoại (bắt buộc), địa chỉ email (nếu có)
  • Thông tin về bài thi: tác phẩm dự thi dịch từ bài thơ số mấy.

 

Về tác quyền

  • Bài dự thi là bài chưa được công bố trên bất kỳ phương tiện thông tin đại chúng. Người dự thi phải chịu trách nhiệm về tính trung thực của bài thi và các vấn đề liên quan đến tác quyền. 

 

Cách nộp bài thi

Bài dự thi gửi đến Ban tổ chức qua email nguyenduybinh@vinhuni.edu.vn.

 

Thời gian nhận bài và trao giải

  • Thời gian nhận bài từ 14/3/2019 đến hết ngày 24/3/2019.
  • Lễ trao giải dự kiến diễn ra vào ngày 28/03/2019 trong khuôn khổ Hội thi phiên dịch viên giỏi.

 

Giải thưởng chung cuộc

  • 1 giải Nhất: 1.000.000 đồng 
  • 1 giải Nhì: 500.000 đồng
  • 2 giải Ba: 250.000 đồng

 

THÀNH VIÊN GIÁM KHẢO

 

1. TS. Nguyễn Thị Kim Anh (Trưởng Ban)

2. TS. Nguyễn Hữu Quyết

3. TS. Nguyễn Duy Bình

5. Thầy Dương Đức Ánh

 

SELECTION OF POEMS

P1.

WILLIAM BLAKE

 

The Sick Rose

 

O rose, thou art sick!

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night,

In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy,

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

(1794)

 

 

 

P2.

WILLIAM BLAKE

 

The Tyger

Tyger, tyger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes ?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fibre?

And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And, when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

(1794)

 

 

P3.

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON

(1788-1824)

 

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

(1815)

 

 

 

P4.

JOHN CLARE

(1793-1864)

 

A Vision

1

I lost the love of heaven above;

I spurn'd the lust of earth below;

I felt the sweets of fancied love, —

And hell itself my only foe.

 

2

I lost earth's joys but felt the glow

Of heaven's flame abound in me:

Till loveliness and I did grow

The bard of immortality.

 

3

I loved, but woman fell away;

I hid me from her faded fame:

I snatch'd the sun's eternal ray, —

And wrote till earth was but a name.

 

4

In every language upon earth,

On every shore, o'er every sea,

I gave my name immortal birth,

And kept my spirit with the free.

1844

 

 

 

 

P5.

 

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

(1806-1861)

 

Sonnet 36

When we met first and loved, I did not build

Upon the event with marble. Could it mean

To last, a love set pendulous between

Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,

Distrusting every light that seemed to gild

The onward path, and feared to overlean

A finger even. And, though I have grown serene

And strong since then, I think that God has willed

A still renewable fear ... O love, O troth

Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,

This mutual kiss drop down between us both

As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.

And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,

Must lose one joy, by his life's star foretold.

 

 

 

P6.

 

ROBERT BROWNING

(1812-1889)

 

Meeting At Night

 

1

The grey sea and the long black land;

And the yellow half-moon large and low;

And the startled little waves that leap

In fiery ringlets from their sleep,

As I gain the cove with pushing prow,

And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

 

2

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;

Three fields to cross till a farm appears;

A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch

And blue spurt of a lighted match,

And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,

Than the two hearts beating each to each!

(1845)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P7.

 

EMILY BRONTE

(1818-1848)

 

The Night-Wind

 

In summer's mellow midnight,

A cloudless moon shone through

Our open parlour window,

And rose-trees wet with dew.

I sat in silent musing;

The soft wind waved my hair;

It told me heaven was glorious,

And sleeping earth was fair.

I needed not its breathing

To bring such thoughts to me;

But still it whispered lowly,

How dark the woods will be!

"The thick leaves in my murmur

Are rustling like a dream,

And all their myriad voices

Instinct with spirit seem."

I said, "Go, gentle singer,

Thy wooing voice is kind:

But do not think its music

Has power to reach my mind.

"Play with the scented flower,

The young tree's supple bough,

And leave my human feelings

In their own course to flow."

The wanderer would not heed me;

Its kiss grew warmer still.

"O come!" it sighed so sweetly;

Til win thee 'gainst thy will.

"Were we not friends from childhood?

Have I not loved thee long?

As long as thou, the solemn night,

Whose silence wakes my song.

"And when thy heart is resting

Beneath the church-aisle stone,

I shall have time for mourning,

And Thou for being alone."

(1840)

 

 

 

 

P8.

THOMAS HARDY

(1840-1928)

 

I Look Into My Glass

 

 

I look into my glass,

And view my wasting skin,

And say, "Would God it came to pass

My heart had shrunk as thin!"

For then, I, undistrest

By hearts grown cold to me,

Could lonely wait my endless rest

With equanimity.

But Time, to make me grieve,

Part steals, lets part abide;

And shakes this fragile frame at eve

With throbbings of noontide.

(1898)

 

 

 

P9.

 

EDWARD THOMAS

(1878-1917)

 

Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain

On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me

Remembering again that I shall die

And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks

For washing me cleaner than I have been

Since I was born into this solitude.

Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:

But here I pray that none whom once I loved

Is dying tonight or lying still awake

Solitary, listening to the rain,

Either in pain or thus in sympathy

Helpless among the living and the dead,

Like a cold water among broken reeds,

Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,

Like me who have no love which this wild rain

Has not dissolved except the love of death,

If love it be towards what is perfect and

Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

(1916)

 

 

 

 

P10.

 

Edgar Allan Poe

(1809 – 1849)

 

Annabel Lee

 

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of ANNABEL LEE;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

 

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

 

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me-

Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.