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南开大学外文系英专1965届及各届校友纪念网站

朱柏桐

朱柏桐,天津人。我们班的歌唱家之一,我们大学五年的文娱委员,常与谷启楠张培华一起教我们唱新歌,如六十年代流行的印尼歌曲《宝贝》、印度电影歌曲《拉兹之歌》、《洪湖赤卫队》、《克拉玛依》等中外歌曲。 毕业后分配到天津外语学校,后调入天津外语学院任教。曾赴加拿大留学。任外院教授,研究生导师。 天津大学英语教授夏乙虎的夫人。

ballred4 主要著作:

《加拿大英语短篇小说选》(南开大学出版社,1994)
浅谈英语口译课的教学。《中国翻译》1989
谈文学翻译的灵活性。《中国翻译》1998
如何提高英语写作技巧。《天津外国语学报》1995
两位北美幽默作家-马克•吐温和里科克。《天津外国语学报》1997
从中国和加拿大的教育看中加 文化差异。《天津外国语学报》1996
莫迪凯•里奇勒与加拿大犹太文化的变迁。《天津外国语学报》1998
加拿大英语小说文体分析。《中国加拿大研究论从》1992
从篇章框架结构看汉译英。《天津外国语学报》1999 共济网
似与不似-论文学作品汉译英过程中立场分析的作用。《天津大学学报》

ballred4主要译著:

《媲美》(中国翻译,1993)
《常胜的歌手》(中国翻译1993)
《雾》(中国翻译1992)
《雄辩症》《田水哗啦》《秋天的怀念》《献你一束花》《维护团结的人》等 
10篇 (散文佳作108篇,1999)
《青萍》汉译英(中国翻译,2003)及论文《翻译思考》(中国翻译,2003)。

star 诗三首(中英对照)

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朱柏桐 1965
朱柏桐 1965

许朱1965
朱柏桐与许荣仙,1965于校图书馆前

许荣仙朱柏桐
朱柏桐许荣仙,校园南门外 1965

朱
朱柏桐

朱许
朱柏桐、许荣仙

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谷启楠、朱柏桐在加拿大留学。 这是我刚做的美篇,是1983年在加拿大留学时照的。暑假期间我和谷启楠从多伦多出发一路经过美国的纽约州到达纽约历时十几天。期间在谷启楠的美国朋友家小住几日,尽享幽静美丽的田园风光,到纽约在我妹夫工作的医院宿舍住几日。欣赏了国际大都会的奢侈繁华。这样我们共度了一段美好难忘的时光。

ca
左起朱柏桐、贺曼丽(贺新)、谷启楠留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐谷启楠在加拿大留学

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朱柏桐许荣仙

赵兴在学习小组
分组毕业照前排左起第一人为朱柏桐 1965

2017
朱柏桐近照

旗袍
前排右起座位第一人是朱柏桐

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俊秀的上海复旦大学62届毕业生

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1968年上海新婚与大妹夏添和妹夫吴恒显合影

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1968年上海新婚与大妹夏添和妹夫吴恒显合影

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二人世界上海西郊公园合影

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二人世界

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我们的第一个宝宝夏庆

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我们的第一个宝宝夏庆

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我们的第一个宝宝夏庆在北京

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我们的第二个宝宝夏雷

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四口之家

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与大哥夏廉博来津时合影

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四口之家

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在家里招待外国朋友

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在家里招待外国朋友Dorothy(天津外院外教)

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在天大四季村的家

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乙琥五十大寿

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乙琥在工作

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乙琥与家猫

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乙琥挑灯夜读

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乙琥

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乙琥与妹夫杜宝恒大夫

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乙琥与潘子立合影

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在柏华新居合影

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乙琥夏庆和我

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90年代二人再次上海行

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90年代二人再次上海行

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与姥姥及弟妹全家合影

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庆过生日老爸高兴

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水上公园合影

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儿童活动中心老顽童

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儿童活动中心

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乙琥最珍贵的遗产-两个宝贝

多人
前排左起:崔永禄、刘士聪、吴则田、杨俊起、王蕴茹、朱柏桐、谷启楠
后排左起:李广然、宫自强、李维树、梁一雄

餐馆
左起前排:刘士聪、常耀信、夏乙虎、朱柏桐、许荣仙、潘子立、杨小爱、谷启楠
左起后排:崔永禄、孙毅兵、李维树、王蕴茹

1995
左起:许荣仙、王蕴茹、朱柏桐、祝宝银。 12/1995

2张
左起:许荣仙、王蕴茹、朱柏桐、祝宝银。 12/1995

朱柏桐 1999
前排右起:潘子立、朱柏桐、王蕴茹、许荣仙、徐基荣夫人
后排右起:徐基荣、常耀信、刘士聪、宫自强、夏乙虎。 1999
天津

su
左起朱柏桐、苏智娟、谷启楠、李维树

xuzhu
荣仙与朱柏桐, 06/10/2006

柏桐
柏桐, 09/14/2011

柏桐许
柏桐荣仙,09/19/2011

xuzhu
许荣仙和朱柏桐 05/30/2012

1

1

老高同学,虽然我没在写信给你但我一直关注着你的网站。趁今天有人帮弄电脑忙赶快给你并通过你给全班同学送去节日祝福。预祝大家圣诞快乐,在玛雅新纪元的“世界末日”开始全新的生活!今天也是我的爱人夏乙琥去世三周年祭日。同时我家还有喜事相告:我的二儿子夏雷已登记结婚。他已38岁了,有幸找到一位可心的爱人,难道不是乙琥在天相助吗?有感之际特凑小诗一首与大家共享。

柏桐
12/24/2012

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American Poet Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

poe
(This photo is in the public domain.)

Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) was an American writer, poet, editor and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is considered the inventor of the detective-fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction. He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career. He was born as Edgar Poe in Boston, Massachusetts; his parents died when he was young. Poe was taken in by John and Frances Allan, of Richmond, Virginia, but they never formally adopted him. After spending a short period at the University of Virginia and briefly attempting a military career, Poe parted ways with the Allans. Poe's publishing career began humbly, with an anonymous collection of poems, Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), credited only to "a Bostonian".

Poe switched his focus to prose and spent the next several years working for literary journals and periodicals, becoming known for his own style of literary criticism. His work forced him to move between several cities, including Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York City. In Baltimore in 1835, he married Virginia Clemm, his 13-year-old cousin. In January 1845, Poe published his poem "The Raven" to instant success. His wife died of tuberculosis two years later. He began planning to produce his own journal, The Penn (later renamed The Stylus), though he died before it could be produced. On October 7, 1849, at age 40, Poe died in Baltimore; the cause of his death is unknown. Poe and his works influenced literature in the United States and around the world.

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The Haunted Palace
by Edgar Allan Poe
 

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace--
Radiant palace--raised its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This--all this--was in the olden
Time long ago),
And every gentle air that dallied
In that sweet day,
Upon the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-timed law.
Round about a throne where, sitting,
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace-door,
Through which came, flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling everymore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing
In voices of surpassing beauty
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn--for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his house of glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travelers, now, within that valley
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly, rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh--but smile no more.

---1845


 
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"By that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

---1845


 
To Helen
by Edgar Allan Poe
 

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!

---1831


Sonnet - To Science
by Edgar Allan Poe
  Science! True daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? Or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

Eulalie
by Edgar Allan Poe
  I dwelt alone
In a world of moan,
And my soul was a stagnant tide,
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride-
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

Ah, less- less bright
The stars of the night
Than the eyes of the radiant girl!
That the vapor can make
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl-
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless
curl.

Now Doubt- now Pain
Come never again,
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,
And all day long
Shines, bright and strong,
Astarte within the sky,
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye-
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

poebirthplace
This plaque marks the approximate location where Edgar Poe was born in Boston, Massachusett. Photo by Swampyank.
(Used here under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License

poehouse
Poe spent the last few years of his life in a small cottage in the Bronx,
New York. Photo by Zoirusha
(This picture has been released into the public domain.)

poegrave
Edgar Allan Poe's grave, Baltimore Maryland. Photo by Eixo.
(This picture has been released into the public domain.)

poehs
The Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site in Philadelphia is one of
several preserved former residences of Poe. Photo by Midnightdreary.
(This picture has been released into the public domain.)

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