双语散文欣赏我父亲的音乐.docx
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1、双语散文欣赏我父亲的音乐 散文是一种抒发作者真情实感、写作方式敏捷的记叙类文学体裁。接下来,我给大家打算了双语散文观赏我父亲的音乐,欢迎大家参考与借鉴。 双语散文观赏我父亲的音乐 I remember the day Dad first lugged the heavy accordion up our front stoop,taxing his small frame. He gathered my mother and me in the living room and opened the case as if it were a treasure chest. "Here
2、it is,"he said. "Once you learn to play, it'll stay with you for life." 我还记得那天,爸爸豁出瘦小的身躯,第一次把那沉甸甸的手风琴拖上我们家的门廊。他把妈姆和我召到客厅,打开箱子,似乎那是个百宝箱似的.“给,”。他说,“你一学会拉它,它就跟你终身做伴。” If my thin smile didn't match his full-fledged grin, it was because I had prayed for a guitar or a piano. It was
3、1960, and I was glued to my AM radio,listening to Del Shannon and Chubby Checker. Accordions were nowhere in my hit parade. As Ilooked at the shiny white keys and cream-colored bellows, I could already hear my friends' squeeze box jokes. 我淡淡一笑,满不像他那么喜笑颜开,可那是因为裁始终盼望着有一把吉他,或一架钢琴。当时是1960年,我迷上了在调幅广播
4、里收听戴尔·香农和查比·切克的音乐。手风琴在我的流行曲目里根本排不上号。看着那白晃晃的琴键和奶油色的风箱,我都可以听到伙伴们嘲弄这玩意儿的声音。 For the next two weeks, the accordion was stored in the hall closet. Then one evening Dad announced that I would start lessons the following week. In disbelief I shot my eyes toward Mom for support. The firm set o
5、f her jaw told me I was out of luck. 后来的两个礼拜,手风琴始终搁在门厅的壁橱里。有天晚上,爸爸宣布,’下周起我就起先上手风琴课。狐疑中我直向母亲递眼色,求她帮忙。可她紧闭着嘴,就是说我这次倒了霉了。 Spending $300 for an accordion and $5 per lesson was out of character for my father. He was practical always-something he learned growing up on a Pennsylvania farm. Clothes, h
6、eat and sometimes even food were scarce. 花300元买架手风琴,每上一课还得交五元,这可不合我父亲的性格。他一直都很讲究实际——这是他自小在宾夕法尼亚州的农场学来的。当时穿的,取暖的,有时候连吃的都很少。 Before I was born, he and my mother moved into her parents' two-story home in Jersey City, N.J. I grew up there on the second floor; my grandparents lived downst
7、airs. Each weekday Dad made the three-hour commute to and from Long Island, where he was a supervisor in a comparty that serviced jet engines. Weekends, he tinkered in the cellar, turning scraps of plywood into a utility cabinet or fixing a broken toy with spare parts. Quiet andshy, he was never mor
8、e comfortable than when at his workbench. 我诞生前,父母搬进了新泽西州泽西城外公外婆家一楼一底的房子。我就是在那儿的楼上长大的,外公他们住楼下。爸爸每天去长岛上班来回要坐三个小时的车。他在那儿的一家飞机发动机修理公司做监督,周末他就在地窖里东修西补,不是把零星的胶合板拼凑成多用柜,就是找些个零部件修理破玩具。他生性沉静害羞,只有坐在工作凳上时他才最为自由。 Only music carried Dad away from his world of tools and projects. On a Sunday drive, he turned the
9、radio on immediately. At red lights, I'd notice his foot tapping in time. He seemed to hang on every note. 只有音乐可以使爸爸沉醉,忘却他那个近视工具和活计的天地。星期天只要一开车,他便打开收音机。遇见红灯,就见他的脚刚好地轻轻打起拍子。他似乎不放过每一个音符。 Still, I wasn't prepared when, rummaging in a closet, I found a case that looked to me like a tiny guitar
10、39;s. Opening it, I saw the polished glow of a beautiffil violin. "It's your father's," Mom said. "His parents bought it for him. I guess he got too busy on the farm to ever learn to play it." I tried to imagine Dad's rough hands on this delicate instrument-and couldn
11、't. . 然而,我还是没有料到,又一次翻一个壁橱,竟发觉一只盒子,我看像个小吉他盒。打开一看,却是把美丽的小提琴,光滑锃亮的。“那是你父亲的,”妈妈说,“他父母给他买的。怕是农场上太忙了吧,他压根儿就没顾上学。”我尽量想象爸爸那双粗手在摆布这把精致的小提琴——可就是想象不出来。 Shortly after, my lessons began with Mr. Zelli at the Allegro Accordion School tucked between an old movie theater and a pizza parlor. On my fi
12、rst day, with straps straining my shoulder, I felt clumsy in every way. "How did he do?" my father asked when it was over. "Fine for the first lesson,"said Mr.ZeUi. Dad glowed with hope. 不久,我在手风琴速成学校跟泽里先生上起课来了,那个学校夹在一家旧电影院和一家馅饼店之间。第一天,我肩上勒紧了两条皮带,怎么都觉得别扭。“他怎么样?”过后父亲问老师。“第一课嘛,还可以。”
13、泽里先生说。爸爸看有希望,神采奕奕。 I was ordered to practice half an hour every day, and every day I tried to get out of it. My future seemed to be outside playing ball, not in the house mastering songs I would soon forget, but my parents hounded me to practice. 按规定我每天的练半小时的琴,而我每天都没法躲过去。我看我的前途是在户外打球,不是呆在屋里练很快就会遗忘的曲
14、子,可父母逼着我练。 Gradually, to my surprise, I was able to string notes together and coordinate my hands to play simple songs. Often, after supper, my father would requesta tune or two. As he sat in his easy chair, I would fumble through "Lady of Spain" and "Beer Barrel Polka." 想不到我慢慢可以
15、把各个音符串起来,两手协作着拉起简洁的歌曲了。晚饭后,父亲经常要我拉上一两段曲子。他坐在安乐椅里,我就笨手笨脚地拉完西班牙女郎和啤酒桶波尔卡 "Very nice, better than last week," he'd say. Then I would segue into a med-ley of his favorites, "Red River Valley" and "Home on the Range," and he would drift off to sleep, the newspaper folded
16、 on his lap. I took it as a compliment that he could relax under the spell of my playing. “很好,比上星期强。”他会说。于是我一口气拉下去,把他最喜爱的歌曲红河谷和家在牧场混在一起,于是他不知不觉地睡去,报纸还摊在膝上。他能在我的演奏感召之下,也轻松一下算是对我的赞许吧。 One July evening I was giving an almost flawless rendition of "Come Back to Sorrento,"and my parents called
17、me to an open window. An elderly neighbor, rarely seen outside her house, was leaning against our car humming dreamily to the tune. When I finished, she smiled broadly and called out, "I remember that song as a child in Italy. Beautiful, just beautiful." 有年七月的一天傍晚,我正在拉重归苏连托,几乎是无懈可击,父母把我叫到一
18、扇窗口。一个上了年纪的邻居,很少见她出门,这时正依在我家车旁,恍恍惚惚地跟着曲子哼着。我拉完了,她笑眯眯地喊道:“我小时候在意大利就记得这首歌。好听,真好听。” Throughout the summer, Mr. Zelli's lessons grew more difficult. It took me a week and a half to master them now. All the while I could hear my buddies outside playing heated games of stickball. I'd also hear an
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