I just translated a two-page Chinese text into english. But English is not my native language, and I'm afraid the translated version may sound strange to an English ear. I would appreciate it if the garden experts here will take the trouble to help edit and review the text. Hope the translation is not gibberish and iritating. Below is the text, without a title, as part of a long article. Thank you.
Born in a vast land with diverse ecosystems, classical Chinese gardens have been constantly evolving and changing, their cultural connotations growing deeper and richer over the centuries. In fact, traditional Chinese garden art has left its marks on China’s neighboring countries, including Japan and South Korea. Equally important, it inspired enthusiasm in the visiting European traders and missionaries who, after returning home, helped Europeans know more about China and its gardens. As a major cultural heritage, Chinese gardens have attracted increasing interest from garden art lovers both in China and beyond. Enriched by Chinese cultural traditions, they have had such a significant impact on the aesthetic ideals of the Chinese people that their presence is still strongly felt today.
The Chinese garden developed as a synthesis of the ever-recurring opposites in Taoist philosophy, Tao and Qi, or the intangible (metaphysics) and the tangible. An essential pair of concepts that define heaven-human relations, Qi refers to all the things in nature that can be perceived by the senses, while Tao is the origin from which things are generated, hence the principle and law governing Qi. Unlike an ordinary building whose architectural style is not to be appreciated aesthetically because it falls under the Qi category, a garden is created as much an art form as an important means and medium for the literati to express their ideas and feelings. This ideational function, over the years, has developed a system of logic and its own language. Gardens, accordingly, are more than simple combinations of flowers, trees and miniature landscapes; they are places that create poetic and painterly concepts. The literati would regard their gardens as markers of elite status. No man, therefore, was considered a true intellectual without a garden of his own, be it large or small. By the same token, no room would be perfect as a study if one looked out of the window but could not see his own exquisite garden of strangely shaped rocks and fantastic looking plants. Since classical Chinese gardens closely resemble paintings produced by the classically educated literati, they are sometimes regarded as a type of three-dimensional landscape paintings or solid poetry.
Viewed straight on, Chinese gardens seem to have too much architecture. Obviously such layout began to lose popularity centuries ago, somewhat disliked when it came to the Qing dynasty (1616-1911). Western gardens, by contrast, tend to have fewer buildings, usually centrally located and clustered together to become the focal point, both locally and spatially. Traditional Chinese gardens emphasize the harmony between architecture and environment, focusing more on the integration of natural beauty and craftsmanship than individual elements. Bai Juyi (772-846), a Tang dynasty poet, was probably the first to discuss the composition of garden elements. Though not necessarily the golden rule, the proportion of these elements has been established by generation after generation of garden designers. Individual cases may differ, but the underlying patterns stay roughly the same.
Architecturally, however, Chinese gardens feature highly diversified forms. To enhance garden views, architectural elements are blended in such a way as to create unique visual effects, completely different from those ordinary buildings that identify with the hierarchy of the social status of their inhabitants. (Designers devote much attention to, among other things, ‘borrowed views’. A pavilion, for example, is where you relax and enjoy views of the rest of the garden. All the other elements, including waterside halls and terraces, become the scenery, but the pavilion itself, when viewed from elsewhere in the garden, also forms part of the scenery. In other words, the scenery changes with each step you take, as the seer becomes the seen.) In addition, the architectural styles of Chinese gardens usually take advantage of the natural environment to best suit personal tastes. In both the imperial and private gardens, the buildings display a wide variety of appearances, styles, and sizes, either horizontally or vertically. Their mass compositions seem to correspond with the principles of European Modernism. (Mass composition refers to the proportional relationship between different components of a particular structure, or more specifically, the visual size difference between roof and façade; in terms of the layout plan, mass composition embodies the proportional relationship between individual room sizes.) In essence, they turn out to ‘play the same tune on different musical instruments’.
Garden styles, surprisingly, have found their way into public buildings. Fragrant Hill Hotel and Suzhou Museum, the two major projects in China led by Ieoh Ming Pei (b. 1917), an American-educated Chinese master architect, were both modeled after the classical Chinese gardens. Those with knowledge of the relevant historical and cultural background will probably characterize them as the offspring of necessity rather than of inspiration, for the Pei family once owned the famous Shizi Lin (Lion Grove), one of the finest classical gardens in Suzhou of east China’s Jiangsu province. The spirit of freedom inherent in traditional Chinese gardens is identified, in one way or another, with the pursuits of Modernism to break free from the monotonous symmetry in architectural designs. While studying at Harvard, Ieoh Ming Pei submitted a proposal to construct (unsuccessfully) China Art Museum in Shanghai. That, again, was a garden-style plan, since he argued that was the only way to guarantee a perfect atmosphere to view ancient Chinese artifacts. Chinese paintings and calligraphies do not usually require exceptionally large space for collection and display, but they do need a comfortably elegant setting to create the right mood.
Art is something to enjoy and delight in, but not to prostrate ourselves before. Works of art reflect the personal tastes and aspirations of their owners. Equally they coexist with human beings as our friends, as a part of life, and sometimes of course, as something to show off. Gardens themselves, naturally enough, are no exceptions. Even in ancient times, they were as much public as private, where the owners met, entertained, and socialized with their friends. It is for this reason that the garden buildings strive to maximize their artistic expressiveness, compete against each other for attention, and hence become a vital element of classical Chinese gardens. The literati would, as a rule, punctuate their gardens with flower-halls, boat-halls, fan-shaped pavilions, or even buildings of complex mass (combinations of different architectural elements).
[quote="chancy"]Born in a vast land with diverse ecosystems, classical Chinese gardens have been constantly evolving and changing, their cultural connotations growing deeper and richer over the centuries. In fact, traditional Chinese garden art has left its marks on China’s neighboring countries, including Japan and South Korea. Equally important, it inspired enthusiasm in the visiting European traders and missionaries who, after returning home, helped Europeans know more about China and its gardens. As a major cultural heritage, Chinese gardens have attracted increasing interest from garden art lovers both in China and beyond. Enriched by Chinese cultural traditions, they have had such a significant impact on the aesthetic ideals of the Chinese people that their presence is still strongly felt today. [I would rephrase this sentence. It is unclear what you are referencing when you use the word "their."]
The Chinese garden developed as a synthesis of the ever-recurring opposites in Taoist philosophy, Tao and Qi, or the intangible (metaphysics) and the tangible. An essential pair of concepts that define heaven-human relations, Qi refers to all the things in nature that can be perceived by the senses, while Tao is the origin from which things are generated, hence the principle and law governing Qi. Unlike an ordinary building whose architectural style is not to be appreciated aesthetically because it falls under the Qi category, a garden is created as much an art form as an important means and medium for the literati to express their ideas and feelings. [I think you need to insert an "as" between "much" and "an." Or, you could write, "... a garden is created as an art form as much as an important means and ...."] This ideational function, over the years, has developed a system of logic and its own language. Gardens, accordingly, are more than simple combinations of flowers, trees and miniature landscapes; they are places that create poetic and painterly concepts. The literati would regard their gardens as markers of elite status. No man, therefore, was considered a true intellectual without a garden of his own, be it large or small. By the same token, no room would be perfect as a study if one looked out of the window but could not see his own exquisite garden of strangely shaped rocks and fantastic looking plants. Since classical Chinese gardens closely resemble paintings produced by the classically educated literati, they are sometimes regarded as a type of three-dimensional landscape paintings [This word should be singular, not plural, since the subject of the phrase is "type."] or solid poetry.
Viewed straight on, Chinese gardens seem to have too much architecture. Obviously such layout [I would make this plural, since it references "gardens" in the previous sentence, but the way you have it might be okay, depending on how you intend to use this manuscript.] began to lose popularity centuries ago, somewhat disliked when it came to the Qing dynasty (1616-1911). Western gardens, by contrast, tend to have fewer buildings, usually centrally located and clustered together to become the focal point, both locally and spatially. Traditional Chinese gardens emphasize the harmony between architecture and environment, focusing more on the integration of natural beauty and craftsmanship than individual elements. Bai Juyi (772-846), a Tang dynasty poet, was probably the first to discuss the composition of garden elements. Though not necessarily the golden rule, the proportion of these elements has been established by generation after generation of garden designers. Individual cases may differ, but the underlying patterns stay roughly the same.
Architecturally, however, Chinese gardens feature highly diversified forms. To enhance garden views, architectural elements are blended in such a way as to create unique visual effects, completely different from those ordinary buildings that identify with the hierarchy of the social status of their inhabitants. (Designers devote much attention to, among other things, ‘borrowed views’. A pavilion, for example, is where you relax and enjoy views of the rest of the garden. All the other elements, including waterside halls and terraces, become the scenery, but the pavilion itself, when viewed from elsewhere in the garden, also forms part of the scenery. In other words, the scenery changes with each step you take, as the seer becomes the seen.) In addition, the architectural styles of Chinese gardens usually take advantage of the natural environment to best suit personal tastes. In both the imperial and private gardens, the buildings display a wide variety of appearances, styles, and sizes, either horizontally or vertically. Their mass compositions seem to correspond with the principles of European Modernism. (Mass composition refers to the proportional relationship between different components of a particular structure, or more specifically, the visual size difference between roof and façade; in terms of the layout plan, mass composition embodies the proportional relationship between individual room sizes.) In essence, they turn out to [I think you could omit these words. They don't really add anything to the sentence.] ‘play the same tune on different musical instruments’.
Garden styles, surprisingly, have found their way into public buildings. Fragrant Hill Hotel and Suzhou Museum, the two major projects in China led by Ieoh Ming Pei (b. 1917), an American-educated Chinese master architect, were both modeled after the classical Chinese gardens. [IMO, this should be singular, since you used the article "the." Alternatively, you could drop the "the" and leave "gardens" plural.] Those with knowledge of the relevant historical and cultural background will probably characterize them as the offspring of necessity rather than of inspiration, for the Pei family once owned the famous Shizi Lin (Lion Grove), one of the finest classical gardens in Suzhou of east China’s Jiangsu province. The spirit of freedom inherent in traditional Chinese gardens is identified, in one way or another, with the pursuits of Modernism to break free from the monotonous symmetry in architectural designs. While studying at Harvard, Ieoh Ming Pei submitted a proposal to construct (unsuccessfully) China Art Museum in Shanghai. That, again, was a garden-style plan, since he argued that was the only way to guarantee a perfect atmosphere to view ancient Chinese artifacts. Chinese paintings and calligraphies do not usually require [insert "an" here.] exceptionally large space for collection and display, but they do need a comfortably elegant setting to create the right mood.
Art is something to enjoy and delight in, but not to prostrate ourselves before. [If you intend to use this work as a technical paper or for formal publication, this should read "before which to prostrate ourselves." For informal usage, the way you have it is fine.] Works of art reflect the personal tastes and aspirations of their owners. Equally they coexist with human beings as our friends, as a part of life, and sometimes of course, as something to show off. Gardens themselves, naturally enough, are no exceptions. Even in ancient times, they were as much public as private, where the owners met, entertained, and socialized with their friends. It is for this reason that the garden buildings strive to maximize their artistic expressiveness, compete against each other for attention, and hence [older punctuation styles require a comma here; the more modern style does not. The choice is yours.] become a vital element of classical Chinese gardens. The literati would, as a rule, punctuate their gardens with flower-halls [no hyphen], boat-halls [no hyphen], fan-shaped pavilions, or even buildings of complex mass (combinations of different architectural elements).
Hope this helps!
The Chinese garden developed as a synthesis of the ever-recurring opposites in Taoist philosophy, Tao and Qi, or the intangible (metaphysics) and the tangible. An essential pair of concepts that define heaven-human relations, Qi refers to all the things in nature that can be perceived by the senses, while Tao is the origin from which things are generated, hence the principle and law governing Qi. Unlike an ordinary building whose architectural style is not to be appreciated aesthetically because it falls under the Qi category, a garden is created as much an art form as an important means and medium for the literati to express their ideas and feelings. [I think you need to insert an "as" between "much" and "an." Or, you could write, "... a garden is created as an art form as much as an important means and ...."] This ideational function, over the years, has developed a system of logic and its own language. Gardens, accordingly, are more than simple combinations of flowers, trees and miniature landscapes; they are places that create poetic and painterly concepts. The literati would regard their gardens as markers of elite status. No man, therefore, was considered a true intellectual without a garden of his own, be it large or small. By the same token, no room would be perfect as a study if one looked out of the window but could not see his own exquisite garden of strangely shaped rocks and fantastic looking plants. Since classical Chinese gardens closely resemble paintings produced by the classically educated literati, they are sometimes regarded as a type of three-dimensional landscape paintings [This word should be singular, not plural, since the subject of the phrase is "type."] or solid poetry.
Viewed straight on, Chinese gardens seem to have too much architecture. Obviously such layout [I would make this plural, since it references "gardens" in the previous sentence, but the way you have it might be okay, depending on how you intend to use this manuscript.] began to lose popularity centuries ago, somewhat disliked when it came to the Qing dynasty (1616-1911). Western gardens, by contrast, tend to have fewer buildings, usually centrally located and clustered together to become the focal point, both locally and spatially. Traditional Chinese gardens emphasize the harmony between architecture and environment, focusing more on the integration of natural beauty and craftsmanship than individual elements. Bai Juyi (772-846), a Tang dynasty poet, was probably the first to discuss the composition of garden elements. Though not necessarily the golden rule, the proportion of these elements has been established by generation after generation of garden designers. Individual cases may differ, but the underlying patterns stay roughly the same.
Architecturally, however, Chinese gardens feature highly diversified forms. To enhance garden views, architectural elements are blended in such a way as to create unique visual effects, completely different from those ordinary buildings that identify with the hierarchy of the social status of their inhabitants. (Designers devote much attention to, among other things, ‘borrowed views’. A pavilion, for example, is where you relax and enjoy views of the rest of the garden. All the other elements, including waterside halls and terraces, become the scenery, but the pavilion itself, when viewed from elsewhere in the garden, also forms part of the scenery. In other words, the scenery changes with each step you take, as the seer becomes the seen.) In addition, the architectural styles of Chinese gardens usually take advantage of the natural environment to best suit personal tastes. In both the imperial and private gardens, the buildings display a wide variety of appearances, styles, and sizes, either horizontally or vertically. Their mass compositions seem to correspond with the principles of European Modernism. (Mass composition refers to the proportional relationship between different components of a particular structure, or more specifically, the visual size difference between roof and façade; in terms of the layout plan, mass composition embodies the proportional relationship between individual room sizes.) In essence, they turn out to [I think you could omit these words. They don't really add anything to the sentence.] ‘play the same tune on different musical instruments’.
Garden styles, surprisingly, have found their way into public buildings. Fragrant Hill Hotel and Suzhou Museum, the two major projects in China led by Ieoh Ming Pei (b. 1917), an American-educated Chinese master architect, were both modeled after the classical Chinese gardens. [IMO, this should be singular, since you used the article "the." Alternatively, you could drop the "the" and leave "gardens" plural.] Those with knowledge of the relevant historical and cultural background will probably characterize them as the offspring of necessity rather than of inspiration, for the Pei family once owned the famous Shizi Lin (Lion Grove), one of the finest classical gardens in Suzhou of east China’s Jiangsu province. The spirit of freedom inherent in traditional Chinese gardens is identified, in one way or another, with the pursuits of Modernism to break free from the monotonous symmetry in architectural designs. While studying at Harvard, Ieoh Ming Pei submitted a proposal to construct (unsuccessfully) China Art Museum in Shanghai. That, again, was a garden-style plan, since he argued that was the only way to guarantee a perfect atmosphere to view ancient Chinese artifacts. Chinese paintings and calligraphies do not usually require [insert "an" here.] exceptionally large space for collection and display, but they do need a comfortably elegant setting to create the right mood.
Art is something to enjoy and delight in, but not to prostrate ourselves before. [If you intend to use this work as a technical paper or for formal publication, this should read "before which to prostrate ourselves." For informal usage, the way you have it is fine.] Works of art reflect the personal tastes and aspirations of their owners. Equally they coexist with human beings as our friends, as a part of life, and sometimes of course, as something to show off. Gardens themselves, naturally enough, are no exceptions. Even in ancient times, they were as much public as private, where the owners met, entertained, and socialized with their friends. It is for this reason that the garden buildings strive to maximize their artistic expressiveness, compete against each other for attention, and hence [older punctuation styles require a comma here; the more modern style does not. The choice is yours.] become a vital element of classical Chinese gardens. The literati would, as a rule, punctuate their gardens with flower-halls [no hyphen], boat-halls [no hyphen], fan-shaped pavilions, or even buildings of complex mass (combinations of different architectural elements).
Hope this helps!
Thank you very much Kisal. You're so thoughtful and helpful.
I know translation is best done into, not out of, one's own language.
But sometimes I just have to.
Wonder if you would mind telling me your emai address (leave me a message here or at chancyma@yahoo.com)
I know translation is best done into, not out of, one's own language.
But sometimes I just have to.
Wonder if you would mind telling me your emai address (leave me a message here or at chancyma@yahoo.com)