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Файл:Discourse Strategies in Use. Учебное пособие
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Список использованных источников
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А.И. Герцена, 2004. – 135 с.
2. Войтенoк, В.В. Разговорный английский / В.В. Войтенoк, А.М. Войтенко. –
М. : Айрис-пресс, 2013. – 480 с.
3. Гуревич, В.В. English Stylistics. Стилистика английского языка : учебное
пособие / В.В. Гуревич. – М. : Флинта: Наука, 2015. – 72 с.
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пособие / М.П. Ивашкин, В.В. Сдобников, А.В. Селяев. – М. : АСТ: Восток-Запад,
2007. – 102 с.
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высших учебных заведений / под ред. В.Д. Аракина. – М. : Владос, 2014. – 536 с.
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Приложение А
(обязательное)
1) Define the main discourse strategy of the following message. Give a full
literary translation of the following text taking into consideration its main intentional
characteristics.
Miranda slept in the orchard, lying in a long chair beneath the apple tree. Her book
had fallen into the grass, and her finger still seemed to point at the sentence 'Ce pays est
vraiment un des coins du monde oui le rire des filles elate le mieux . . .' as if she had fallen
asleep just there. The opals on her finger flushed green, flushed rosy, and again flushed
orange as the sun, oozing through the apple-trees, filled them. Then, when the breeze
blew, her purple dress rippled like a flower attached to a stalk; the grasses nodded; and the
white butterfly came blowing this way and that just above her face.
Four feet in the air over her head the apples hung. Suddenly there was a shrill
clamour as if they were gongs of cracked brass beaten violently, irregularly, and brutally.
It was only the school-children saying the multiplication table in unison, stopped by the
teacher, scolded, and beginning to say the multiplication table over again. But this clamour
passed four feet above Miranda's head, went through the apple boughs, and, striking
against the cowman's little boy who was picking blackberries in the hedge when he should
have been at school, made him tear his thumb on the thorns.
Next there was a solitary cry-sad, human, brutal. Old Parsley was, indeed, blind
drunk.
Then the very topmost leaves of the apple-tree, flat like little fish against the blue,
thirty feet above the earth, chimed with a pensive and lugubrious note. It was the organ in
the church playing one of Hymns Ancient and Modern. The sound floated out and was cut
into atoms by a flock of field-fares flying at an enormous speed-somewhere or other.
Miranda lay asleep thirty feet beneath.
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Then above the apple-tree and the pear-tree two hundred feet above Miranda lying
asleep in the orchard bells thudded, intermittent, sullen, didactic, for six poor women of
the parish were being churched and the Rector was returning thanks to heaven.
And above that with a sharp squeak the golden feather of the church tower turned
from south to east. The wind changed. Above everything else it droned, above the woods,
the meadows, the hills, miles above Miranda lying in the orchard asleep. It swept on,
eyeless, brainless, meeting nothing that could stand against it, until, wheeling the other
way, it turned south again. Miles below, in a space as big as the eye of a needle, Miranda
stood upright and cried aloud: 'Oh, I shall be late for tea!'
Miranda slept in the orchard-or perhaps she was not asleep, for her lips moved very
slightly as if they were saying, 'Ce pays est vraiment un des coins du monde . . . oui le rire
des filles . . . eclate . . . eclate . . . eclate .'and then she smiled and let her body sink all its
weight on to the enormous earth which rises, she thought, to carry me on its back as if I
were a leaf, or a queen (here the children said the multiplication table), or, Miranda went
on, I might be lying on the top of a cliff with the gulls screaming above me. The higher
they fly, she continued, as the teacher scolded the children and rapped Jimmy over the
knuckles till they bled, the deeper they look into the sea-into the sea, she repeated, and her
fingers relaxed and her lips closed gently as if she were floating on the sea, and then, when
the shout of the drunken man sounded overhead, she drew breath with an extraordinary
ecstasy, for she thought that she heard life itself crying out from a rough tongue in a scarlet
mouth, from the wind, from the bells, from the curved green leaves of the cabbages.
Naturally she was being married when the organ played the tune from Hymns
Ancient and Modern, and, when the bells rang after the six poor women had been
churched, the sullen intermittent thud made her think that the very earth shook with the
hoofs of the horse that was galloping towards her ('Ah, I have only to wait!' she sighed),
and it seemed to her that everything had already begun moving, crying, riding, flying
round her, across her, towards her in a pattern.
Mary is chopping the wood, she thought; Pearman is herding the cows; the carts are
coming up from the meadows; the rider-and she traced out the lines that the men, the carts,
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the birds, and the rider made over the countryside until they all seemed driven out, round,
and across by the beat of her own heart.
Miles up in the air the wind changed; the golden feather of the church tower
squeaked; and Miranda jumped up and cried: 'Oh, I shall be late for tea!'
(from “In the orchard” by V. Woolf)
2) Define the main discourse strategy of the following message. Give a full
literary translation of the following text taking into consideration its main intentional
characteristics.
Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were – Flopsy,
Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. They lived with their Mother in asand-bank, underneath the
root of a very big fir-tree.
"Now, my dears," said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, "you may go into the fields or
down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident
there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor."
"Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out." Then old Mrs. Rabbit
took a basket and her umbrella, and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a
loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.
Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane
to gather blackberries;
But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden, and
squeezed under the gate!
First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes;
And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.
But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor!
Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages, but he
jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, "Stop thief."
Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had
forgotten the way back to the gate. He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the
other shoe amongst the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so
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that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a
gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with
brass buttons, quite new.
Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by
some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert
himself. Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon the top of
Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him. And rushed into
the toolshed, and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it
had not had so much water in it.
Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the toolshed, perhaps
hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each.
Presently Peter sneezed – "Kertyschoo!" Mr. McGregor was after him in no time,
And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window, upsetting three
plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after
Peter. He went back to his work.
Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had
not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp with sitting in that can. After a
time he began to wander about, going lippity-lippity-not very fast, and looking all around.
He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to
squeeze underneath.
An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and
beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a
large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter
began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more
and more puzzled.
Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat
was staring at some goldfish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail
twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her; he
has heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.
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He went back towards the toolshed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the
noise of a hoe-scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes.
But presently, as nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow, and
peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was
turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!
Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow, and started running as fast as he
could go, along a straight walk behind some black-currant bushes.
Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped
underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden.
Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scare-crow to frighten the
blackbirds.
Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big firtree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the
rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had
done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in
a fortnight!
I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.
His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it
to Peter!
"One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time."
But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.
(from “The Tale of Peter Rabbit”by B. Potter)
3) Define the main discourse strategy of the following message. Give a full
literary translation of the following text taking into consideration its main intentional
characteristics.
Over the last five years, we have put our country back on the right track. Five years
ago, Britain was on the brink. As the outgoing Labour Treasury Minister put it with brutal
candour, 'there is no money'. Since then, we have turned things around.
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Britain is now one of the fastest growing major economies in the world. We are
getting our national finances back under control. We have halved our deficit as a share of
our economy. More people are in work than ever before. Britain is back on its feet, strong
and growing stronger every day.
This has not happened by accident. It is the result of difficult decisions and of
patiently working through our long-term economic plan. Above all, it is the product of a
supreme national effort, in which everyone has made sacrifices and everyone has played
their part.
It is a profound Conservative belief that our country is made great not through the
action of government alone, but through the flair, the ingenuity and hard work of the
British people - and so it has proved the last five years.
We can be proud of what we have achieved so far together, and especially proud
that as we have taken hard decisions on public spending, we have protected the National
Health Service, with 9,500 more doctors and 6,900 more nurses, and ensured generous
rises in the State Pension.
Our friends and competitors overseas look at Britain, and they see a country that is
putting its own house in order, a country on the rise. They see a country that believes in
itself. But our national recovery remains a work in progress. It is fragile, and with the
wrong decisions, it could easily be reversed.
So the central questions at this election are these: how do we maintain our economic
recovery, upon which our ambitions for our country depend? And how do we make sure
that the recovery benefits every one of our citizens, at every stage of their lives?
This Manifesto sets out our plan to do just that. It is a plan for a better future - for
you, for your family. It is a plan for every stage of your life. For your new-born baby,
there will be the world's best medical care. For your child, there will be a place at an
excellent school. As you look for your first job, we are building a healthy economy that
provides a good career for you with a decent income. As you look for that first home, we
will make sure the Government is there to help. As you raise your family, we will help you
with childcare. And as you grow older, we will ensure that you have dignity in retirement.
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Throughout, we will make sure that if you or your family fall ill, you will always be
able to depend on our cherished National Health Service to give you the care you need.
And in an increasingly dangerous and uncertain world, we will fulfill the most basic
duty of government - to defend our country and keep it safe.
But all of these things depend on a strong and growing economy. So as you consider
how to vote, I hope you will ask this: which party is best placed to keep our economy
strong? The team which has delivered the growing economy we have today, which created
more jobs since 2010 than the rest of the European Union put together; or the party which
left behind a ruined economy just five short years ago?
Now is a time to build on the progress we have made, not to put it all at risk. This
Manifesto is our plan of action - our plan to take our amazing country forward. Above all,
it is a plan for you.
I hope you will give it your support, so that together, we can see through the task we
have begun.
(from "The Conservative Party Manifesto 2015" by D. Cameron)
4) Define the main discourse strategy of the following message. Give a full
literary translation of the following text taking into consideration its main intentional
characteristics.
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest
demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today,
signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon
light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering
injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the
life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of
discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in
the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still
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languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land.
And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of
our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of
Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall
heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be
guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is
obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens
of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the
Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe
that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so,
we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of
freedom and the security of justice.
We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of
Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing
drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the
time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial
justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the
solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's
children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This
sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an
invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a
beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be
content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there
will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship
rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until
the bright day of justice emerges.
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But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm
threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful
place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for
freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our
struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest
to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights
of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not
lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by
their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our
destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our
freedom.
We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.
We cannot turn back.
There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be
satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable
horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the
fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the
cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto
to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be
satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes
he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied
until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and
tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have
come from areas where your quest – quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of
persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of
creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
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