流浪演繹法对《济慈诗选》的笔记(20)

济慈诗选
  • 书名: 济慈诗选
  • 作者: 济慈
  • 副标题: 英诗经典名家名译
  • 页数: 264
  • 出版社: 外语教学与研究出版社
  • 出版年: 2011-11
  • 第1页

    文學史家認定英國浪漫主義詩歌以五大詩人為代表,他們是:William Wordsworth,1770-1850; Samuel T. Coleridge,1772-1850; George G. Byron, 1788-1824; Percy B. Shelley, 1792-1822; John Keats, 1795-1821。20世紀後期,英國文學史家認為英國浪漫主義詩歌的主要成員還應加上William Blake, 1757-1827,因此,這六人被稱為英國浪漫主義詩歌之六巨擘⋯⋯

    2018-06-25 13:22:36 回应
  • 第14页

    I

    My heart cahes, and a drowsy numbness pains

    My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

    Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

    One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

    'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

    But being too happy in thine happiness-

    That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

    In some melodious plot

    Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

    Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

    II

    Oh, for a draught of vintage! That hath been

    Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,

    Tasting of Flora and the country green,

    Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!

    Oh, for a beaker full of the warm South,

    Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

    With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

    And purple-stained mouth,

    That I might drink,and leave the world unseen,

    And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

    III

    Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

    What thou among the leaves hast never known,

    The weariness, the fever, and the fret

    Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

    Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

    Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

    Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

    And leaden-eye despairs:

    Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

    Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow.

    IV

    Away! away! For I will fly to thee,

    Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

    But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

    Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

    Already with thee! Tender is the night,

    And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

    Clustered around by all her starry fays:

    But here there is no light,

    Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

    Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

    V

    I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

    Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

    But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

    Wherewith the seasonable month endows

    The grass, the thicket, and the pastoral eglantine;

    Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;

    And mid-May's eldest child,

    The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

    The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

    VI

    Darking I listen; and, for many a time

    I have been half in love with easeful Death,

    Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

    To take into the air my quiet breath;

    Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

    To,cease upon the midnight with no pain,

    While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

    In such an ecstasy!

    Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-

    To thy high requiem become a sod.

    VII

    Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!

    No hungry generations tread thee down;

    The voice I hear this passing night was heard

    In ancient days by emperor and clown:

    Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

    Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

    She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

    The same that oft-times hath

    Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam

    Of perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn.

    VIII

    Forlorn! The very word is like a bell

    To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

    Adieu! The fancy cannot cheat so well

    As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

    Adieu! adieu! Thy plaintive anthem fades

    Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

    Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

    In the next valley-glades:

    Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

    Fled is that music: --Do I wake or sleep?

    我在黑暗裡諦聽著:已經多少次

    幾乎墮入了死神安謐的愛情,

    我用深思的詩韻喚他的名字,

    請他把我這口氣化入空明;

    此刻,無上的幸福是停止呼吸

    趁這午夜,安詳地向人世告別,

    而你,正在把你的精魂傾吐,

    如此地心醉神迷!

    你永遠唱著,我已經失去聽覺

    你唱安魂歌,我已經變成一堆土

    失落!這字眼像鐘聲一敲,

    催我離開你,回復孤寂的自己!

    再見!幻想這個騙人的小妖,

    徒有虛名,再不能使人著迷。

    再見!再見!你哀怨的歌音遠去,

    流過了草地,越過了靜靜的溪水,

    飄上了山腰,如今已深深地埋凐

    在附近的密林幽谷⋯⋯

    2018-06-25 14:52:15 回应
  • 第25页

    這些前來祭祀的都是什麼人?

    神秘的祭司,你的牛向上天哀喚,

    讓花環掛滿在她那光柔的腰身,

    你要牽她去哪一座青蔥的祭壇?

    這是哪一座小城,河邊的,海邊的

    還是靠山的,築一座護衛的城寨——

    居民們傾城而出,趕清早去敬神?

    小城呵,你的大街小巷將永遠地

    寂靜無聲,沒一個靈魂會回來

    說明你何以從此變成了蕪城

    雅典的形狀!美地儀態!

    身上雕滿了大理石少女和男人

    樹林伸枝柯,腳下倒伏著草萊;

    你,緘口地形體!你冷嘲如“永恆”

    教我們超脫思慮。冷色地牧歌!

    等老年摧毀了我們這一代,那時,

    你將仍然是人類的朋友,並且

    會遇到另一些哀愁,你會對人說:

    ”美即是真,真即是美“——這就是

    你們在世上所知道、該知道的一切。

    2018-06-25 15:06:44 回应
  • 第28页

    I

    No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist

    Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;

    Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed

    By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;

    Make not your rosary of yew-berries,

    Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be

    Your mournful Psyche, nor ther downy owl

    A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;

    For shade to shade will come too drowsily,

    And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

    II

    But when the melancholy fit shall fall

    Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,

    That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,

    And hides the green hill in an April shroud;

    Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,

    Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,

    Or on the wealth of globed peonies;

    Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,

    Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,

    And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

    陰影來親近陰影會困倦嗜睡,

    會把靈魂中清醒的創痛淹沒掉

    就在“快樂”的廟堂之上,

    隱藏的“憂鬱”有她至尊的神龕

    他靈魂一旦把“憂鬱”的威力品嘗

    便稱為她的戰利品,懸掛在雲霄

    2018-06-25 15:20:49 回应
  • 第40页

    O Chatterton, how very sad thy fate!

    Dear child of sorrow-- son of misery!

    How soon the film of death obscured that eye,

    Whence genius wildly flashed, and high debate.

    How soon that voice,maijestic and elate,

    Melted in dying murmurs! Oh, how nigh

    Was night to thy fair morning! Thou didst die

    A half - blown floweret which cold blasts amate.

    But this is past; thou art among the stars

    Of highest heaven; to the rolling spheres

    Thou sweetly singest; naught thy hymning mars,

    Above the ingrate world and human fears.

    On earth the good man base detraction bars

    From thy fair name and waters it with tears.

    憂患的寵兒,苦難的愛子!

    你兩眼很快蒙上了死的陰翳,

    那裡,剛閃過天才和雄辯的光焰!

    超越了忘恩的塵世和人間的憂懼

    地上有好心人愛妳的名字,不讓

    貶損,用淚水灌溉你身後的美譽

    2018-06-25 15:31:53 回应
  • 第48页

    How mant bards gild the lapses of time!

    A few of them have ever been the food

    Of my delighted fancy - I could brood

    Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime;

    And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,

    These will in throngs before my mind intrude:

    But no confusion, no disturbance rude

    Do they occasion, 'tis a pleasing chime.

    So the unnumbered sounds that evening store:

    The songs of birds, the whispering of the leaves,

    The voice of waters, the great bell that heaves

    With solemn sound, and thousand others more

    That distance of recognizance bereaves,

    Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar

    2018-06-25 15:43:56 回应
  • 第56页

    To one who has been long in city pent,

    'Tis very sweet to look into the fair

    And open face of heaven, to breathe a prayer

    Full in the smile of the blue firmament

    Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,

    Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair

    Of wavy grass and reads a debonaie

    And gentle tale of love and languishment?

    Returning home at evening, with an ear

    Catching the notes of Philomel, an eye

    Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,

    He mourns that day so soon has glided by:

    E'en like the passage of an angel's tear

    That falls through the clear ether silently.

    2018-06-25 15:50:24 回应
  • 第68页

    Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,

    A loving - Kindness for the great man's fame,

    Dwells here and there with people of no name,

    In noisome alley, and in pathless wood.

    And where we think the truth least understood,

    Oft may be found a 'singleness of aim'

    That ought to frighten into hooded shame

    A money - mongering, pitiable brood.

    How glorious this affection for the cause

    Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!

    What when a stout unbending champion awes

    Envy and Malice to their native sty?

    Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,

    Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

    2018-06-25 15:57:39 回应
  • 第72页

    The church bells toll a melancholy round,

    Calling the people to some other prayers,

    Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,

    More hearkning to the sermon's horrid sound.

    Surely the mind of man is closely bound

    In some black spell,seeing that each one tears

    Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,

    And converse high of those with glory crowned.

    Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,

    A chill as from a tomb, did I not know

    That they are dying like an outburnt lamp;

    That 'tis their sighing, wailing ere they go

    Into oblivion; that fresh flowers will grow,

    And many glories of immortal stamp.

    教堂的鐘聲陣陣,陰鬱地敲響,

    召喚人們沈湎於另一種祈禱

    另一種幽冥,更加悲慘的煩惱

    專注於傾聽佈道者可怖的宣講

    無疑,人的頭腦已經被捆上

    惡毒的符咒;只見他們都拋掉

    爐邊的歡悅,捨棄溫雅的歌調

    跟心地高尚的人們斷絕來往

    鐘聲不停地敲響,我感到陰涼

    那是墳裡的寒氣;我豈不明白

    那些人如殘燈將滅,正挨近死亡;

    他們一聲聲嘆息著,哀喚著,走向

    永遠的沉淪;而世上鮮花會盛開

    壯麗不朽的事物會接踵而來

    2018-06-25 20:46:49 1人喜欢 回应
  • 第74页

    The poetry of earth is never dead:

    When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,

    And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run

    From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead

    That is the grasshopper's; he takes the lead

    In summer luxury; he has never done

    With his delights, for when tired out with fun

    He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed

    The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

    On a lone winter evening, when the frost

    Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills

    The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,

    And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,

    The grasshopper's among some grassy hills

    2018-06-25 20:54:13 回应
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