試譯 Wordsworth 的 “ Ode to Immortality ” ( 永生頌 )

yuanxiang · 2010-11-21 21:49:45Z

試譯 Wordsworth 的 “ Ode to Immortality ” ( 永生頌 )簡介

來源: yuanxiang 於 2010-11-21 21:49:45 [檔案] [博客] [舊帖] [給我悄悄話] 閱讀數 : (33357 bytes)

本文內容已被 [ yuanxiang ] 在 2010-11-23 02:54:18 編輯過。如有問題，請報告版主或論壇管理刪除.

序

我和犀利詩友在萬維詩壇上有些交流。我現在把我以前草譯的英國的著名浪漫主義詩人華茲沃斯的《永生頌》找出來修改後發表於此，作為對他的紀念。右軍有雲：“死生乃大，” 所以我覺得這是首非常合適的紀念犀利兄的詩歌。它的主要思想可以概括為 :

1. 不思死焉為生？

2. 詩人的創造力來自模仿，而兒童最善於感知和模仿外界，所以成年的父親是童年。這裏的模仿不是對某個事物或者某個詩人的文筆或者意境的模仿，而是對美好的生活，對來源於柏拉圖的最高真理之創造能力的模仿。

頌詩：從回顧童年到悟及永生

曾幾何時，溪流、樹林和草原

大地和所有景象 ,

對我而言

都像穿上了明亮的天裳，

夢一樣明媚新鮮。

如今再也不像過去，

無論我走到哪裏，

無論黑天白日，

我再也找不到以往目睹的證據。

來去匆匆出彩虹，

玫瑰情意濃。

月亮笑顏開

環顧四周之清天，

星夜之海

美麗又璀璨。

然後陽光生育出明亮 ,

可是無論我走到哪裏，

大地都沒了往日的榮光。

小鳥在歡樂的歌唱，

幼小的羊羔

踏著鼓點蹦跳，

可是我心頭湧起一絲悲哀：

歎口氣放鬆胸懷，

我的心又變得剛強。

瀑布吹起號角在深淵回響，

我再也不怪時令讓我心傷，

我聽到了回聲鳴響在山穀中，

沉睡的田野朝我吹來陣陣風，

全世界都洋溢著喜氣，

海洋與陸地，

都在縱情嬉戲，

五月的性情讓所有的牲畜

都在歡快地慶祝；——

你呀幸福的牧童，你呀歡樂的少年，

請你喊一喊，讓我聽聽你對羊群的呼喚。

你們有福的生靈啊，我已聽到

你們相互間的呼叫，

看到九天與你們同笑，

我戴著喜慶的桂冠，

從心裏出席你們的歡樂盛宴，

你們的幸福，我在感受，全都感受了。

要是我還不愉快，這時光怎不難堪！

可是這是個甜蜜的五月的早上，

大地她在為自己打扮梳妝，

孩子們從四麵八方，

無遠弗屆

到山穀中來將鮮花摘采，

這時侯陽光暖照，

嬰兒在母親的懷抱裏蹦跳。

我聽嗬，我聽嗬，我高興地聽著，

可是有顆樹，許多樹中的一株，

還有我曾熟悉的田野一處，

都在訴說著什麽失去；

雛菊在我的腳下

也重複著同樣的說法：

都跑哪兒去了呢視野中的亮光？

如今都在哪，光榮與夢想？

我們的出生不過是遺忘與睡夢一場，

和我們同時醒來的靈魂，我們的生命的流星，

來自遠方，

自有其殞落的曆程：

並非全都忘記，

也非赤裸無係，

我們駕著雲彩吉祥

來自上帝，我們的家鄉，

天國庇護我們的童年夢想！

隨著兒童成長，牢獄般的黑暗

開始將他收監，

但是他看得到光和光明的前景，

眼中有歡樂的光輝；

青年雖背朝東愈行愈遠，

仍是祭司在神廟裏崇敬自然，

因此上才看得到光彩輝煌，

在人生的旅途上享受關照，

這眼光在成年中逐漸消散，

淡入庸俗的時光裏麵。

大地母親有她自己的歡樂；

這歡樂並非隻是付出毫無所得，

而是種母性的希望，

像舍不得兒女一般，

好一位家庭主婦

她收養兒童作她的囚徒，

要他遺忘他所熟悉的榮光，

要他忘卻他所離開的帝闕。

瞧，那位讓清新福氣籠罩的兒童，

六歲大的親親，小大人的體形，

看，即使是躺著他的手也動個不停，

擺擺手對著母愛的親吻頻送，

搖搖頭看著父愛的眼神輕放，

再看看他腳邊的表格和圖畫，

那都是人生的夢想，

都是他用雙小手作好的計劃

無論是喜慶還是成親，

無論是出席葬禮還是撫慰他人，

他都知曉不差，

還能哼出自己的歌，

學著用嘴巴

模仿大人的戀愛、爭吵與商磋。

過一會兒後這位小演員

剛把學會的忘卻，

就會快樂又自豪

演起另一角色了。

在他的“逗人”的人生舞台上，

搬弄著人生的道具，

將生命的各個時期，

甚至憔悴的老年，滑稽地演完。

似乎他的終生奔忙，

就是無窮無盡的摹仿。

你呀，你如此善於模仿的外觀

不正宣示著靈魂的偉大？

你是最好的哲學家，

你繼承著真傳，

是盲者的亮眼，

聾子和啞巴的觀察，

察看永恒的心駐守著的永恒深淵。

你是偉大的預言家，

有福的先知，

我們終生勞累而尋覓，

在黑暗無邊，無邊黑暗

中尋找的真理不就在你身邊；

你呀，你的永生好比是白日孵化生命，

主人衛護仆人，

蹲孵在你上邊，這影響怎能棄之不管；

你呀，年幼的兒童，天賦的自由

之光閃爍在你的身前身後，

為什麽你得經曆艱辛和痛苦，

惹惱歲月給你戴上桎梏，

盲目地與你的福氣爭鋒？

你的靈魂不久將承載塵世的負重，

生活的重擔將壓在你身上

生命一樣深，嚴霜一樣濃！

啊！歡樂！在此生的餘燼中

確實還剩下點兒活潑，

雖然難覓行蹤

但性情仍能記妥！

當我回想以往的細節

就有獲得了永福的感覺，

不是因為快樂和自由，

這個最該延續的福祚，

這個童年的信念，無論繁忙還是工休，

如今仍滿懷新生的希望蹦跳在胸口： --

也並非因為如此才讓我

唱出感恩的讚歌，

而是因為那些執著的查詢，

對感覺和現象的反複提問，

突然消逝，現於一瞬，

所有生靈都回答不出，

恍兮惚兮如隔世的愛心，

我們的生命有限的本性與之相逢

就會像罪人樣突然驚起的高級本能，

正因為有這第一次的情愛

才能將往昔回憶起來

不管是什麽，

都是光亮之泉在我們的日子中流過，

都是光亮之主照亮我們的全部視角，

抬舉我們、惦記我們、也能使我們的喧囂歲月

成為永恒沉寂中的短暫一刻，

都是讓人警醒的真理，

永不消亡，

無論是行為懶惰還是瘋狂，

無論是成人還是小夥，

無論敵視歡樂的是什麽，

都不能把這真理取消或擊破。

因此上在這天氣平和的季節

我們雖然身處內陸遙迢，

靈魂仍朝那永生之海遠眺，

它帶我們來到這邊，

也能很快帶我們奔向彼岸，

去看童年在海灘上嬉戲，

去聽浩瀚的海浪翻滾不息。

那麽，唱吧，飛鳥，唱起歡樂的歌，

那麽，跳吧，幼小的羔羊

快踏著牧人的鼓響！

你呀牧笛，你呀吹笛的牧人，

你們呀，你們今天所有用心

感受著歡樂的五月的人們，

我們的思想與你們同樂。

以往的光明與璀璨，

如今再也看不到又能怎麽辦？

雖然再也找不回青草晶瑩、

花兒鮮亮的已逝風景，

但是我們決不悲傷，我們仍將尋找，

從生出同情並且同情永葆

的原始情苗；

從忍受苦難中升華

的同情根芽；

從看穿死亡的意義的信仰；

從孕育出哲理的歲月漫長；

找到仍存的力量。

你呀，流泉、樹林、小山和草原，

請別預報你將割斷我們的情緣！

我的心中之心感受著你們的偉岸，

我不過是換了種歡樂和愛好，

以接受更合乎你們的習慣的調教。

我仍深愛溪水沿著水溝奔跑，

勝過我當初同樣活潑的蹦跳；

新一天的所有明媚和嫩幼，

我仍舊愛不夠。

可是朝著落日匯聚的雲彩，

在關注生命有限的眼睛看來

確實粘染上了憂鬱的暮靄；

比賽已經賽完，也贏了些比賽，

搭幫讓我們活著為人的人心，

搭幫人心中的恐懼、歡樂和溫存，

哪怕是朵最卑微的鮮花跟風將就，

都讓我思緒彌深淚水澆也澆不透。

Ode
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.	5
It is not now as it hath been of yore; —
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,	10
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;	15
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound	20
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;	25
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea	30
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday; —
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy	35
Shepherd-boy!
Ye bless è d creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,	40
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,	45
And the children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm: —	50
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
— But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet	55
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,	60
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come	65
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,	70
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;	75
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,	80
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.	85
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!	90
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learn è d art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;	95
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long	100
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,	105
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity;	110
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, —
Mighty prophet! Seer blest!	115
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave,	120
A presence which is not to be put by;
To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;	125
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?	130
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,	135
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest —	140
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: —
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;	145
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,	150
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,	155
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,	160
To perish never:
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!	165
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,	170
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!	175
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright	180
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;	185
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,	190
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight	195
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;	200
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,	205
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.