譯作13 夜鶯頌

【英】約翰·濟慈

2022年4月5日星期二

 

我的心在痛，一種讓人昏昏欲睡、麻木不仁的痛

恍若剛飲過毒芹或吞服過鴉片

正墜入冥府的忘川

這不是妒忌你的快樂

而是在你的快樂中享受了太多的快樂

---你，羽翼翩然的樹精

在山毛櫸綠葉和無數陰影中的某個歌聲悠揚之地

正敞開著歌喉歌唱著夏天

 

哦，真希望來口美酒！

那種在地窖裏冷藏了多年的美酒！

品嚐花草和鄉間綠葉的清香

感受載歌載舞、沐浴陽光的狂歡！

哦，真希望來杯美酒！

充滿南方的暖溫，也充滿紅色靈泉的清純

珍珠般的泡沫在杯沿擠眉弄眼

紫紅色染遍了我的嘴唇

我會一飲而盡，忘掉這個世界

然後隨你消失在幽深的森林

 

徹底隱去，消失，並且棄忘

你在林中從未知曉的一切：

厭倦，疾病，及煩惋

這裏，人們摩肩而坐，彼此傾聽著對方的歎悵

這裏，癱瘓的老人隻剩下幾根稀疏的白發在痛苦地搖晃

這裏，年輕人臉色慘白，骨瘦如柴，且經常死亡

這裏，人們一思想就哀傷，眼睛充滿了絕望

這裏，美人從來不會持續放彩，新的愛情之樹第二天就會枯黃

 

飛去！飛去！我要向你飛去！

不是乘坐酒神的豹車

而是乘坐詩神的翅膀

盡管腦袋愚鈍、困惑、遲滯

但我畢竟已來到你身旁！

夜色溫柔

月後也許已登上寶座，並被眾星守望

可此處沒有光亮，隻有少許的天光連同微風一起

穿過茂密的樹林，吹照在布滿苔蘚的小徑上

 

我看不清是什麽樣的花朵在腳邊搖蕩

也看不清枝頭上懸掛的是何種芬芳

但在這香氣撲鼻的夜晚

我能猜出此時的每種芳香來自何方：

青草，灌木，野果樹；山楂樹，野薔薇；

凋謝極快並被綠葉覆蓋的紫羅蘭；

五月中旬的驕子---麝香玫瑰，正散發著酒香

誘使夏夜的蚊蠅出沒，嗡嗡作響

 

我在黑暗中聽你歌唱

我多次想過平靜地死去

並在詩句中向死神發出過輕輕的呼喚

求他把我的生命悄悄地帶入天堂

現在吉時已到

半夜裏毫無疼痛地死去

而你那發自靈魂的歌聲是如此令人神往

我死後你仍會歌唱，但我再也無法聽見

你那高昂的安魂曲，會化為一塊草皮

作為我墳墓的衣裳！

 

你不會死去，永生之鳥啊！

不會有饑餓的後代威脅到你的生命！

我今晚聽到的歌聲也被古代的帝王和平民聽過：

也許是同樣的歌聲撥動了露絲那悲戚的心弦

當她站在異域的稻田裏思鄉時，總是泣不成聲

這樣的歌聲也會吸引身處孤僻仙境中的主人

打開門窗，而不會顧及凶險海濤的降臨

 

孤僻無望！此言就像一聲鍾響

把我從你的世界拽回到了我的世界！

別了！幻想不可能如此完美

這不過是自欺欺人

別了！別了！你那悲涼的歌聲

飄過草地，飄過河流，飄過山坡

消失在另一個山穀

這是幻覺，還是夢寐？

歌聲已經遠去，---我是醒還是在睡？

 

注：露絲（Ruth)，聖經故事中的人物

 

原文

Ode to a Nightingale

BY JOHN KEATS

 

My heart aches, 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.

 

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

         Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

         Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O 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:

 

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-eyed despairs,

         Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

                Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

 

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,

                Cluster'd 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.

 

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 fruit-tree wild;

         White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

                Fast fading violets cover'd 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.

 

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

         I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd 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.

 

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

         Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

                Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

 

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 fam'd 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?