《夜鶯頌》--濟慈--第二版---安魂曲終場 如泥在草芳

夜鶯頌----濟慈----第二版  08/09/2022 
吾心疼至深/ 魂麻誌欲昏/ 意若飲毒鳩/ 黯然如藥吞/ 心沉忘川水/ 光陰渡一寸/ 非妒汝樂純/ 共君歡至深/ 輕翼載樹神/ 悠揚宮調聲/ 山櫸叢叢處/ 陰盈影沉沉/ 歌喉滿夏時/ 綠蔭馥樂生   
陳年醇冰窖/ 對酒飲一樽/ 酒清如花露/ 綠野滿仙蓀/ 起舞頌盛日/ 擁歌讚南春/ 詩意入滿懷/ 粉色暈詩魂/ 珍珠沫如淚/ 淚溢杯緣吮/ 華灼染紫唇/ 吾欲一飲盡/ 離世不擾人/ 吾隨君逝處/ 林幽黯消魂  
離逝遠且遙/ 吾憶亦漸消/ 君居群葉間/ 君思從未曉/ 疲乏燒焦躁/ 人間坐看處/ 呻吟傳如道/ 憂而生華發/ 華發得幾稍/ 神痹華發搖/ 青春化枯伴/ 還鄉苦魂招/ 死蔭摻寂寥/ 憂傷滿思渺/ 絕望灰如潮/ 美顏失煥貌/ 明眸遲淚凋/ 新愛先枯槁/ 未曾見明朝   
逝之離之呼/ 吾欲飛向汝/ 酒神駕車豹/ 吾不求同路/ 詩情掀羽翼/ 翼隱無形跡/ 吾神意迷離/ 且得隨君去/ 溫柔入良宵/ 月母居寶瑤/ 燦燦群星繞/ 此方卻無耀/ 天際微風緲/ 蔥綠通幽處/ 青苔曲徑繞 

何花戀吾腳/ 何香掛枝俏/ 幽暗膏沒藥/ 吾居暗之央/ 僅猜伊春光/ 賜蜜予何芳/青草漫野狂/ 馥實居葛覃  
皓白染霍桑/ 如茵薔薇安/ 忽凋紫羅蘭/ 眠入葉之畔/ 長子立小滿/ 玫瑰散麝香/  溢酒如露亮/ 蠅營沒花牤/ 共息夏夜長 
向隅吾聽暗/ 吾心長思量/ 吾擁半腔愛/ 與死共熙攘/ 死蔭柔且軟/ 詩韻同冥想/ 吾息入天涼/ 今夕比以往/ 若死更堂皇/ 午夜冥府光/ 無痛無斷腸/ 汝藝瀉若陽/ 汝心喜若狂/ 汝歌猶清唱/ 吾耳俱枉然/ 安魂曲終場/ 如泥在草芳  
生卻不向死/ 不朽飛禽翔/ 不曾畏饑腸/ 今夕天籟響/ 往息安村夫/ 上古慰舊皇/ 憂傷淚漭漭/ 背井且離鄉/ 孤佇異國田/ 路得念家邦/ 亦享君樂安/ 彼音落瑤池/ 幽人開西窗/ 苦險層層浪/ 絕望滿汪洋/ 伊人奉平安   
絕望如鍾響/ 喚吾歸吾望/ 作別且訣別/ 如夢亦如幻/ 夢幻皆伎倆/精靈欺世忙/作別且訣別/ 哀怨頌歌散/ 離離草攜芳/ 一幽澗漣漣/ 陵高川又前/ 音葬溪穀邊/ 伊乎異象苦/ 伊乎曉夢甜/ 弦樂終離逝/ 焉醒焉睡間  

夜鶯頌》翻譯第二版----譯者日誌（四）  

幾個月前我試著翻譯了濟慈的夜鶯頌，但是我非常不滿意那個翻譯版本。這首詩實在是非常難翻譯的一首詩，從現有的查良禛和餘光中的現代文翻譯版本就可以管中窺豹，略見一斑。查和餘的翻譯版本一對比，讀者就能發現兩個版本很多地方就對原詩有不同的理解。 

這次我回來重新做這件吃力不討好的事情，主要是悔改我前麵翻譯的莫名其妙以及晦澀難懂。濟慈是一位天才早夭的詩人，寫《夜鶯頌》這首詩的時候，他24歲，但是肺結核已經折磨他很久。彼時他愛上了鄰家一位年輕女孩，痛苦的心情可想而知。兩年以後濟慈就去世了。《夜鶯頌》的起句儼然就是一個病入膏肓的人的感受。濟慈該是在治療過程中吃鴉片類的止疼藥的，所以他的詩句第一章就真實地描寫了這種醫治無望而心情絕望的狀態。 

如果我希望把英國浪漫派詩人和中國古代詩人寫作風格比較的話，我個人願意把雪萊和李白進行對照，而把濟慈和李商隱進行比較。濟慈的詩歌，對於我來說，更為晦澀難解。濟慈和雪萊一樣，也非常善長於通過對自然的描寫來延展自己對思緒的寄托。然而，因為他自己的個人遭遇，他的那種無可奈何的思緒時時渲染在他的詩歌之中，幾乎無處不在。

其實花了這麽些筆墨來寫濟慈的經曆，我的希望是幫助讀者來理解他寫的這首詩歌。然而，這個解釋背景的過程本身卻讓我自己非常疑惑。除卻巴別塔的建造讓人類從此根本的彼此分裂，萬劫不複之外，在我個人的純粹詩歌理念裏麵，一首偉大的詩歌，是不需要了解詩歌的作者和詩歌的創作背景的。至此，我再次掉入一個通過訓練，來習得經驗和感知的陷阱裏麵。最偉大的詩歌，一定是描寫永遠糾纏於人世的感情，永遠不會凋謝的理念，和永遠不會過時的經驗。真正的詩歌是在人類理性世界之外，最為精確的非理性存在，因為它必然會被所有的人共同理解，超乎時代，超乎地理局限，在共同的人性裏永恒地閃閃發光。語言本身，隻是為了這個永恒的本質做一個媒介的橋梁。以前年輕時我喜好故作高深，裝模作樣崇拜維特根斯坦的語言哲學論，但是我越來越覺得這些玩意有啥用呢？起碼現在我不認同他的“世界不是由事物組成，而是由事實組成”的基本觀點。事實乃是事物的關聯。我們人類太在意事物的關聯和世界與自己的關係，而失去了認識這個世界的美和真的機會。存在是客觀的，關聯是主觀的。人的感覺和認知，隻是不過是在客觀和主觀之間縹緲的存在。既然我不可能永生，或者說，能永生的人們卻也並不知道他們永生的時候是什麽樣子的，那在人生這一輩子裏麵，我們在乎那麽多和我們自己不相幹的關聯幹什麽呢？而詩歌這個最不精確的語言，則是和語言哲學認知直接對立的存在，因為它描寫的根本就不是事實。然而無論是唯心或唯物的認知裏麵，從共同的邏輯辯證來說且頗為矛盾的現實就是，詩歌和童話，明明成人們都知道它們描寫的不是事實的關聯，但是它們卻忠實地擁有信徒般的讀者群，直到老死。詩歌擁有能讓我們最真切地感受到不可言語的美和世間種種飄渺的關聯的能力; 這個最大的不確定性，卻是我們人類在能夠存在的世代裏，所能找到的鑿鑿確據。

於人類曆史的長河而言，會有一批很好的詩歌，雖然在它們被創作的時代是偉大的，但在未來的人們心裏麵，就沒有必要那麽精確和細致的研究了。在我個人的理念（或許是極度有偏見的觀點）裏，浪漫派的經典詩歌在人類存在的時刻裏，一定永存。 

到此為止，我前段時間起勁翻譯英文詩，拿著一首都能在餐桌旁盯著翻完的勁頭好像完全消失了。我修改前譯稿，補寫完這篇和做完這個視頻，足足拖了將近四個月。好吧，該過去就要過去，該來的自然會再來，至此，算是一個紀念。然而，"何日君再來？" 拜拜了，濟慈，你也安息兩百年了，願你繼續安息和擁有溫柔浪漫的睡眠。

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?