- 最后登录
- 2010-1-4
- 在线时间
- 707 小时
- 威望
- 663 点
- 金钱
- 62446 点
- 注册时间
- 2007-8-4
- 阅读权限
- 70
- 帖子
- 4714
- 精华
- 11
- 积分
- 12326
- UID
- 200
  
|
初译
齐维斯特的秩序的观念
她歌唱于大海的精灵之上。
那海水从未形成思想或语声,
象是一个完全是身体的身体,鼓动着
它的空袖子;然而它模拟的动作
造出持续的呼喊,持续地引发出一个呼喊,
不属于我们的,尽管我们理解的
非人的,真正的大海的呼喊。
大海并不是一个面具。她也不再是。
那歌和海水并不是一个混合的声音
即使她所唱正是她听到的,
因为她逐字吟咏她唱的东西。
也许在她所有的表达中激发了
摩擦的海水和喘气的风;
然而我们听到的是她而不是大海。
因为她是她唱的歌的创造者。
那永远戴着头巾的,做出悲剧姿态的海
仅仅是一个她走进去歌唱的地方。
这是谁的精神?我们说,因为我们知道
它是我们寻找的精神,而且知道
在她歌唱之时,我们应该经常如此发问。
如果它只是大海黑暗的语声
它上升,或者正好被众多波浪染上颜色;
如果它只是属于天空,云彩的外来之声
只是属于沉没的被海水环绕的珊瑚,
无论多么清澈,它本应是深深的空气,
空气高迈的演说,一个重复在夏天的
没有尽头的,夏天的声音
而且是独自的声音。然而它不止于此,
甚至不止是她的语声,还有我们的,
存在于海水和风无意义的奔跃,
戏剧性的距离,高远的地平线上堆起的
青铜色的影子和山一般的天海间
的大气之中。
是她的语声
使天空在消失的时候最具锋芒。
她度量出时光自己的孤独。
她是她歌唱于其中的世界里
唯一的建造者。 而当她歌唱,大海
无论它有何种自我,它成为的自我
正是她的歌,因为她是创造者。而后我们,
当我们看到她独自在那里阔步,
明白从来没有一个为她而设的世界
除了她歌唱过,歌唱着,造出的那个。
雷蒙·菲尔南德兹,告诉我,如果你知道,
为什么,那歌唱停止而我们转向城镇
的时候,告诉我为什么那些玻璃般的灯,
那些停泊在那里的渔船上的灯,
当夜晚降临,倾斜在空中,它们
控制了黑夜而且划分出大海,
固定着光彩绚丽的区域和炽热的桅杆,
安排着,深化着,魅惑着夜晚。
哦!被赐福的对秩序的激情,苍白的雷蒙,
这创造者的激情赋予它们秩序----大海的语言,
昏暗地点缀星光的,那些芬芳之门的语言,
关于我们自己的和我们的起源的语言,
在更加朦胧莫测的界限中,在更加锐利的声音中。
The Idea of Order at Key West
Wallace Stevens
She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.
The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.
For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As the night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker\'s rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.
[此贴子已经被作者于2004-5-26 9:39:43编辑过] |
|